Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The elegant room was set with round tables, each seating six.
Members of the crew were at the far end, and Ashley led them over to where Madison, wearing a short, tight, red bandage dress, was sitting with Guy, Lucas and Veronica.
The star’s face was beautifully made up and her glossy dark hair was arranged in a curly high ponytail.
The bare skin of her back and shoulders glowed with an almost iridescent sheen.
Ashley indicated the two empty seats between Madison and Guy. ‘Rosie, Dale, you’re here; Jono, you’re with me and Kayleigh.’
Madison’s shiny red lips curved into a seductive smile and she patted the seat next to her. Dale pulled it out but waved Rosie into it, saying, ‘Scoop opportunity for our Rosie the reporter. You’re welcome.’
Rosie took the seat and said, ‘Thanks, Dale! Is that okay, Madison?’
Madison’s face clouded, but Dale sat down and turned to Guy, on his other side. ‘I’m Dale,’ he said. ‘I sorted Madison’s booties today. And Rosie’s,’ he added, and under the table, his hand rested briefly on her thigh. The flesh beneath it melted.
‘And I’m on the shoot tomorrow,’ he continued, ‘mostly to make sure Madison doesn’t fall off a rock.’
Madison’s expression darkened further. Her pout had turned sulky, and her eyes, as they moved from Dale to Rosie, narrowed.
On the next table over, Ashley stood up and tapped a spoon against a wineglass.
Jono took up position with his camera. Ashley welcomed the guests then introduced the weekend’s celebrity host, and it was as if someone turned a key in Madison’s back.
She rose to her feet, flicked back her ponytail, flashed a megawatt smile at Jono – held it – then at the guests.
Her speech was clever and funny, and probably written by Guy or Lucas.
Afterwards there was a rush to the buffet. ‘Trout for the trouts,’ whispered Dale in Rosie’s ear, as they queued up behind Madison and the wellness ladies.
Rose sniggered, then said, ‘Don’t be mean,’ as Madison headed back to their table, throwing an icy glance in Dale and Rosie’s direction.
The chef served Rosie a trout scattered with toasted almonds, and she piled on the vegetables, aware that she needed to eat. But her stomach was tied in knots.
There was an empty chair next to hers – Madison had decamped to Ashley’s table. Veronica shifted so she was next to Rosie, and after pouring them both a glass of wine, began talking through her goals for the weekend.
Rosie tried to concentrate but was distracted by Dale’s warm leg touching hers.
Every now and again he pressed it gently, then harder, against her thigh, sending hot pulses of electricity through her body.
His hands remained above the table, and that was probably just as well, given Rosie’s hair-trigger state of arousal.
The wine wasn’t helping her focus, either.
Her mind drifted off as Veronica gave a detailed answer to her question about the properties of the puffer, and she wondered for a moment what she was doing.
Hurtling towards a one-night stand with the tastiest bloke in Cumbria, it would seem.
Was this in fact wise, given she was most certainly on the rebound, and therefore not in the best place mentally when it came to matters of the heart?
Hell yeah! said her frivolous side. Why wouldn’t you? And who said anything about the heart?
Sensible side spoke up: But is this mostly a ‘fuck you’ to Reuben? Will you feel amazing afterwards, or in fact a bit ick?
Her inner battle was interrupted by the ringtone of her phone, tucked into the pocket of the puffer hanging off her chair.
She fished it out. Reuben. It was as if her sensible side had summoned him. She rejected the call and put the phone down on the table, and it beeped to let her know there was a message. Whatever he had to say, she didn’t want to hear it.
Her face wasn’t great at keeping secrets. ‘Boyfriend?’ said Dale.
‘Ex-boyfriend.’
‘Poor bugger,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘He’s so dead to me.’
But then, out of nowhere, she was walloped by a wave of emotion, overwhelmed yet again by her recent heartbreak – Reuben’s abrupt abandonment, her trashed book dreams. Tears threatened, and she scraped back her chair and grabbed the pink puffer, saying, ‘Excuse me, I need some air,’ before making her way, rather unsteadily, across the room, then out through the bar and onto the terrace.
As she shut the door behind her, she was cocooned in silence. The sun had gone down and the sky was a deep, burnt orange, fading quickly, the fells silhouetted against it. In the valley, Grasmere was a pool of reflected gold. The wind had dropped completely; everything was still.
Rosie pulled on the puffer and leaned on the stone balustrade, taking deep breaths of the cool mountain air, gazing out at the view as it blurred in the dusk. She exhaled a deep sigh. The burst of panic began to dissipate, and her breathing slowed.
Focus on the now.
She was here to forget, to do something creative, to be pampered. To climb a mountain! For once I can make things all about me. She resolved not to listen to Reuben’s message tonight. Or even to think about him.
The bar door opened behind her, casting yellow light onto the flagstones, and a low voice called, ‘Rosie?’
Dale joined her, leaning his elbows on the balustrade. He looked across at her, his face shadowy in the twilight. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, I’m fine. Just … a bit tired and emotional. It’s the cocktails and the wine, I guess.’
‘Not the trout? Veronica, I mean, not the one on your plate. Though both are dead-eyed cold fish.’
Rosie smiled.
‘That one’s got a mouth like a cat’s arse,’ he went on. ‘I haven’t seen her crack a smile all day. What are these women like, Rosie? Veronica can’t smile, Madison can’t move the top ’alf of her face –’
Rosie was now spluttering with laughter.
‘Present company excepted, of course. You’re ridiculously cute.’ He shifted closer and slipped an arm around her waist.
‘Why thank you, kind northern sir,’ she said.
It was impossible to remain down in the face of Dale’s cheeky charm.
‘Guess I drank too much too quickly. I won’t bore you with the details, but …
I’m a bit sensitive right now. Recent break-up.
Very recent. This weekend is my boss’s attempt to pull me out of my personal pity party. ’
‘Totally here for your rebound,’ he said. He turned to face her and traced a finger down her cheek. She shivered under his touch. ‘Let’s see if I can help, lovely Rosie,’ he said softly, looking into her eyes. His own glittered in the fading light. He touched a finger to her lips. ‘Can I?’
She hadn’t expected him to ask. It kind of melted her that he did.
Her heart in her mouth, Rosie nodded, and his lips met hers, softly at first, then he pulled her close and kissed her hard.
Heat flooded her limbs, and she lifted a hand to his head, burying her fingers in those irresistible curls.
The ferocity of her response took her by surprise as her other hand moved round to his back, burrowing beneath his fleece and up his back, needing to touch his warm skin.
He flinched. ‘Fuck, your hand’s cold,’ he muttered against her lips.
Then his tongue slid into her mouth and she let out a moan.
‘How shall we warm it up?’ he whispered.
He took her cold hand in his, leading her to a spot against the wall that was in deep shadow.
He rubbed her hand between his, then pressed it to the hardness in his trousers and said, ‘I like to call this my hand warmer.’
She giggled, then pulled her hand free, grasped his and guided it between her thighs. ‘And I like to call this my muff.’ What the hell? ‘Oh my god. I can’t believe I just said that. What was in that drink!’
Dale gave a low chuckle. ‘And you look like such a sweet and innocent little thing. Who knew?’ He kissed her again and slipped his fingers between her legs.
It was as if every drop of blood in her body rushed to meet them as he stroked her through her leggings, his touch feathery at first, becoming firmer, circling, pressing, and her knees began to tremble.
‘That feels so nice,’ she breathed.
‘Wear a skirt next time,’ he whispered, as his lips left hers and traced a path down her neck. ‘Leggings are a man’s worst enemy, second only to skinny jeans.’
He moved a hand inside her top and stroked her breast, then pulled up her bra and rubbed a flat palm against her hard nipple. ‘As I said earlier,’ he murmured, trailing his hand lower, ‘can we get two fingers in?’
Things were moving far too quickly for a dark corner of the terrace. Rosie pulled back, and was about to suggest they found somewhere more private when the bar door opened and a figure strode outside, silhouetted against the light. ‘Dale?’ said a voice in the dark. It was familiar.
‘Fuck,’ hissed Dale, straightening and making a clumsy attempt to sort out Rosie’s top. ‘What?’ he called in response. ‘Busy here.’
Rosie was panicking, pulling her bra and top down. The sound of the puffer zip was loud in the night.
Ant stopped dead where he was. After a short pause he said, ‘Okay – see you inside,’ then disappeared back through the doors.
‘Fuck shit bollocks,’ said Dale. ‘Sorry, gorgeous, sounds urgent. I’d best see what he wants.’
What was going on? What should Rosie do? Go with him, or was this a private conversation? Would she and Dale pick this up in her room later?
He followed Ant inside, and Rosie took a moment to compose herself, and to rearrange her clothes. She combed her fingers through her hair and wondered if there was a Ladies anywhere close, so she could un-dishevel herself in the mirror.
She peeped through the glass panel of the door, just in time to see Dale leave the bar, Ant behind him. Ant noticed the movement outside, and looked across as Rosie was pulling back. His eyes met hers, then he carried on out of the room.
Rosie stood outside for a moment longer, flooded with embarrassment. After a few deep breaths she wrenched open the bar door and walked across the room, attempting to project a self-confidence she wasn’t feeling.
Why had Dale abandoned her without explanation?
‘Rosie?’ She stopped as Gaz called her name. He was holding out a beer mat.
She went over, not meeting the barman’s eye. It felt like a walk of shame. But why would she assume Gaz knew what they’d been up to outside? They could have simply been chatting.
Because he knows Dale, duh, said her sensible side.
‘Dale asked me to give you this,’ he said. ‘He apologises for having to leg it.’ He passed it over without further comment, then went to serve a couple who’d just entered the room.
Rosie read the phone number scribbled on the beer mat, and the words, Sorry beautiful, had to go – see you tomorrow! XX