Читать книгу Her Sweet Surrender: The First Crush Is the Deepest - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 17

TEN

From: Amber@AmberDuBois.net

To: Kate@LondonBespokeTailoring.com;

Saskia@ElwoodHouse.co.uk

Subject: Sam Report

Hey Goddesses

Greetings from another gorgeous day in Kerala. The girls are still trying to settle down after all of the excitement of Parvita’s wedding so lots to do, but my wrist is feeling a lot better today—despite all of the sitar playing!

Sam’s flight was an hour late leaving London so he won’t arrive until very late in the evening, which is probably a good thing considering this pre monsoon heatwave. No doubt he is bursting to get this interview over and done with so he can get back to his nice cool London office. Especially since I asked the janitor to pick Sam up at the airport in his rusty old motor, which is definitely on its last legs. Just for Kate.

Will report back tomorrow. Have fun. Amber

Sam Richards slid his rucksack off his shoulder and mopped the sweat from his brow and neck with one of his dad’s pocket handkerchiefs as he strolled up the few steps to the single storey white building. If it was this hot at dusk he was dreading the midday temperature. But he would find out soon enough.

Great! Not.

The school janitor, who had picked him up at the airport, had pointed him towards the main entrance to the girls’ home but Sam had barely been able to hear what he said since he kept the wreck of a car engine going just in case it broke down before he made it home.

The last hour had been spent in a bone-shaking car from the nineteen-sixties driven by a friendly janitor who seemed oblivious to the fact that he was hitting every pothole on the dirt road between the local airport and the girls’ home in a car with bald tyres and no suspension.

Sam was amazed that the patched up, barely intact motor had lasted the journey without breaking down in a coconut grove or rice paddy. But it had got him here and for that he was grateful.

Slipping his sunglasses into his shirt breast pocket, Sam stretched his arms tall and tried to take in the sensory overload that was the Kerala coastline at sunset.

And failed.

The sea breeze from the shockingly beautiful crescent shaped bay was blocked by the low brick wall which formed the boundary of the property, creating a breathless oasis of fruit trees, a vegetable garden and exotic flowering plants which spilled out in an explosion of startlingly bright colours from wooden tubs and planters.

The immaculately kept gardens stretched down to the ocean and a wide strip of stunning white sand which glowed in the reflected shades of deep rich apricot, scarlet and gold from the setting sun. His view of the lapping waves was broken only by the thin trunks of tall coconut palms, banana plants and fruit trees.

It was like a poster of a dream beach from the cover of a holiday brochure. Complete with a long wooden fishing boat on the shore and umbrellas made from coconut palm fronds to protect the fishermen and occasional tourists who were out on the beach this late in the evening.

Coconuts. He was looking at real coconut palm trees. Compared to the grey, drizzly London Sam had left the previous afternoon the warm breeze was luxuriously dry and scented with the salty tang from the sea blended with spice and a tropical sweet floral scent.

A great garland of bougainvillea with stunning bright purple and hot pink flowers wound its way up the side of the school entrance and onto the coconut fibre roof, intertwined with a wonderful frangipani which spilled out from a blue ceramic pot, attracting bees and other nectar-seeking insects to the intensely fragrant blossoms. The perfume almost balanced out the heavy red dust from the dirt road and the bio odours from the cows and chickens who roamed freely on the other side of a low coconut matting fence.

He loved writing and his life as a journalist. He always had, but it was only when he came to villages like this one that it really struck home how much of his life was spent in open plan offices under fluorescent light tubes.

Even the air tasted different on his tongue. Traffic from the coast road roared past. Trucks in all colours, painted auto rickshaws and bright yellow buses competed with birdsong and the chatter of people and motor scooters. Everywhere he looked his eyes and ears were assaulted by a cacophony of life.

But as he relaxed into the scene, hands on his hips, the sound of piano music drifted out through the partly open door of what looked like a school building to his left and Sam smiled and wandered over, his shirt sticking to his back in the oppressive heat and humidity.

Amber was sitting on a very frail looking low wooden bench in front of an upright piano which had definitely seen better days. The polish was flaking off, the lid was warped and, from where he was standing, it looked as if some of the black keys were missing at the bottom of the scale.

But it didn’t matter. Because Amber DuBois was running the fingers of her left hand across the keyboard and suddenly the old neglected instrument was singing like a nightingale.

She was dressed in a blue and pink long-sleeved cotton tunic and what looked like pyjama bottoms, her hair was held back by a covered elastic band and, as her feet moved across the pedals, he caught a glimpse of a plastic flip-flop.

And, for the first time in his professional life, Sam Richards did not know what to say.

Amber DuBois had never looked more beautiful in her life.

Exotic. Enchanting. But at that moment there was something else—she was totally and completely relaxed and content. Her eyes were closed and, as she played, she was humming along gently to the music as it soared into flights of soft and then dramatic sections of what sounded to Sam’s uneducated ears as some great romantic composer’s finest work.

Her shoulders lifted and fell, her left arm flowing from side to side in brilliant technique while her plastered hand moved stiffly from octave to octave. But that did not matter—the music was so magical and captivating that it reverberated around this tiny school room and into every bone of his body.

The tropical garden and birdsong outside the window disappeared as he was swept up in the music.

This was her joy and her delight. The thing she loved most in the world.

He was looking at a completely different woman from the one who had flounced into his dad’s garage, or the fashion model who had haughtily gossiped with the designer goddesses as she decluttered her apartment.

This was the real Amber. This was the girl he used to know. The girl whose greatest joy was playing the piano for her own entertainment and pleasure.

She was back!

And Lord, the longer he looked at her and listened to her music, the more he liked what he saw and the more he lusted. The fire that had sparked the second his fingers had touched her skin in that ridiculous penthouse dressing room suddenly flared right back into a blazing bonfire.

The heat and humidity of Kerala in May was nothing compared to the incendiary fire in his blood which pounded in his neck and ears.

Did she know? Did Amber have any clue that when she played liked this she was revealing to the world how much inner passion was hidden inside the cool blonde slender frame?

He had thought that he had been attracted to her before, but that was nothing compared to the way he felt now.

He wanted her. And not just in his bed. He wanted Amber in his life, even if it was only for a few days, weeks or months. He wanted to be her friend and the man she wanted to share her life with. The music seemed to soak into his heart and soul and fill every cell with a fierce determination.

Somehow he was going to have to find a way of winning her back and persuading her to give him a second chance, or risk losing her for ever.

His bag slumped onto the floor.

Sam walked slowly into the room and slid next to Amber on the very end of the child-sized wooden bench. She did not open her eyes but smiled and slowly inhaled before giving an appreciative sigh.

‘They say you can tell a lot about a man from the aftershave he has chosen. Very nice. Did you buy it at the airport?’

Her hands never missed a note as he gave a short dismissive grunt in reply. ‘Then you won’t mind if I move a little closer.’

Sam was blatantly aware that the fine wool cloth of his trousers brushed against the loose cotton trousers Amber was wearing as he slid along the shiny wooden surface until the whole side of his body seemed to be aligned against her.

‘Hello. How was the flight?’

He started to say something, changed his mind, and left her staring at his mouth for just a few seconds too long. Much too long. His eyes scanned her face as though he was trying to record the images like a digital camera in his memory.

He had been worried about how awkward this moment was going to be. But, instead of watching every word, it was as though he was meeting one of his best friends in the world—and his heart lifted.

‘You’re playing nursery rhymes. From memory.’

She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘It sounds terrible and I am totally out of practice.’

‘But you are trying. In your apartment last week, I couldn’t help wonder if the old piano-playing business had lost its appeal. Am I right?’

Her fingers slowed down but did not stop. ‘Full marks to the man in the sweaty shirt. You’re right. I didn’t want to play. No. That’s wrong. I didn’t want to perform.’ She gave a little giggle and her left hand played a trill. ‘This is not performing. This is having fun. And I have missed that. Do you know what I spent this afternoon doing? Making up tunes and songs around nursery rhymes these girls have never heard before. We had a great time.’

‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you don’t enjoy performing? Is that why you decided to retire? Because you do know that you are brilliant, don’t you? I even splashed out and bought your latest album!’

She stopped playing, sat back and smiled, wide-eyed.

‘You did? That was very kind.’

‘No, it wasn’t kind. It was a delight. And you haven’t answered my question.’

Her gaze scanned his face as though looking for something important and Sam suddenly remembered that he needed a wash and a shave. ‘That depends on who is asking the question,’ she replied in a low, soft voice with the power to entrance him. ‘My old pal Sam who I used to trust once upon a time, or the newest super-journalist at GlobalStar Media who I am not sure about at all.’

He swallowed down a moment of doubt but made the tough choice. Editor be damned. ‘Let’s try that first option.’

‘Okay. Let’s.’ She looked down at her left hand and stretched out the fingers on the piano keys. ‘Well. Off the record. These past few years have been very hard going. I haven’t given myself enough time to recover from one tour before launching into rehearsals for the next. Combine that with all of the travelling and media interviews and suddenly I’m waking up exhausted every morning and nothing I do seems to make any difference.’

Her gaze shifted to his eyes and locked on tight. Shades of blue and violet clashed against the faint golden tinge to her skin. ‘Every night was a struggle to make myself play and dive into the music to try and find some energy. I lost my spark, Sam. I lost my joy.’

‘That’s not the girl I used to know talking.’

‘I’m not that same girl any more.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Sam replied and reached up and touched her cheek. ‘Are you quite sure about that? Because when I came in just now you had that soppy girly look on your face like you used to have when you sat down at a piano.’

‘What do you mean, soppy?’

‘Soppy. It means that you are your old self again—and I am very glad of it. This place seems to be doing you a lot of good.’

He glanced down and shocked her by gently lifting up her left hand and turning it over, his forefinger tracing the outline of the beautiful scrolls and flowers drawn in henna on the back of her hand.

‘Take this, for example. I’ve never seen anything like it. Totally amazing. How was the wedding?’

His fingers stroked her palm, then lifted the back of her hand to his lips so that he could kiss her knuckles and was rewarded with an intense flash of awareness that told him that she knew exactly what he was saying. It was not the henna he found amazing.

She tutted twice, took her hand back then turned to face him. ‘It was a fabulous wedding and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ She gestured with her head towards the window. ‘Parvita’s family organised a flower arch in the garden and the service was so simple. A few words spoken by a man and a woman from completely different worlds, and yet it was totally perfect. There was not a dry eye in the house.’

‘You cried at your friend’s wedding? Really? And there is no such thing as a perfect marriage, just a decent wedding day.’

‘Yes, I cried, you cynic,’ Amber replied and scowled at him and pulled her hand away. ‘Because this was the real thing. They didn’t need a huge hotel with hundreds of guests who they would never have a chance to meet and talk to. All they wanted was their friends and family to help them celebrate. The little girls were all dressed up and throwing flowers. It was perfect. So don’t mock.’

Sam held up both hands in surrender.

‘Hey. Remember my ex-girlfriend who tried to lure me into a wedding without asking me first? Not all of us believe in happy endings, you old romantic.’

Amber thumped him on the arm. ‘Well, that is just sad and pathetic.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sam replied and looked around, suddenly desperate to change the subject. ‘Is this one of your school rooms?’

She nodded. ‘The building work is going flat out before the monsoon rains so this is a temporary teaching room. I like it but I can’t wait until the new air conditioned school is ready.’

‘Have you decided on a name for the school you are paying for?’ Sam asked as he picked up his bag and they strolled out into the evening air. ‘The DuBois centre? Or the DuBois School for Girls. What is it to be?’

‘Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? No. I suggested a few names to the board of governors and they came back with one winner: the Elwood School.’

‘Elwood? You named the school after your friend Saskia? Why did you choose that name?’

Amber leant back and gestured towards the girls who were playing on the grassy lawn under the mango and cashew nut trees. ‘Do you see these lovely girls? They are so talented and bursting with life and enthusiasm. And yet not one of them has a home to go to. They are not all orphans as we would define orphans—far from it. Most of them have parents who cannot look after them or there were problems at home which mean that they only see their parents for a few months every year. But one way or another they have found their way here to this girls’ home, where they can feel safe and protected by people who love them.’

Amber turned back to Sam with moisture sparkling in the corners of her eyes and when she spoke there was a hoarseness in her voice which clutched at Sam’s heart and squeezed it tight. ‘Well, I know just what that feels like. Saskia and her aunt Margot gave me a safe refuge when I needed to get away from my mother and whatever man she was living with who struggled to recall my name.’

Then she shook her head with a chuckle. ‘They even let me stay with them after the mega-row I had with my so called parents after the disaster that was my eighteenth birthday party.’

Sam coughed, twice. ‘You had a fight with your mother? I haven’t heard that part of the story.’

She sniffed. ‘I had no idea that those particular terms of abuse were in my vocabulary until I heard them come out of my mouth. Harsh words were exchanged about the expensive education I had been subjected to. It was not my moment of shining glory. And then I stomped out of the house with only my handbag and walked around to Elwood House. And Saskia and her aunt Margot took me in and looked after me as though I was one of their own.’

Amber sat up straight and curled her right hand high into the air with a flourish. ‘Ta da. Elwood School.’ Then she blinked and gave a curt nod. ‘It may surprise you but I do have something in common with Parvita and these girls.’

Then she shivered and chuckled. ‘Well, I did tell you that this article was going to be a challenge. I cannot wait to see what you do with that little insight, if it was on the record.’

‘Any more like that?’

‘Plenty. Just wait and see what tomorrow brings.’