Love & Freedom (16 page)

Then, on impulse, she searched Facebook for Martyn Mayfair and, as well as his own understated one, found a fanpage with a very proprietary tone. As well as listing a ton of ads that Martyn had been in, complete with images, it led to a slideshow on YouTube. Was this what Robina had done, without even asking Martyn if that’s what he’d like? Wow.

A little Googling around and she discovered that Martyn’s own web presence was minimal and sophisticated in purple and black and linked directly to a similarly understated page at Ace Smith Model Management, giving few details other than height, weight, colour of eyes and successful campaigns, headed by le Dur. A selection of moody and sizzling images pretty much did the talking. Backtracking to the Google search page she found a whole host of other model agencies to click through. The most successful agencies adopted the same ‘less is more’ approach as Ace Smith. Not for them tempting bios vaunting
positive approach
and
unique look
or lists of work that would be considered.

Shutting down her machine and wriggling into her combat pants, which felt appropriate for a self-defence class, she felt downright weird that Martyn Mayfair was to be her driver for the evening.

Once the damned class was upon her, she found herself no more enthusiastic about it than Ru. But if she didn’t go, Ru wouldn’t have anyone to encourage him – or pay for him, in all probability. They found their way into the hall over a pub where
Personal Safety Training
was printed on the sheet of white paper stuck to the door. A dusty stage at one end rose above floorboards and a spongy blue floor mat. The smell of beer tainted the air.

Including Honor and Ru, the class numbered twelve. Seven of the others were women of all ages up to mid-sixties, and each paused to look at Martyn when he walked in. Lifting a lazy hand to Hughie, he hopped up to sit on the edge of the stage and watch.

Honor hadn’t bargained on his presence but she could scarcely object, as he’d given them a ride. She and Ru joined the half-circle around Hughie, a tattooed hulk with a buzz-cut who, despite the grey in his hair, balanced on the balls of his feet and looked ready for anything. He had an oddly sweet smile and liked making his class laugh with jokes about his middle-age, ‘Blimey, this lad was no more than a twinkle in his father’s eye when I left the army and began these classes!’ Which put at ease the ladies who had a decade or so on him but made Ru flush. Ru looked how Honor felt – alien and apprehensive. If it hadn’t been for half of the class looking even less at ease in elastic-waist trousers and cardigans, Honor might have hissed, ‘Let’s go!’ to Ru and made a break for it.

Instead, she focused on Hughie’s growly voice as he bounded
into his course introduction. ‘I’m not going to ask you all individually why you’re here,’ he began. ‘Because I know.

‘Something, at some time, has made you feel in need of a swift and effective answer to violence. You, or someone close to you, has been mugged, beaten up, picked on or sexually assaulted. You’re here to learn to defend yourself – not so that you can pick up tips on how to be an aggressor.’

He paused and scanned his class sternly, keen blue eyes daring anyone to admit aggressive tendencies. ‘I’m going to show you that even the smallest person can be effective in self-defence by mixing up the pairings.’ Rapidly, he divided the class up: young with middle-aged, woman with man, large with small. Ru looked terrified to be partnered by a plump woman with tight grey curls in rows, as if the perming rods were still in there.

‘And you – Honor, isn’t it? – you’re the lightest of us, so you partner me and we’ll show these guys how a little woman can overcome a big bloke.’

Honor grew hot with alarm. ‘Wow. I’m a complete beginner. Maybe someone else–’

‘–would be a complete beginner, too.’ Hughie twinkled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, this class is all about empowerment, about vanquishing that feeling of being out of your depth. That’s not a nice feeling and we’re going to show it the door. Right? We’re going to begin with vital point striking, because the brilliant thing about vital points–’ he began to tick points off on his fingers, projecting his voice to the class at large, – ‘is that we’ve all got them. Vital points cannot be conditioned. Vital points are as vulnerable on a fifteen-stone hoodlum as they are on a seven-stone weakling. OK?’

Along with the class, Honor nodded. ‘Stones’ were a bit of a mystery to her, but the principle was easy to comprehend, fifteen being more than twice as many as seven.

‘Now make me a fist.’ Hughie turned back to Honor and watched as she curled in her fingers and thumb on her right hand. ‘Good!’ He beckoned the class closer. ‘See, the thumb is on the outside of the fingers, parallel to the knuckles and across the front. You
don’t
curl your fingers over your thumb. Or stick it out at the side.’ He demonstrated each no-no. ‘Because you might break your thumb the first time you use a fist like that. Right? Honor, clench it harder. Great. The harder you can make it, the more effective it will be and the less chance there is of you getting hurt.’

He pulled up a banner from a sort of tube on feet that stood on the floor, to show a black silhouette with pink dots. ‘Here are the vital points,’ he pointed to each dot. ‘Eyes. Nose. Ears. Throat. Groin – especially if your attacker’s a man. Knees. Instep.

‘This isn’t a martial arts class and I’m not going to show you classic technique – I’m going to show you how to control a violent situation and get away, right? So you’ll use your hand in the easy ways.’ He stuck out his own hairy fist to demonstrate each option. ‘The back of your fist, the side of your fist, the flat of your palm and the points of your fingers. And you’ll put all the weight of your body behind each blow, right? Right?’

‘Right,’ the class responded, shyly.

‘OK, find you and your partner a bit of space and we’ll begin with the eyes.’

Honor glanced across at Ru, saw his face finally igniting with something that might be enthusiasm, and felt her heart lift. This was going to work. This had been a great idea. She turned to throw Martyn a grateful look. But then Hughie said, ‘Right, Honor. Now I’m going to choke you.’

Chapter Fifteen

Honor stepped back.

Hughie gave a guffaw. ‘It’s all right. I’m going to pretend to choke you and you’re going to pretend to jab me in the throat. See?’ Gently, he fit his warm and scratchy hands around Honor’s neck. ‘Now, your instinct is to put your hands up to mine to try and free yourself. But by far the simplest thing is to strike your attacker.’

Freeing Honor for the moment, he touched the base of his own neck, at the front, turning to show all the class. ‘All of you feel, here, you’ve got a nice little cuppy shape? With a bobbly bit inside, like a button? Just press it lightly.’ Several people coughed and Hughie grinned. ‘Not comfy, is it? So, Honor.’ He returned his hands to her throat. ‘You take your two fingers and jab me – a touch will do! – in the trachea, on that button.’

Quickly, Honor lifted her hand and touched Hughie fleetingly where he’d indicated. Though she controlled her touch, he still coughed. And let go of her neck.

Rubbing the area, he turned away, ‘OK, let’s see you practise that with your partners. Gently,
gently
!’

Hughie strolled away to correct someone’s perception of where the vital point was and Honor glanced over to Martyn, who had propped his elbow on his knee and propped his chin in his hand. Even across the hall, his dark eyes were intense. She could see why advertisers loved him smouldering out at women from moody images. One corner of his mouth lifted in the faintest of smiles and her heart gave a great
boingggg
–

‘Now, Honor,’ boomed Hughie, right beside her. ‘I’m going to grab you by your hair.’

Honor, her eyes still locked to Martyn’s, felt her gaze turn into an accusing
Who got me into this?
Martyn’s smile widened into a boyish grin. And Honor had the feeling that she was slipping sideways, even though she could tell that her feet were planted on the floor.

Climbing back into Martyn’s big black BMW, it seemed that Rufus had discovered enthusiasm for self-defence. ‘That was wicked! That button at the base of your throat kills if you press it, doesn’t it, Honor?’

‘It really does.’

Ru gloated over his new power. ‘I hope Frog tries something soon so I can press his button.’

Honor turned to look at him over the seat. ‘Have you had trouble with him, this week?’

Instantly, Ru switched his gaze to the view from the side window. ‘Not really. He’s said some stuff, y’know, that he’s got his eye out for me. I said that he nearly had his eye out – when you poked him with a chip. I told everyone at school about you beating him up with fish and chips, so he’s been ripped a bit.’

‘I didn’t exactly beat him up,’ protested Honor, uneasily. ‘I just kind of
 
… stopped him. What does it mean to rip someone?’

‘To tease,’ said Martyn. ‘That’s the clean version. Ru, I agree it’s good to stand up to bullies but do you think it’s the best thing to do, to get people ripping Frog?’

‘Yeah,’ said Ru, dreamily. ‘So he knows what it feels like.’

Martyn dropped Ru in Saltdean to meet up with one of his few mates from school, which, handily, meant that there was little risk of Robina seeing Ru with Martyn.

Then he drove the big vehicle up to the bungalow and parked in Honor’s drive. It was darkening early, this evening, as inky clouds marched in from the ocean. His face was lit by the various dials on the dashboard, making him look like the cover art for a paranormal novel.

He got out of the car.

Honor slid out on to the drive, and shut the door. ‘I guess that as you were so kind as to drive me to that scary class it would be remiss of me not to offer coffee. But I don’t have decaff.’

‘I’m not religious about decaff. Why was it scary?’ He stood back to allow her to go first up the steps.

She began to fish for her key. ‘Hughie may be one of the good guys but I don’t warm to someone who says he’s going to choke me. I wish I hadn’t been the smallest person in class, I would much rather have hung out at the back and been less noticeable.’

‘Funny how the smallest person there was also the prettiest,’ he observed, drily.

‘He chose me because I’m lightest.’

He laughed, softly. ‘If I had the choice between getting up close and personal with you or with those lumpy pensioners, I’d find some reason to choose you, too.’ And then, when she didn’t answer, ‘Funny that you’re freaked by the classes but you dealt with Frog without batting an eye.’

‘Anger can do that. It’s been said that I have anger management issues.’ Stef had said it, as she’d hurled stuff at him. She veered away from the memory of that ugly scene, of Stef trying to laugh off his own unbelievable stupidity and tell her that she was overreacting to a joke. Pretty serious joke!

Martyn followed Honor up on to the patio and waited whilst she unlocked the front door to the bungalow and stepped through the hall and into the kitchen, flicking on lights, whizzing the kitchen blind down, filling the tall, white kettle. She’d gone all silent and abstracted, but there was something satisfying about watching her go through the cosy rituals of coming home, sexy in her combat trousers.

To distract himself from the velvet glide of desire he broke the silence, propping himself against the wall, arms folded and legs crossed. ‘Where do you think of as home, these days? Here or America?’

She paused in reaching for two tall, white china mugs. Taking down a jar of coffee, she shrugged and frowned. ‘Good question.’

But just as she opened her mouth to say more, the front doorbell went
bing-bong
and she looked relieved. ‘I have a visitor.’ And before he could unwind his limbs and suggest that he do the big butch man thing and check out who was ringing her bell as the clock rolled around to ten at night, she’d skipped past him.

‘Wow! Hello,’ he heard. ‘Of course it’s convenient – come on in.’ Then his heart sank. ‘I’m just making coffee for your brother, who was kind enough to drive me home. Maybe you’ll join us?’

And before Martyn even had time to curse about it, Clarissa, Zoë, Beverley and Nicola came crowding into the kitchen, each distinguished from the others mainly by the style in which she wore her mouse-brown hair. They milled around him like unsteady Munchkins, giving him the opportunity to see that Honor, although daintier, actually stood more than half-a-head taller than any of them. Pink and grinning, his sisters hugged him enthusiastically, yanking down his head to plant alcohol-rich kisses on his cheeks, ‘Hi, Martyn!’, dragging out kitchen chairs and making themselves at home. Which Clarissa was, kind of, he supposed.

‘Didn’t expect to find you here.’ Clarissa’s eyes glittered above a wine-bright smile. ‘We’ve been to the Fig Leaf – Robina asked after you, by the way. She seems to think you’re avoiding her.’

‘I am,’ he said, frankly.

Clarissa pshawed. ‘You’re not still paranoid about her, are you? Anyway, I need to talk to Honor, so I thought I’d call.’

‘Funny time of night to call on your tenant,’ he observed. He cursed himself for leaving his X5 standing in the drive like a big, fat tell tale. That probably had been what dragged them in, merry-eyed and bursting with curiosity.
Didn’t expect to find you here
, like hell.