by Grace Lowrie
The waiter was young, good-looking and armed with a charm-filled smile, but Melody simply nodded her head graciously in silent thanks as he took her coat. I felt conspicuously lucky and proud to be with her as we were led to our table; Melody’s understated bravery and beauty were constantly astounding.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ I said once we were seated.
Nodding tightly she pointed decisively to a mid-priced Rosé on the wine list between us, before gazing around at our surroundings. The restaurant was modern and unfussy, but popular, with every table occupied and a continuous hum of conversing voices. Melody scrutinised her cutlery before moving it aside and then picked up her napkin, taking the time to smell it and brush it across her cheek before unfolding it across her lap. It was fascinating watching her get comfortable and I found myself sniffing my own detergent-scented napkin in turn. By the time the waiter returned to take our drinks order I was able to give him our meal choices too, and he retreated with a curt bow.
‘You OK?’ I said, gently taking Melody’s left hand across the table.
She nodded.
‘We can leave at any time if you start to feel uncomfortable, just let me know...’
There weren’t many restaurants in Wildham, but I’d still agonised over where to take her before making a final decision. I’d wanted to choose somewhere decent, but laid back and informal; somewhere that wouldn’t freak her out or suggest any weighty expectations. I still hadn’t had a chance to break things off with Bridget, and my intention for the evening was to keep things fairly relaxed between Melody and I.
But now that we were here and she was sitting across from me looking so beautiful, bathed in soft lighting and serenaded by Debussy, it suddenly seemed like the most romantic place on Earth.
The suave waiter reappeared with our drinks and Melody took several large gulps from her glass while he was still pouring my mineral water. Once he’d left us alone again she slipped off her spectacles and produced a discrete little leather-bound notebook from her handbag, in which she wrote with an even daintier pencil: It smells of garlic in here.
I smiled. ‘That’s probably the mussels – they’re really good – have you ever tried them?’
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
‘You should try them.’
That suggestion was met with a sceptical expression, but I let it go as Melody sipped her wine and then returned her attention to her notebook. Why don’t you drink?
I’d been asked this question repeatedly over the years, most often by other rugby players, for whom heavy social drinking was part and parcel of the sport. I always offered the same vague answers; that I simply preferred not to; that it didn’t agree with me; that I was an unattractive drunk. They weren’t lies as such, but it wasn’t the whole truth either, and most people assumed I must be a recovering alcoholic.
Melody’s expression was earnest and alluring in the candlelight as she patiently waited for my response. ‘It has a bad effect on me.’
It makes you sick?
‘Something like that. I do miss it sometimes, though. How’s your wine?’
The look in her eyes told me she knew I was hiding something, but that she wasn’t going to press me for an answer. I took a sip of water and she gently weaved her slender fingers through mine in unspoken support.
‘Excuse me,’ said a large woman at the next table, leaning towards Melody. ‘I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but I love your dress... I just wondered where you got it...?’
Melody paled and physically shrank back in her seat as if the woman had spat at her, making me want to leap to her aid. I was sure the stranger’s polite curiosity was genuine, but it had clearly caught Melody off guard. As the two women stared at each other, I jumped in with the first words that came to my head.
‘I think it’s Vintage, isn’t that right, Mel?’
They both turned to me, and then Melody nodded at the stranger with something like relief.
‘Ah, you lucky thing, what a find! I can never seem to find the right things in second-hand shops... either that or they’re never my size. Have you ever been to Glad Rags on Goldhawk Road?’
Melody shook her head.
‘Oh you must! They have beautiful dresses – mostly too small for me, but they’d be perfect for a petite little thing like you.’
Melody managed a smile as the woman’s dining companion returned to his seat opposite her.
‘Well, I’ll let you get back to your dinner, nice talking to you,’ she added, moving away and immediately informing her partner of the dessert she had chosen.
Melody turned her smile on me and its warmth reached all the way down to my feet. She had handled the encounter well, with minimal help from me. Why I’d shortened her name to ‘Mel’ was a mystery; it had slipped out on instinct, oddly comfortable and familiar; as if we’d been friends for years, but thankfully she didn’t seem to mind. Squeezing her hand I returned her grin while she sipped her wine.
The food was delicious and I enjoyed watching Melody eat. We shared crusty bread and olives and she nimbly licked the butter and oil from her fingers in order to jot down comments about our surroundings. She seemed to find the décor hilarious; the exposed pipes, bare brick walls, distressed paintwork and dangly naked light bulbs. I tried to explain that it was a rustic, industrial look but she insisted the owners must have run out of money. Despite this she enthused about the cosy ambience of the place and the fresh flowers and candles. She wrote: I’m glad it’s busy – everyone is too engrossed in their own food and conversation to notice me.
When the main course arrived she tested the blade of her knife on the pad of her thumb before tackling a classic steak frites with gusto. It was wonderful seeing her happy and relaxed, but she wasn’t going unnoticed. Our waiter was far more attentive to her than he was to anyone else; constantly offering her more wine and enquiring about her enjoyment of the food with increasing frequency. It was clear by the way he was always trying to catch her eye that he was attracted to her, and only my substantial presence prevented him from openly flirting. It might have been annoying, except that Melody, the enigmatic beauty across the table, only had eyes for me.
While we were waiting for our dessert to arrive, Melody surprised me by slipping off her shoe and running a bare foot up my denim-clad leg. The lower halves of our bodies were well hidden by the tablecloth, but even so, the bold sensuality of the move was completely unexpected and intensely arousing. Melody wasn’t drunk, she’d only had the one glass, but the wine had made her brave. As her toes inched their way up to my knee, she held my gaze across the table with a sphinx-like smile, her eyes burning with mischief. But as she embarked on the sensitive inside of my thigh I was forced to halt her progress; grabbing her small, perfectly-formed foot in my hand, for fear of losing all control.
She flexed and wriggled her toes with frustration, mere centimetres from my straining hard-on, but I held her firm, suppressing a groan. With my thumb I blindly explored the delicate arch of her instep, gently kneading the muscles beneath her soft skin, and was rewarded with a quiet gasp and a convulsive shiver of pleasure from where she sat. Drinking in the sight of her, I continuing my surreptitious massage while her shoulders sagged, her eyelids drooped and her lips parted. She was only saved from the indignity of actually falling asleep by our over-enthusiastic waiter delivering two crisply caramelised crème brûlées with flourish.
Chapter Thirty-two
Liam took my hand as we left the restaurant and I leaned into him, wrapping my other hand part way round his huge bicep. The wind had dropped at last, but it was chilly and I was drowsy with an excess of good food and wine, and with the stress of being out in public. And yet, against all expectations, I’d enjoyed myself. The French bistro was weird-looking but delightful, and nobody was rude to me at all.
Was it Liam’s presence that prevented people from staring at me and making snide comments? The bruising on his face was fading, but he was still physically intimidating,
even in navy jeans, a collared shirt and a smart jacket – my own personal bodyguard. Whatever the reason, the only people who had spoken to me tonight had been surprisingly kind, and I was now light-headed with relief.
‘Are you warm enough? Would you like to go somewhere else for a drink, or would you rather go home?’ Reluctant to release him I mouthed the word home and he smiled.
‘Home it is.’
This time I let him walk me all the way up the winding drive to the front door.
‘I won’t be here on Monday – I promised James that I’d help him with some fencing, but I’ll see you Tuesday?’
Retrieving my notebook and pencil, I bravely wrote down the question I’d been too afraid to ask until now:
Stay?
His eyebrows rose as he read the word, and an internal conflict was clear in his eyes as they locked onto mine. Just for tonight, I added.
‘I can’t do that, Mel... I’m sorry.’
I loved that he’d shortened my name to Mel. I’d never had a nickname before, not a nice one anyway, and it made me feel closer to him; almost special. And yet, he didn’t want to spend the night with me. Why not? I wrote.
‘It just doesn’t feel right... you’re here on your own and I’m so much older than you... it would feel like I was taking advantage.’
You stayed before.
‘That was different, you were sick. Look, we’ve only had one date; we don’t have to rush this; I want you to be sure about what you want...’
I am sure – I do know what I want. I trust you.
He smiled. ‘I’m glad you trust me, but maybe you shouldn’t; not yet; you hardly know me...’
He gently brushed a wayward strand of hair from my face and I batted his hand away with irritation, rejection and anger swelling up in my chest.
Sighing, he pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m crazy about you – you do know that, don’t you?’
I turned away, blinking as tears pricked my eyes. I’d worn these silly glasses as an extra layer of armour to hide behind, but now they were just annoying.
‘I’ve got something for you. I was going to give it to you in the restaurant, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want it – I’m still not sure...’
I turned back to see a small, black mobile phone held out in his hand.
‘I realise we can’t exactly call each other, but I got you a sim card with unlimited texts... I thought a mobile might be easier to carry around then a pen and paper and this way, if you want to, you can contact me even when I’m not here.’
I’d never had a phone before – until now there was no-one in my life I wished to contact. The concept was startling, but the reasoning behind his gift, and the idea of being able to reach him at any time, was almost overwhelming.
‘It’s only a basic model, but I’ve programmed my number in and set up an email account... it should be easy to use... have you sent texts before? I can show you how it works...’
As he rambled on, my tears escaped and I covered my mouth with my hand in a lame attempt to hold them back.
‘Hey, please don’t cry,’ he said, pulling me into a warm hug. ‘You don’t have to use it; it was a stupid idea; I didn’t mean to upset you; I’m s—’
Reaching up I pulled his face down to mine and quashed his apology with a long, slow kiss. Once I was sure I’d silenced him, I pulled back and scribbled show me in my notebook.
‘Are you sure?’
I rolled my eyes, shoved my pad and pencil into my handbag and prised the phone out of Liam’s huge hand. Below a generously-sized screen sat a neat keypad, and when I pressed the largest button, the display lit up brightly with the current date and time. I grinned up at him, pleased with myself, and he smiled back at me, relieved.
‘Maybe I’ll come in for a little bit – just to show you how it works...’
I wasted no time unlocking the front door and leading Liam into the cosy warmth of the kitchen, quietly thrilling at the novelty of having company. He sat down in a creaky chair at the table while I removed my glasses, coat and shoes, and held the kettle aloft in silent offering.
‘A coffee would be great, thank you.’
Liam only stayed long enough to talk me through the simple processes of using my new phone. But we were texting each other inane little comments deep into the night.
*
In the morning Gregory returned from his three-week trip abroad, filling the house with restless noises, pointed questions and cigar smoke. Switching my phone to silent mode I hid it deep inside Beauty, right where her heart would be if she had one. I wished I could conceal myself as easily, but it was near impossible in a house where none of the internal doors locked. Gregory didn’t believe in locked rooms.
I was hunched up on the window seat in the linen room, hiding behind the clean towels, sheets and tablecloths, trying to read a book, when Gregory first sought me out. He tried to smother me in an awkward hug, but my knees got in the way and I stubbornly refused to move them, so he sat down on the seat by my feet instead.
‘Mrs Daly said you’ve been ill with scarlet fever – that she had to call the doctor for you, is that right?’
I nodded, gazing out the window and across the grounds, idly hoping that his stringent aftershave wouldn’t infect all the clean linen.
‘Why didn’t you email me to let me know? I could have come back sooner... looked after you...’
I shrugged and, although my gaze was still trained on the view through the window, I could tell his eyes were crawling all over my bare legs and toes. It wasn’t the same warm sensation as when Liam looked at me; on the contrary it made me vaguely nauseated.
‘Are you feeling better now? Is there anything I can get you? Yvette’s coming to cook for us, is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?’ I shook my head and he vented his usual sigh of frustration. ‘I’m sorry I have to work away so much. It doesn’t mean I don’t care...’
Technically it wasn’t Gregory’s fault that I resented his presence so much. Experiencing a pang of guilt I offered him a half-hearted smile which was all the encouragement he needed.
‘Look, I’ve brought you something – sorry it’s not wrapped.’ He handed me a plastic carrier bag from which I withdrew a garish, bright-yellow stuffed toy. The thing was capsule-shaped with big goggly eyes, wearing a gormless smile and a pair of blue dungarees. A mobile phone it was not.
‘It’s called a Minion,’ Gregory explained, all the kids are into them, isn’t it cute?’
I’m not a kid. I tried to smile with gratitude, and it strained on my face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He placed one soft hand on my foot and it took all my self-control not to kick out at him or shrink away from his manicured touch.
‘I’m going to stay at home for a while, keep you company, I want to hear about all your news...’ I turned back to the window to hide the irritation in my face. ‘Maybe we could go out somewhere, I could take you to the opera, you wouldn’t have to speak, what do you think...?’
I shook my head.
‘I’d like us to be friends, Melody, you’re a grown woman now...’
Something about this last line made me uneasy and I snatched my foot away from his grasp under the guise of adjusting my position. He seemed about to say something else but cleared his throat instead and stood up, smoothing the creases from his suit.
‘We’ll be eating in the dining room at seven-thirty this evening. Make sure you bring something to write with,’ he added, leaving the room.
As the week progressed I tried to avoid Gregory as much as possible, and behave in the same way that I always had. But Liam had made me feel restless; impatient; alive; and Gregory seemed to sense the difference in me. He inspected the supermarket invoices more carefully than usual, scrutinised my browser history and even read the boring manuscripts I’d been editing. When he found nothing incriminating he tracked my movements from room to room, and hounded me with nosey questions dressed up as concern.
I’m asham
ed to say his overt attention only brought out the devil in me, and I started thinking up subtle ways to encourage him to leave. At first I simply took advantage of the fact he was jet-lagged in order to mess with him. While he was asleep I crept through the house and turned all the clocks backwards or forwards by an hour to confuse him; his alarm clock included. I also swapped the jar of strong coffee in the kitchen with the decaffeinated one, so that he became increasingly sleepy after breakfast and keyed-up in the evenings.
But when he continued to hang around, I progressed onto more drastic and devious measures: such as pricking the surface of his contact lenses with a pin at night so that they irritated his eyeballs during the day, and lacing his evening drink with water tablets so that he was up half the night urinating. I am not a good person.
It was probably just as well that Liam ended up being absent for most of the week, and not just the Monday as he predicted. A drama involving his friends meant that Liam spent days at the local hospital waiting for news. Late at night we kept each other updated by exchanging a few furtive texts, but it wasn’t the same – I missed his smile, his warmth, the rumble of his voice and the way he held my hand. Above all else I missed the magical spell of his kiss.
As autumn took hold in the grounds, rain set in and I was forced to stay indoors. Gregory was unable to go hunting and grew restless and irritable with lack of sleep. He chewed relentlessly at his cigars, no doubt frustrated by my secrets, but his questions stopped. Instead he took to pacing backwards and forwards, or sitting and jiggling one leg up and down, or simply staring at me in silence – which was by far the worst experience and would force me to leave the room.
By the time Liam arrived on Friday morning, the air of tension inside the house was unbearable. My heart leapt in my chest at the familiar growl of his van pulling up on the drive, and then plummeted into my stomach as Gregory strode purposefully through the house and out the front door to confront him.
Chapter Thirty-three
‘You’re back,’ Sinclair stated, from the top of the steps.