Читать книгу Santa Baby: 5 Sexy Reads For Cold Winter Nights - Charlotte Phillips, Charlotte Phillips - Страница 15

The vibration of his phone brought Tom round and he automatically reached out to grab it from its customary spot on the bedside table without even really waking up. One semi-conscious hand closed over it just as he leaned a smidge too far and then there was a disorientating jerk as he managed to stop himself falling out of bed at the last moment by slamming a hand and foot out onto the floor.

Why the fuck was the bed so tiny?

No sun streaming in through billowing muslin curtains across the glass door that led out to the verandah. Instead the room was shrouded in the semi-darkness of a dawn in winter, in London. It thudded into his sleep-fuzzed brain then in one big tumble and his eyes widened in shock.

Grounded flight at Gatwick. Bonkers British weather. Lavington Hotel.

Except when he stayed at the Lavington the room was always one of their best suites and the bed was always a king-size. He turned over as best he could on the foot-wide chunk of single bed that was available, and there she was. His stomach gave a crazy flip at the sight of her.

She’d been curled up against his back like a child, hogging at least two-thirds of the narrow bed. The sheet was bunched up around her waist, revealing the long slender legs that made his pulse race just by looking at them. The soft swell of her breasts was visible above a twist of sheet that she clutched to her chest and her light brown hair fell softly against her cheek. No wonder the bridge between sleeping and waking had seemed blurred. She really was the stuff of dreams.

Somewhere in the small hours they’d finally fallen asleep after screwing every ounce of energy out of each other. And for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he felt alive. He reached out to stroke her cheek, just for some confirmation that she was actually real and not some figment of his imagination. Her skin was cool satin. She shifted slightly in her sleep and he moved off the bed as gently as he could so as not to wake her.

His mind shifted back to the previous night. Her crazy rules. Live in the moment, no regrets.

The impulsiveness of being with her was intoxicating, a soothing antidote to what had become his suffocating, stifling life. It felt like sweet freedom, and he wanted to savour every second of that, because he knew it couldn’t last.

He moved away from the bed, and went into the tiny ensuite to check his phone. A voicemail message from his mother in Barbados (‘…when are you arriving, Darling? Everyone’s been asking after you…’) The age-old sense of responsibility tugged at him. Under normal circumstances that message would have brought a surge of exasperation at the unexpected delay, anger even that he was letting everyone down.

He checked the weather app on the phone, all ready to see the tiny snow icon that had dominated the wretched thing the day before. He frowned. No sign of the blanket fog lifting but there was no more snow on the way for now, and that meant the airports would be back in action pretty soon, right?

The information should have had him jumping for joy. So why the hell was he closing the app down with a sinking sensation of disappointment coursing through him?

He moved back out of the bathroom and glanced across the room at her, shoving the disappointment aside. This was a fling. It couldn’t be more. She didn’t want it to be more, he couldn’t give more. They’d made the situation clear the previous day. They barely knew each other beyond the physical, hardly enough to base even the most short-term future on.

He could cross the room right now, slide his hands under the sheet, pull her against him and pick up right where they’d left off. That would be all she expected, those were the parameters they’d agreed to.

Instead, he found himself picking his way quietly around the room, collecting up his clothes and trying not to trip over her insane mass of belongings. She didn’t stir in the semi-darkness, and he didn’t expect her to since it was still too early for winter light to brighten the room, but he let the door snick shut quietly just in case.

****

The cold silver of winter morning gave the room a muted light that woke her up slowly. The usual second of disorientation that always happens when you stay somewhere new for the first time kicked in. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered Ella. Moving around so much for craft fairs and just her itchy-footed desire to keep moving before things went tits-up meant she was used to adapting quickly to new places. Travelling heavy helped of course. She sometimes wondered what it said about someone that everything in their life with sentimental attachment could be squashed into a couple of suitcases.

Tom slipped back into her mind on the back of that second when she found her bearings, just the way he had done every morning at first after she’d left five years ago. How long had thoughts of him persisted? Not long. She was good at bricking things up in her mind, was a past master at it in fact. Crushing of memories combined with telling herself it hadn’t been all that. A tried and tested self-preservation exercise.

He wasn’t here.

The bedroom was a pigsty, clothes and half-unpacked belonging all over the place, where she’d never got around to putting them away since he’d come back to her room, after that interim goodbye that neither of them had been able to stick to. Not a single item belonging to him fell into her sightline.

She threw the sheet back and crossed to few paces to the small en suite. The shower unit was bone dry. It was as if he’d never been here at all, as if he’d disappeared.

Which, her fully-awake mind now insisted, was clearly the point.

Now she knew what yesterday had been about for him, why he’d pursued her so insistently until she agreed to first coffee, then dinner, then bed. After the delicious night they’d spent together it turned out that it had all been about closure. She’d walked out on him five years ago, leaving him hanging. For Pete’s sake he’d even told her openly last night that she was the only person ever to do that to him. It had been all about taking back control, reclaiming the upper hand. And what a fool she’d been for thinking it could possibly have been about anything else. This was her life after all, he was only doing the inevitable. It seemed everyone she ever came across had an exit strategy from her life. There was something about her, something intangible that she’d never been able to identify, that put people off, that put their teeth on edge, like running fingernails down a blackboard. Unable to work out what it was, her only option had been to stop people mattering so it wouldn’t hurt when they made the inevitable exit.

She’d got in first last time and the no-second-time rule would have meant she left it at that. But no, she had to meddle with it, didn’t she?

The sick feeling of disappointment in the pit of her stomach was only matched by the anger she felt at herself for making the same mistake she’d made so many times before.

****

Back to Plan A, from which she should never have deviated.

Half an hour later and she was showered and dressed, ready to head out. The whole point of the weekend had been to Christmas shop, not that she had a shedload of people to buy for, but there were lots of Christmas markets to check out, full of crafts and gift stalls, and even if she didn’t have a big shopping list, she could look for some inspiration for her own jewellery designs. Perhaps next year she might be able to take a stall here instead of doing the usual waitressing. In a few years time she might even be able to drop the backup waitressing work altogether. The only area of her life with any long-term plan was her work and she refocused her mind on it, hard.

The brief double-tap at the door came just as she was ready to leave and she opened it, assuming it would be housekeeping wanting to service the room. Not one tiny speck of her thought it could possibly be Tom. That’s how resigned to this kind of thing she’d become. She’d learned not to hope because there never was hope.

The gorgeous lopsided smile on his face as he leaned casually against the jamb melted away when he took in the expression on her face and the fact she was wearing an outdoor coat.

‘What are you doing?’

He stood up straight. She floundered for a grasp on the situation and went with her original plan. OK so he might not have disappeared under cover of darkness, but reality had still bitten. She should never have let things get this far. She’d been swept up in the magic of Christmas and fun excitement and she’d taken her eye off the ball. And that led to nothing but trouble, and down the line, hurt.

‘What I came for,’ she said, winding her scarf around her neck to make a point, although the temperature inside the room was tropical. ‘I’m going shopping. Christmas lights on Oxford Street. What’s the point of coming here if I don’t go and look at them?’

He stared at her with a bemused expression on his face.

‘Did I miss something?’ he said.

‘Your flight, maybe?’ she said, picking up her enormous tote bag from the luggage rack beside the door and hefting it over one shoulder.

There was a sudden movement behind him and she looked up to see him step aside to let a skinny hotel porter through the door, pushing an enormous silver trolley in front of him that was groaning under the weight of silver platters, plates and cutlery. He glanced between them, Tom still waiting to be invited in and herself in her coat and scarf.

‘Room Service?’ he said doubtfully.

She locked confused, questioning eyes with Tom’s mellow gaze.

‘Full English breakfast, selection of pastries, toast and preserves, coffee, tea, muesli and selection of fruit…’ the porter’s voice trailed off as neither of them acknowledged him ‘…for two?’

A pause, and then Tom said, ‘I ordered a selection. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.’

Her mind reeled and heat began to work its way slowly up her neck to burn in her cheeks.

‘You ordered breakfast,’ she said, as if saying it out loud might make it seem more believable. She could hear the surprise in her own voice. Far from hightailing it out of her life without so much as a word, he’d ordered half the dining room to be carted up to her bedroom.

‘Showered, changed, ordered breakfast. I would have used your ensuite but there was…’ he coughed ‘…a lot of your stuff in there. And I didn’t want to wake you. I’m an early riser,’ he added to the porter, who was staring at them as if they were both insane. He jumped a little and shifted from one foot to another while Tom dug out cash for a tip. Then he left the room as if it were on fire. Tom turned back to face her. Just the two of them now.

Tom turned back to her.

‘Where did you think I was?’

She could see from the cynical look in his eyes that he was making the connection himself and knew it was far too late to talk her way out of the situation. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about him; one that didn’t paint him in a very happy light.

She shrugged.

‘On your way to Barbados,’ she said. ‘I assumed the airport must have reopened-’

‘And that I’d just had what I wanted from you and left without a word. Treat you with zero respect. Get you back for Devon, right?’

Her cheeks felt hotter than ever. He was annoyed. And really, he had every right to be.

‘You were the one that walked out back then,’ he pointed out unnecessarily. ‘I didn’t leave you hanging then and I wouldn’t now. I let you sleep in, I didn’t see the need to disturb you when all my stuff was in my room. And the conclusion you jump to, without so much as checking, is that I’d run out on you. Well, I’m not that kind of person.’

And by implication of course, he clearly meant she was.

‘Why didn’t you call my room?’ he went on. ‘Or check in with Reception if you were worried?’

She hadn’t done either of those things because she hadn’t needed to, so certain was she that he’d gone. She had a lifetime of experience to back up her jump to that conclusion and to hear it as concrete news from the receptionist would have made it all seem far too real and wounding. Better to just gloss over the whole thing as if it never happened.

Clearly she was insecure to the point of irrationality.

Her brain now told her to carry on as she had been doing, to just leave him and his insane feed-an-army breakfast and head off shopping. He hadn’t behaved as she’d expected and she didn’t need this, didn’t need the unpredictable caring of it.

Yet at the same time she felt absurdly, uncharacteristically touched by it. His thoughtfulness in not wanting to wake her, the over-the-top but no less sweet for it gesture of surprising her with half the breakfast menu.

Really, how was he meant to know he was dealing with a basket case here?

She crossed the room to the table, unwound her scarf, and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs. Plates of food, teapots and cutlery covered every inch of it. She glanced up as him as he joined her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she offered. ‘I thought—’

‘You thought I’d run out on you,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you if I’ll still be in the country tomorrow. Fantastic as I am, I can’t actually control the weather.’ He reached across the table for her hand and her stomach began to flutter as his fingers closed over her own. He held her gaze in his. ‘What I can promise you is that I won’t drop off the planet without saying goodbye.’

She felt so childish now, like a kid running away to avoid getting in trouble, that the urge to offer some kind of explanation, however crap, was irresistible. That in itself rang alarm bells. Why, if she didn’t care what he thought of her, should she feel any need to justify herself to him?

‘I just have this thing,’ she said. She took a slice of toast onto her plate, began to spread it with butter, so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face. It felt somehow unreal to have gone against her instincts to bolt. ‘About goodbyes. I hate them. I avoid them wherever possible.’

‘I had noticed,’ he said.

She gave him a wry smile that lifted his spirits. For a moment there he’d thought she was going to leave him to the heap of food and disappear. That she’d decided to stay and talk, felt like a victory. It was certainly further than he’d got with her last time around.

‘With me it’s the other way around,’ he said. His appetite seemed to be non-existent, but he went through the motions anyway. The meal was the background he needed to keep her here, keep her talking. He uncovered one of the hot breakfasts and cut half-heartedly into a slice of bacon. ‘However much I might want to run away sometimes, I can’t.’

She looked at him, a light questioning frown creasing her forehead and he shook his head at her.

‘Doesn’t matter.’

She picked at her toast.

‘I don’t understand. What could you possibly want to run away from? You’ve got it easy. Your life is charmed.’ She put her elbows either side of her plate and began to count off on her fingers. ‘Successful doctor, supportive family you love you to bits, holiday home in Barbados, family home in the Cotswolds, no money worries…’

He held up a hand to stop her. With every new point she made the weight of it all bear down on him. And the worst of it was the guilt it invoked. She was right. He was selfish for wanting to follow his own dreams.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said. And maybe it was the knowledge that this was just a blip, something that wouldn’t exist beyond the next couple of days, that she was someone who didn’t know his family and could never communicate to them his hideous selfish disappointment with his own life. ‘But you don’t understand how it is with my family. And my work.’

He finally gave up on the cooked breakfast and pushed the plate to one side. His appetite showed no sign of returning.

‘For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be a doctor,’ he said. ‘I’ve always looked up to my father, and the medical practice was such an integral part of our lives that it would probably have been weird if I’d wanted to do anything else. There was never any question in it for me. My grandfather was a doctor too, same town. And his father before him. There’s been a Henley as the doctor in our town for over eighty years.’

And if he had a quid for every time he’d been given that piece of information he could retire right now.

‘Of course these days it’s not just one village doctor doing the rounds. We have a proper medical centre that services some of the surrounding villages too. My father is senior partner.’ He took a sip of his coffee. His mouth felt dry. ‘For now at least.’

‘What do you mean ‘for now?’

‘He isn’t well,’ he said. ‘I thought there would be time for me to build my own experience as a medic. The idea of settling down as a village GP seemed so far off that it never bothered me, I knew that’s what my family expected me to do eventually and I guess I saw it as something I’d do when I settled down with a family. In another ten or fifteen years maybe.’

‘That’s why you seemed fine with it the last time we met,’ she said. ‘You told me about the practice then, but I’ve got to be honest, you seemed a shedload more positive about it all then than you are now.’

He nodded, offered her a rueful smile.

‘Last time we met I was just qualifying. I was so wrapped up in that I wasn’t really thinking ahead. Since then I’ve done foundation training, had time working in A&E, as much on the frontline as you can be in this country. ‘It confirmed my own ambitions.’

She was looking at him steadily.

‘You wanted to work abroad,’ she said.

He nodded.

‘I want to make a difference. Work for a charity for a while, maybe in war-affected areas, or where there’s been a national disaster. Somewhere I could really feel I was doing something to help.’

‘And have you ever discussed it with your father?’

He pushed his food around on the plate. How many times had he come close to broaching that subject? He’d put it off so many times.

‘I didn’t see the need initially, I thought I’d get my training out of the way first, then have a talk to him about my longer term plans. But then he had a stroke last year and he just hasn’t properly recovered. He went back to work, downsized his hours, but he wants to retire now and make the most of his health.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t blame him for that. And of course he believes it won’t affect the practice because he has the next Henley waiting in line to step up to the plate and take over.’

‘You?’

‘Exactly. How can I tell him I’m not up for that now when I’ve spent nearly thirty years with that as my life plan? He’s been through so much this past year, and my mother too, supporting him. He’s so proud and happy that I’ll be taking over. I don’t want to upset him and set him back. I’m meant to be taking the helm in the New Year.’

‘And you don’t really feel like cracking out the champagne.’

He shook his head slowly.

‘Being a doctor is what I wanted. Being a village GP is what’s expected of me.’

He stood up from the table, tugged her up next to him. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, burying his hand in her hair. She curled her arms around him, understanding that maybe this was what he wanted from her, needed from her. Distraction. And that was OK, she could do distraction, it had its own appeal for her, especially at Christmas time when everyone moved in family groups and had their own exciting plans. Wasn’t distraction partly what flings were all about?

And then he was stepping away. She stared at him, confused, as he reached for her coat, discarded on the back of a chair.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought you were going shopping?’ He helped her into it.

‘I was.’

‘Want company?’

She stared at him as he opened the door for her and then followed him down the passage to the stairs, her heavy boots sinking into the thick pile carpet, confusion rising in her mind. So it wasn’t just about sex then? Unless he found sightseeing an on-par distraction.

***

‘For someone who’s here on a Christmas shopping weekend, you don’t seem massively keen on shopping,’ he remarked, as yet another department store’s sparkly festive window display failed to entice her inside. Women and shopping were in his experience hard to keep apart and yet they’d stopped for coffee twice, not to mention lunch, and still she hadn’t bought a thing.

She didn’t really do London pace either, strolling along Oxford Street and letting hordes of shoppers pour around them.

She smiled.

‘I feel a bit bad, spending all the shopping money when Liz is the one who won the prize,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll post it to her. Not that I’m mad keen on shopping anyway.’ She glanced sideways at a window display, hampers filled with champagne and chocolates and luxury food. ‘Liz had a massive list of people to buy for. Nieces and nephews and cousins coming out of her ears. I don’t really have all of that.’

Her voice was matter of fact.

‘What about your parents?’ he said. ‘Won’t you see them over the holiday?’

She laughed mirthlessly as she came to a brief standstill outside a jewellery shop.

‘That’s nice isn’t it,’ she said, pointing at the silver display in the window. She didn’t meet his gaze, instead looking through the glass at the bangles and bracelets and rings. ‘I don’t see my father at all. Haven’t done for years. And my mother will be on a package holiday somewhere hot. Tenerife maybe.’ She glanced sideways at him and began walking again. ‘We don’t really speak.’ She touched his arm briefly to make him look at her. ‘You’re lucky to have a family who care about what happens to you. But that still doesn’t mean you should let them dictate your whole life for you. No one should deny their own hopes and dreams in favour of someone else’s.’

He looked away, kept walking. She stayed alongside him.

‘I don’t expect you to understand. You’re obviously not from a close-knit family, you’re self-sufficient. You’ve followed your dreams in a way I could never think of doing.’

‘Why not?’

He’d already said more than he meant to, he could hear the hard edge in his own voice.

‘It’s complicated, Ella. It’s not just about me. I can’t just put myself first and then sleep like a baby at night. I have people relying on me. It’s about duty and loyalty.’

‘Surely your first loyalty should always be to yourself.’

How could he explain to her, when her family had clearly let her down so epically, that his entire existence for as long as he could remember had been geared towards fulfilling his family’s expectations?

‘I’d like nothing better than to have a proper family but it still has to be about give and take, doesn’t it?’ she went on. ‘Otherwise it’s just one-sided isn’t it?’

‘There has been give and take,’ he said. ‘For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a doctor; that’s never changed. My parents have always supported me in that, and that ambition has always delighted both of them. My father has always talked about the day when I would join the practice and carry on the family tradition.’

‘And now you have.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it isn’t all it was cracked up to be.’

He dug his hands into his pockets.

‘I guess I just never thought further than qualifying at first – it’s such a slog to reach that point. You invest so much in it. Sacrifice so much. When I met you last time my long-term dream was to work abroad, maybe join Medicins Sans Frontieres, go somewhere where I could do some real good. On the frontline if you like. At that point it seemed an achievable goal. But then, when I qualified, it became clear very quickly that the path my parents expected me to follow was very different. And I’m just not sure I can bring myself to disappoint my father by blowing all his dreams out of the water, not when his health is so shaky. And it’s not like I haven’t gone along happily with those dreams all these years.’

‘There must be some middle ground you can find, some compromise,’ she said.

If only he could see a way to achieve that without risking further stress to his parents.

****

Early evening darkness had fallen now and the day had slipped past easily in her company, even with shops thrown in. Unheard of for him. They reached Trafalgar Square and Ella stopped and stared up at the twenty foot fir tree covered in hundreds of white lights. Fountains were lit up and crowds of people lingered in the cold to listen to carol singers.

‘This is gorgeous,’ she sighed.

‘Even for someone who doesn’t do Christmas?’

‘You can talk,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost touch with the English Christmas. Not that it probably isn’t lovely to lie on a sandy beach somewhere and sip cocktails. But you’re hardly invested in all the magic stuff, are you?’

‘And you are?’ he countered.

She grinned. He had a point.

‘Maybe I am,’ she said. ‘A little bit. From the outside looking in, that is. I’m not going to be scoffing Christmas turkey and mince pies, and I don’t even have a Christmas tree where I rent, but that doesn’t mean hot sunshine and a bikini would ever float my boat. That’s just wrong. Christmas is meant to be freezing cold and you’re meant to live in UGG boots.’

As she watched the carol singers, he slipped arms around her from behind and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, liking the way she leaned back against him.

‘It’s snowing,’ she said, and he looked up.

It was. Tiny, fine flakes of snow fell in the glow from the tree lights. And what had invoked teeth-gritting anger and frustration yesterday morning as it thwarted his travel plans, had no such effect now. She turned in the circle of his arms to face him, her arms sliding around his waist, her face upturned to his, nose pink from the cold air. Specks of snow clung softly to her hair.

‘Question is, is it the wrong sort of snow?’ she said, pressing an emphatic finger to his chest.

He realised with a spark of uneasy surprise that he hoped it was exactly that. Let the whole of the UK be buried in feet of the stuff. He didn’t care if his flight never made it off the ground and it had nothing to do with boredom at the much repeated family Christmas traditions.

He wanted to be with her.

‘Let’s hope so,’ he said.