In Too Deep (25 page)

There’s a moment of utter silence, in which I would kick myself if I could do it successfully, then Daniel roars with laughter and virtually throws himself between my thighs.

‘Oh, my beautiful Gwendolynne, you are priceless. What would I do without you?’ He gives me a quick hard kiss on the lips, then positions himself at my entrance and starts to push in. ‘We are going to have so much fun when all this crap is over. We’re going to fuck like bunnies and play all the sex games we’ve ever dreamt of … and then some.’ He gives a determined and happy grunt and shoves himself home.

For a moment, my longed-for orgasm is in danger of sliding away, out of my reach, distracted by renewed thoughts of Daniel’s coming ordeal. But then the sheer beloved presence of
him
, his weight, his smell, his hardness, his hot breath against my neck, all conspire to recapture it and urge it into being. My pussy blooms around his cock and, unable to hold him in my arms, I hook my legs round his, lift my hips and push and push and push my pelvis and my spasming sex against him.

Daniel pounds me in return, sliding a hand beneath my bottom, powering into me as if working out all his apprehension and uncertainty with the force of his thrusts. We jerk against each other like animals, just as we did before, revisiting the bright, cleansing space of mutual pleasure, mutual desperation, mutual orgasm.

Of course, at this sort of pace it could never last long. I rise to another jolting, breath-catching climax and, just as I grab and secure it, I feel Daniel reach his peak too. He sobs and roars as he empties himself inside me, and the sound is a mighty shout of dark emotion.

Afterwards he unties me and we uncouple.

We’re both quiet, lost in our thoughts, survivors of a hurricane. And a bombshell. Daniel seems like someone I barely know, which he is really, and my head feels full of thoughts and confused emotions that are difficult to process.

I focus on the sequence of events, trying to make sense of it. One, I get involved in a kinky sex game. Two, I fall for a beautiful, brilliant, glamorous man in the course of the sex game. Three, I begin to wonder if there might be some serious, long-term chance for me with said beautiful, brilliant, glamorous man. Four, I discover said beautiful, brilliant, glamorous man is in peril of his life, and, because there’s been no time to really get to
know
him, I have no claim on him, no lover’s rights to insist that he lets me help him.

I want to scream and throw a tantrum and break things in this lovely room we’ve shared so much in. But I can’t. I must
be
calm and quiet, not make a scene, play it sensible and make allowances for Daniel, who surely can’t be thinking straight himself at a time like this. I compromise by having a secret little snivel in the bathroom, but when I emerge, cleaned up and smartened up but uneasily aware that I’m wearing last night’s frock and no knickers at all, I offer Daniel what I hope is a calm, supportive, but not too pushy smile.

He’s in his robe still, but his suitcases are out and he’s packing. His expression is complex and wistful, yet tinged, even now, with a little desire.

Oh, if only our timing hadn’t been so utterly crappy! Who knows what possibilities would have beckoned?

‘Wh–where will you have the operation? How are you going to get there? I assume you can’t drive.’

He heaves a sigh but, to my relief, doesn’t get all distant on me. We sit together for a while and he tells me, in general terms, what will happen to him. What he won’t tell me is where the hospital is, but it is, apparently, a world-renowned centre of excellence, a private clinic where he’ll receive the finest care.

I want to push again, beg for the details, beg to be allowed to come with him, but we’ve been through all that, and, though it’s the most horrible, painful thought in the world, if these are to be our last moments together, I don’t want them to be full of strife and conflict.

‘You’re a good woman, Gwendolynne,’ he says suddenly, taking my hand in both of his. ‘I can tell how much it’s costing you not to ask questions and probe and get in a strop because of the way I am. And God knows, I adore you even more because of it.’

He lifts my hand to his lips, kisses it with infinite tenderness.

‘You’re rare and special, and when this is all over I think
we
can
have something rare and special too.’ He presses his warm face against my hand, and I can feel the delicate prickle of his stubble. He continues to speak, not looking at me, his breath brushing against my skin. ‘But we must get past this first, so we can start clean. I don’t want what happened to my mother to happen to you. My father’s illness extinguished her life, crushed her creativity.’ He pauses and his fingers tighten almost painfully around the bones of my hand. ‘And I swore that I’d never inflict that on a woman I cared for, never. He’s been a capricious and ungrateful patient, and he’s blamed her for his misfortunes.’ He kisses my skin again. ‘And I can’t guarantee that I won’t turn out like him when the crunch comes.’

I want to tell him that I know in my gut that he won’t be a bit like his father, but I’m struggling with such misery inside me that I just can’t speak. Instead, as Daniel straightens up and I see the shimmer of ferociously suppressed tears in his eyes, I just put my arms around him and envelop him in a hug. We kiss and embrace for a while. It’s strangely asexual, given what we’ve been through in this room.

Presently, though, it’s time. The house phone rings and from Daniel’s side of the conversation I can tell that there’s a car coming for him in less than an hour – and he still has to shave and dress and pack his belongings.

We’re on our feet, both a little awkward.

‘I’ll walk you down to the foyer, get you a taxi,’ he says, reaching for a pair of jeans on top of his suitcase.

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll be fine.’ There’s an ice axe hacking at my heart, but I manage to keep it together. ‘You finish your packing and whatnot. It’s probably better if I just go.’

I make as if to head for the door, not sure how long I can maintain this, but instead of the jeans he snatches up a shirt, ‘Here … a sort of jacket. Slip it over your dress.’

I nearly do lose it then. He’s so thoughtful, trying to make
me
look less conspicuous in a dress that’s obviously for evening and cocktails and so forth. When I slip my arms into the shirt, his fragrance wraps around me.

At the door, another fierce kiss, and as we hug again he whispers in my ear, ‘It won’t be long. They think it’s straightforward. I could be sorted in two or three weeks, and on the mend. I’ll call you then.’

My heart screams: but what if I don’t get a call, what does that mean?

But I stay silent, savour the last moments with his arms around me, and after a final lingering kiss I open the door. He watches me down the corridor, and the sight of him as I turn for one last look, so handsome and so boyish in his dark robe and his bare feet, nearly kills me. We give each other a little wave, then I hurl myself round the corner and run for the stairs rather than the lift. I don’t stop running until I’m out of the Waverley, and I grab the taxi that’s waiting on the gravel drive. Fortunately, it seems to be for me, and the driver remains sympathetically quiet as my pent-up tears begin to fall.

15 Best Intentions

I’M IN A
haze. I feel as if I’ve had an operation too. Surgery to detach me from reality, from the everyday ebb and flow of my existence.

Like an idiot, I’ve taken some leave, because I didn’t think I could concentrate on work. But now I’ve got too much free time on my hands. I should have gone into the library anyway, to keep myself occupied, but instead I’m at home, just mooching around the flat, trying to recreate in my imagination all the things that Daniel and I did together. If I can immerse myself in gorgeous memories of life and sublime sensuality, maybe I can squeeze out thoughts of what’s about to happen to him, or may already have happened.

I can’t even take comfort from the fact that pining for my beloved has put me off my food and I’ll lose some weight. Just the opposite. The fridge is a constant temptation, and finally I have to get myself out of the flat and away from it, walking the streets aimlessly with no particular destination, staring at passers-by and shop windows, but seeing only Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.

Finally, I find myself watching a daytime episode of
ER
that I’d intended not to watch … and I crack. I don’t care what he says. I have to go to him. Deep down I’m sure he wants me there, or at least that’s what I tell myself as I dial the number for the Waverley Grange Hotel and ask for the one person I know who might be able to tell me which clinic or hospital he’s in.

‘Annie Guidetti,’ says a warm, pleasant voice that immediately makes me feel almost tearful with relief. Not Daniel, but someone who knows him, someone of his blood.

‘Oh, er, hello, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your cousin Daniel Brewster’s and I wondered if you knew how he was getting on.’

‘Gwendolynne? Is that you? I was just about to ring you. What a coincidence.’

She knows me? She was going to ring me? Black fear grips my gut. I flop into the chair.

‘Yes, that’s me. Daniel and I have been sort of seeing each other. I was at the Waverley last week.’ I feel myself veering dangerously towards panicking and snivelling and I make a huge effort to pull myself together. ‘I know he’s having or has had an operation, and he said not to contact him, but I’ve just got to know how he is, even if he doesn’t want me to know.’

My voice sounds desperate, ridiculous, bordering on hysterical, but Annie Guidetti speaks kindly.

‘Daniel’s a brilliant man, but in this instance he’s a damned idiot. And it’s very cruel of him not to keep you in the picture. I told him that, but he’s such a mule and a stoic, determined to do his own thing …’ She pauses momentarily. ‘Oh, my dear, I am sorry. I’m chattering on. Yes, he’s had the operation. He had it the day before yesterday and it went marvellously by the sound of things. Straightforward, no complications, and the surgeon was able to remove every bit of the tumour so it shouldn’t come back.’

I can’t speak. Tears are streaming down my face. My heart flies up and I feel as if I’m flying too. Even though I’m weeping profusely, I’m grinning like an idiot at the phone.

‘Are you all right?’ asks Annie. ‘Did you get that? Daniel is going to be fine. I spoke to his nurse and he’s recovering well. There’s post-operative pain, and he’s exhausted, of course, but
all
that’s normal, apparently. His really bad headaches have stopped and the early signs are that his vision won’t be affected in the long term. He’ll still wear glasses, but then he always has done.’

‘Oh, that is such a relief.’ I manage those few words, and then I’m off again, blubbering like an idiot.

Annie lets me get some, if not all, of it out of my system, then says, ‘Look, why don’t you come to London with me to visit him? He told me not to as well, but I’ve decided to go anyway. And I’m sure if you turn up he’ll be thrilled to see you, regardless of his silly macho ideas of “going it alone” and all that nonsense. Do come. I could do with some company on the drive. Valentino’s arranging a room for me at a hotel run by one of his friends in the trade, but he can just as easily book two rooms as one.’

I see Daniel’s face, serious, grave, determined to get his own way. Well, bollocks to that, mate! I don’t mind you ordering me around sexually, in fact I love it, but in this I’m going to do what
I
want and you’re going to accept it!

‘That would be wonderful, thanks. I’d love to travel with you. I’ve got to see him, whatever he says. I don’t care if he does get cross with me. I’ll take my chances.’ And I’ll take my chances ringing old Johnson at home as well, and telling him I’m going to visit a sick friend for a day or two. ‘What time are you setting off? Shall I come to the Waverley?’

No, she’ll pick me up and we’ll set off in a couple of hours.

When I put the phone down I dance around the room, singing incoherently. Daniel’s alive! He’s OK! And he can see!

Annie Guidetti turns out to be an amazing travelling companion. To take my mind off my remaining worry about Daniel – how he’ll react to my turning up now – she regales me with tall tales of the friskier goings-on at the Waverley Grange Hotel.
It
turns out that it doesn’t have its naughty reputation for nothing, and most of the rumours about sex parties, exotic activities and ‘special’ rooms with ‘special’ facilities are only the surface of the wildly outrageous truth.

‘I was pretty much an innocent until I met the Stones and my husband,’ says Annie brightly, ‘but now I’m a dirty old woman and I like it!’ She flashes me a smile and a wink, then returns her attention to the road, accelerating confidently and smoothly.

I point out that she’s not old, and reflect on what it must be like to be married to such an exotic and highly sexed man as her husband Valentino, the gorgeous continental stud who served drinks to me in the Lawns Bar what seems like a hundred years ago.

What would it be like to be married to a glamorous and highly sexed man like Daniel?
a sly, dangerous voice inside me asks before I can suppress it. It’s ridiculous. I still barely know the guy. We’ve only ever interacted in the library and in our crazy erotic games. Face it, I’ve never even got him to admit that he’s Nemesis, much less explore any deeper, lasting feelings. Although there was hope, wasn’t there, in those last minutes before he left …

‘What does Daniel think of the Waverley?’ I say, trying to distract myself from my thoughts. ‘It must be rather weird running a sort of sex hotel and having your own cousin come to stay.’

‘Well, Daniel’s barely a proper cousin. He’s actually the son of my mother’s second cousin, so technically I’m an aunt of some kind. I didn’t even know the Daniel in our family was the Daniel on the telly until he rang up, saying he was researching up here and did we have any rooms?’

‘Oh, right.’

‘He took to the ambience of the old place straight away.
He’s
definitely a player.’ She gives me another swift sideways glance, very challenging. ‘And he hadn’t been here more than a couple of days before he was talking about this gorgeous woman he’d met at the library, one he wanted to get involved with, and bring to the Waverley to spend some time with.’