Another Cup of Coffee (37 page)

‘Amy?' Paul began as they walked through the narrow doorway into the dining area, ‘Amy, are the others out at the moment?'

Amy's pulse quickened, her eyes began to twinkle, and a hopeful flirty smile played over her inviting lips. ‘No, they're at James' mother's place. All weekend.'
Is he about to take me to bed at last?
His inaction had been driving her neglected body insane; after all, erotic literature was one thing, but a real flesh-and-blood man – now that was something else entirely.

Paul hesitated, uncertain if she wanted him to act, when suddenly Amy heard the echo of Kit's advice at the back of her head, and knew it was time for her to take charge. ‘So,' she said, tilting her head to one side as she unbuttoned his massive coat for him, ‘are you ever going to take me to bed, or what?'

Wrapped in Paul's arms in her warm bed an hour later, Amy, in a pleasant state of bodily shock, mewed as Paul's fingers began to circle her right nipple. Her relief at being able to remember what to do had been equalled by sheer pleasure at Paul's palpable joy as he revelled in the sight and texture of her naked form, enhancing their mutual and total satisfaction.

‘Tell me,' he asked as Amy wriggled closer to his touch and placed a hand flat against his fast-recovering dick, ‘if I opened your bedside drawer, would I find anything more interesting than neatly-balled socks?'

Amy hid her smirk in the crook of Paul's neck, ‘Maybe, why don't you take a peek?'

Twisting away from her, but not so far as to dislodge her hand, Paul slid open the drawer, ‘Well, well, Amy Crane. Right up until now, I always believed you were a good girl, and then I got to thinking, seeing as you are such a good friend of Kit's …' He held up a handful of tellingly crumpled erotic short stories she'd printed off the web, and her dildo.

Amy hung her head in mock humility, ‘Have I disappointed you?'

‘Christ no,' He grunted with increased desire. ‘Come here!' Dropping the papers, and grabbing the dildo firmly in one hand and her left hip in the other, Paul disappeared under the bedclothes, not emerging until Amy was in the throes of an erotic bliss Kit could never have confined to the world of literature.

Kit re-read her anthologies blurb. She had written it and re-written it more times than she cared to remember. She'd probably worked more on that one short piece of prose than on anything she'd ever written in her life.

‘Well,' Kit sat staring at the computer screen in her study, her hand hovering over the mouse, ‘here goes nothing.' Clicking
Send
, Kit sent the blurb into the technological ether, heading magically into her new editor's email inbox. She felt strange. Bereft even. The anthology had been sorted into a suitable order for publication, the various last minute pieces of paperwork were in place and the book's jacket had been chosen. Unless the publisher hated what she'd sent, that was it. Now Kit could return to her novel properly, rather than merely pick at it when the time allowed.

Switching off the laptop, she grabbed her coat and bag, and called to the twins, who were playing Doctor Who noisily in their bedroom. On an impulse Kit decided to take them to see how their dad was coping on his first Saturday afternoon at the bookshop, before heading into Kew Gardens to run off

some of their ever-excessive energy.

MAY

In which Jack chooses his lyrics with unusual care and things are resolved … well, almost …

Sixty-five

May 25
^th
2007

As Amy logged off from her computer, she leaned back into the comfort of her soft black leather chair, and inhaled a lingering lungful of air before exhaling it slowly. It had been one hell of a working week. She and Chris had each acquired a new property for the company's books and, more importantly, that very day she had secured her first new corporate client. There had been other individual client gains over the past six weeks at Home Hunters, but this was the big one, and somehow Amy believed her right to work there had been tied up with her ability to win the commission. Now, after nearly four months of calling herself a Property Manager, Amy felt she had as much right as Chris to the title.

Chris was delighted; his enthusiasm was infectious as he congratulated her success. Normally Amy would have agreed to go out with him for the celebratory drink he suggested, but tonight she was busy. Chris had gone home an hour ago, leaving Amy to tie up several loose ends and enjoy a precious moment of peace and quiet before facing the insanity of Clapham Junction at half-past six on a Friday night.

It wasn't the prospect of a crowded and uncomfortable journey home that kept Amy where she was, however. The evening ahead of her loomed very large.

She was looking forward to it, but at the same time the tense knot in her stomach reminded her how apprehensive she was about going. Silly really. The whole point was to be a group celebration, and now she could add to their collective achievements (having already sworn Chris to secrecy), and tell Phil and Kit about her new American contract. Yet Amy stayed sat where she was.

Paul would be waiting for her at home. He had probably already changed after a day in his dusty old office, hidden at the back of the museum.

Number 8 Princes Road had officially become their home, rather than just her home, almost a month ago. A situation that crept up on them unannounced, rather than being a conscious decision. Paul had spent nearly all his time in Richmond with Amy anyway, so when James and Sarah, who had finally got it together themselves, had decided to get engaged and find a flat they could afford to rent nearer the city centre, it had seemed natural for Paul to move in properly.

In less than a year Amy had gone from being a shy, lonely girl in Scotland, obsessed with an old relationship and avoiding new ones, to a marginally-less shy businesswoman, with a new group of friends and a live-in partner. Sometimes the ride seemed so fast and intense, that Amy wanted to slow it all down for a minute, not to get off, but to stop for a second and admire the view.

If she didn't hurry up then she'd never make it home in time to change for eight o'clock. Amy stood up decisively, thinking about Paul as she made her way out of the office and into the busy street.

He had told her he loved her. He frequently told her, and she always replied that she loved him too.
But do I? Or do I only love the fact that it isn't just me against the world anymore?
The thought frequently nagged at Amy, and did so again as she negotiated her way towards the station.
Maybe I'll know after tonight. Perhaps I need to get this over with to find out how I really feel.

Having left the children with a babysitter, Kit took Phil's hand as they left the house and headed down the High Street towards Pickwicks.

Uncomfortable in high heels she wasn't used to, Kit walked carefully, leaning against Phil for support, frightened that any minute she could tread awkwardly and twist an ankle.

Phil smiled down at her, ‘You don't have to be so nervous.'

‘I know, but I don't feel right. I'm not used to these posh clothes, and my shoes are killing me.'

Phil shook his head in mock despair at his wife in her shimmering dress and matching footwear. ‘You look magnificent! Just not like you.'

‘Thanks a lot!'

‘No, really love, you should dress up more often. You're gorgeous.'

Kit remained unconvinced in her black, sequinned evening dress. ‘Do you think everyone will come?'

Rob hugged his daughter Lily to his side and, having settled her with her sisters to listen to a story from Granny, went to join Debbie in the kitchen. ‘Ready?'

‘As I'll ever be.' She was examining herself in the mirror, critically checking the edges of her mouth for stray lipstick.

‘Come on then.' Rob pulled his suit jacket on, and ushered his wife towards the waiting taxi.

Toby brushed the last fleck of dust off Jack's jacket. ‘Well?' Jack twirled in his new suit, fresh from an Italian tailor.

‘Gorgeous.' Toby grinned suggestively.

‘We haven't got time for anything like that, young man.' Jack spoke with mock severity. ‘Now, are you ready?'

‘Yep,' Toby slipped on his shoes and jangled the door keys impatiently, ‘come on then, or we'll both be late.'

Peggy and Scott kicked off their shoes. They had barely ten minutes before everyone arrived, and they were determined to take advantage of that time to rest. For days Scott had cooked and prepared food, while Peggy had made sure that the glasses, plates and crockery shone.

Aprons discarded, they sat, Peggy voluptuous in a magnificent low-cut maroon dress, and Scott striking in a black tuxedo. His crutches were propped against the wall in case he needed them. Tonight, however, he was determined not to.

The outfit hung in its plastic wrapper against her wardrobe door. There were literally ten minutes until she was expected at Pickwicks, but Amy felt she couldn't move any faster.

Paul had welcomed her home with a hug, a kiss and a coffee. Recognising that she was having a silent battle with her nerves he'd said nothing, but steered her towards their bedroom, leaving her alone to get ready.

Amy had neither heard from, nor seen, Jack since February. Kit had told her he'd been back for a week, but she hadn't attempted to call him because he hadn't attempted to call her.
Childish. Why is everything with him so fucking childish?
She had genuinely believed they'd reached some sort of understanding before he'd gone away. Paul always said that Jack was a game-player, and Amy had reluctantly come to agree with him, but still …

The pale lilac outfit glared at her. They had cost a small fortune. Paul had said she looked great in them, and if she was honest with herself, she knew she felt great in them too. Fighting against the fatigue of the week, and the tension which bubbled within her, Amy stripped off her business suit and headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes later, washed, dried, hair brushed, with her outfit and stockings in place, Amy presented herself to Paul. ‘Well?'

‘Bloody hell!'

‘That bad?'

‘Are you kidding?! Here, put the shoes on.' Paul passed her the delicate silver kitten heels that completed the outfit. ‘Wow! I don't know about the meal, but I can't wait for afters.'

Amy coloured with pleasure at his response, and risked a look in the hall mirror. Her boned, sleeveless top tucked her in at the waist, enhancing her small cleavage, while the flowing skirt completed the slimming affect, making it appear as if she was wearing a dress and not a two piece. She felt good, sexy even. Maybe she should have bought some mascara or something? No. She felt strange enough as it was.

Butterflies continued to jangle and flit around Amy's stomach, but as Paul took her hand and escorted her towards Pickwicks a new strength began to build within her. ‘I feel like I'm in disguise. Like I'm different somehow.'

Paul held her proprietarily to his side, ‘Is confidence included in the disguise?'

Clinging to the memory of the contract she'd fought for and won, Amy replied, ‘I think it might be.'

‘Good girl. Come on, I want to show off the most beautiful woman in the world.'

Amy knew how she felt about him then. She was certain.

Sixty-six

May 25
^th
2007

Pickwicks was transformed. The majority of the tables and chairs had been pushed to one side of the room, and were shrouded with cream tablecloths. The straw blinds were down at the windows to provide some privacy from the outside world, and rows of little oil lamps and tea lights lit up the room.

Six rectangular tables, covered in burgundy cloth and bedecked with flowers and candles, had been arranged in an approximate square in the centre of the café. Wine sat in coolers and the table was laid with several rounds of cutlery for the meal ahead. Megan, Pickwicks' new waitress, poked her head out of the kitchen door. Peggy had asked if she'd stay to serve the first course, and then she could scoot off.

Peggy turned the music up a fraction. She'd toyed with the idea of playing some of her favourite musical compilations, hits from the eighties and nineties mostly, but in view of Jack's vast repertoire of lyrical associations, she had taken the safer option, and decided upon classical.

She looked at her watch; they'd all arrive any minute now.

The “wow, you look fantastic,” and the “I don't think I've ever seen you in a skirt” comments had been given and received. Peggy and Scott had been thanked and praised for the use of the beautiful setting, and now the male partners were gathering drinks while Kit, Amy, Debbie and Peggy sat chatting around the table.

‘Just Jack and Toby to come then.' Amy glanced towards the door, hoping they'd hurry up and get the initial meeting over with.

‘He's always late when it's important,' Kit smoothed down her dress, unaccustomed to sitting on so much excess fabric, ‘he'll make the grand entrance soon enough.'

‘Have you heard much about his travels?' Amy had been dying to ask Kit about Jack, but hadn't liked to admit she'd heard nothing from him herself. Now she seized the offered opening.

Kit, who knew Amy hadn't received any contact from Jack, shook her head dismissively, deciding to play down her own frequent contact with him, ‘Bits and pieces. He went from Spain to France to Italy, and I know he's relieved his Dad is cool about his lifestyle, but beyond that it's all been very quiet.'

Armed with alcohol, the men joined them. ‘Here's to us,' Scott announced as he sat down, his dazzling grin as wide as ever, ‘and to our future success, health and happiness.'

They raised their glasses, echoing his sentiment, before Peggy diplomatically said, ‘Perhaps we should wait for Jack and Toby to arrive, love?'

‘We've waited long enough.' Scott was decisive. ‘Anyway, I'm starving, and I bet Megan is dying to go home after almost ten hours on her feet.'