by Ling, Maria
"About forty, I think," he said, grinning at her mischievously. "You ought to know, Sue, you were here. First to arrive and last to leave, as I recall."
"Only because I came in your car."
"True."
Jen was conscious of a pang of envy. There was no reason at all why Stuart should not have given Sue a lift, since she was still so afraid of driving, but somehow it rankled that he had. She wondered what Cathy had thought about it.
"And I earned my keep," Sue went on in a combative tone of voice, "so don't you start on me. I spent hours in that kitchen of yours!"
"You did," Stuart said in easy acknowledgement. "And you did a good job, too. If I ever want to serve up a thousand baked potatoes again, I know who to phone."
"And pizzas," Sue reminded him.
"And pizzas -- of course. I really admired the way you managed to heat them all, just by putting them in the microwave. That's real cooking, that is."
Sue reached out to grab a cushion from the nearest sofa, and threw it at him. He caught it neatly with one hand, and threw it back.
"You deal with him, Jen," Sue said in exasperation, fending it off. "Hit him or something."
Jen looked across at the lean muscular figure who was watching her from the doorway with a languid smile, as if daring her to try.
"Um…no," she said, pretending to consider it. "I don't think so."
"Coward," Sue said accusingly.
"That's me," Jen confessed.
"I'll get Karen to do it, then," Sue said, giving Stuart a threatening look.
"Do what?" Karen appeared in the doorway. "Am I being roped in for something?"
"I want you to hit Stuart for me," Sue told her simply, putting the cushion back on the sofa and tossing her dark hair, which had become disarrayed in the brief battle.
Karen slapped Stuart's arm obligingly.
"Will that do?"
"Perfect. Thank you, Karen."
Stuart smiled indulgently at them both.
"Actually I was just about to start on dinner," Karen said. "Chilli and rice all right for everyone?"
"I'll help you," Jen said.
Karen looked at her critically.
"Not in that lovely dress, you won't. Anyway, Cathy's giving me a hand." She glanced up at Stuart, and it seemed to Jen that they exchanged a brief significant look. "Rhoda is having a shower, she'll be down later. And Peter's digging out his book, he says he's sure it's in his bag somewhere. Oh, and he's got your bodhran, Sue, he's bringing it downstairs."
"Thanks." As Karen disappeared again, Sue gave Stuart a reproachful look. "Are you really going to let Karen do all the cooking tonight?"
Stuart shrugged.
"She said she wanted to. And she likes it. If you want to make yourself useful, ask her if she'll let you lay the table. I've been warned off."
"Right." Sue nodded, satisfied, and set off into the hallway, leaving Jen and Stuart on their own.
"I'll go and get my guitar," Jen said quickly, unwilling to be alone with him.
"No." He reached out with his left arm, blocking her path, and then slipped it around her waist, pushing her back into the room. With his right hand, he closed the door behind them. "I want to talk to you."
The easy way in which he held her made a warm feeling well up inside Jen. She felt her knees weaken underneath her, and allowed herself to be guided further into the room.
"Karen's been putting me through the wringer," Stuart said ruefully, looking down at her. "She reckons I've said something to upset you. She's also found some new, inventive names to call me. Toad, for one." He flashed her a quick, self-deprecating smile. "I've never been called that before."
Jen's mind swirled in a confusion of emotions. She wished Karen had said nothing about it. She wished she herself had shown a little more restraint, instead of getting so upset by his behaviour at her flat. And she wished, she really wished, that he would not stand quite so close to her, close enough for her to breathe in the warm smell of his skin, to feel the firm length of his body touching hers, making her heart beat thunderously and her palms begin to feel damp. She wished, she really wished, that he would not still have one strong arm around her waist, holding her, his hand resting lightly on the silk fabric of her dress, warming her skin underneath.
"She also reckons I'm an idiot," he murmured slowly, bringing up his right hand to stroke her face with gentle fingertips, "for letting you get away from me in the first place. And I have to say -- " he looked at her steadily, with eyes that were like a sunlit ocean -- "I have to say I think she might be right."
Jen felt her breathing grow fast and shallow. She had to get away -- she had to! Yet she could make no movement, only look back at him helplessly with wide wondering hazel eyes.
Stuart bent slowly, and began to kiss her. At the first touch of his lips she felt electrified, as though every cell in her body had been stunned into life. Without her intending it, her mouth opened under his, and she felt his tongue slide gently between her lips and meet hers. She gave a small sigh, and relaxed against him. Her legs felt as though they had turned into clear jelly, and the centre of her body burned.
Cathy!
Jen stiffened abruptly, and pushed herself away from him with all her strength. She put the back of her hand to her lips, as if she could wipe away the memory of the touch of his mouth against hers.
"What?" He looked bewildered, and a little hurt. "What's wrong with you?"
Jen gasped, suddenly feeling as though he had dashed ice-cold water over her.
"What's wrong with me?" she repeated incredulously. "Nothing!" She took a deep, steadying breath. This was a degree of callousness that she would not have believed even him capable of. "I just happen to believe in fidelity, that's all." Her voice was cold and cutting, although she was still shaking from the contact with him.
"You believe in -- " he broke off, and gave her a long look. "Oh. I see. Sorry, then."
Sorry? Jen thought in shocked horror. Sorry?
"I'll -- " he rubbed his forehead distractedly -- "I'll see how Peter's getting on."
"You do that."
Alone in the vast living room, Jen walked shakily over to one of the sofas and sat down. She had thought it was all over between Stuart and her, but this encounter had made it perfectly obvious that it was not. The overwhelming physical attraction was still there, the attraction they had both been aware of from the very first time they set eyes on each other, and which it had been impossible not to respond to.
She could hardly believe that it could take so little to fan that feeling into flame once again -- a look, a touch, nothing more. And Stuart being the man he was, he clearly had no problems with the idea of pursuing a liaison with her, even while his girlfriend was staying in the same house, and expecting his child.
She shivered. If he could handle two women at once with such easy indifference, why not more? How many others were there -- how many others had there been? Perhaps the reports of his romances were not so exaggerated after all. And perhaps she herself had been just another notch on his bedpost, even while she thought that what they had together was something special, something she had never thought to experience with anyone -- a love so absolute that every other feeling paled into insignificance.
Absently she pulled a cushion towards her and sat holding it in her arms, staring into the middle distance, remembering how it had been five years ago, when she first saw Stuart…
CHAPTER FOUR
"You'll love it, Jen! Trust me." Rhoda was at her most enthusiastic, flinging her hands into the air to emphasise her point, and nearly unshipping the guitar-case on her shoulder. "It's a great little place. And there's absolutely no pressure. You just turn up, and if you feel like joining in, you go ahead, and if you don't, you can just sit and listen. It's ace!"
Jen smiled. The idea of an informal musicians' evening every Monday night appealed to her. Mondays were always quiet in a pub. It made sense to put something on that would draw people, without ma
king it too much of an event.
"Is there usually a good turn-out?" she asked, hefting her own guitar-case out of the way of passers-by. The evening was warm and dry, with the smell of spring in the air, and the pavements were busy with people.
"Usually. It varies, of course. Someone might have a gig somewhere else, or be working night shifts, or just not be in the mood. But mostly there's a good few of us. Stuart's fairly regular, thankfully. You'll like him, Jen. He's a really nice guy, and the best guitarist I've ever heard. Plus he's the most good-looking man on the face of the earth, only he doesn't seem to know it. Just the type for you."
Jen laughed.
"I'm not in the market for a boyfriend. All I want out of life right now is a season's worth of gigs."
"Who doesn't?" Rhoda asked. "But you'll adore him -- see if you don't. I do."
They turned into the pub, and Jen manoeuvred the case skilfully through the two sets of doors. It was something of an art in itself, and she was learning the way of it.
"I've never been in here before," she said, looking around her appreciatively at the oak beams, plain furniture and dim lights. A real open fire flickered on a hearth in the middle of the room, and the red gleam was reflected in the copper pans and jugs that were on display in various corners of the room.
"It's a bit out of the way," Rhoda agreed. "You wouldn't stumble over it -- you have to know it's here." She looked across to a couple of tables huddled together at the far side of the central hearth. "There they are!"
Jen looked. There were a handful of young men gathered around the tables, each with a pint glass in front of him, and a selection of guitars leaning against every available surface. One of them, she thought, simply had to be the Stuart of Rhoda's description. He was unbelievably handsome, with thick dark hair grown a fraction too long, giving it an unkempt look, strong regular features and a flashing white smile. Even as she watched him, he glanced in her direction, and she met a pair of brilliant azure eyes that knocked the breath out of her.
"Stuart, my darling." Rhoda was walking towards him unconcernedly. Swallowing hard, Jen forced her unwilling legs to follow. "This is Jen, she's a friend of mine and Karen's."
"Hi Jen," Stuart said, and his voice was everything she could have wished for, deep and strong, with a slow lingering quality that made her think of long lazy days on a sunlit beach. He glanced at the case she was carrying. "You play the guitar, too?"
"Does she play!" Rhoda exclaimed. "She has a gift, that girl."
Jen blushed fiercely. She would never admit to anything so presumptious -- certainly not in the presence of this superhuman being.
"I play a bit," she said modestly.
"Where is Karen?" asked another young man, a slim sandy-haired one Jen recognised as Peter, a friend of Karen's who had been round to the flat once to drop off some sheet music.
"She's singing," Rhoda said. "She's booked for the next couple of weeks."
"Good for her," Stuart said, picking up his pint. "She deserves it -- she's got a fantastic voice."
"She does. Move up, Peter, give me some space."
The sandy-haired youth moved obligingly and Rhoda sat down next to him, leaving Jen no option but to take the seat next to Stuart.
"Shouldn't we get our drinks?" she said uncertainly, glancing towards the bar, where a well-endowed girl in a tight white top was drawing beer from one of the taps.
"No need," Stuart told her. "It's all on the house. They'll bring them over in a second."
Jen pulled a face.
"I'm not that keen on beer," she said, with a touch of embarrassment.
He grinned at her.
"You'd better develop a taste for it now."
"Don't tease her, Stuart," Rhoda said firmly. "They'll ask you, Jen, don't worry."
The girl at the bar raised the flap and walked over towards their table. Her black skirt was as short and close-fitting as it could possibly be, but some semblance of decency was maintained by her wearing thick black tights underneath.
"Hi Rhoda," she said, setting a half-pint glass down on the table, and looking expectantly across at Jen.
"Tina, meet Jen," Stuart said. "Friend of Karen's. She wants a pint."
"Leave her alone," Tina said. "What are you having, Jen?"
Peter chuckled to himself, and Rhoda gave Stuart a triumphant look.
"Soda water, please," Jen said, braving the inevitable stares. "With ice and lemon."
Tina nodded and went back to the bar.
"You don't drink?" Stuart asked.
"Sometimes. Not when I'm playing."
"Fair enough." He glanced around the room, which was filling up. "I suppose we should be getting started, then."
Jen unzipped her case and got the guitar out.
"Nice," Stuart said, looking over the low-action neck and the Washburn mark.
"I saved up for it for ages."
"I bet you did." He reached into his pocket, and brought out a short glass tube, which he threaded over the middle finger of his left hand. Then he picked up the guitar which was leaning against his jeans-clad thigh. A Martin, Jen noticed: a good guitar. "Okay, Pete, what do we play first?"
"What's that?" Jen asked, looking curiously at the tube.
He flashed her a smile.
"You've never seen a slide before?"
Jen shook her head mutely.
"Slide blues?" He played a few notes, demonstrating. "You use the slide -- that's this thing here -- " he held up the finger in its glass case -- "to stop the strings instead of your fingers. So you don't use the frets at all, and you get total control. You can vary the pitch of a note by exactly the amount you want." Jen watched, fascinated, as he made the guitar give a long wailing sound by moving the slide along a single string. "But you can still play it as usual if you want to do that." He played a quick scale, and then a couple of chords. "Only you have to remember it's tuned to slide, not to normal. So all your finger positions have to be different."
"It works like a sliding capo," Jen said.
"Spot on. That's exactly it. But you get a totally different sound -- that typical blues sound. You can't get it any other way." He sighed. "Of course, to do it right you need a steel guitar, but I can't afford that." Another flashing smile which made her feel weak all over. "When I'm rich and famous, the first thing I'll buy is a steel Dobro."
"A Dobro?" Jen repeated quizzically.
"Steel guitars. The best." A look of pure longing came into his eyes, the look most men only had when they talked about cars or football teams.
"Stop showing off, Stuart," Rhoda said. "She's not interested in slide guitar."
"She is," Jen said pleasantly. "She's intrigued."
Stuart looked at her, a long attentive look, as if he had suddenly seen something in her that he had not noticed before.
"They used to use filed-down bottlenecks," he said. "The original bluesmen. But you can buy these now -- much safer." Jen smiled at the understatement. "You can get metal ones as well, I've got a few of them, but glass is better. It gives a smoother sound."
One of the youths at the other table leaned across.
"Shut up, Stuart. Are we playing or not?"
"Okay," Stuart said equably.
Jen sat and listened for a while, content to watch Stuart's fingers move confidently over the strings. He was completely immersed in it, she noticed: he had that look of absolute concentration which meant that nothing existed for him except the music. She was thrilled by it. She felt the same way herself when playing.
And the things he could do with that guitar! She had never heard anything like it. The instrument seemed to come alive under his hands, to sing and wail and scream and sob. It was amazing. She sat and watched, cradling her guitar, letting the music fill her body and her mind.
He ended on a long high note, softly fading into silence, and then looked at her. It was a look she could drown in. She knew then that this was the man she had been waiting for all her life, without even knowing it.<
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She began to play, quietly at first, picking up where he had left off. A simple arpeggio of chords, building slowly towards a crescendo. She heard other guitars fall in with her lead, a gentle background support that enriched the sound and filled the room. Stuart smiled at her, and began a ringing line of his own, improvising easily over her chords. The guitars spoke to each other: question and answer, tension and resolution. All the while his eyes were in hers: they looked at each other, entranced, their entire consciousness focused on the music that flowed through them and around them, taking on a life of its own. Gradually it slowed, stilled, became a simple unity of sound, and then silence.
A storm of applause burst out around the room, and Jen recollected with a start that they were in the middle of a crowd of people. She had forgotten it while she was playing -- she had thought herself alone with him, and with the warm feeling that was unfolding inside her.
Stuart reached out for his pint, looking likewise somewhat startled.
"You were right, Rhoda," he said, with a disarming look back at Jen. "Can she play!"
"I told you so," Rhoda said. "Well done, Jen -- that was beautiful."
"Thank you." Jen realised she was trembling with emotion. She put her guitar down carefully, and picked up her glass of soda water with both hands.
"I've met the most wonderful man in the world," she told Karen that night, as they had their regular cup of tea before going to bed. She had stayed up until Karen came home. She was not tired -- she could not imagine how she would ever get to sleep again -- and next to seeing him, she wanted nothing better than to talk about him.
"Stuart was there, then," Karen said, smiling at her. "I knew the two of you would get on like a house on fire."
Jen did not attempt to deny it.
"So when is he coming around to see you?"
"I don't know. He didn't say." He had looked it, though, as she picked up her guitar-case and said goodnight. And he knew, by that time, that she shared a flat with Karen.
"Tomorrow," Karen said knowingly, cradling her mug in her hands. "Tomorrow. I'll bet you anything."