Diamond (8 page)

‘Get it down your neck,’ said Leonardo with scorn. ‘I don’t even know what Alf whatsisname is. A decent biryani never did anyone any harm.’

She watched with some admiration as he tore into a doughy pouch of naan bread. He had an unabashed appetite for life that made her wonder if she’d ever had anything similar. She had, of course, she had. She remembered the nights in that tiny little Italian restaurant in the early days of her relationship with Deano – garlic bread, pasta of the day, tricoloured ice-cream sundaes. What a glamorous treat it had all seemed; real grown-up, adult living. Was it still there? She tried to remember what it was called – Semifreddo’s. That was it.

‘How long since you had a curry?’ she asked him.

‘Too fucking long,’ he replied through a mouthful of chicken madras. ‘Did you order any beer?’

‘No, they wouldn’t deliver alcohol. I did buy you a couple of bottles at the shop earlier, though. They’re not very cold, I’m afraid. Once the kitchen’s done …’

She reached into the box of provisions in the corner of the room and handed him a beer to go with his bottle of water.

‘Not having one yourself?’

‘Beer? Oh no. I couldn’t.’

‘Of course you could. Have the other one. I don’t like drinking alone. One must follow the rules of etiquette, you know.’ He was speaking in his fakey posh voice again.

Jenna had misgivings about letting such a gaseous liquid into her body, but she comforted herself that it was just the one, just this once. In future she’d remember not to buy the stuff.

‘So, what are you thinking of doing in this room?’ he asked, looking around at the peeling plaster and general air of mildewed woe that surrounded them.

They talked easily and with enthusiasm of different furnishing styles, floorings, paint versus wallpaper, lighting options, until the last grain of spice-drenched rice was disposed of. They had laughed at each other’s jokes, mirrored each other’s body language, and Jenna had found herself twirling strands of her hair far more often than she was accustomed to.

‘Where are you going to sleep?’ he asked, once the topic was exhausted. ‘Upstairs, I suppose?’

‘Eventually. I think I’ll just camp out in whichever room is warmest until I get round to the upper storey. It’s almost midsummer.’

‘The nights will be drawing in,’ said Leonardo, giving
her a strange look. ‘Long, lonely nights. Don’t you miss him?’

‘Who?’

‘Diamond.’

That was the sixty-million-dollar question. Did she?

‘I miss what we once had,’ she said, putting aside her empty beer can.

‘And what was that?’

She had to think.

‘When it was just us. When we could just spend time fooling around, and laughing, and talking about rubbish. When we used to spend whole days in bed. When we thought we were soulmates and nothing would ever come between us.’

‘And when was that?’

She exhaled heavily.

‘Fifteen years ago. Then our careers started to take off and nothing was ever the same again. We were pulled in every direction, every waking minute of our lives. It changed us. We became different people.’

Leonardo grimaced. ‘Life’ll do that to you. So, how are you different now, compared to what you were like at twenty-odd?’

‘I’ve lost my starry eyes. I’ve seen what’s in the stars, and it isn’t that great.’

‘Wow, that’s poetic.’ Leonardo nodded sagely. ‘So you used to be romantic, and now you’re not?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps I could be again …’ She floundered. ‘This is why I’m here, Leo. I’m trying to find what I am, what I want, after it’s been worn away by all the glitter.’

‘Terrible stuff, glitter,’ said Leonardo. ‘Gets everywhere.’

She laughed.

‘It’s corrosive,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘Nobody gets that, until it’s too late. But don’t listen to me. I’m rambling.’

There was a silence, strangely awkward.

‘You’re lonely,’ said Leonardo.

‘Yes. But I’m used to it now.’

‘You shouldn’t have to be. Someone like you.’

He had a look in his eyes that liquefied her.

‘Someone like me?’ she whispered. ‘What’s that?’

He cupped her cheek in one hand and she let out a breath, almost of relief. Yes, he was touching her. Yes, now she realised she had wanted him to all day.

‘Gorgeous,’ he said. ‘And amazing.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ she said with a laugh of terror. This had to stop, didn’t it? This couldn’t happen, could it?

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You’ve made something of your life. You’re special. If I were Deano Diamond …’ He looked away, as if he could scarcely believe what he knew of that individual.

‘Leo …’

‘Hush. When was the last time you were kissed? Properly, I mean.’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘That’s a fucking disgrace.’

There was a moment that seemed to stretch forever, when his pupils were giant in his eyes and all Jenna could think was
Go on, then, if you’re going to. Kiss me!

He tightened his hold on her face and tilted it up to him before ducking down to meet her lips with his.

How can it hurt? It’s just a kiss. It’s all right to kiss
.

It was more than all right. Leonardo knew how to do it. Just the touch of his skin was electric, and when he
brought his mouth to bear on her she thought she might swoon away into a froth of desire on the mattress. How had she forgotten the elemental pleasure of a warm, male, human body close to hers? She pushed her lips to his and gave him tacit permission to keep the pressure up, to increase it if need be.

She placed her hand on his upper arm, making it clear that she wanted this togetherness. Her fingers curled tightly against his solid muscle, just about where his bad tattoo was. He, in his turn, circled her waist, keeping her pressed into him.

His lips were fuller and more satisfying that Deano’s, which were thin and hard. There was a luscious softness to them that made the firmness of his kiss paradoxical and perfect. She could never tire of this feeling. It was better than wine and better than money and better than fame. If he carried on kissing her, she could be made to agree to anything.

What kind of woman did that make her?

She was slightly horrified with herself, but it still didn’t induce her to give up this glorious much-missed feeling, which was now spreading through her body like liquid flame.

And why not?
Her inner voice still tormented her with apprehensions of how wrong this was.
Don’t I deserve a little human comfort, a little pleasure? After everything I’ve been through?

The kisses were feverish now, hungry and all-consuming. Leo’s fingers raked through her hair, pulled at it, setting off little sparks in her scalp. He pressed and pinched and gripped her until they fell, sideways on, flat to the mattress.

Now their legs rubbed and wrapped around each other and they were close as could be, no space between them for so much as a sliver of card. Jenna felt her chin and lower face grow slippery and a little raw from his evening stubble. His tongue broke through and she accepted the surrender with enthusiasm, pushing her own back at him.

The more they took from each other, it seemed, the more they wanted. Each new act of wantonness opened up the possibility of more, an endless vista of sensual pleasures. She wanted him in her, her in him. While they were locked together like this, nothing else mattered.

His hands travelled hungrily over her upper body, and when they found her breasts she did nothing to repel them. Instead she let him cup her sweater-clad curves, enjoying the slight but delicious friction of the soft wool against her nipples.

She, for her part, tried to slip her hands inside his T-shirt, loving the flat firm warmth of what she found inside. His muscles moved against her palm and she felt them directing their efforts towards her, towards getting her and having her.

His denim-covered knee slid up between her thighs and nudged them apart.

They were panting now, heavy with lust and beginning to sweat.

Snogging like a pair of teenagers at the school disco. He’ll give me a love bite next. Oh, but how could I have forgotten how good it feels?

And now a hand inside her jumper, reaching for her bra, pulling down the cup on one side. Her nipple seemed to bloom against his touch, engorging itself to
fill the space between his finger and thumb. Her knickers were freshly soaked, her sex alive and vibrating with sensation.

Her phone rang.

‘Leave it,’ gasped Leonardo.

But the years had conditioned Jenna to be on alert for every call, because the next call could change the game again. Reflexively, she slid out from underneath Leonardo and snatched up her phone in shaking fingers.

It was Lawrence Harville.

‘Jenna, hi, I was just passing. Wondered if you’d fancy a drink?’

‘Just passing? Where are you?’

‘I’m parked at the end of your street. What do you say? There’s a decent place about five minutes walk from the house. Nothing fancy, but it’s snug and serves good beer, with minimal tracksuited rowdies.’

She glanced over at Leonardo. Her tracksuited rowdy, albeit minus the tracksuit this evening.

He looked immortally pissed off.

Immortally pissed off and at least half a dozen years
younger than her
.

This was madness. She should get her wits together and act her age. Her head was all over the place, what with the divorce and the sabbatical. Now was hardly the time to go leaping into intense flings with artistic fugitives from the wrong side of the tracks.

But I want to
, whispered her disloyal desires.

Well, you can’t
, retorted what she thought of as her rationality.

‘I don’t know,’ she said to Lawrence. ‘I’ve had a takeaway curry and it’s made me rather sleepy.’

‘Well, how about I come in for a snifter? Then you don’t have to make an effort.’

‘No, no.’
God, no
. Looking at Leonardo with an apologetic expression she hoped might be interpreted as ‘Sorry, business, can’t get out of it’, she spoke into the phone. ‘It’s fine. I’ll just get my bag and put on a bit of lippy and I’ll be with you.’

‘Excellent! Ciao.’

‘Hot date?’ enquired Leonardo with hostile sarcasm, as she took out her mirror compact and began applying lipstick.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go out. I won’t be long. You might as well go up to bed.’

‘Up to my sleeping bag in the attic, out of your way.’

She tried to sound soothing. ‘It’s not forever. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …’

‘Right. Of course. Moment of madness, eh?’

He looked as if he might smoulder into a pile of ashes.

‘No, not that – it was lovely, you’re lovely, but … The timing, it’s all wrong. Look, I’m sorry, I have to go.’

She virtually ran out into the hall.

‘I’ll wait up for you,’ Leonardo called. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Shit
, she thought, crunching along the gravel to the front gates, her head apparently broken into tiny pieces.
What the hell am I going to do? Should I throw him out? But I can’t throw him out. Back to London, then. Sell the house. But where will he go? Why should it be my problem? It wasn’t me that got myself mixed up in a load of estate gangland rubbish. But I can’t just throw him to the wolves! I care about him
.

These thoughts carried her up the street to the corner where Lawrence was parked.

‘Goodness, penny for them,’ he said, opening the car door and offering his arm.

He looked very eye-catching tonight, in a low-key pair of jeans, tweed jacket and open-necked blue linen shirt. Casually expensive and impeccably groomed. He smelled quite intoxicating too.

‘Sorry?’ She took his arm.

‘I was watching you in the rear view mirror. Your face was like thunder. Are you all right?’

‘Oh. Yes. Fine. Bit tired, you know. It’s been a dusty day.’

‘Dusty?’

‘The kitchen fitters. Stripped everything down and left clouds and clouds of dust.’

‘Ah. You’ll be thirsty, then. Here we are.’

It was a street corner pub, left in quaint pre-war condition, with an old-fashioned snug and an old-fashioned clientele, some of whom still wore flat caps in a non-ironic manner.

‘Ah, there used to be one of these on nearly every street,’ remarked Jenna, accompanying Lawrence to the bar.

‘Yes, I remember. Twenty years ago. Now they’re all converted into flats while big flat-roofed bunkers serve the estates with Sky football and cheap cider.’

‘Oh, they were there all along,’ reminisced Jenna. ‘The Lord Harville got vandalised, and boarded up though. Is that still there?’

‘I think it may have changed its name,’ said Lawrence uncomfortably. ‘What are you having?’

‘Best stick to still water, thank you. My head feels thick as treacle.’

Not just her head, either. Between her legs she still felt
a kind of erotic hangover, a heaviness that wouldn’t lift. She could be lying on her mattress with Leonardo on top of her right now.

She shivered. It was a lucky escape, but it certainly didn’t feel like one. It felt like a wrench.

She escaped to sit at a high-backed bench, attempting to get herself in the frame of mind for light chat with added flirtation.

Lawrence was a good-looking man. She watched his back and shoulders as he exchanged pleasantries with the barman, then her gaze drifted down to his bottom, half-covered by the tweed jacket, but not entirely. It was certainly squeezable.

God, Jenna, stop it! It’s as if you’ve gone man-crazy after years of keeping this kind of thing down. You’ll get yourself arrested
.

He came and sat beside her, placing her mineral water on the beer mat while he took a sip of his own whisky and soda.

‘Barman recognised you,’ he said. ‘Asked me what you were doing here.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘Told him I was your new business partner and we were starting a venture – Bledburn’s very own Talent Team. Turns out he’s a very skilled juggler and he wants to know if we’ll put him on our books.’

‘Oh, you rotten liar.’

‘OK, I didn’t tell him that. It’s a fair question, though.’