by Penny Henry
The admission shocked her. Imogen allowed the realization to sink in and knew she had some apologizing to do. She had treated Gable abysmally. She blamed the pressure she was under. The burglary had added to the stress of the poisonous letters that dropped on Connie's desk. It was no wonder she was edgy and nervous about jumping into a new relationship. The one good thing that had come out of the last few days was that any feelings she suspected she carried for Karl were well and truly dead. Then there was Gable. None of this was his fault. He had come to his brother's to heal himself and ended up taking the brunt of her unreasonable wrath. The poor man had been shell-shocked. She would find a way of making it up to him. She made up her mind. She would go and see him now. They might still get a table at one of her favorite restaurants for tonight. They could take the tube to Covent Garden and stroll down the alleyway that would take them all of two minutes. If she timed it right they would miss the clubbers and theatre-goers, have a quick drink in the bar and enjoy an intimate dinner for two. She was already planning their evening in her mind. They should both have steak. They’d need a good store of energy for later if last night was anything to go by. She was considering the wisdom of pudding when she realized that Gable might think differently. She had been a single woman for too long. Gable might have his own ideas. She could live with that. She began to wonder what his idea of a romantic evening would be like. Where they went wasn't important. This was about putting things right with Gable. She had drifted into her bedroom while she had thought and sat in front of the mirror. She had done what needed to be done and felt satisfied with her reflection. In two minutes she had locked her door and scaled the stairs to the penthouse. She confidently rapped on the door.
It took a second knock before the door inched open in front of Imogen's face. Her winning smile faded a little as Roger's tousled head came into view.
"Hi, Roger, may I speak to Gable please?"
"I… I'm sorry. You've missed him. He's out." Roger's reply was brief and unhelpful as usual.
Imogen was not about to be fobbed off so easily. The gap between the door and doorframe was narrow. But Imogen was slender and determined. She stepped up to the door and inserted her shoulder into the gap, staring straight into Roger's eyes. "You don't mind if I wait, do you?" She squeezed one full breast through the opening and Roger instinctively rebounded, snatching his hand from the edge and allowing Imogen to push back the door and enter.
"I… I really don't think tha… that this is a good—"
“Thank you, Roger. It’s very kind of you. Will Gable be gone for long?" Imogen smiled sweetly and strode past the bemused man. She spun in the centre of the room and beamed at Roger. The physical resemblance was awesome. They were identical twins but with obvious differences. The diffident nature of the brother in front of her was easily guessed at. His nervous manner and stooped posture flagged his meekness like the skull and crossbones of a pirate ship. He fiddled with the frame of his thick glasses. He was blinking rapidly and nervously moving his eyes around the room, patently unwilling to meet her gaze.
"He… He didn't say. I… I don't know. I'm sorry."
"Don't you two ever speak to each other?” She held a questioning look that caused Roger to glance at her before looking away again and shuffling his feet. Imogen sighed heavily. This wasn't going to be easy. But at least he hadn’t asked her to leave - not yet anyway. She didn't think he would have the nerve. She looked at the plush couch and made her way towards it. She may as well make herself comfortable. Imogen plumped herself down in the middle of the cushions and defiantly crossed her arms and legs. She had bluffed her way into the boy's apartment and here she was going to stay until Gable made an appearance or Roger threw her out.
She leant back in the sofa and made herself comfortable before grinning a challenge into Roger's eyes. He was taking surreptitious glances at the commandeered sofa from behind his lowered eyelashes. He was actually quite good looking in an absent-minded professor kind of way. He didn't possess the style of his brother but his wide cream trousers and cotton shirt unbuttoned on his chest suited him perfectly. His shirtsleeves were folded up on corded forearms and the stretched material across his muscular shoulders displayed the results of his secret workouts. She wondered if the rest of his body compared to Gable’s. A girl could be spoilt for choice, she thought wickedly.
She relaxed into the silence that spanned the next few minutes. Strangely, she didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable as Roger racked his brains for something to say. His brow furrowed in concentration before his eyes lit up with inspiration.
"Ah, that’s it, tea! Would… Would you like a cup of tea?"
Imogen struggled to contain her amusement. It was hardly original but it was a step in the right direction. "I'd love a cup of tea, thank you, Roger."
Roger smiled with unconcealed pleasure. "Right then, I… I'll… I'd better make one.
He walked past the sofa sneaking another look at his beautiful guest. Imogen caught his glance and returned a sunny smile that brought a deep blush to his cheeks. She suppressed a giggle and filled the time by looking idly round the apartment from where she sat. Nothing much had changed. There was if anything, even more photographs of the twins posing in front of London landmarks. She wondered when they had found the time. To her knowledge Gable had only been around for the last few days and she had never seen the boys together. They had totally different interests and nothing in common as far as she could make out. Perhaps Roger took time off during the day to be with his twin, which would explain the odd hours he kept. They obviously knew a hot photographic studio to develop the photographs so expertly. No doubt that was Gable's department. The professional finish was easy to spot. The images of Gable stood out with remarkable clarity and pin sharp definition. Imogen uncrossed her arms and laid her hands on the sofa at either side. She couldn't imagine two more unlikely brothers. It was hard to believe they came from the same egg. They were as different as salt from pepper. Roger undoubtedly had qualities of his own but he sure as hell wasn't Gable.
"Put some music on."
Imogen looked round with a start. For an instant she thought she had heard Gable calling to her. It was Roger talking from the kitchen. She jumped up and found a Mike and the Mechanics CD she hadn't heard in a while. She pressed play and returned to the sofa. A few minutes later Roger walked unsteadily into the lounge carrying a tray of tea. His eyes were busily searching for a place to lay the tray and Imogen leapt from her seat. She had visions of the tray slipping from Roger's grasp and spilling its scalding contents to the floor. An ominous chattering of china spurred Imogen into life.
"Here let me help you." She took the tray from his hands and found a small table to set down the tray. She lifted table and tray together and positioned them in front of the sofa without batting an eye at the Highland shortcake on the tray. "You sit that end, Roger. I'll sit this end and play mother."
Roger meekly followed her instructions, perching on the edge of the cushion while Imogen leant forward to pour the tea and empty the biscuits onto the plate that Roger had thoughtfully provided. She made Roger's tea the way she thought Gable would like it. Roger made no complaint as he sipped the tea that Imogen handed to him. Not that he would have complained if the tea had tasted like cabbage water, mused Imogen. She placed the plate of biscuits between them and settled back with her cup and saucer in her hand.
"Isn't this nice," she said brightly, then she realized she probably sounded like a maiden aunt and silently gritted her teeth.
Roger responded with a guarded smile. His rate of blinking had slowed to the wing beat of a drifting bat with the occasional flurry of wings and had ceased to play with his unflattering spectacles. They drank their tea as Mike and the Mechanics sang A Beggar on A Beach of Gold. Imogen knew the song had been written by Mike and BA Robertson and wondered if the CD belonged to Roger or Gable. She had a few tales to tell if Roger was interested.
"No, no… They… I think they belong to Gable. Th
ey’re old ones. I don't get a lot of time to listen to music. I'm not very good with electrical things."
Imogen had somehow gained the impression that the CDs belonged to Roger. She was probably confused. She remembered something else. "Its books you’re interested in, isn't it, Roger?"
Roger pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He pursed his mouth and considered the question. "Aah yes indeed, books. Fascinating stuff you know. There… There is a specific market for rare books. Certain, shall we say, wealthy collectors will go to great expense to obtain a missing volume that will complete a collection. They… they will go to great lengths to conceal their intentions for fear of alerting their competitors. It… It’s a clandestine world of which few are aware." Roger's explanation was emotionless and his face failed to register a sign of excitement as he spoke of his involvement in the curious world of books.
"Mmm, so I’m told. Funny thing, but since Gable mentioned it I remember catching a documentary about book collectors a few months ago. I'm afraid I didn't take much notice."
Roger seemed to lose interest in the topic. He talked without a trace of a stammer. "I don’t suppose you missed much. It is all very boring. I'm quite sure you lead a far more interesting life. You must have some delightful stories to tell?" He looked keen to move on. As if he didn’t want to discuss it. He took her empty cup from her hand and leant forward to return both of their cups to the tray and pour a refill. He looked anxious that Imogen should lead the conversation.
"Oh, don’t be fooled by the razamataz.” She was happy to talk if it kept Roger from summoning up the courage to ask her to leave. “It’s not all bright lights and rock and roll by any means. There's a lot of hard work behind the creation and marketing of a successful band. It’s a hugely competitive industry. And it takes an awful lot of money."
"I'm sure it does," said Roger encouragingly. "I would imagine it takes a lot more than raw talent to be successful in the music industry. There must be some kind of secret ingredient."
Imogen laughed. "Dedication," she said simply. “That sums it up in a word. If the artists don't have the commitment they’ll never be able to stand the pace. There are thousands of hopefuls for the one that makes it and every one of them thinks that they should be a star. We get hundreds of demos every week. They get a thirty second play if they're lucky. If they don’t grab our attention in half a minute they go in the bin. It’s a cruel business."
They sat back to drink their tea and ponder on a world of broken dreams. Roger's guard had dropped and an air of familiarity sat comfortably between them. It was an eerie sensation for Imogen to be able to relax so quickly in the company of someone she hardly knew. It was taken for granted when she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the couch as she talked about the art of becoming a music sensation. She could have been talking to Gable. But there was something easier about Roger's company. He behaved more naturally. For all of Gable's attributes there was something surreal about the persona he generated. It was as if the handsome male model was constantly striving to maintain the right image. The downside was that he was bitterly disappointed whenever he felt he had fallen below the standards he set for himself. Imogen supposed that it came with the territory. There had to come a time when pretence overlapped into reality. With Roger there were no such pretensions. If anything Roger was too self-effacing. He was obviously a straightforward and honest man.
An hour flew past in Roger's company and it would have been easy for Imogen to stay. There had been no sign or a call from Gable. Imogen thought it unlikely he would appear out thin air and she had her afternoon planned. She was reluctant to leave. Roger had proved to be a good listener. His face had shown a lack of interest when Imogen had mentioned her Internet scheme but otherwise he had been attentive and funny. She didn't know how they had got onto the subject of the poison pen letters or why she had chosen to bring up last night's burglary. On both occasions Roger had reached out to squeeze her arm. She had been shocked to register an electric charge that raced up her arm and spread through her body like the ripples of a depth charge. She had been disturbed and confused in equal parts. Each affectionate touch had been followed by a rush of guilt that sent a pretty blush to her cheeks. They had quickly returned to talking and laughing. Laughing wasn't something she did a lot of with Gable.
They said goodbye at the door. "Thank you so much for entertaining me, Roger. Tell Gable that I'm free tonight, would you? I should be back in my apartment by eight o'clock. He can get in touch with me then if he wants to. It won't take me long to change." She furrowed her brow. “I must remember to give him my number.”
"It's been my pleasure, Imogen. I'm sure Gable will be in contact with you. He would be a fool not to." There was not the least hint of hesitation in his voice and he was standing taller.
Imogen sensed a newly discovered confidence that gave Roger an aura that she found worryingly attractive. He was definitely growing on her. "It’s nice to know I have such a charming neighbor."
He flashed a smile that captured her breath. There was a weakness in her knees that she thought had been reserved for Gable. Maybe if she wasn’t seeing his brother tonight―
“We should do this more often, Imogen." He ran a hand through his rumpled hair and actually winked.
Roger was flirting with her. Imogen felt a traitorous lurch in her stomach. She looked at him coyly. "I think I’d better be going, Roger. I promised myself a visit to my grandparents this afternoon. Now you will remember to speak to Gable, won't you?" She thought she detected a flicker of disappointment behind his spectacles.
"Of course I will, Imogen. I’ll see you soon."
"Tell him I'll be back at eight o’clock." He was smiling at her from the edge of the inside door. Something came over her. She stretched up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t pull away. As she brought back her head he turned his face to the side. Their eyes clashed and refused to break contact. He leant forward and their lips met. The kiss was soft and wet. Imogen’s mouth opened as the tip of Roger’s tongue traced her lips. The probing tongue slipped against hers as their mouths crushed together. She fell against him and felt the strength of his erection. Imogen’s mind emptied of everything except the raw desire she was feeling. She could have been with Gable. She reached for his hand and lifted it to her breast. His other arm held her to him as his hand on her breast moved gently over the pliant flesh. He separated his fingers to trap her stiffening nipple. She pushed her groin into his rock hard erection and squirmed against him. She wanted his cock inside her. Then she tore her face away and stepped sharply backwards. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. For on terrifying moment she had forgotten which brother she was with.
Chapter Twelve
Imogen was horrified. She felt the blood rushing to her face. “Goodbye... Goodbye, Roger.” She pushed through the fire door without looking back. “Eight o’clock. I’ll be back at eight o’clock.” She shouted it into the hollow stairwell as she ran headlong down the steps.
Imogen pushed her key into the lock of her apartment shaking like a leaf. What if Roger told his brother? She didn’t know what she’d been thinking. It had just seemed like a natural response. She didn’t regret it for a minute. She tossed her head and put it behind her. She was happy she’d forced her way into Roger's apartment. He had proved to be totally different to how she’d imagined him to be. He had started out cautious and evasive as she could have guessed he would. But he had mellowed quickly. They had been comfortable in each other’s company. The kiss had simply been a thank you gesture that had got a little out of hand. That worked for her. It was unlikely to happen again. She couldn't help speculating on how things might have turned out if she’d got to know Roger before his brother. The thought of Roger’s enigmatic brother furrowed her brow. There were aspects of his life that were a complete mystery to her. It was something she didn’t have time to dwell on. She picked up a jacket to wear to her grandparents and real
ized that she hadn't asked for Gable's mobile phone number. Roger hadn't suggested it either. Surely Gable must own one? She hoped he wasn’t going to be the type that made excuses not to give it to her. Imogen didn't like secrets. They had a habit of springing unwelcome surprises. She locked her apartment door and briefly wondered if she had chosen the right brother.
She was ready inside ten minutes and was surprised to see Gable's Porsche in the car park as she walked to her car. She must have missed him by minutes. She toyed with the idea of riding the elevator to the penthouse and catching the brothers together before deciding against it. Now wouldn’t be a good time to make comparisons. She had promised herself a visit with Grandpa Demetrius and Grandma Eleanor and she was planning to catch them before they went out. Every Saturday afternoon without fail her grandparents drove to Hampstead Heath to fill their lungs with fresh air after a week of work in their tiny café. She also wanted the chance to look round the market stalls while she was in Holloway. And there was usually something going on in the Holloway Road. She knew the time would fly by. She bleeped her car open and slid behind the wheel. Tonight she would have a heart to heart with Gable. She was determined to find out if their relationship was going anywhere. She was looking forward to it - as long as Roger had remembered to pass on the message.