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“Fuck.”
She rushed to the bathroom and returned with armfuls of toilet tissue, leaving a trail behind her like the puppy in the advert. When she pulled open the top drawer of the bedside table to make sure no water had gone inside, she found her letter. Flick picked it up with shaking hands. Sealed. She never sealed the special letters. Maybe Kirsten had. That’s what Flick would have done, if she’d been stupid enough to take a letter that didn’t belong to her and send it to someone who was never intended to receive it.
Beck hadn’t read it.
He wouldn’t have read it and then sealed it, would he? Her heartbeat slowed to five hundred beats a minute. Flick pushed the envelope in her back pocket, realizing she hadn’t thought this through. If the envelope had gone, he’d know who’d taken it. Did it matter? She’d prefer that he didn’t know.
So Flick did the only thing she could come up with and began to trash the room. Not really trash it, but she pulled the covers off the bed and pushed the mattress askew. She tossed Beck’s shoes around and threw his clothes on the floor. As a final flourish, she tilted each picture on the wall to imply she’d been checking for a safe. Flick thought that a clever touch.
If she left now it would look as though a burglar had come, been disturbed and left without taking anything. Except the letter. Umm. Not such a good plan. Better if she actually took something valuable. She tried to pluck up enough courage to steal. Maybe if she removed all his socks the police might think it was someone with a fetish. A door slammed and Flick fled to the bathroom before she remembered she couldn’t get out that way. She looked through the window sporting the stick and bubblegum. It was still too far to drop, even though she was desperate. She didn’t really want to die, although she’d thought about it plenty since Friday night. So she got into the bath and hid behind the shower curtain.
* * * * *
Beck saw the flowers all over the floor and the broken vase and thought—burglar. He glided through the downstairs rooms, but there were no other signs of disturbance. The front door had been locked and the back door still secure. The alarm was off but he hadn’t been the last one to leave that morning. Reassured to see Giles’ laptop sitting on the kitchen table, Beck felt more confident he was alone in the house. Maybe the vase had tipped over when Giles or Willow had slammed the door. He cleaned up the mess before he went upstairs. He went straight to the bathroom and reached behind the curtain to turn on the shower. He’d let the water warm up while he picked out some clean clothes.
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Beck dragged back the curtain and stared at her in astonishment. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She leaped out of the bath before she got soaked. Beck turned off the shower.
“I asked you a question. How did you get in?” His eyes darkened. Flick opened her mouth. Nothing came out so she shut it again.
“Well?” he demanded.
How could she still like him when he was so furious with her? His brow was furrowed in anger and he needed a shave but he looked so wonderful—only he hated her and if he’d read the letter he worse than hated her, whatever that was.
“The window,” she admitted.
“You didn’t tell me burgling was up there with drystone walling and stripping.”
“I’m a pole dancer, not a stripper and I haven’t taken anything that doesn’t belong to me,” she managed to say.
Flick wanted to go. She took a step toward the door.
Beck grabbed her arm. “Not so fast.”
She twisted to get out of his grasp and Beck grabbed the letter from her pocket.
“I thought you said you hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t yours?”
“It is mine.”
“That’s my name on the envelope.”
“But I didn’t write it for you. I wrote it for me. Kirsten took it from my room and brought it here without my knowing.”
“I’ll read it first.”
He’d not read it? “No,” Flick said. “Please, just give it back to me and let me go.”
“What don’t you want me to read? What have you said that you’re ashamed of?”
“It’s my letter. It’s personal.”
“I think when you decided it was acceptable to let men pay to see you dance naked, there was nothing personal left.” He waved the letter in front of her. “Begging me to forgive you?”
The look on his face made her feel as though she’d fallen on a sword.
“Want me to forget it ever happened?” Beck said. “Want me think about how I’d feel if the situation was reversed?”
“Fuck you,” Flick muttered, now knowing he’d read it.
“Yeah, I think you did.” Beck released her arm as though he’d been holding something dirty.
“So it’s okay to pay to watch, is it?” Flick asked. “How am I worse than you? It was a well-paid job. I needed money. End of story.”
“One thing you did get right. It is the end of the story. At least I got a shag out of it.”
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Flick bit back her whimper, snatched the letter from his hand and fled. She thought he’d come after her but he didn’t. As she wrenched open the front door she heard him yell and guessed he’d seen his room.
* * * * *
By the time Flick got back to Timble she no longer felt hurt, she felt angry. Being angry always made her hungry. She needed energy to fuel her fury. She needed energy so she could kill sanctimonious Beck. She grabbed the tub of coconut ice cream from the freezer and wrenched off the lid, breaking her favorite nail. She swore and slammed a spoon into the ice cream. The spoon ricocheted across the table. Flick picked it up and forced it into the container, bending it in the process until it twisted so far, it snapped. When the table resembled the results of a Uri Geller extravaganza, she stopped and put the container in the microwave. Drinking ice cream was not as rewarding, but it enabled her to get through more at a faster rate. By the time Henry knocked on the door she felt very ill indeed.
* * * * *
When Beck arrived at the dig, the television people bustled around setting up their equipment. Celia was waiting. She’d changed into a formal green suit with a matching hat and handbag. She looked as though she planned to open a summer fete.
“You look lovely, Alexander.” She waited, clearly expecting a compliment in return.
Beck said nothing. He stared in the direction of the dig. Every one of the students and Isobel had changed clothes. They must have raced back to the house as soon as he left. Dina wore a slinky dress and high-heeled shoes. The boys were in clean T-shirts and had combed their hair. Even Jane had put on fresh shorts and a pretty pink top. Isobel had swapped her khaki shorts and shirt for a pale blue linen skirt and a white blouse and was talking to a tall, tanned guy. She stood too close to him. Beck recognized her technique. She gestured for Beck to come over.
“This is Marcus Bowland. Marcus, this is Professor Beckett. Beck’s in charge of the dig.”
Marcus and Beck shook hands.
“Fascinating stuff,” Marcus said. “Isobel has been kind enough to fill me in.” He turned to beam at her and she beamed back at him. Beck gritted his teeth.
“Is it okay if we film what’s happening now?” Marcus asked. “We can stand here and do the interview with the students working in the background.”
There was an immediate scramble for the place in camera shot behind Beck.
“Let’s just have the pretty one. Her.” Marcus pointed to Dina. Dina smirked and people lined up to strangle her.
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“I’ll start with you, Celia. I’ll ask how this all started and then move on to Professor Beckett. We should get it on a first take but if anything goes wrong we can do it again. We’re not broadcasting for another hour.”
The sooner it was o
ver the better as far as Beck was concerned. He didn’t want to do it at all, but the look on Celia’s face told him he had no choice. Isobel bobbed in the background with a tray of artifacts. Beck couldn’t see why she wouldn’t do the interview. She seemed desperate enough to get on camera. The first questions were for Celia. Once she’d started to speak she wouldn’t shut up. Eventually Marcus managed to interrupt and turned to Beck. Beck tried to sound knowledgeable and enthusiastic. Not easy when he felt confused and miserable. The change in direction almost caught him out.
“I understand one of your finds had a somewhat mind-blowing potential.” Marcus grinned.
“It’s the first time the remains of a stone dwelling of this age and type have been discovered in this particular area. Up until now, the best archaeological evidence of the Roman presence in West Yorkshire has come from Castleford.”
“Ah yes, but I wasn’t talking about that. Do you often have to get the army to check what you’ve dug up?”
Beck knew where this was going.
“It happens sometimes, but the item you’re talking about was not excavated by any of my team, nor found in this field.”
Things slid downhill fast. Beck realized the man knew exactly what had happened. Marcus turned to camera with a smile. “A local woman, Felicity Knyfe, who unearthed the singing reindeer, is unavailable for comment but she must be thanking her lucky stars that’s not because she’s lying in hospital, injured by a bomb blast. This is Marcus Bowland for News in the North, at Hartington Hall, Ilkley, West Yorkshire.”
He smiled broadly and the moment the camera moved, he reduced the wattage of his grin.
“That was great, folks,” he said. “Don’t forget to watch.”
Beck glared at him. “What was the point in relating the Rudolph incident?”
“Human interest. Bit of humor. Flick’s a good sport. She won’t mind.”
“Do you know Flick?”
“Ex-girlfriend, maybe not so much of the ex.”
Beck bristled. “You’re the one who went to Australia?”
“Has she been talking about me?” Marcus smiled.
“Her sister mentioned you.”
“Stef. Stunner, but even more trouble than Flick.”
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Beck doubted that. The fact that Flick had gone out with such a wanker had dropped her even further in his estimation. He left Isobel to supervise the tidying up of the dig and returned to the house to put his bedroom back together.
* * * * *
Beck had no intention of watching himself on TV, but Giles and Willow had come home from work early at Celia’s request.
“What happened to the vase of flowers in the hall?” Willow asked.
“A rampaging rhinoceros,” Beck said.
“Do I need to contact animal welfare or is there another explanation?”
“Flick scaled the back of the house and climbed in through the bathroom window looking for a letter she’d written she didn’t want me to read. She emptied my drawers, soaked my book, tossed around my clothes, generally managed to wreck my room and apparently your vase got in her way.”
Giles and Willow stared at him like a pair of frozen cod.
“She’s not capable of that,” Giles choked out.
“It’s Flick. She’s capable of anything,” said Beck.
“Oh look, Giles. It’s your mother.” Willow turned up the volume on the TV. When Marcus got to the part about Flick and Rudolph, Beck groaned. The moment the segment had finished the phone rang. Willow answered it. “Yes, you were great, Celia.” She winked at Giles. “Yes, Giles thought you were wonderful. He’s just said you have a natural presence.”
Giles started to laugh and Willow retreated into the kitchen.
“Isn’t she great? She’s even beginning to handle my mother. It’s amazing.”
“Giles, how would you feel if you’d seen Willow dancing in that club?” Beck asked.
“Not so long ago I’d have given my right arm to go out with someone who danced like that,” Giles whispered.
“So what’s different now?”
“Most of the women I’ve been out with might have looked good by my side, but they weren’t sweet and kind. In exchange for their bodies they expected meals in expensive restaurants and unlimited access to my credit cards. I thought it wasn’t a bad deal until I realized they didn’t care about the one thing I wanted to give them—my heart. Willow is different. She listens to me. She laughs at my jokes even when I’m not that funny and kindness is a quality I’m not used to. She loves me for who I am, not what I do or how much I earn and you know what? She loves me more than my mother.”
Giles had changed. He’d grown up.
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“How would you feel if Willow danced in guys’ faces while she had practically nothing on? What if Willow ground her hips into my lap? Simulated having sex with me? Let me lick her breasts? What would you have thought then?”
Giles didn’t need to say anything. Beck could read it in his face.
“I thought I knew Flick but I don’t.” Beck leaned back and closed his eyes. “When I finally got her into bed the sex was fantastic. I suppose she’s had a lot of practice. I should have got her to do a lap dance for me. Have you fucked her?”
The question hung in the air like a big bluebottle waiting for a fly swat.
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t even kissed her. Flick didn’t do the lap dance.”
Beck’s jaw twitched. “Are you telling me I was hallucinating? She wasn’t cat woman and then snake woman?”
“She was those, all right. I mean she didn’t do the lap dance. It was someone else.”
Beck stared at him.
“It’s the truth. I’m not lying.”
“You asked for Flick. We paid for Flick.”
“Then you didn’t get what you paid for. Go and complain to Trading Standards.”
“Forget it, Giles. You’re not going to make things right by lying now.”
Giles’ face hardened. “I’m not lying. Okay, I was wrong about Flick and my father and we both know it was me who tried to kiss her at the Hall and not the other way round but I didn’t even know Flick was in Polecats until she kneed me in the balls. I’m sure she didn’t do the lap dance. She couldn’t have got changed that quickly and her eyes were all red.”
“You were so drunk you wouldn’t have noticed if Flick had two black eyes.”
“It wasn’t Flick. I thought you were angry Flick was dancing in the club. I didn’t realize you thought she’d done the lap dance, too.”
Beck sat up. “So what about the nipples bit?”
“Shut up,” Giles hissed. He glanced toward the kitchen door. “Look, the girl that did that dance on my lap had piercings. I caught my bloody tongue. Does Flick have bolts through her breasts?”
“No.”
“Then there’s your proof,” Giles said.
“Fuck,” Beck muttered. “I wish I’d never met her.”
“You’ve got it bad.”
“Don’t talk crap. It’s over.”
“You think you can walk away? This is a woman who’s so desperate for you not to see something she’s written, she’s risked her neck to get it back. I mean how on earth did she get through the bathroom window? And what the hell was in the letter? You did read it?”
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Beck didn’t answer.
“Does she know?”
“No. Yes. I’m not sure.”
Giles shook his head. “She so wants you, you lucky bastard. She’s completely crazy, and apart from my beloved she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
He groaned and Giles laughed. “What’s the problem? She’s mad about you.”
Beck sighed. “I think it’s too late.”
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Chapter Twenty-Nine
The house turned out to be worth more than Flick th
ought, but after she’d deducted what she owed, little would remain. It pissed her off that she needed a lawyer to help her fight a charge of theft when she’d done nothing wrong. She wondered about representing herself. She’d have plenty of time on her hands now she was losing jobs at the speed of light. She could go to the library and get one of those “Fake it” books. Fake your way as a barrister. Flick could foresee a little problem in court if the other side found out she’d worked as a pole dancer, unless of course she recognized the judge from the club.
Flick left the house before Kirsten and Josh got back from work. Their friendship had been damaged and she wasn’t sure if it was permanent. Part of her wanted to pretend nothing had happened and carry on as normal but she couldn’t. She grabbed an apple and five slices of dry bread for dinner and went to work.
* * * * *
The hotel gym had started a new initiative since she’d last been on duty. “Row the Atlantic.” Someone had added “or run” after row. Flick presumed they’d realized that with only two rowing machines, people would lose interest before they got out of the English Channel. A chart had been pinned up for members to record their contribution. The one who ran, rowed or walked the furthest would win twenty-four bottles of lager. She wondered who’d thought that one up.
Flick smiled throughout the evening, even at people who didn’t deserve it, especially the elderly lady who harangued her about the towels—too thin, too short and according to the statistics in the papers, potentially germ ridden. She didn’t smile when five people had come in and whistled “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” on their way to the changing rooms. When her manager asked for volunteers to test the new tanning machine, Flick forgot all she’d been taught by her dad and stepped forward. She read the instructions as she stripped off. Put on shower hat. Turn this way, that way, hold arms this way, that way. Close your eyes. Don’t breathe in. She rubbed lotion on her palms, put sticky pads on the soles of her feet, stood on the spots inside the booth and pressed the button.
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