1. Get a job!—preferably promoting a bar, which is a great way to meet new people, according to ROCK! magazine
2. Get a flat!—something gorgeous and stylish in the best part of town. N.B. V. close to the bar!
3. Get a wax!
She remembered that last entry being based more on dreading what her rapidly changing body might do next rather than any horrific hirsute happenings. And how many times had that entry been deferred? And why did she still shift position nervously when she read it?
She pulled a face as she got up to check her top lip in the mirror. Flopping back down again, she remembered her mother’s pale face when a visit to the beautician loomed. Perhaps that was the answer to her waxing phobia. She could still hear her young self asking, ‘Are you all right, Mama?’ And her mother’s response: ‘You’ll understand one day what it means to be a woman, Lucia, and what we have to go through for our men …’ Hefty sigh at that point.
All sorts of images had flashed into Lucia’s young brain—nostril-hair-plucking, blackhead-excising, even earwax-removal with one of those long, pointy things—but never had she imagined that her mother was referring to that most delicate of regions, let alone that some stranger was going to view her private bits close up prior to coating them in molten wax like some medieval torturer. And it didn’t finish there—as Lucia had discovered in that invaluable teenage self-help tome known to one and all as ROCK! Magazine. Then this female Torquemada was going to rip away at those nether regions without so much as a by-your-leave.
Youch!
No way, José!
Back to the list. The next entry after wax, was
4. Get a tan
Lucia remembered a columnist in ROCK! insisting that this must be subtle—a mere sun-kissed whisper that would fool any man into thinking it was natural.
5. Get a cool new wardrobe!
One that did not include a bobbly polyester uniform in a shade that might once have been white, presumably.
6. Get a hairdo
This prompted another visit to the mirror, where she lifted up her haystack hair. Most people complained that their hair was too thin or too straight. She was currently experiencing the opposite problem, known as The Inexplicable Explosion of Frizz. Without her styling products and gadgets, and without money to get it done in a salon, she was on her own.
7. Get a gym membership
First off, gym memberships cost money. And there was a more important consideration: without the hairdo, the tan, the wax and the cool new wardrobe, she was never going to make it through the door of a decent gym.
8. Get a good dance teacher—for the Samba, preferably. Someone like the old gaucho Ignacio, on Nero Caracas’s ranch. Judging by the way Ignacio vaulted the fence when I decided to ride Nero’s fire-breathing monster stallion bareback, Ignacio has still got some moves in him!
9. Get a gag for her polo-playing brothers—so they can’t share any embarrassing secrets with any men I might attract once I’ve completed all of the above.
10. Get a (non-polo-playing) man
And there the list ended. Lucia smiled as she remembered Ignacio teaching her to dance the Samba, and quite a few other dances as well, bringing his ancient ghetto blaster, as Ignacio had called his battered radio, to the hay barn, where she’d been able to blunder about undisturbed. Okay. Looking on the bright side. She was still podgy and in need of a suntan with a frizz ball on her head, but this babe could dance.
‘Cheers, Margaret,’ Lucia murmured, wrapping her frozen hands around the warm flask of chocolate. This small, kind act of someone who had so little made Lucia more determined than ever to help her elderly friend.
‘And hello, Luke,’ she added, addressing Luke’s smouldering poster just inches from her bed.
Hopping out again, she took a closer look. Wow hardly covered it. Lucia’s brothers frequently featured on billboards, but always in full polo rig and usually mounted on a horse. They were certainly never caught half-naked, sluicing themselves down, in a shot Lucia couldn’t imagine strait-laced Luke agreeing to in a million years.
‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’ she murmured, taking full inventory of Luke’s previously hidden assets.
And then there was the pose. Brandishing a whip as he glared into the camera, Luke was naked to his washboard waist, his hard tanned torso accessorised by nothing more than sharp black stubble and a steel watch that could probably tell his position in relation to the moon. A pair of obscenely revealing riding breeches and knee-high leather boots completed an image guaranteed to make any girl’s day.
Posters were a safe way to appreciate the finer points of one of the world’s fittest men. She liked that. As she jumped about and blew on her hands to keep warm before hypothermia set in, Lucia guessed the only way Luke would have been caught out in a shot like that was through the involvement of her school friend and ruthless sister-in-law Holly. Holly was a journalist at ROCK! magazine, and had tamed—sorry—was married to Lucia’s brother Ruiz. Capturing Luke in such a provocative pose would have been an incredible scoop for her.
Three cheers for Holly the reporter! Lucia concluded, chalking one up for the girls. She took another look at Luke’s centrefold.
Goodness, Luke was big …
No wonder she was having erotic dreams. Trying hard not to fixate on Luke’s clinging breeches and the improbable-sized bulge within, Lucia shook her head. She could admire all she liked, but it certainly would never happen now. It couldn’t. She couldn’t. One thing was sure: after this unveiling he could stick his disapproval the next time they met.
The next time they met?
There was nothing on her to-do list that ruled against meetings with an approved family friend, she reasoned, climbing into bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats o’er vales and hill …
I’m the only twenty-four-year-old I know who doesn’t need to take her pill.
Anon.
Are all poets destined to end up on the (remainder) shelf?
Pull yourself together, Lucia!
RESTING her cheek against the cold wet glass the next morning, Lucia stopped scribbling in her journal and stared out of the caravan window at the windswept shore. If she had wanted distance from her brothers she had certainly got it here. She missed them, but no way was she going to ask them for the money to help Margaret. If she did she’d be right back to square one. Yes, she loved her brothers, but Nacho especially made no distinction between caring and smothering, which had left her gasping for freedom in the shadow of four powerful men and their saintly friend Luke.
Luke …
Did her body have to respond with such unbridled delight to the idea of so much stern, glowering disapproval locked inside one hot man?
Maybe she liked Luke’s steely self-control too much, Lucia reflected, glancing at his poster image. It was certainly enough to overrule her fear of men.
Most men. Picking up her bag, she made a mental note to get the strap repaired. It had suffered a few injuries when she had used it to beat off the concierge. Teeth, nails, handbag, heel of her shoe … A frantic struggle which seemed so feeble now she looked back. But at least she had got away. Eventually.
The concierge had made her feel dirty, calling her names as she ran from the room, clutching her ripped shirt together. He’d said she was asking for it, when nothing could be further from the truth. She did like parties, and she liked flirting with hot guys, but now she could see that her fun-filled reputation had done her no favours. She could just imagine Luke’s scorn if he ever found out what had happened. Getting changed in the staffroom without remembering to put the lock on the door? It was such a stupid thing to do. But she had to try to put it behind her or she would never get on with her life.
Tilting her chin, Lucia gave Luke’s image one last confident stare, but the ache still remained. Where was he now? With the blonde? Perhaps Luke had sensed she was tainted—that the concierge had had his hands
all over her. Everywhere. It made her stomach heave just thinking about it. She could still remember his fingers intimately feeling … squeezing … probing, and his sour breath choking her as she struggled to escape. If Luke knew that he would just think, Party girl. What do you expect?
She jumped as her phone rang, and then frowned as she checked the number. She had to take a moment before she could answer. Talk of the devil—though Luke would have no truck with hell. What? No air-con? Luke would be more likely to hold a season ticket to cloud extreme, where he could strum his whip beneath the glow of an oat-fed halo. No way would he waste his time on an aerodynamically inefficient tail and a totally useless pitchfork unless he could use it to strike a polo ball.
‘Luke,’ she said finally, when she had calmed down a little. ‘What a nice surprise. Did you leave something at the club?’
‘In the unlikely event I had left something at the club I would go back to pick it up. I wouldn’t call you.’
Well. That told her. Luke couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic had he tried. Crouched on the bench seat, with her legs drawn up, she hugged the phone. ‘Of course not,’ she said, injecting energy into her voice. ‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘I didn’t see you when I left the club. You were working, I expect.’
‘I’m sorry. I—’
‘Strange,’ he rapped over her. ‘The first time I saw you at the club you assured me you weren’t working there often. But the manager says you are. And he knows you as Anita. What’s going on, Lucia? Why are you lying to me?’
‘What I do or don’t do is none of your business, Luke.’
‘Nacho made it my business.’
‘So you’re my brother’s deputy now?’
‘I’m your brother’s friend,’ Luke argued quietly.
Luke couldn’t have disarmed her faster. There was no point starting a feud with someone Nacho loved when the very last thing she wanted was a total break with her family. ‘So why are you calling me?’
‘I’m concerned about you, Lucia.’
‘Well, don’t be. And if my brothers are so worried, why don’t they call? Or are they too busy playing polo?’
‘Why are you always so suspicious, Lucia?’
‘Because you’re all joined at the hip,’ she flashed. ‘And because my brothers never like me to have too long a leash. Isn’t that right, Luke?’
There was silence at the other end of the line.
Damn him! Luke had made her feel homesick, reminding her of all the warmth and support she received in Argentina. It made everything here seem bleaker—the wind rattling round the caravan, the freezing cold water, the hideous episode with the concierge which she was doing her best to block out, and then her subsequent high-speed drive through the night, reckless …
And her lousy job at the club.
A dead-end job to end all dead-end jobs.
Her heart sank like a stone. She couldn’t bear for gorgeous, glorious, successful Luke to know her life was a complete and utter mess. And she certainly couldn’t bear for him to share that little nugget of information with her brothers. If they knew what had happened … How they would blame her for her frivolous, careless party-girl lifestyle. She deserved this, didn’t she?
Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she said briskly, ‘Is this a courtesy call, or does it have some purpose, Luke?’ She needed him to get off the line fast, before her voice broke.
‘I’ve never heard you in this mood before,’ he said suspiciously.
‘Independent, do you mean?’ Her fingers had turned white on the phone. It was one thing acting tough, but when she really wanted to cling to Luke’s disembodied presence like a brainless limpet until all the bad things went away it was far better to end the call as soon as she could.
‘Are you still there, Lucia?’
‘I’m here.’
Luke checking up on her was nothing new. She had been an object of amusement for Luke and her brothers for as long as Lucia could remember. They thought she was a fancy, frilly little joke—a novelty, a pet they would like to keep locked up in a box until they decided to bring her out and coo over her on those rare occasions when they weren’t trying to murder each other on the polo field.
‘Just tell my brothers everything’s fine.’
‘Is everything fine?’ Luke repeated suspiciously. ‘Maybe I should check that statement for myself.’
‘If you’ve nothing better to do. You’ll only make a wasted journey. I’m working all hours.’
‘Is that so?’ he said.
‘I do take a break from partying sometimes.’
And now tears were backing up behind her eyes. She knew what Luke and her brothers thought of her. Flighty Lucia, they had used to call her, flapping their arms and laughing. What a joke that was. And of course little Lucia was always getting herself into trouble, always needing to be bailed out, they used to say, while one of them leaned his forearm on the top of her head. Well, not this time. She was none of those things now.
Steadying her voice, she said, ‘You’re actually quite lucky to catch me—’
‘The club opens at eight in the morning?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know about my second job. I saw you getting cosy with Van Rickter. I’m sure he told you everything you wanted to know.’
And what was Luke doing in Cornwall, having meetings with a man like Van Rickter? Lucia wondered. Was Luke going to buy the club? Her stomach sank. She knew nothing about Luke or his life, Lucia realised.
‘Lucia?’
‘I’m still here,’ she confirmed.
She wished she could tell Luke about Margaret and how things were, talk things through with him. Luke had always had a clear head on his shoulders. But his tone was brisk and impersonal and didn’t invite confidences.
‘Where are you calling from?’ Curling into a small defensive ball, she pictured him relaxing back somewhere warm and luxurious, with his feet up and a coffee to hand as he made this duty call.
‘In transit. Why?’
‘No reason.’ She could hardly ask where he was in transit from or to without seeming unduly interested. ‘You didn’t tell me why you’re in Cornwall …’
‘Didn’t I?’
‘Do you have business with Van Rickter?’ she pried. ‘Are you calling me from the Grand?’
‘So many questions, Lucia.’ The first hint of amusement coloured Luke’s voice. ‘I’m not far away, as it happens.’
The blonde was probably having her nails done and Luke had nothing better to do than harass her, Lucia guessed, flashing a glare at his centrefold. If there was one thing guaranteed to switch her thoughts from her own screw-ups it was wondering how one of the sharpest men on the planet had been caught in such a picture and by a Technicolor blonde. She had never known Luke to let his guard down before.
‘So, what do you do when you’re not working, Lucia?’ he said.
‘Oh, you know …’
‘That bad?’
‘I’m usually so exhausted after work I just sleep.’ True, unfortunately, but definitely the safest option.
‘So you wouldn’t want to come to supper with me tonight?’
‘With you?’ Luke couldn’t have surprised her more. There were so many reasons why she wanted to go out with him, and so many reasons why she shouldn’t.
‘Why not?’ he said, adding casually, ‘It is your birthday, isn’t it?’
Her brothers must have put him up to this, Lucia realised as her heart thundered a tattoo. ‘Yes, it is,’ she confirmed. Matching Luke for nonchalance, she added, ‘Don’t tell me you’re asking me out on a date?’
‘You wish,’ he countered, with a flash of the camaraderie they had shared before hormones kicked in. ‘Well?’ he demanded in the same offhand tone. ‘What’s your answer?’
She had to release her stranglehold on the phone and shake her hand to get the blood flowing through her fingers again before she could think straight. If she accepted, and Luke started q
uestioning her, how would she explain to him what one part freedom in Cornwall to nine parts humiliation in London felt like? How would he react when she told him that there wasn’t a chance she was going to turn her back on her new life? How would she hide from Luke what had happened in London?
And what about the blonde?
No. She couldn’t accept. If she went out with Luke it would be—
What? Surrender? Defeat? Weakness? What?
Wasn’t she guilty of overreacting just a little bit?
While she was trying to decide Luke started talking ‘horse’—a language spoken exclusively by Luke and her brothers. Dreams were almost always better than reality, Lucia reflected, gazing at Luke’s centrefold, thinking maybe she owed it to the Sisterhood to warn the women of the world about him. Luke’s poster image suggested an impossibly sexual animal with a body designed for sin, when she knew the only type of physical activity that really got Luke’s juices flowing involved a bit, a bridle and a pair of really sharp spurs.
‘Well, if everything’s okay your end, Lucia?’
‘What?’ She realised he was about to sign off. ‘Don’t go yet—I mean … It’s um … fun talking to a dinosaur.’ She laughed, hoping Luke hadn’t detected the flash of desperation in her voice. No one said she had to go cold turkey. A familiar voice was like tonic wine. You drank it down and then you felt better. Right?
‘Now you want to talk?’ he said dryly. ‘How about you start with what really brought you back to Cornwall? And for goodness’ sake call your brothers, will you?’
‘I have.’ So many times. But they were always playing polo. And as for Cornwall … ‘I’m just taking a break in Cornwall.’
No way was she telling Luke the truth. It would be the easiest thing in the world to howl down the phone that things hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped they would, and could Luke please lend her the money to fly home? But if she did that this climb-back of hers would be over before it had started, and she would have proved everyone right about her. Deep inside she would hate herself. She would be a failure and everyone would know it.
The Man From her Wayward Past Page 4