The Real Fantasy

by Caroline Anderson

  Her tongue circled him and then tugged, suckling, taking the breath from his lungs in a gasp of ecstasy.

  ‘Linsey,’ he groaned. ‘For God’s sake, stop.’

  She moved over him but he stopped her, the last fragments of his presence of mind focusing on the need to protect her. He handed her a condom in a foil packet and lay back, his lip caught between his teeth, dying as she slowly, teasingly caressed it on.

  Then she moved over him again, drawing him into her hot, tight, secret depths. She moaned and rocked against him, and his control shattered. Grasping her hips, he drove into her, again and again, until with a little scream she fell against him, sobbing his name, her body convulsing round him.

  He felt the pulsing start deep inside him, then a groan erupted from his throat as the life-force surged from him, leaving him drained.

  His arms, weak and almost useless, wrapped around her and drew her still closer, and with a wordless murmur he fell asleep.

  Linsey lay against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest, his arms relaxed against her ribs as he slept. It was too hot but she couldn’t bear to move. She belonged here, cradled against his chest, in his arms.

  So it was ridiculous. They hardly knew each other.

  And yet they belonged together, two sides of a coin, like night and day, darkness and light, fantasy and reality.

  She moved at last, easing away from him, taking the condoms and flushing them down the loo, putting the phone back on the hook, picking up their discarded clothes in the bathroom. Heavens, it looked like a scene from a rampant movie, she thought with a very womanly smile.

  She ached, her body tender from the unaccustomed attention of a man.

  And what a man.

  She smiled again. He was a wonderful lover. She had known he would be, at least with her. Their souls called to each other, deny it though he might.

  She pulled on his T-shirt and nothing else, and pottered about in the kitchen, clearing up a little and making some tea.

  He came up behind her, pulling her into his arms, and she went without a murmur. His hand slid up her thigh and discovered her nakedness, and he groaned.

  She laughed throatily and smacked his hand.

  ‘No. Enough.’

  ‘Are you sore?’ he asked, nibbling her neck.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ll recover.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ His hand slid up her back, cradling her against his chest. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Linsey,’ he murmured, and kissed her.

  The phone rang. ‘Damn,’ he muttered, ‘I think someone’s watching us. Every time I kiss you, that phone rings!’

  He picked up the receiver and barked, ‘Jarvis.’ His face softened.

  ‘Sorry, Rhys. What can I do for you?’

  He looked at Linsey, and his face contorted in dismay. ‘Yes, of course. No problem. Linsey’s here—she can help me. No, Rhys, don’t worry. That’s fine. Bring them over.’

  He put the phone down. ‘Rhys has tracked his wife down. He wants to leave the kids with us overnight and go and talk to her.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Matthew’s smile was wry. ‘Look on the bright side—it’ll give your body time to recover before I pounce on you again.’

  She laughed. ‘I think I’d rather put up with the pain. How many and what sort?’

  ‘Mark, five, Emma, three, and Bibby, who’s nearly one.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Terrific. No wonder she left.’ Matthew laughed. ‘They’re sweet kids.’

  ‘Good. Shall I go and buy some fish fingers?’

  He grinned. ‘Yes—but I should get dressed first.’

  She stuck her tongue out at him, ran upstairs and pulled on some clothes. Three kids for the weekend. So much for romance!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RHYS’S wife was in London, he told them, staying with an old friend. He had tracked her down via another friend, and she had been only too happy to pass on the information. It seemed that Judy’s own friends were somewhat disenchanted with the way she had treated Rhys, a fact that Linsey thought spoke volumes.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ he asked. ‘I’ve written down the number where you can get me, just in case there’s a crisis. If you do have a problem, please ring. I can always see Judy another time if necessary.’

  ‘There won’t be a crisis,’ Matthew assured him. ‘Just relax and go, and talk to her and forget about the children. They’re in safe hands.’

  Rhys’s smile was strained. ‘If you say so. It was you I was worried about, actually, not them. They’re being rather demanding at the moment. Their mother’s precipitate departure seems to have screwed them up well and truly, especially Mark. He’s the worst to deal with. Emma’s very quiet, on the other hand, and I’m more worried about her, in fact.’

  ‘And Bibby?’

  He smiled tenderly and looked down at the baby perched on his arm, playing with a pen. ‘Bibby? Bibby’s fine—aren’t you, Bibbs? She’ll scream blue murder when I go, but she’ll settle.’

  He handed the baby to Matthew, and immediately she wriggled round and cried, reaching out for her father. He called the two older ones, who were running round the garden like maniacs, and scooped them up for a hug and a kiss.

  Mark looked sulky and unhappy, but Emma just clung to her father and had to be prised off. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow in time for tea,’ he assured them. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘Are you bringing Mummy back?’ Mark asked, kicking the step with the toe of his trainers.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Rhys met Linsey’s eyes and looked desperate. ‘Because I don’t think she wants to come back with me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s what I’m going to find out,’ Rhys said gently.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I get back, all right? I must go now.’

  Bibby was still crying and holding her arms out for him, and Matthew’s attempts to distract her with the pen were failing hopelessly.

  ‘Just go,’ he said to Rhys, and Linsey watched the big man’s face crumple for a second as he hugged the children yet again, then ran to the car and drove quickly away.

  ‘How about a bath, kids?’ Matthew said brightly.

  ‘I don’t want a bath,’ Mark said with scorn. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Emma?’

  Emma shook her head, and Bibby was still straining after the car and screaming, the pen thrown to the ground.

  ‘How about a bubble bath? I’ve got a special bath,’ he told them. ‘It has real bubbles, like blowing through a straw. Want to try? It’s like sitting in a fizzy drink.’

  Mark looked less anti, but Emma still shook her head.

  ‘It could be pink water,’ he said temptingly.

  ‘Really?’ This was from Emma, finally looking interested.

  Linsey decided they could cope without her. ‘I’m going to get supper bought. I’ll make something else for us later.’

  ‘Get a bottle of wine,’ he said, and she thought she detected a touch of desperation in his voice. She grinned at him over the children’s heads, and with a cheeky little wave she escaped.

  The supermarket was packed, but she found fish fingers and beans for the kids, ice cream for dessert and some fresh salmon steaks and a bottle of dry white Californian wine for her and Matthew, to eat in the quiet time after the children had gone to bed.

  This time nobody was watching her, and she loaded her shopping into the car and headed back to the cottage without a care in the world. OK, so they had the children for the weekend, but Matthew was wonderful, her body was in bliss and nothing could have been better.

  She parked in the garden, shut the gate and gathered up the shopping, then walked in through the kitchen door to be greeted by a strange humming noise and a fascinating tide of pale pink bubbles flowing gently down the stairs. It reminded her of nothing so much as a river of
lava—

  ‘Oh, my God!’ She dropped the shopping and ran to the foot of the stairs. ‘Matthew? Matthew!’

  He ran out of the bedroom opposite the top of the stairs, skidded on the bubbles and slithered straight down the stairs, coming to rest at her feet in a cloud of pink foam and Anglo-Saxon.

  She raised one eyebrow. ‘You didn’t need to prostrate yourself at my feet. A simple, “Yes, dear,” would have done.’

  He glowered at her, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to trap the laughter. “Casting pearls before swine,” I think my mother would have said,’ he snapped sharply, and looked around in disbelief. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he growled, getting very carefully to his feet and wincing.

  ‘I think the children may have found the bubble bath,’ she offered.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ he muttered, and, turning round, he picked his way cautiously up the waterfall of foam and into the bathroom.

  The humming ceased, and moments later there was the sound of water running away.

  ‘It was an accident,’ she heard one of the children say. Emma, probably. ‘It just fell.’

  ‘I told her not to press it again,’ the other one said with deplorable lack of loyalty. Mark.

  ‘No, you didn’t!’ the little one said indignantly. ‘You told me to!’

  Linsey followed Matthew carefully up the stairs and went into the bathroom. It was awash, the floor inches deep in pink froth, the children standing naked up to their knees in bubbles, like parasols in a milkshake. Matthew looked at her helplessly.

  ‘I think, children, it would be a very good idea if you just went and put your pyjamas on, don’t you?’ Linsey said, quietly taking charge. ‘Matthew, where’s the baby?’

  ‘In the cot, playing,’ he told her grimy.

  ‘Right. Off you go, and don’t get into any more mischief.’

  She shepherded them out of the bathroom, passed them a towel and told them to dry their feet, then turned back to Matthew.

  ‘I suggest we get a dustpan and scoop the foam in here into the bath, then sweep the rest down the stairs and out of the back door.’

  He sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll get a brush and the dustpan.’

  ‘Be careful on the stairs,’ she warned him, but the smile must have been lurking in her eyes.

  He glowered at her. ‘Don’t rub it in,’ he menaced. ‘I am quite sore enough without you adding insult to injury.’

  She crouched down and started to feel around for the bath mat. ‘You’ll probably tread on the toothpaste next. If I were you, I’d swear off anything to do with bathrooms,’ she said sagely. ‘They don’t seem to agree with you—Oh!’

  She found herself lying face down in the foam, the sound of Matthew’s retreating footsteps echoing on the stairs.

  From the doorway behind her came a tiny giggle, quickly stifled, then the sound of the door closing.

  She grinned. Wretched kids. She plopped the bath mat in the basin, retrieved a small pair of leather shoes and wondered what else was submerged by the milkshake.

  ‘Are they asleep?’

  ‘Finally.’ Linsey flopped down on the sofa, exhausted. ‘Have you done anything about supper?’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought I’d make sure they’d gone off well and truly so they don’t get to wreck the salmon as well as the house.’

  She smiled tiredly. ‘It doesn’t look too bad now. How about the carpet?’

  ‘Still very soggy, but I think it’ll be all right. It’s drying over the bench in the garden.’

  Their eyes met, and he patted his knee.

  ‘I’m too heavy.’

  ‘Rubbish. Come here; I want to hold you.’

  So she went, and snuggled against his shoulder with a sigh of contentment. ‘We can’t sleep together, you know—not with the children here,’ she told him.

  ‘I know. You have my bed, I’ll have the sofa.’

  Linsey had a better idea. ‘You have your bed. That way, if the children wake up in the night, you get them, not me. And we’d better rig up a stair-gate in case they walk around in their sleep. Disturbed, unhappy children often do.’

  ‘And if they aren’t disturbed and unhappy I can’t imagine why.’

  ‘Because the mother was a waste of space and Rhys has always been the guiding light in the family?’

  ‘Probably. He’s a wonderful father. He’s always taken the job very seriously, and he adores them.’

  ‘I wonder how he and Judy are getting on?’ Linsey mused.

  Matthew sighed. ‘Badly. They didn’t get on well at the best of times, and this certainly doesn’t qualify. I must say, I don’t envy her. He’s intending to go for custody.’

  Linsey nodded. ‘Good. He can afford to make sure they’re properly cared for, and any woman who dumps her children with a child-minder and goes off because she’s fed up, without saying a word to a soul, doesn’t deserve to keep her children.’

  ‘Did the diplomatic corps turn you down?’ he said mildly.

  She refused to laugh. She felt very strongly about it, and although she knew that parents were often under intolerable pressures she still found it difficult to be understanding when the repercussions were always felt by the innocent children.

  Well, fairly innocent. She thought of the milkshake bathroom and smiled. ‘Fancy a bubble bath?’ she said to him.

  He chuckled. ‘No, and nor do you. I tell you what—after they’ve gone tomorrow I’ll show you what that bath’s really for.’

  ‘Ooh. Promises.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He turned her head and dropped a light kiss on her lips. ‘You’d better believe it.’

  His hand curved round her hip, easing her against him, and his mouth settled against hers with a sigh. Heat flared between them, and after an age he broke the kiss and rested his head against hers. ‘I want to make love to you,’ he said huskily.

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘Damn kids. They’re asleep; perhaps we could—’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t feel right. Anyway, I’m sore.’

  He lifted his head and tipped her chin, searching her face. ‘Very?’ he asked softly.

  She shook her head. ‘No, not very. It’s been a long time.’

  His smile was wry. ‘I know the feeling. Oh, well, it’s only twenty-four hours.’

  She wriggled to her feet. ‘How about supper?’

  ‘Good idea. Then I think we ought to get to bed, because they’ll be waking up at the crack of dawn, if not before.’

  It didn’t quite work like that. The theory was fine. The problem was that Linsey, sleeping lightly on the too small sofa downstairs, was the one to hear the thump and the sudden cry as Emma fell out of bed. She cuddled her and tucked her back in, staying there to ensure she settled, and then an hour later she heard the patter of little feet and Mark appeared at the bedroom door.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ he told her, and so she took him downstairs and cuddled him up on the sofa under her quilt and told him stories, and gradually he drifted off.

  Then the baby cried, and Linsey eased away from the little boy and ran upstairs to comfort Bibby before she woke Emma again. She gave her some warm milk in the kitchen, changed her nappy with a skill she didn’t know she had and then rocked her on her lap until she fell asleep. Luckily she managed to sneak the baby back into her cot without her waking and disturbing anyone, and then crept back downstairs, pulled on her clothes and snuggled up in the chair.

  Finally at six-thirty she gave up and went into the kitchen and made a cup of tea. Predictably the kettle woke Matthew, and he came downstairs, dressed only in a pair of jeans with the zip yanked up, rubbing his face and smiling sleepily at her.

  ‘Well, they slept all right,’ he said cheerfully.

  Linsey looked at him disbelievingly. ‘You have to be joking,’ she muttered, splashing boiling water on the tea.

  Matthew came up behind her and put his arms round her as she banged the kettle down.

  ‘Aren’t we a morning person, sweetheart?’<
br />
  She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow and reached down two cups. ‘No, we damn well aren’t—not when we’ve been up all night with someone else’s unhappy children.’

  His eyes widened. ‘What?’

  She told him her nocturnal tale of woe, and he hugged her gently and apologised.

  ‘Sit down; I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ he said consolingly.

  ‘I’ve made it,’ she told him. ‘You’re too late.’

  ‘I’ll pour it. Sit down.’

  She sat, grumpy, tired and wondering why Judy had stayed so long. Perhaps it wasn’t so difficult after all to understand how someone could just up and leave.

  ‘Have I done something wrong?’ he asked quietly, sitting down opposite her.

  She sighed. ‘No. I was just feeling for Judy.’

  ‘Judy?’ His surprise was evident in his voice. ‘If you feel for anyone, feel for Rhys. He’s been holding together a rotten marriage for two years—or he thought he was.’

  ‘Is Bibby his?’ she asked.

  Matthew shrugged. ‘I would say so. They all look very like each other and like him—the dark hair, the grey eyes. I would think almost inevitably they’re all his. Either that or her lovers look like him.’

  ‘Lovers?’

  Matthew stirred his tea. ‘Lovers. In the plural. I gather it’s been going on for some time.’

  ‘Did he know?’

  ‘Not all of it. Not the latest one, and probably not several of the others. Everybody now is in a hurry to tell him all about it, of course.’

  ‘Is he humiliated?’

  Matthew shrugged again. ‘Possibly. I doubt it. Rhys doesn’t have an ego problem. He’s more worried about the effect on the children.’

  They fell silent, thinking about the children, and as if their thoughts had woken them Mark stumbled out of the sitting room knuckling his eyes and Bibby started to cry.

  The bedroom door at the top of the stairs opened and Emma appeared at the makeshift stair-gate. ‘Bibby’s crying,’ she said unnecessarily, ‘and I’m hungry.’

  Rhys arrived at six, tight-lipped and silent. He hugged the children, his eyes filling, and took them away with hardly a word.