Gabriel rejoined Marnie, who was dealing with her last eager fan, and they left the dining room soon afterwards.
‘A lawyer,’ India said, turning to me. ‘That’s not what you told me. Was it?’
‘Oh well, I mean, I think so. He said legal stuff …’ I said, feeling rather odd inside.
The maître d’ then started awarding more scrolls and awards to crew members, there was more clapping and whooping, and I watched as Marty finished up the cheese that had been left on the table.
‘He’s very fine-looking, very charming and so handsome,’ Marion crooned, glancing slyly at her husband.
‘All men look handsome in an evening suit,’ Marty said waspishly.
‘Hmm, yes, most of them,’ Marion responded with a withering look in his direction.
*
I would quite happily have made my excuses and gone to bed but there was no way I was going to be allowed to. India was feeling particularly devilish and practically put me in an armlock when I tried to escape to the lifts.
‘It’s our last gala night on the ship,’ she’d trilled as I attempted to escape. ‘We aren’t going to give up our night of fun just because of him, are we?’
I hadn’t had much choice after that. So when Ike and Caron went off for half an hour to feed the hungry slot machines in the casino, the four of us carried on to the ballroom.
It was still decorated with black and white drapes and harlequin masks from last night’s ball, and there were Peter and Paula, about to do an exhibition dance. Paula’s hair was slicked back into a severe bun and Peter looked like a rather dangerous spiv. I guessed it was going to be a tango.
Marty quickly found us a table and we unloaded our wraps and handbags and waited for the fun to start.
A bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket arrived swiftly afterwards and I decided I could have a good time.
‘Well, where’s this from?’ Marion asked, having ascertained it was nothing to do with anyone in our party.
I knew who loved champagne.
‘I hope you don’t mind?’
It was Gabriel, standing by the table, one hand on the back of the chair next to mine. I swear the back of my neck was prickling.
‘Why, thank you, that’s very courteous of you. Come and join us!’ Marty said with an expansive wave.
I tried to object. The prospect of spending the evening with him looking as gorgeous as that and to have him directing all his very masculine attention at me was too frightening. I was only just starting my whole determined, strong thing. I didn’t think I was practised enough to withstand him.
‘Oh, I’m sure Mr Frost doesn’t –’
‘I’d love to,’ he interrupted and sat down next to me, his knee touching mine. The warm drift of his aftershave was like an electric shock.
‘You don’t mind?’ He made a small, questioning movement of his hand, his eyebrows raised.
‘No, of course not,’ I said, trying to sound careless.
I had a sudden, hot flashback. Remembering how his body had felt under my hands. His breath on my neck. His voice in my ear.
Great. Just great.
Peter and Paula span, twirled and twitched their heads in fine tango style, her fingers splayed out like starfish. Peter pursed his mouth with macho determination and in a dramatic, trembling finale bent Paula back over one arm, her face a slash of scarlet lipstick under the spotlights.
There was a moment’s silence and then a thunderous round of applause. Marty and a few others stood up, cheering and whooping, and Marion laughed and clapped her hands with glee.
I felt rather than saw Gabriel lean in towards me. He touched my arm and I looked at him.
‘I have to see you,’ he said, his words hidden under the noise of the audience’s approval. I shook my head and looked away.
In the spotlight Peter straightened up and Paula did some spinning and twirling.
Marty was still applauding, slowly sitting back down again.
‘Did you see that? Good as anything you’ll see on TV. Who says I’m wrong?’
‘I have to see you,’ Gabriel said again, his voice low and urgent.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, feeling muddled. ‘I don’t know.’
The excitement of the exhibition tango over, the band began to play generic dance music and couples eagerly flooded on to the dance floor. Gabriel took my hand and steered me away from the table into the shadows at the edge of the floor. I should have resisted, but it would have been ‘making a scene’ and, if I’m really honest, I wanted to go with him. One night, that was what India had said. Even though, right now, she was staring at me with her mouth wide open, I gave her a look that said – I don’t know what I’m doing. But by then he’d put one arm around me and we had begun to waltz as if it was the most natural thing. I’ve no idea if it was waltz music, that’s just what we did. One two three. Making the box.
For a while we didn’t talk. Looking up out of the corner of my eye I could see the clean line of his jaw, his beautiful throat, the crisp white collar of his evening shirt.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been on the ship of course. I could hardly be anywhere else.’
‘You know what I mean,’ he said.
We shuffled on for a while, endlessly making the box and one two three-ing.
I could feel his hand against my back. His touch made me tremble. It was a miracle I could stand up.
‘I want …’
I looked up at him. ‘What? What do you want?’
Gabriel looked down at me; he looked at my mouth and his grey eyes darkened.
‘You know I want you. Don’t you?’
Not to see A Tribute to Space Travel then? I didn’t answer. I couldn’t hear the music any more. I couldn’t think properly.
‘I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you again.’
‘You’ll be going back to London,’ I said, ‘or New York.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be going back to the annexe at the end of my parents’ garden. We have no future together. This isn’t going to go anywhere. I don’t know why you’re bothering.’
‘Alexa?’
And that’s when it happened. I suddenly stopped caring. I knew there was no future, but oh God, I couldn’t give up one more night. I’d be strong tomorrow. Tonight I’d have what I wanted and what I needed. Because sometimes doing something bad for yourself was the right thing to do.
The band played on, cheesy dance tunes. The room filled up with couples, laughing and swaying together to the music. Gabriel and I moved further away and stood in the shadows, not pretending to dance any more, just looking at each other with a terrible need. And then he kissed me.
Chapter Twenty
Lovelight
Cognac, Campari, Cinnamon Sugar Syrup, Red Vermouth, Chocolate Bitters
Something had changed between us.
Gabriel took my hand and held my palm to his cheek before looking at me with a question in his eyes. There were things I could have said and things I could have thought but I didn’t remember any of them. All I knew was I wanted him just as much as he wanted me.
We went to his cabin then, walking up deserted corridors and stairwells. Somewhere there were people; hundreds of people. They were in the bars, the casino, in the theatre and on the dance floor. They were talking and laughing and arguing and getting drunk but we walked silently to his room and he closed the door behind us and took me in his arms and there was no one in the world but us.
This was different.
He sat down on the bed and pulled me towards him, his hands around my waist. He buried his face in my breasts and I felt his shoulders tremble under my fingertips.
‘Oh, Alexa,’ he said, ‘forgive me. I’ve been such a fool.’
‘Don’t say anything else,’ I said softly, looking into his eyes and pushing away the ever-present hope that he’d love me back. ‘We don’t need to talk.’
I took his face b
etween my hands and bent to kiss him. Then somehow I was on the bed with him, astride him. I pulled the bow tie undone, unbuttoned his shirt, and ran my hands over his warm, smooth chest. I could feel his heart beating with the same steady rhythm as my own.
He gently pushed me over on to my back and pulled my dress off over my head. Then he kissed me again, his mouth moving down my throat. This time there was no hurry, no urgency, none of the frantic desperation of last time, just patient tenderness that lured us on towards the most intense pleasure. He watched me, his eyes glowing above me in the shadows as he coaxed me and took me beyond that to a place of absolute peace. A place where I was relaxed and safe, but suddenly, unexpectedly, I wept, shaking in his arms, the tears running down on to his pillow.
He held me, stroking my hair back from my face, and kissed me.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he whispered. And I knew that in some ways it was. He might not love me, he might not really need me, but I would get over that, somehow. I wasn’t going back. I could take what he gave me, cherish it and stride forward without him. Not all experiences needed to be for ever.
He pulled the covers over me and we slept. I don’t think I could have moved if I’d wanted to. And fool that I was, I didn’t want to.
I woke and it was still night, the ship ploughing on towards England and the end of this adventure. There was a full moon gleaming through the windows. I looked across at Gabriel, seeing his profile dark against the paler light reflecting off the ocean. I lay awake, thinking, wondering about how much had changed since I boarded this ship. How twelve days, which had seemed such an agonising eternity to start with, had flown by. I couldn’t believe what a difference less than two weeks had made. I’d never felt different before, special. But somehow, right now, I really did. This wasn’t just a passing thing; I knew this new me was a better me. Sure, I was going to have to work at it, but wow, I felt wonderful. Maybe I was in control of my life at last.
I slid out of bed, collected my things as best I could and – thank God – found my evening bag and cabin key. Then I put on one of the towelling robes still hanging untouched in Gabriel’s bathroom and went back to my own bed next door.
I crept in, praying that India would be asleep and stay that way. I didn’t know if I wanted to talk about it all right now. In the morning I could brazen it out, maybe just put my disappearance down to a bit of confusion, alcohol, misunderstanding … oh, I don’t know. Hopefully something would occur to me. Not that she would buy it.
I climbed into bed as quietly as I could and pulled the duvet up under my chin. I lay very still, trying to guess from India’s breathing if she was awake, asleep, comatose or had been angrily waiting for me to turn up. I couldn’t tell. After a few minutes I began to relax and turned on my side as I always did, waiting for sleep to come and blot out the memories of Gabriel touching me, stroking my arms, kissing my toes and murmuring my name.
A little whisper came across the room from India’s bed. ‘Are you okay?’
I swallowed hard. Was I okay?
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I said, hoping I could hold on to that feeling of strength.
‘Gabriel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘India, I’m good,’ I said firmly, because I could tell she was worried. ‘Sorry if I woke you.’
I heard her turn over and the rustle of her bedclothes.
‘S’okay.’
After a few minutes I heard her familiar snore and knew I was alone with my thoughts.
It was like being a teenager again, remembering what he had said, how he had looked and the scent of him, which seemed to cling to me even now. He had touched me and pulled me hard against him, moving with me in the darkness as I cried out my wonder and pleasure.
He made you think you were different, didn’t he? Didn’t he?
What had I been doing? Using him? Having him? Shagging him? Fucking? Screwing? What did people call it?
I sighed, heavy with my thoughts; longing for the sleep that evaded me.
Damnation. Damn everything.
As the minutes ticked past, the warm, snuggly afterglow began to fade and a new uncertainty settled in my mind.
When he’s got what he wants, he loses interest.
I just hoped I was strong enough to deal with it. Perhaps the first thing I would have to do was declutter my mind of Gabriel Frost. Sweep all these memories into the equivalent of a locked trunk and leave them there.
*
When I woke up again it was nearly nine-thirty. India was still asleep in the other bed, one arm thrown up over her face. Soon we would start to sail up the English Channel towards Southampton. Soon we would be back on dry land with our luggage and our memories, waiting for Jerry to come and drive us home.
He doesn’t know your address; he doesn’t know your phone number.
No, and he didn’t bloody ask for them either, did he?
‘Bollocks,’ I said out loud.
‘Let me guess,’ India said. ‘Gabriel Frost?’
‘Yep.’
India turned over in bed and looked at me. ‘You twit,’ she said.
‘I know. I’m a bloody fool.’
‘Did you have fun?’
I sighed. ‘Oh my God, yes. That’s the trouble; he’s so frigging fantastic in bed. I don’t know what he does or how he does it but – wow.’
We were both silent for a few seconds. India picked up her phone and checked to see if Jerry had messaged her.
‘Oh well, just chalk it up to experience,’ she said. ‘You’ve never done something like that before – a no-strings-attached night?’
‘I suppose not.’ Had it really been as no-strings-attached as I’d wanted it to be?
‘And don’t do it again.’
‘No, I won’t.’
*
We decided to have a more formal breakfast in the Champs-Elysées restaurant to finish off our final day. I didn’t really fancy negotiating the scrum of the food court as the American contingent, sensing the approach of Southampton, were getting increasingly excited and noisy. As we passed the doors we could see some of them loading up their backpacks with bottles of water and muffins. I think some of them were expecting to see Land’s End or Stonehenge from the top deck of the ship. I wondered if Ike and Marty were still planning on going to Scotland for the day?
The Champs-Elysées restaurant was a haven of quiet and tranquillity in comparison. The maître d’ showed us to a lovely table where we could watch the sea slipping past. We stared out, wondering if we would be able to see the coast of Ireland, but in the distance there was a haze across the water.
I looked at the menu. ‘Fresh fruit and yogurt?’
India nodded thoughtfully. ‘Ye … no actually. I want a full English with two fried eggs, black pudding, sausages and then white toast and Marmite to follow.’
‘Good idea. I’ll have the same,’ I said.
‘I’m glad we kept up our healthy eating plan,’ India said, unfolding her napkin and grinning at me.
‘Have you had a good time?’ I asked, suddenly worried. It had been her hen holiday after all.
‘Of course I have,’ India replied. ‘To be honest I wasn’t sure I would. You know, cruises are something I usually think are just for old people who play shuffleboard, whatever that is. But it’s been great. And it’s certainly been much better than going to a rented house with a gaggle of other hens. At least you didn’t make me wear a pink sash or L plates. I mean we’ve got along okay – not that we don’t usually, but twelve days together is hard for anyone, right?’
‘India, I think we can admit that we’ve not been getting on as well as we used to.’ Wow, where did that come from? I was braver than I looked. ‘But I do think this trip has been good for us.’
She nodded. ‘But how are you?’
I shrugged, attempting to be dismissive. ‘I’ve been a twat, I know that, so we don’t need to talk about him any more, do we?�
��
‘Him? Gabriel Frost? Not unless you want to?’ she said, concern in her eyes, and I smiled falsely back, because I did – that was the trouble.
I was as bad as India wanting to talk about her wedding. I wanted to talk about Gabriel Frost all the time.
I wanted to sit in a comfortable chair with a blanket around my shoulders, a mug of hot chocolate and a new pack of chocolate digestives on a table next to me and think about him. I wanted to go over every conversation we had shared, contemplate how he had looked, remember how he had touched me and made love to me …
No, he hadn’t. I wasn’t going to think like that. It had been enjoyable but meaningless sex. We had been shagging. Bonking. Screwing. Fucking. Hadn’t we?
Suddenly I wanted to cry. I felt like covering my face with my stiff white napkin and howling. I could almost picture myself sobbing, inconsolable; the tears running down my face and leaving a damp patch on my black T-shirt. India would be worried. She’d pat my hand, then come and put an arm around me, and finally probably slap me about a bit to stop me from becoming hysterical. It would absolutely ruin her last day and her abiding memory of our trip would be taking me to the ship’s doctor to be sedated. So, I took a deep breath.
India fidgeted a bit with her napkin. ‘Today I’m going to work on my bestselling novel.’
‘I think that sounds like an excellent idea.’ It would give me plenty of time to think about Gabriel, in very specific detail … Oh, what was I even thinking!
Thankfully the waiter returned with our breakfast and some coffee, which I pounced on with relief. Perhaps I was just caffeine-light at the moment? That was why I couldn’t concentrate on anything.
I stirred some demerara sugar into my cup as a sort of brave, self-medicating gesture, while convincing myself it was healthier than white, and sipped my coffee. Where was Gabriel having his breakfast? Had he ordered room service perhaps? Or gone to the Louis Quinze restaurant for rich people and enjoyed caviar on toast or something equally ridiculous? Did he like coffee or tea in the morning? Or something weird like rooibos with liquorice?
Come Away With Me Page 21