Diamond

by Justine Elyot

  He looked so furious at that that she shrank away from him, but he reached out and held her face in his hands, his darkest of dark eyes boring down on her.

  ‘Shut. Up,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. D’you hear me?’

  She swallowed and tried to nod. He dropped her face and stood up.

  ‘Get to bed,’ he said, and he stalked out of the room, stopping only to pick up an unopened pack of sausage rolls from the table.

  Jenna did as she was told, but all the while she was undressing and brushing her teeth and taking out her contact lenses she felt this odd, hot, weak feeling, as if she were coming down with a virus.

  ‘Perhaps I am,’ she murmured, slipping under the covers. ‘Perhaps I’ve caught something.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Feeling better this morning?’

  Leonardo looked over his shoulder at her. He was wearing the old hoodie, but only because he was painting and didn’t care too much about ruining it, presumably.

  ‘I’ve brought you breakfast,’ she said, putting the Starbucks paper bag down beside him. ‘Hopefully in a couple of days I won’t have to do takeaways any more. They’re starting to fit the kitchen today. So you’d best lie low till they’re gone.’

  ‘That’s what I’m good at,’ he said, leaning over to make the tiniest alteration to a brick red terrace of houses he was in the middle of depicting.

  He put his brush in a jar and picked up the paper bag, taking it over to his sleeping bag.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he said, looking hard at her. There was a smudge of blue paint on his cheekbone and his hair was mussed again, stubble dotting the lower portions of his face.

  Jenna tried to banish the flip-flopping feeling she got from looking at him. Aesthetic appreciation is fine, Jen. Ogling is not.

  ‘I’m good, thanks. Slept well. You need an old shirt or something.’

  He uncapped his coffee and gave it an appreciative sniff.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To paint in a tracksuit seems all wrong somehow. You should have a great big smock and a floppy beret.’

  Leonardo laughed. ‘When I want to look like a tosser, I’ll let you know.’

  She walked over to the painting and inspected the progress he had made.

  ‘This is just stunning,’ she said. ‘Their faces – each one of them is a person, not a lumpen crowd. All human life is here. You’re very observant.’

  ‘I watch people,’ he admitted, blowing at the steam on his coffee. ‘Always have done, since I were a scrap. People’s faces are interesting, aren’t they? They say a lot more than words do, half the time.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenna. ‘You know, before I started work on Talent Team, we had a briefing on how to stay poker-faced during the acts. How not to give away what we were thinking. It’s extraordinarily difficult.’

  ‘I bet you got it, though.’

  ‘I can do it when I’m watching a new act. Not so much in other circumstances, really. What made you such a watchful child?’

  Leonardo had to put down his coffee, fearful of spilling it on Bowyer’s fur and scalding him. He stroked the cat on his lap as he spoke.

  ‘My mother. She said one thing and meant the other. She did that a lot. It worried me, so I had to learn to watch her face, then I’d know what she meant.’

  ‘How odd. Why was she like that?’

  ‘Survival, I think. She had a rough life. I used to watch her telling the latest boyfriend what a big man he was, when really she meant he was a handy bastard and she was afraid of him. And she’d tell me off, in front of them, but she never meant it. She only did it because they wanted her to. Once I got that, I was less worried. I knew she still loved me, after all.’

  A wave of sympathetic tenderness almost bowled Jenna over. She wanted to rush over to him and hold him, seeing the anxious child he must have been behind the swaggering young man.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That must have been hard.’

  He shrugged, tipped the cat off his lap and took a mouthful of coffee.

  ‘Is she still around?’ asked Jenna. ‘Your mother?’

  ‘She’s still alive,’ he said. ‘I don’t know about around. She’s in and out of hospital a lot. Depression.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He shrugged again. ‘Not your fault,’ he said shortly, rummaging in the paper bag for the egg muffin she’d brought. ‘What about your folks? They left town, didn’t they?’

  ‘They’re in Spain. Marbella.’

  ‘Nice. You should go out there and pay them a visit.’

  ‘Nah, I’m sick of the sun.’

  He smiled crookedly. ‘You came to the right place, then.’

  They locked eyes for slightly too long, until Jenna’s lips began to ache from holding the complicit smirk they shared.

  ‘Right. Kitchen. I wish you could have helped me design it, but it’s the one room I had to sort out before I moved in, so it’s all ready to go. I’ll be in all day, pretty much. I’ll come up and make sure you’re OK every couple of hours. By the way …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What did you do about, you know, personal functions? While you were in hiding?’

  ‘I can get in and out, you know. I used the lav, of course. What do you take me for?’

  ‘Sorry. I just wondered …’

  ‘Bowyer’s a different matter, mind. Don’t worry, I clean up after him.’

  ‘Shall I take him down with me? Let him into the garden?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Leonardo tickled the cat’s neck. ‘He likes it up here with me. Probably a good thing to give him a bit of freedom, though. Let him see how he likes it out there and, if he doesn’t get on with it, I’ll have him back.’

  Jenna let the cat out into the wilderness, which he seemed interested in exploring, then let the kitchen fitters in. She made tea for them in the drawing room, using a cheap kettle and mugs she’d picked up in the supermarket the day before, and watched them strip the old walls down and rip out the ancient pipes. The floor, with its original granite tiles, was staying, but everything else was leaky, broken or rotten and had to be replaced.

  She took a quick break to go to the nearest corner shop and buy packaged sandwiches and bottles of water for herself and Leonardo, plus a tin of tuna for Bowyer. Bowyer, however, seemed more interested in self-catering: on her return, she found a dead mouse on the doorstep.

  ‘He’s a survivor,’ said Leonardo, proudly, when she told him. ‘Like me. How’s your posh kitchen getting on?’

  ‘Who said it was posh?’

  ‘What, so you’re getting a Baby Belling and some knock-off cupboards with doors that don’t shut properly? Come off it, Jen. I bet it’s all Grand Designs.’

  ‘What’s Grand Designs?’

  ‘TV programme. You’ve been away a long time, haven’t you?’ He adopted a faux-plummy voice and said, ‘Jenna is now the proud owner of a space that can be used for so much more than cooking. And this is how good design can influence good living.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, it’s probably a bit posh. But I wanted it to be in keeping with the original, a proper old country house kitchen. Not in an over-styled way – just a big, warm, comfortable, working room.’

  ‘So are you getting people in to do every room?’

  She thought about this.

  ‘To be honest, I was wondering if we could do it ourselves. Once the kitchen’s in, we’re fine. There’s an electrician down there sorting out new wiring for the downstairs rooms. Upstairs can come when we get to it. It’s just a case of some sanding, painting, plastering. Have you ever done anything like that?’

  ‘No,’ said Leonardo. ‘Well, except painting.’ He bent his head towards his fresco.

  ‘I think we could do it, though. I’ve been looking forward to it. Getting my hands dirty – honest, hard work. Doing something real.’

  ‘Hey, my painting’s real.’

  ‘Of course. It’s my li
ne of business I’m not sure about.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ he said. ‘Let’s work up a sweat.’ He tore into his chicken sandwich and she felt that weak, virusy thing again. Suddenly her tuna on granary didn’t hold much appeal.

  Once the fitters had left for the evening, leaving a room stripped bare and thick with choking dust, she alerted Leonardo and dialled up a takeaway. Bledburn was not like LA, where you could have perfectly balanced, body-respecting meals delivered from a different place every day. No, here the choice was: pizza, curry, Thai. At Leonardo’s request, she ordered curry.

  ‘I don’t know if I dare eat this,’ said Jenna, looking bleakly at the array of foil trays oozing brightly coloured oils from between the edges of their cardboard lids. ‘My system might go into shock. I’ve lived on alfalfa sprouts and tofu for the last five years.’

  ‘Get it down your neck,’ said Leonardo with scorn. ‘I don’t even know what Alf whatsisname is. A decent biryani never did anyone any harm.’

  She watched with some admiration as he tore into a doughy pouch of naan bread. He had an unabashed appetite for life that made her wonder if she’d ever had anything similar. She had, of course, she had. She remembered the nights in that tiny little Italian restaurant in the early days of her relationship with Deano – garlic bread, pasta of the day, tricoloured ice-cream sundaes. What a glamorous treat it had all seemed; real grown-up, adult living. Was it still there? She tried to remember what it was called – Semifreddo’s. That was it.

  ‘How long since you had a curry?’ she asked him.

  ‘Too fucking long,’ he replied through a mouthful of chicken madras. ‘Did you order any beer?’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t deliver alcohol. I did buy you a couple of bottles at the shop earlier, though. They’re not very cold, I’m afraid. Once the kitchen’s done …’

  She reached into the box of provisions in the corner of the room and handed him a beer to go with his bottle of water.

  ‘Not having one yourself?’

  ‘Beer? Oh no. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Of course you could. Have the other one. I don’t like drinking alone. One must follow the rules of etiquette, you know.’ He was speaking in his fakey posh voice again.

  Jenna had misgivings about letting such a gaseous liquid into her body, but she comforted herself that it was just the one, just this once. In future she’d remember not to buy the stuff.

  ‘So, what are you thinking of doing in this room?’ he asked, looking around at the peeling plaster and general air of mildewed woe that surrounded them.

  They talked easily and with enthusiasm of different furnishing styles, floorings, paint versus wallpaper, lighting options, until the last grain of spice-drenched rice was disposed of. They had laughed at each other’s jokes, mirrored each other’s body language, and Jenna had found herself twirling strands of her hair far more often than she was accustomed to.

  ‘Where are you going to sleep?’ he asked, once the topic was exhausted. ‘Upstairs, I suppose?’

  ‘Eventually. I think I’ll just camp out in whichever room is warmest until I get round to the upper storey. It’s almost midsummer.’

  ‘The nights will be drawing in,’ said Leonardo, giving her a strange look. ‘Long, lonely nights. Don’t you miss him?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Diamond.’

  That was the sixty-million-dollar question. Did she?

  ‘I miss what we once had,’ she said, putting aside her empty beer can.

  ‘And what was that?’

  She had to think.

  ‘When it was just us. When we could just spend time fooling around, and laughing, and talking about rubbish. When we used to spend whole days in bed. When we thought we were soulmates and nothing would ever come between us.’

  ‘And when was that?’

  She exhaled heavily.

  ‘Fifteen years ago. Then our careers started to take off and nothing was ever the same again. We were pulled in every direction, every waking minute of our lives. It changed us. We became different people.’

  Leonardo grimaced. ‘Life’ll do that to you. So, how are you different now, compared to what you were like at twenty-odd?’

  ‘I’ve lost my starry eyes. I’ve seen what’s in the stars, and it isn’t that great.’

  ‘Wow, that’s poetic.’ Leonardo nodded sagely. ‘So you used to be romantic, and now you’re not?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I could be again …’ She floundered. ‘This is why I’m here, Leo. I’m trying to find what I am, what I want, after it’s been worn away by all the glitter.’

  ‘Terrible stuff, glitter,’ said Leonardo. ‘Gets everywhere.’

  She laughed.

  ‘It’s corrosive,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘Nobody gets that, until it’s too late. But don’t listen to me. I’m rambling.’

  There was a silence, strangely awkward.

  ‘You’re lonely,’ said Leonardo.

  ‘Yes. But I’m used to it now.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to be. Someone like you.’

  He had a look in his eyes that liquefied her.

  ‘Someone like me?’ she whispered. ‘What’s that?’

  He cupped her cheek in one hand and she let out a breath, almost of relief. Yes, he was touching her. Yes, now she realised she had wanted him to all day.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ he said. ‘And amazing.’

  ‘Oh, don’t,’ she said with a laugh of terror. This had to stop, didn’t it? This couldn’t happen, could it?

  ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You’ve made something of your life. You’re special. If I were Deano Diamond …’ He looked away, as if he could scarcely believe what he knew of that individual.

  ‘Leo …’

  ‘Hush. When was the last time you were kissed? Properly, I mean.’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘That’s a fucking disgrace.’

  There was a moment that seemed to stretch forever, when his pupils were giant in his eyes and all Jenna could think was Go on, then, if you’re going to. Kiss me!

  He tightened his hold on her face and tilted it up to him before ducking down to meet her lips with his.

  How can it hurt? It’s just a kiss. It’s all right to kiss.

  It was more than all right. Leonardo knew how to do it. Just the touch of his skin was electric, and when he brought his mouth to bear on her she thought she might swoon away into a froth of desire on the mattress. How had she forgotten the elemental pleasure of a warm, male, human body close to hers? She pushed her lips to his and gave him tacit permission to keep the pressure up, to increase it if need be.

  She placed her hand on his upper arm, making it clear that she wanted this togetherness. Her fingers curled tightly against his solid muscle, just about where his bad tattoo was. He, in his turn, circled her waist, keeping her pressed into him.

  His lips were fuller and more satisfying that Deano’s, which were thin and hard. There was a luscious softness to them that made the firmness of his kiss paradoxical and perfect. She could never tire of this feeling. It was better than wine and better than money and better than fame. If he carried on kissing her, she could be made to agree to anything.

  What kind of woman did that make her?

  She was slightly horrified with herself, but it still didn’t induce her to give up this glorious much-missed feeling, which was now spreading through her body like liquid flame.

  And why not? Her inner voice still tormented her with apprehensions of how wrong this was. Don’t I deserve a little human comfort, a little pleasure? After everything I’ve been through?

  The kisses were feverish now, hungry and all-consuming. Leo’s fingers raked through her hair, pulled at it, setting off little sparks in her scalp. He pressed and pinched and gripped her until they fell, sideways on, flat to the mattress.

  Now their legs rubbed and wrapped around each other and they were close as could be, no space between them for so mu
ch as a sliver of card. Jenna felt her chin and lower face grow slippery and a little raw from his evening stubble. His tongue broke through and she accepted the surrender with enthusiasm, pushing her own back at him.

  The more they took from each other, it seemed, the more they wanted. Each new act of wantonness opened up the possibility of more, an endless vista of sensual pleasures. She wanted him in her, her in him. While they were locked together like this, nothing else mattered.

  His hands travelled hungrily over her upper body, and when they found her breasts she did nothing to repel them. Instead she let him cup her sweater-clad curves, enjoying the slight but delicious friction of the soft wool against her nipples.

  She, for her part, tried to slip her hands inside his T-shirt, loving the flat firm warmth of what she found inside. His muscles moved against her palm and she felt them directing their efforts towards her, towards getting her and having her.

  His denim-covered knee slid up between her thighs and nudged them apart.

  They were panting now, heavy with lust and beginning to sweat.

  Snogging like a pair of teenagers at the school disco. He’ll give me a love bite next. Oh, but how could I have forgotten how good it feels?

  And now a hand inside her jumper, reaching for her bra, pulling down the cup on one side. Her nipple seemed to bloom against his touch, engorging itself to fill the space between his finger and thumb. Her knickers were freshly soaked, her sex alive and vibrating with sensation.

  Her phone rang.

  ‘Leave it,’ gasped Leonardo.

  But the years had conditioned Jenna to be on alert for every call, because the next call could change the game again. Reflexively, she slid out from underneath Leonardo and snatched up her phone in shaking fingers.

  It was Lawrence Harville.

  ‘Jenna, hi, I was just passing. Wondered if you’d fancy a drink?’

  ‘Just passing? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m parked at the end of your street. What do you say? There’s a decent place about five minutes walk from the house. Nothing fancy, but it’s snug and serves good beer, with minimal tracksuited rowdies.’

  She glanced over at Leonardo. Her tracksuited rowdy, albeit minus the tracksuit this evening.