by Katie Fforde
‘You'd be prepared to do that?'
‘Uh-huh.' Flora was suddenly aware how much she had exposed her feelings.
‘For me, or the company?’
She swallowed. 'The company, of course.' This was a lie, but she felt too vulnerable to tell him the truth.
‘So you do care about Stanza and Stanza?' he asked softly.
‘Of course I care!' said Flora and, a second later, she realised she'd been tricked in a way she'd tricked Charles in the past.
‘So why did you run away?'
‘I told you. I thought you'd lose the company if I stayed. Why did you come after me?'
‘Do you really need to ask me that?’
Flora's vehement affirmative was interrupted by the appearance of their food. She was grateful. It gave her time to think. What reason could she possibly give for running away that didn't involve her feelings for Charles? And Annabelle. She cut herself quite a large bit of steak so she couldn't possibly be expected to answer difficult questions for some time.
‘It was quite hard to track you down,' said Charles who, having taken a smaller mouthful, was able to speak quite soon.
Flora nodded, chewing.
‘I had to get in touch with Henry in the end.’
Flora frowned. 'How did he know where I was?'
‘It was he who suggested we got in touch with Emma.' He frowned. 'And strangely, although they were supposed to be friends, William didn't have Emma's number.'
‘Oh?'
‘No. Fortunately your mother had it. She told me where you were working.’
Flora made a note to either kill or hug Emma and her mother later, depending on how things worked out. `So were Emma and William old friends?’
Flora shrugged. 'Maybe not.'
‘Still, he paints a very good portrait.'
‘Oh, did Annabelle get it done? What's it like?' She picked up her glass.
‘It's very fetching. She's naked.’
Flora sprayed red wine all over her plate, the surrounding table and even, a bit, on Charles. The waiter rushed up, to see if she needed patting on the back. He was sent away by Charles's frown.
‘Didn't you know?' asked Charles. 'I thought you were in her confidence.’
Flora shook her head and sipped some water. 'She never told me she was going to have herself painted naked! It seems so unlike her!'
‘I don't know about that. Since you did your Trinny and Susannah act on her, she's been a changed woman.’
Flora suddenly became very hot. If she hadn't meddled with Annabelle's wardrobe, thrown out the pie-crust collars, got her to stop doing her shirts up to the neck, she and Annabelle might not have been any happier, but at least Charles might have been. He must have liked the pie-crust collars.
‘I'm so sorry,' she whispered as guilt flooded over her. 'I don't think-you're aware of your powers, Flora,' he answered, looking maddeningly inscrutable.
Flora got hold of herself. 'Oh, come on, you can't blame it all on me! She's a strong-minded woman, Annabelle.’
Braced by his unreasonableness, she attacked another section of steak. She didn't bother with the chips, delicious though they were, she needed iron, a few red corpuscles, to keep her emotional flag flying.
‘So you don't take responsibility for Annabelle behaving out of character?'
‘No!' She concentrated on deepening her voice so she didn't sound too mouse-like. 'No. You can't take responsibility for the actions of adults in their right minds. It's just neurotic, blaming yourself for everything.'
‘A moment ago you were blaming yourself for Annabelle's improved dress sense making her skittish, now you won't accept any culpability for her having her portrait painted naked.’
Flora suddenly wondered if that was all that was going on between Annabelle and William. Despite her threats to Flora, it seemed Annabelle had ended up relinquishing Charles quite quickly - maybe William had been a factor. After all, taking your clothes off in front of a man was a very intimate thing to do, even if only in the capacity of artist's model. She didn't mention this rogue thought.
‘Only you would use a word like "culpability" in conversation, Charles.' She took another sip of wine. She had been about to say that it was one of the things she loved about him. Not because it was in any way lovable, but because it was so characteristic of him.
‘Are you going to eat your chips?'
‘No. Do have them.' She watched as he piled his plate with frites. 'Honestly, how you can eat so much . . 'What?' Charles chewed stolidly.
‘At a time like this,' she managed, deliberately being unspecific.
He put down his knife and fork and glanced at his watch. 'Half past eight?’
Flora folded her lip behind her teeth to stop herself smiling. 'I said a time like this, not this specific time.' Then she remembered her fake appointment to visit a flat. She thought it was about time she referred to it again. 'And if it's half past eight, I must go. I've got to get to Islington, and I have no idea how long that'll take me.'
‘Too long. And why go to Islington anyway?’
‘I told you, to look at a flat.'
‘But I told you I've come to take you home.'
‘Well, I can't possibly go. For one thing, the Land-Rover's in a residential parking space outside Emma's house.'
‘I must remember to report the fact that you stole it to the police.'
‘It's half mine, anyway. And apart from Imelda, who I am sure is perfectly happy being fed sardines by Edie, give me one good reason why I should go back to Stanza and Stanza?' She took a breath and carried on, in case he didn't give her the answer he wanted. 'The business is picking up no end, you can buy out Bob and George and get all their business, the website works brilliantly. You can really become profitable.'
‘Did Geoffrey tell you he wants to buy into the business?'
‘No, really? How fantastic!' That must be the plan for the money the books had raised that Geoffrey was being so mysterious about. 'He knows so much about everything and the extra cash would come in very useful.' In fact, Flora realised, it would be more than useful - it would enable Charles to repay Annabelle's father's loan. And Annabelle's hold over Charles would disappear.
‘Extra cash is always useful.' Charles smiled ruefully. 'But it would go to you, not to the business.'
‘What?'
‘You'd get the cash, not the business, because it would be your shares he'd be buying, wouldn't it?’
Flora shook her head. 'Not necessarily, they could be some of yours. But if he wants to buy some of mine, that's fine by me. In fact, if he wanted to buy me out entirely, that would be great.’
Charles frowned, rattled for the first time. 'But, Flora, I thought you loved the auctioneering business.'
‘I do,' she agreed in a small voice. 'But it doesn't have to be Stanza and Stanza, does it?'
‘No other business has your name on the letterhead, Flora. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'
‘Yes, it does, but . . .' Tears clogged the back of her throat. She felt very tired, and very despondent. Charles had travelled all the way up to London to ask her to come back, but it now seemed very clear it was only for business reasons.
‘But what?'
‘It might be better if I became an auctioneer with another auction house, somewhere else.'
‘Why?'
‘Because . . .' What could she possibly say that would make any sense?
‘There's no reason at all, is there?’
She gave a little shrug and looked into the middle distance which happened to be the specials board. There was a reason, a very good reason, but not one she could possibly give Charles.
‘Would you like pudding?'
‘No, thank you.' She regarded him. 'But don't let me stop you. Why not have the profiteroles?'
‘There's something I want more than chocolate- covered pastries.'
‘What?' Flora scanned the blackboard again 'Tarte au citron? Tarte tatin?'
‘No, you si
lly creature, I want you. Come on.’
He tossed a large sheaf of ten-pound notes on to the table and got to his feet.
Rather than face the embarrassment of his highhanded behaviour with the matter of the bill, Flora allowed him to take her arm and rush her out of the restaurant and on to the pavement, which had suddenly become quite busy.
‘Now where?' demanded Flora, trying to remember she was a twenty-first-century woman and therefore not to be hauled about willy-nilly.
‘A hotel, I think. Taxi!’
A taxi pulled up and Flora got into it. Charles collapsed on to the seat next to her.
‘Where to?' asked the taxi driver over his shoulder. 'A decent hotel,' said Charles. 'Can you recommend anywhere?’
Flora hid her face in her hands, trying not to die from mortification. 'What will he think?’
Charles looked down at her and chuckled. 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.’
Behind her hands, Flora laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flora was still hiding behind her hands when the taxi drew up, several minutes later. It wasn't surprising, really: they were in the centre of London; it was stuffed to the gills with hotels.
‘This should do you. Small and discreet, just what you need, sir,' said the taxi driver.
Flora clambered out of the taxi and stood next to Charles, blushing, while he paid. She followed at a safe distance as he strode up the steps to the hotel. What could he possibly say at the desk that wouldn't make the whole situation look incredibly sordid? She hung around in the foyer, studying the modern art which surrounded her, indifferent to her state of acute nervousness. It wasn't that she didn't want to rush up to a bedroom with Charles, it was just that the process of getting there was toe-curling, to say the least.
‘Come here and sign this,' said Charles. His words were commanding, but his tone was gentle. Flora signed obediently, hardly glancing at the nice-looking young woman behind the desk.
‘As you see, we haven't got any luggage so could you kindly send up toothbrushes, toothpaste and - do you need anything, darling?’
The 'darling' made them seem married but as it was the first time he'd used that endearment it made her blush even more.
‘Some sort of moisturiser would be good,' she mumbled, still not looking up.
A horrid thought occurred to her. What about contraception? But if she reminded him about it now, he'd ask this nice woman for some condoms to be sent up with the toothbrushes and then she really would die of mortification. Such a death might be a medical first, but she was quite sure it was possible.
It wasn't the sort of hotel that told you which floor your room was on and expected you to find it. Although there was a conspicuous lack of bags to carry, a young man - gorgeous, Flora noted, and therefore even more embarrassing - took them along carpeted corridors and down a little flight of stairs to their room.
Once inside the room, after showing them the wardrobe, the mini-bar and how to work the television, he left them to it.
Flora went straight to the bathroom to inspect the shampoos and shower gels and found them to be Molton Brown - very satisfactory. When she went back, she found that Charles was inspecting the mini-bar.
It wasn't so much a bar as a cupboard with a fridge in it. Inside the fridge was gin, vodka, champagne, white wine, and the usual jelly beans and mixers. Outside was whisky, red wine, a disposable camera, snacks and something called a Comfort Pack.
Flora seized it and pulled off the top. 'Oh look! It's full of useful things! Sticking plaster, painkillers, a sewing kit and—' A packet of three condoms fell out on to the bed.
‘Only three,' said Charles after a moment. 'That's a bit of a disappointment. But I expect they'll send up more if we ask.’
Flora allowed her gaze to meet Charles's head on for the first time since they left the restaurant. 'I can't believe we're doing this when we haven't even kissed properly.’
He smiled at her and opened his arms. 'Then let's kiss — properly.’
His arms folded round her and his mouth locked on to hers as if drawn by a magnet. He tasted minty, and she realised that he must have eaten a breath-cleansing sweet at some point. She wished she'd done the same —there was something in her bag — but she hadn't thought of it. Then she stopped worrying, stopped thinking, even, and just gave herself up to the sensation.
At first it was clumsy, too passionate for technique, and it took a few seconds before his lips took control and Flora felt her body melt into his. Her knees gave way and they subsided on to the bed, first sitting, and then lying on all the bits and pieces from the Comfort Pack. Then he really applied himself to what he was doing and Flora began to catch fire.
He was just battling with the safety pin that was holding Emma's jacket together at the top of her breasts, when there was a knock on the door, so discreet that Flora was sure the knocker knew what was going on inside the room.
Charles got up to open it, and Flora fled to the bathroom so her flushed cheeks, rumpled hair and general dishevelment weren't exposed to whoever it was came with the toothbrushes. Where did Charles learn to kiss like that? she wondered. Surely not from Annabelle! Banishing Annabelle firmly from her mind, she undid the safety pin while she was waiting for Charles to deal with room service. It seemed to take a long time to deliver a couple of toothbrushes and some moisturiser.
When she came out Charles was opening a bottle of champagne.
‘That didn't come out of the mini-bar. It wouldn't fit,' she said.
‘It's complimentary. For honeymoon couples.’
Flora opened her eyes wide. 'But we're not on our honeymoon! And it can't possibly look as if we are.’
He shrugged. 'Maybe they mean honeymoon in a more metaphorical sense.’
Flora bit her lip and blushed.
‘I must have a shower before — we get too carried away,' he said. 'I've been on the road all day and must stink.’
Flora hadn't thought he stank. He had a pleasant, metallic, masculine odour, of course, but she'd liked the way he smelt. Now he'd mentioned it, she began to feel self-conscious about how long it had been since she had had a shower herself.
‘I might have a bath. I must stink, too.'
‘I'll go first, then I'll bring you a glass of champagne while you're in there.’
At least the first time he saw her naked she'd be covered in bubbles — Molton Brown bubbles. Flora found the thought surprisingly erotic. But she realised any thought connected with Charles was surprisingly erotic. She picked up the small pot of moisturiser that had come with the champagne. It smelt divine. This was a very expensive hotel. The taxi driver must have thought Charles looked affluent and she supposed he did. His suit was well cut, his shoulders were broad and his shoes were shiny. Very Alpha Male. She giggled.
The Alpha Male marched back into the bedroom wearing only a towel round his waist. Flora had never seen his naked back before, or indeed his naked anything. His muscles were surprisingly impressive for someone who, as far as she knew, didn't work out. She looked away. The sight of him made her catch her breath. She shot him a quick, provocative glance as she moved behind him to get to the bathroom.
Hotel baths fill very quickly and it was only moments before Flora was in hers, the bubbles forming a protective layer. She wasn't usually self-conscious about her body, but it had never mattered as much before. She'd yearned to be with Charles for so long and had never thought it would happen. Now it was happening, she wanted it to be as good as possible. She realised she hadn't had a hot bath since she'd left the cottage and the feeling of the water around her was both shocking and relaxing. She closed her eyes, thinking of what lay ahead.
She heard him come into the room and opened her eyes as he sat on the edge of the bath and handed her a glass. Putting out her hand to take it revealed, she knew, her naked breast, partially concealed by foam. She saw his eyes go to it, and bit her lip. Her initial shyness and embarrassment were rapidly turning to lust. It must be t
he combination of hot water and cold champagne.
‘You're very beautiful, you know, Flora.'
‘I'm not beautiful. Quite pretty when I'm done up, but not beautiful.'
‘To me you're beautiful, and have been from almost the moment I first saw you.’
Flora sipped her champagne and tried to think what she'd been wearing. Not quite enough, she remembered, and very unbusiness like shoes. 'I thought you were terribly stuffy.'
‘I was. Still am in some ways, but better than before, I hope.'
‘You're OK,' she said into her glass. 'I quite like you.’
‘I do a great deal more than like you, Flora. I love you, very much indeed.'
‘That's all right then.' This time she looked at him over the glass.
‘Are you ever going to get out of there? Or do I have to come in and get you?'
‘I don't usually get out until I've turned into a prune. A pink prune.'
‘I can't wait that long.' He took her glass and set it down.
‘Pass me a towel, then.'
‘No. You can share mine.' He pulled her up out of the bath and into his arms. For a moment she just stood against him, the tips of her breasts just below his pectorals, but not touching. He looked down at her speculatively, then, without touching any other part of her, he ran one finger lightly down her spine. She caught her breath and he drew her towards him, and his hands slid all over her body. Then he put his hands on the back of her waist and held her close. They kissed for a long, dizzying time before he pulled away and she heard him swallow. 'Come on.’
Still welded together they got from the bathroom to the bed, where they collapsed, kissing, only moving when Flora realised she was lying on top of a packet of safety pins.
Charles stripped the covers off the bed, scattering the Comfort Pack. He had lost his towel by now and as he scooped her up and tossed her on to the bed, Flora giggled breathlessly until his mouth came down on hers.
*
'You can't ring for more condoms,' said Flora. 'I won't let you.'
‘Well, what do you suggest we do, then?’
Flora thought about it and then glanced at the clock radio. 'It's five to midnight. There's probably something open still. You could ask at the desk.'