by Gemma Fox
When it was obvious that he wasn’t making any headway at all, Robbie had snatched up a swipe-key card from the bedside table and stalked out of the bedroom, slamming the door angrily behind him, which had immediately locked. Locking him out.
Robbie had glanced down at the card in his hand, knowing even before his focus sharpened that he had picked Lesley’s key-card up by mistake. Standing out in the corridor, incandescent with fury, he had considered fetching the night porter to let him back in, but then again he didn’t want to draw attention to his sleeping arrangements. The red tops would have a field day if they found out he was shafting Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes. There was nothing they liked better than the chance to expose a public figure’s feet of clay, or any other part of his anatomy come to that. And Lesley wasn’t the first – God alone knows what would happen if the story ever ran. It would probably open the flood gates.
‘I had Robbie Hughes’s love-child. I was Robbie Hughes’s love-child. Three-in-a-bed romp for TV’s Mr Clean.’ God, Robbie groaned, he could just see the headlines now. No, he would go and sleep in Lesley’s room and hope she felt terrible about it. Bitch. He’d remember next time and take someone else instead. Oh yes. Lesley should realise by now that Robbie Hughes was not a man to be trifled with.
The early-morning call in his cupboard had been fifteen minutes late. Robbie couldn’t remember booking one for Lesley’s room – mainly because he had assumed it would be empty – so he had come to the conclusion that Lesley must have rung the night porter when he didn’t show up to meet her at the arranged time. There didn’t appear to be any hot water in his room and the selection of towels that hung limply over the bathroom rail smelt as if they had been there since D-day.
So by the time Robbie got down to the hotel car park – still wearing the shirt, pants and socks that he had worn the previous day – he was absolutely fuming, while Lesley was sitting triumphantly in the front seat, all clean and smug. She certainly looked as if she had had a good night’s sleep, and was clutching an empty carton of fresh coffee. His coffee – standing on the driver’s seat – was stone-cold and scummy. Oh, she would pay for this.
As Robbie got into the car he held out his hand. Lesley dropped the keys into them and in stony silence they drove out of the hotel yard.
He noticed as they pulled out into the street that sellotaped to the dashboard was a large sheet of paper on which was written, in thick marker pen, the road numbers and junctions that would take them down to St Elfreda’s Bay.
He sniffed. It would take a lot more than that to appease his wrath. Lesley looked at him and tried out a little smile. Robbie’s face remained impassive; she was going to have to try an awful lot harder than that if she wanted to make up for last night.
Maggie Morgan drifted slowly back towards consciousness, eyes still closed. She sighed and then eased her bum back into the lap that was snuggled up around her, relishing the comfortable weight of the arm casually draped across her waist. Bliss. It felt so good that she almost purred with the sheer pleasure of it.
She loved the warm, cosy feeling of early morning spooning almost more than anything else. As the thought formed, Maggie froze. Purring? Spooning? Hang on a minute. That wasn’t right.
Full consciousness splashed over her like a bucket of cold water. Maggie opened her eyes while her mind did a complete recce of the current situation. It appeared that she was spooning with Nick Lucas, the man in black cotton boxers who she barely knew, and who sometime during the night had obviously illegally crossed the piled pillow checkpoint and was currently indulging in a spot of unscheduled snuggling. The bastard.
Struggling to ignore how good it felt, Maggie let the indignation roll through her. She was about to say something but before she opened her mouth she looked again at the far side of the bedroom and hastily recalculated her position in relation to the wall – and reddened. Unfortunately it seemed to have been her who, overnight, had climbed, unconscious, into enemy territory. The pillows were all on what had formally been her side of the bed – most of them on the floor. Her rogue body had been very busy while she was asleep.
Apprehensively, Maggie shuffled through the card index of her memory to see if there was anything else that she ought to be ashamed of, and was relieved when the search came up empty.
If she could just slither out from under Nick’s arm. Maggie, holding her breath to make her body even thinner – who was she kidding, just slightly thinner – squashed herself down into the mattress.
He was sound asleep, his arm almost a dead weight. He’d never know if the movement was really quick and smooth. She’d just have to wriggle her bum a bit, move away from his…Maggie reddened furiously. It didn’t bear thinking about where her bum was currently snuggled. Maybe she could slip out without him noticing; pretend to be sound asleep, groan a little and then just roll over. How hard could it be? Except that it felt quite nice – no, not quite nice, very nice. Very nice indeed. Damn.
Nick, still sound asleep, moaned softly and pulled her closer. Closer? Maggie stiffened, her eyes wide open now. What the hell was he playing at? His lips and face settled close to her shoulders as if he was breathing her in. Maggie groaned quietly. If only she hadn’t woken up and had just left their bodies to get on with it. Nick snuffled, then his hand slid artfully up from her waist over her ribs and under her tee shirt.
Under her tee shirt? Good God, she barely knew the man. Her stomach did that funny nippy flippy thing as the sensation roared through her, at which point Maggie squeaked, some kind of moral fail-safe cut in, and she was out of bed like a whippet out of a butcher’s shop.
Back in the bed, Nick yawned and blinked and then focused on her. ‘Morning,’ he said sleepily, rubbing his eyes. ‘You all right? You sleep okay?’
‘Who, me? Yes, fine, I’m just fine. You want a cup of tea?’ she said, far too brightly and far too quickly, but at least got it all in before Nick had a chance to recall any purring or snuggling or spooning.
‘That would be great,’ he said thickly. ‘What time is it anyway?’
‘Um, I don’t know – seven, maybe half past? It’s early yet, there’s no need to get up –’
Nick stretched, while Maggie made a conscientious effort not to look at just how broad his shoulders were or stare at the nice flat area of hairy belly exposed between the bottom of his tee shirt and the top of the duvet. Damn, if only she could have just pretended to be asleep.
‘I have to ring Coleman and let him know where I am, and that I’m safe.’
‘Do you want to use my mobile?’
‘Thanks,’ said Nick. ‘You know, I had the strangest dream this morning.’
Maggie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She just hoped that Nick had enough sense to wait until she left the room before getting out of bed or recalling his dream.
‘Tell me again, why exactly are you doing this? Why don’t we just ring the AA and be done with it?’ growled Robbie. ‘This is what I pay my annual subscription for. Roadside rescue, roadside recovery –’ He stamped his feet and flapped his arms angrily. The day hadn’t quite had the chance to warm yet, and there was a nippy little wind blowing across the motorway that took his breath away now that they were out of the warmth of the car.
They had been on the road for less than an hour.
Lesley pulled the wheel brace and the jack out from the boot. ‘What? For a puncture?’ She sounded incredulous, heaving out the spare tyre and dropping it onto the tarmac with a confidence that belied her size. ‘But we can have it fixed by the time they get here; the only problem we might have is with the wheel nuts.’
Robbie glared at her – what was all this ‘we’ stuff?
‘They’ll probably be a bit tight,’ she was saying, ‘if they’ve been put on with one of those pneumatic guns. I might need something to give me a bit of extra leverage.’ As she spoke, Lesley looked around expectantly.
‘Leverage?’ growled Robbie.
Lesley, rolling up her sleeves, nodded. ‘
Yes, leverage. “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum strong enough and I will move the world,”’ she said confidently, prising the hub cap off with a screwdriver.
‘Who’s that? Rocky? Popeye? George W. Bush?’
‘No actually, it was a paraphrase of something that Archimedes said. Do you know where the jacking point is on your car?’
Robbie shook his head. What was the bloody woman talking about? Jacking pointschmacking point, Robbie took his car to the garage where some pimply youth drove it away so that whatever they did to it could be done by whoever it was that did it, and then they’d send him the bill. His idea of car maintenance involved signing cheques and putting in the petrol.
On the hard shoulder, Lesley walked round the car, bent almost double so that she could see underneath the sills, past the trims and the go-fast faring, and then she grinned and said, ‘Eureka.’
Robbie groaned. Presumably that was something else said by bloody Archimedes. He buttoned his coat up to the chin and sat down on the grass verge, opened his briefcase and pulled out his notes on Bernie Fielding.
‘We’re not supposed to be in Bristol, are we?’ said Nimrod, watching the signs to the city centre whizz past the hire car. ‘I thought we were supposed to have gone round it?’
Cain nodded. ‘I know, I know – I dunno where I went wrong to be honest. But don’t worry, we’ll turn off up here somewhere.’ He looked across at Nimrod. ‘You all right?’ he asked casually, tucking in behind a lorry. ‘Not too tense or anything?’
Nimrod shook his head. They were getting closer to the moment, he could feel it in his bones. If Nimrod was honest he’d nearly had enough. The high-octane burn that propelled him through a hit only lasted so long and he could feel himself running low. He wanted the job over now, no more cock ups, no more close shaves or near misses. Of all the things that Nimrod Brewster hated, mess was right up near the top of the list. Not that you would guess from his demeanour. But he wanted the job done and for him and Cain to be back in Marbella, to be out on the terrace tending to his cacti and pruning his bourganvillea.
He popped another Minto into his mouth, jaw snapping shut like a guillotine. ‘Nah, you’re all right – I’m fine – and let’s face it, it’s easy enough done. If I was driving we’d probably be in bleeding Glasgow by now.’ And then he added, ‘Up there,’ waving a hand. ‘You can get off up there on the left.’
‘Right you are,’ said Cain, and he indicated and changed lanes.
Nick took Maggie’s mobile outside, switched it on, and – pulling a piece of paper out of the wallet in his back pocket – tapped Coleman’s phone number in. As he did a little symbol flashed up on the screen; missed call, new voicemail. Nick made a mental note to tell Maggie when he got back.
While waiting to be connected, Nick stared out into the bright new morning. St Elfreda’s was a good place to be. Mature trees were alive with rooks calling the odds. Someone close by was frying bacon. He could hear a baby crying and children chittering. Across the broad strip of grass that divided Maggie’s hut from the next fenced garden plot, a row of sandals and buckets and spades stood guard outside the back door by the steps. Red sandals, yellow buckets, a bright blue spade. Primary-coloured fun that made his heart ache.
For a moment Nick felt the pain in his chest as he caught a glimpse of normal lives; kids and holidays and sand and other people just doing ordinary things. It seemed a lifetime ago since things had been that simple.
‘Good morning,’ said a polite female voice at the far end of the phone line. At least he wasn’t held in a queue. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Oh hello, I know it’s early but I wondered if Mr Coleman is in yet – or maybe you could get a message to him for me?’
There was a pause and then the woman said, ‘Is that Bernie Fielding?’
Nick reddened furiously as if he had been caught out, and instinctively looked over his shoulder to check who else might be listening in to their conversation. ‘Yes, it is –’ he said in surprise and then continued in a lower voice, barely more than a whisper, ‘How did you know that it was me?’
‘We’ve been expecting you to ring in. Just stay on the line and I’ll try and connect you. I’m transferring your call through now.’
Finally, thought Nick.
‘Well, hello there stranger,’ Coleman said in a warm, almost chummy tone. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
It wasn’t quite the reception that Nick had expected. ‘I’m sorry –’ he began, even though it wasn’t really true. ‘Maggie thought it would be better if we left West Brayfield straight away. After the TV thing and the trailers – you know.’ What else was there to say? Surely Nick didn’t have to justify running for his life to a man who was supposed to protect it?
‘Umm,’ said Coleman thoughtfully, without committing himself. ‘Maybe she was right. So where are you now?’
Nick hesitated, realising that he was reluctant to tell him. ‘In Somerset,’ he said cagily.
‘Okay – Somerset – nice place. Care to be a little more specific?’
Nick looked back towards the beach hut. What he wanted was to be safe and to begin again more than anything else in the world. Through the open door he could see Maggie in the kitchen, all wrapped up in a big woolly dressing gown, making them tea and toast. As he watched she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and for an instant he relished the peculiar feeling of tenderness that it gave him inside.
Realistically the ache was not purely for Maggie, although there was no denying that she had whatever it was that attracted him to a woman. More than that, though, her being there, waiting for him to come back, was like a warm echo from another life. For an instant he had a laser sharp-image of another, imaginary Somerset time, when everything was all right, when he and Maggie would have been here with the kids on holiday, where they would all be looking forward to a day out or a day down on the beach. As if Maggie was aware of his thoughts, she looked up at him and smiled. Nick winced; the smile was way too close to the happy families that he was dreaming of to be comfortable.
‘You want the truth, Coleman? To be perfectly honest; I don’t trust you any more. You told me that I’d be safe and I’m not, am I?’ Nick said flatly. ‘One cock-up and my face is all over nationwide TV. I don’t call that safe, do you?’
Coleman sighed but Nick noted that he didn’t argue with him.
‘I can’t say that I blame you, Nick, but what other choice do you have? Seriously? We both know that you can’t keep running forever. You haven’t got the resources or, come to that, the nature for living outside the law. There is nowhere for you to hide that you can’t be found, at least not unless we hide you again. You will be safe –’
‘That’s what you told me last time.’
Maggie – out of earshot – grinned and waved the buttered toast in his direction. The warm expression on her face fed the feelings of loss and longing in Nick’s heart.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Coleman was saying. ‘I need to know where you are, Nick. For God’s sake – I can help you, but only if you let me. We can have a team down there to pick you up in a couple of hours, wherever you are. Do you understand? Wherever you are. We are all on the same side –’
Nick sighed and as Maggie walked towards him bearing toast, said, ‘Okay, maybe you’re right but I just want to be free for a little bit longer. I’ll ring you back later today and arrange a pick-up point.’
And before Coleman had time to answer or argue or protest, Nick pressed ‘End call’ and then switched the phone off, every instinct telling him that while it was on, the guys at Stiltskin could probably track him down.
‘Did you get through?’ Maggie said, handing him a mug of tea.
Nick nodded. She smelt good; of sleep and woman and warm buttered toast. This was hardly a good time to think about falling for someone, but then for an instant he remembered how good it felt to wake up with her in his arms and how very still he had lain for fear of frightening her away.
‘And what did they say?’ she said, taking a big bite out of the toast.
‘That they want to come down to Somerset and rescue me – apparently I’m screwing their success rate up while I’m on the loose.’ Maggie’s expression hardened in reaction to his flippant tone. ‘Keep you hair on,’ he said gently. ‘It’s going to be all right. I told Coleman that I’d ring him back later and that he could come and get me once we had arranged a pick-up point. Meanwhile, how do you fancy a walk on the beach?’
She stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’
Nick stared right back and nodded. ‘Never more so.’
12
Bernie unfolded himself from the lorry cab, dropped down onto the unforgiving tarmac and lifted a hand in salute to the driver. He stretched. It was still misty but with the promise that before too long the sun would burn away the haze to reveal a perfect summer’s day – and it was getting warmer with every passing moment.
‘Cheers, mate.’
The driver nodded. ‘Not a problem. You won’t forget me, will you, you know, about the villa?’
Bernie shook his head. ‘Not a chance,’ he said, and with an open palm tapped the sheet of paper that was folded and tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket. The man had given Bernie his name and address, just in case Bernie ever got anything concrete on another time-share property like the totally imaginary one he had pretended to have sold for a song and had just spent three hours or so talking about.