Chapter Nine #4
I whirled round and almost spat the words at him. ‘Why did I bother even asking? I should’ve remembered — dancing with me won’t do anything for your image, because I’m like your little sister. Funny, you didn’t think of that when you kissed me. Not a very brotherly kiss, I seem to recall.’
‘Emma, I—’
‘Of course,’ I went on, lowering my voice to a hiss of contempt, ‘no one saw, so it didn’t matter. Whereas dancing with me in front of all these people—’
He interrupted me with a quiet, ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
I waited for him to elaborate, but he just looked down at the floor. In that case . . . Another deep breath. ‘No, Mark, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m sick of you being Big Brother, always watching out for me and bossing me around. It may have worked in the past, but it’s not working now!’
His head snapped up; his eyes met mine at last and his mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘You’re right, it’s not. Not in any way, shape or form.’
I hesitated, wrong-footed by his lack of resistance. Then, ‘Does that mean you’ll treat me like an adult from now on?’
‘An adult?’ He cleared his throat. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’
I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Pretend I’m Saint Jane. You know — beyond improvement, perfection on legs.’
‘Perfection on legs? God, those legs . . . Got me into trouble with Tamara, that did . . .’ His voice trailed away and I wondered what on earth he was rambling on about.
He rubbed his temple as if soothing a nagging headache and went on, ‘Have you seen Jane? I was dancing with her before, then she just rushed off. Seemed a bit upset — any idea why?’
‘Ask her yourself. Ask her why she’s been so moody since she came back from her little holiday. Ask her who she’s having a secret affair with.’ I gave him a pitying look. ‘Funny, I’d have thought someone with your powers of perception could see through her, but you’re as gullible as everyone else.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘ I’m gullible? You can talk, falling for all Churchill’s crap and wrapping yourself round him like cling film!’
How dare he!
For a few seconds we just glared at each other, provoked beyond words.
Then I turned and fled to a place where I knew I’d be safe from him: the Ladies.
As I burst through the door, I crashed into Batty and nearly sent her flying.
When I mumbled an apology and tried to dodge past her, she grabbed my arm — almost, but unfortunately not quite, speechless with excitement.
‘I’ve been looking all over for you, dear, fancy bumping into you here.
’ She gave a trill of laughter, then dropped her voice to a concerned whisper.
‘Poor Harriet, I heard all about Philip’s little .
. . always knew there was a nasty streak in him, I remember that time when he .
. . So Mark came to the rescue, did he? They made such a lovely couple on the dance floor, Sandy Perry and I almost wondered if there was something going on’ — knowing look — ‘but then he came over specially to ask Jane for the next one. And she agreed straightaway, even though she’d just refused to dance with .
. . They made a lovely couple too, both so dark and tall and striking , as Sandy put it .
. . Actually, I’m very worried about Jane, she’s not been herself for weeks now.
I wanted her to come home with me tonight but she insists on staying here as planned, although she did promise me she’d go up to her room nice and early.
Which reminds me, dear, I’ve got a little bedtime treat for you .
. . I expect you’re like me and can never get to sleep in a strange place. ’
She let go of my arm to rummage in her handbag, while I remembered the sort of treats she’d given me as a child — disgusting boiled sweets, hideous home-made clothes for my Barbie dolls — and steeled myself for the worst.
My eyes widened as she thrust a small bottle at me.
‘Mother’s sloe gin,’ she twittered. ‘We found her old recipe a few weeks ago and made some, she swears by it for a restful night. I’ve brought one for your father, and one for Mark, I expect he’s not had a decent night since Tamara left . . . Goodnight, dear, I do hope it does the trick.’
And she was gone before I could thank her.
I stayed where I was, welcoming the silence, turning her gift over and over in my hands. With no Flynn around, a little drink in the privacy of my hotel bedroom seemed my best option. Clutching the bottle to me for safe keeping, I went to say goodnight to Dad.
‘You’ll be glad to know that Kate and Tom are taking me home any minute,’ he said, stifling a yawn.
‘And Mary’s given me some sort of fruit tonic to stop me worrying about you, darling.
I really don’t like the thought of you spending the night here.
Make sure you lock your bedroom door, you don’t know who’s on the prowl. ’
I forced a smile. ‘I’m hardly going to be molested by prowlers.’
Or anyone else by the look of it, I added to myself.
As I went upstairs to my room, I couldn’t resist knocking on the door before mine, just in case Flynn was there; but I didn’t get an answer.
Telling myself there’d be a next time, I opened the door of 107, kicked off my shoes, unscrewed the cap of my little bottle and took an experimental sip or two of its contents.
Quite nice, like Ribena with attitude. I fetched a tumbler from the bathroom, carefully emptied the bottle into it and sank onto the bed, stroking the smooth glass with my fingers, dwelling on everything that had — and hadn’t — happened during the evening.
After a few mouthfuls of sloe gin, I began to see the positive side.
Far better to let my relationship with Flynn blossom — what a peculiar word!
— away from the public eye. Away from Mark Knightley’s eye in particular .
. . Mmmm, this drink was delicious; there weren’t any obvious effects either, Old Mother Bates must have gone very easy on the gin .
. . Another mouthful, and another, and .
. . God, this was almost as good as sex!
I laughed to myself, a throaty little laugh that came out as a hiccup.
Weird. Soon — even sooner than I’d expected — I found myself staring at the bottom of the glass. All gone.
I gave a loud sigh as I took off my earrings and necklace. ‘Time for bed. Time to see if Batty’s silly magic potion works. Bet it doesn’t.’
The thing was, I knew I had to do something first .
. . Ah yes, get myself out of this dress.
I stood up with barely a stagger and put the tumbler on the bedside table.
Would you believe it — just as I did so, someone moved the table and the tumbler fell with a thud onto the carpet.
I swore, reached round behind my back and fumbled with the fastening on my dress.
Naturally, this sudden movement threw me off balance and I toppled onto the bed.
I lay there for a while, wondering what to do.
There was only one thing for it; find someone to help.
I knew Harriet’s room was on the same corridor as mine, but could I remember the number?
Never mind, it would come to me. I picked up my room key from the bedside table, which someone had moved again, and navigated my way out; always tricky in a strange hotel room, so many doors to choose from until you got to the right one — I mean, how many bathrooms and wardrobes did this room have, for God’s sake?
At last I was in the corridor, shutting the door quietly behind me. Ouch, perhaps not as quietly as I’d thought. I walked past a few doors and read the numbers out loud, trying to jog my memory. I’d just got to the end of the corridor, when I heard a familiar high-pitched giggle.
Harriet. No doubt about it. Room 115.
The number didn’t ring a bell, but at least I’d tracked her down. Did the giggle mean she had someone with her? A potentially embarrassing situation; although I couldn’t imagine who it would be and, anyway, this was an emergency.
The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open ever so gently, but it banged noisily against the wall behind and I had to put my hands out to stop it flying back in my face.
‘Oops, must be stronger than I thought,’ I said, with a nonchalant laugh. More of a hiccup again, actually; must do something about that . . .
Once I’d tackled the door and my eyes had adjusted to the low lighting, I took in the scene.
Large double bed, undisturbed; desk; two chairs, with a jacket and shirt thrown across them; Harriet, only a couple of feet away from me; next to the bed, a man.
The most gorgeous man, in fact. Naked from the waist up; such a beautiful body, all bronzed and nicely toned .
. . I had the feeling I’d seen him somewhere before, quite recently, with even less on—
Mark Knightley. Here, in Harriet’s bedroom. At least he wasn’t in Saint Jane’s.
But — Harriet ?
I drew myself up to my full height and said haughtily, ‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’
Nervous giggles from Harriet. An appraising look from Mark.
‘No, you’re not interrupting anything,’ he said, slowly and deliberately, as if speaking to an idiot. ‘Harriet’s just going — she only popped in for a quick word.’
‘To say thank you for rescuing me,’ Harriet put in excitedly. ‘My knight in shining armour!’
Armour? What on earth was she talking about? I stared at Mark, trying to remember if he’d come to the party in fancy dress, then focused my gaze on Harriet. So this wasn’t her room, it was Mark’s. Mark — and Harriet ?
Before I could stop her, Harriet edged past me and dashed out of the room. As the door slammed shut behind her, I frowned. Hadn’t I been going to ask her something? Oh yes, to undo my dress.
I turned and caught Mark drinking something ruby-coloured from a tumbler, just like I’d done earlier.
Fascinated, I watched the muscles of his throat contract as he drained the last drop.
My gaze followed the tumbler as he cradled it in one hand and rubbed his forefinger along the rim, to and fro, to and fro . . .
Oh — my — God. All of a sudden, I knew exactly what I wanted.
But what if he rejected me? No, he wouldn’t. Not this time.
‘I need you to undo my dress.’ I stumbled over to him — must have tripped on something on the floor — and flopped face down on the bed.
He cleared his throat. ‘And I need you to go to your room. Now.’
‘Can’t undo it myself,’ I went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Please, Mark.’
Silence. I closed my eyes and held my breath.
And then . . . warm fingers on the bare skin of my back, so gentle I could hardly feel them. Yet the very knowledge that he was touching me, in a way that he’d never done before, sent a quiver through my entire body.
‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’ he said, uncertainly.
‘No.’
‘There.’ He took his hand away and his voice became brisk again. ‘That’s the little hook done, can you manage the zip yourself?’
I made a feeble attempt to reach behind me, then let my arms drop back onto the bed.
He gave a long, uneven sigh. ‘Here, you can’t do anything if you’re hanging on to your room key for dear life, give it to me.
’ Our fingers touched briefly as he took the key; I heard the jangle as he placed it on the bedside table.
‘OK, I’ll unzip you,’ he went on, ‘then you’re going back to your room. ’
I felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat on the bed beside me, but it seemed like several minutes before his fingers touched my back again and started on the zip.
Even then he took his time, unfastening it very, very carefully.
As I listened to his soft, steady breathing, I wondered what it would take to make him lose control.
When he reached the most ticklish part of my back, I couldn’t help giggling. I squirmed away from him, vaguely aware of my dress working loose.
‘Don’t, Mark, that tickles!’
I rolled over and stopped giggling instantly. He was staring down at me, at my naked breasts. And his face too was naked, stripped of its mask, revealing such hunger . . . Oh, I needn’t have worried about rejection. From the look of him, I couldn’t escape — even if I wanted to.
Our eyes locked. I reached up and traced his lips with my fingertip.
‘Kiss me,’ I whispered.
He pushed my hand away. ‘No. Once I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.’
Didn’t he realise? That was the whole bloody point. ‘Kiss me, then.’
‘For God’s sake, Emma, you don’t understand.’
He made a half-hearted attempt to get up, but I was having none of it. I put my arms round his neck and pulled him down towards me.
No going back now.