Moth to the Flame (11 page)

The most special thing in the world, in fact.

*          *          *

Davina raised an eyebrow as Gareth led her through the dark and deserted car park towards a white Jaguar XJS. Dinner was long over, and when he'd invited her to go with him to a local night club that had a jazz evening every Tuesday, she'd quickly accepted.

‘I wouldn't have guessed you were a sports car driver,' she said over the roof of the low-slung car, as he delved into his pocket for the keys. ‘I have an E-type myself.'

Gareth looked at her over the expanse of white roof, thinking about that classic, curvaceous, serious car. ‘Yes,' he said simply. ‘It suits you.'

Davina felt again that pang of connection, that sensation of souls meeting. Damn him, what right did he have to know how she felt about her car? He opened the passenger door and she slid in angrily, dropping her scuffed leather handbag at her feet as Gareth unlocked his own door and climbed in behind the wheel. Ever since they'd made love on the desk, she'd found it impossible to get him out of her mind.

A week spent working furiously on the
anthology
hadn't helped distract her. Nor had hiring a private detective to find a pupil at the King Canute College to fit her bill.

She knew that he was taking it for granted that they were ‘an item' now. As was the rest of the College. Nobody, from disgruntled female students to highly interested dons, had failed to note their intense closeness. And as he drove them towards Holywell, and a small, smoky club that had the meanest sax player Davina had ever heard, she knew that that suited her just fine. She'd spun her web and caught her fly.

But soon, now, he was going to want a repeat performance of that mind-blowing evening on his desk. And she was going to have to make up her mind whether or not she could afford to go through with it again. Already her body was beginning to feel more his than hers. As he slipped off her coat in the tiny cramped cloakroom, and led her on to the packed dance floor, she could feel herself melt against him, no matter what furious directions to the contrary her mind gave to her wayward flesh and blood. Her arms felt languorous as they slipped over his shoulders. Her hips, moving against his as they swayed to the slow, blues beat of the music, seemed boneless. The pale red and blue lights gleamed on the dark wings of his hair. Reflected in the grey of his eyes. He kissed her hard, moulding her lips to his, his mouth insistent and hungry on hers.

She
kissed him back, as hard, as angry, and hungry. But then, deliberately, determinedly, she drew back from him. More out of a desire to prove to herself that she could, than as a punishment for him.

‘Let's find a table and a drink,' she murmured, annoyed to find her voice coming out so huskily.

They found a tiny round table over by the back door. A cold draught was blowing through from under it, as the night outside turned progressively more frosty.

‘What do you want?' Gareth asked, and for a moment she felt like laughing. What did she want? Then she reminded herself that all she wanted was revenge for David. And to see this man broken. This man who could set her blood burning with just a touch. This man who could touch her soul with his understanding of her poetry.

‘Vodka. Neat,' she said tensely.

He nodded and fought his way to the bar. By the time he came back, Davina was in no mood to merciful.

‘Well, I've made twenty choices for the anthology so far,' she said briskly, accepting the drink and taking a good gulp without so much as a wince. ‘But I don't know how strong my conviction is going to be when I've picked out a hundred and twenty, and some poems have to go.'

Gareth nodded. ‘I don't envy you. It's at
times
like these that I'm glad I'm just a simple teacher.'

Davina smiled grimly. How modest. ‘But even teaching is not always such plain sailing is it?' she said in a dulcet tone, by not a flicker of an eyelash giving him warning of what was to come. ‘I heard from Rex this morning that you lost one of your pupils last term. A boy, he said. He implied a great tragedy.'

It was difficult to tell, in the dim light, but she was sure that he suddenly paled. ‘What happened?' she pressed. She suddenly wanted, more than anything, to hear his pathetic excuses. But Gareth shook his head. ‘I don't talk about it,' he said flatly.

Davina felt a wave of screaming rage swamp her. For one insane moment she wanted to reach across the table and attack him, beating him with her fists, telling him that her brother was more important than that. That he should talk about nothing else but that gentle, funny, wonderful boy who'd wanted to teach as well. And who now lay in his grave.

‘I see,' she said flatly. ‘Sorry that I'm not worthy to be trusted with your secrets,' she flashed, and got to her feet.

Gareth opened his mouth, then firmly closed it again. If Davina was in no mood to be merciful, he was in no mood to respond to emotional blackmail.

They were silent as they drove back to College. Silent as he walked her to the door of
Wolsey.
Silent as she walked to her own door within the building and opened it. When she turned he already knew she was not going to invite him in. He was becoming adept at reading her mercurial moods. Instead of exasperating him, they satisfied him. She had the soul of a poet after all—she was a woman unlike any other; she was entitled to be capricious. Having given him a taste of heaven, she was now determined to starve him.

Well, that was all right with him too.

For a while, anyway.

When she turned, her lips already opening to give him words of dismissal, he reached for her, dragging her into his arms. She struggled wildly for the briefest of seconds, but then his lips were on hers, and all the fight went out of her. His arms around her waist felt like wonderful chains.

The kiss was hard, angry, brief, but satisfied something in both their psyches. When he pulled back and looked down into glowing green eyes, flashing viciousness and desire in equal measures, he slowly nodded.

‘I'm not giving up on you Davina,' he said softly. ‘I'm not ever going to let you chase me away. Try as hard as you like. I'm the man who's yours for ever.'

A strange, almost feral look, crossed her face. A look that was not frightened, not challenging, not disbelieving, but somehow . . . ironically amused . . .

‘Good,'
Davina said softly. ‘Because I have plans for you, too.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jared reached for Alicia's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘Relax—it'll be fine.' They were sitting in the front row of the theatre, and the cast were about to do their first run-through of the complete play.

She wished she had Jared's laid back attitude. She wished . . . She wished Jared would kiss her, as he had on the punt.

The door at the back opened, and Davina Granger approached them. ‘Hello, I heard there was a rehearsal going on.'

‘That's right. I'm Jared Cowan, the director. You're welcome to watch, but I warn you, there'll be plenty of mistakes to be ironed out. Generally, I suspect it'll be very messy.'

Although he was speaking to Davina, he was talking more for Alicia's benefit. He wanted her to be prepared for the chaos that the first run-through always produced.

Davina laughed. ‘Ah, but that's where all the fun's to be had,' she pointed out.

Jared believed her. ‘Miss Granger, I'd like to introduce you to the author of the play . . .' Behind him, Alicia went hot then cold. As he turned, and Davina glanced across him
towards
her, she quickly rose from the chair, spilling her script, notes and pen around her. Confused she made a made a mad dip to pick them up, then thought how silly she must look and stood upright again, then didn't know what to do with her hands and stuck them behind her back, then thought how silly that must look and let them drop to her sides. Finally she managed what felt to her like an inane grin.

Davina watched this shy, awkward, endearingly touching scene, and suddenly St Agnes snapped into her mind. This woman was so child-like. And those huge blue eyes . . . all that medieval long dark hair . . . ‘Hello,' Davina said, reaching forward to shake the woman's hand. ‘It takes courage to take on a big project like this. Admire your nerve.'

Alicia took the hand nervously. According to her aunt, Davina was pioneering the art of twenty-first century poetry for women almost single-handed.

‘She's written a wonderful play,' Jared said staunchly, and Davina smiled. It was not hard to interpret the look in the wide blue eyes of her St Agnes. Young love. There was nothing quite like it.

Behind them the door opened once again, and Davina recognised Neville Norman. ‘Miss Granger,' he gushed, ‘I was hoping to run into you again. Alicia,' Neville turned to his sister. ‘How's the play coming?' he asked
politely.

Alicia wished she knew.

‘We're about to have our first run-through,' Jared said. ‘I'm sure you know what they're like. If you'd like to meet up with us later . . .'

Neville smiled. ‘Oh, but I love watching the bare bones of a play being padded out,' he contradicted, and very deliberately moved to one of the front row seats. Davina tried not to smile as Jared glowered at his elegant back. Then the smile faded as she noticed the agonised look on the beautiful face of her St Agnes. Of course, she thought, as she made the connection. Neville Norman was the big brother, and famous theatre critic, here to watch her play. No wonder the poor girl looked as if she'd rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else . . . like on the bridge of the Titanic for instance.

Instantly, Davina began to cast Neville as the villain of her poem. She could use his sartorial elegance like a battering ram. Lampoon the man's obvious ego, turn him into the voracious monster who would bring doom to her luckless heroine . . .

‘Right, well, places then,' Jared said reluctantly as Davina took a seat next to Alicia. ‘Right, let's have a run-through—no interruptions,' Jared carried on. ‘I'll be timing the changes.' He moved to the front row, placing himself between Neville and his sister. If the creep wanted to start sneering, he'd have
to
get through Jared first.

‘Right. Act One, Scene One. Places!' And so it began, the first ever run-through of
The Estate of Matrimony.

Alicia made copious notes. As the rehearsal drew to an end, Jared slumped down next to Alicia and sighed.

‘That was fascinating,' Davina was the first to break the silence. ‘You thought of the whole plot?' she asked Alicia.

‘Oh, Jared and Emily helped.' She indicated the ginger-haired girl on the stage. ‘But it needs work.'

Davina smiled. ‘All first drafts do. Isn't that right, Neville?' she added, silkily using the man's first name, in order to put him on the spot. Jared, very discreetly, hid a grin behind his hand whilst Neville rose to the occasion magnificently. ‘Of course. The play has a lot of merit. But that appalling bit of sloppy work in Act II, Scenes four and five, need major repairs.'

‘I've already got notes and thoughts on that,' Alicia said, with just a hint of bite to her voice, missing the stunned look that Neville gave her. It was the first time in his life he could remember his sweet and compliant sister answering him back in that way.

Davina and Jared both felt like applauding.

‘I think you'll come up with something really special, Alicia,' Rupert Greyling-Simms, who'd been waiting his chance, chose that
moment
to step into the fray. Jared's head snapped up as Rupert approached. Davina, who knew nothing about the background of the leading man, looked at him thoughtfully. As far as outward appearances were concerned, he was a veritable blond Adonis.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,' Alicia laughed shakily. ‘I hope I don't let you down,' she raised her voice to include the rest of the cast but nobody believed that she would. They could all tell that it was basically a good play.

‘You won't,' Rupert said firmly. ‘Now, I've ordered some smoked salmon and champagne to be delivered to Jared's room,' he called over to the stage. ‘Hope everyone has an appetite.'

The cast began to applaud and cat-call, whilst Jared thought of the beer and crisps he'd organised, and grimaced wryly.

‘Right,' Jared called out loudly. ‘Meet here again tomorrow for script changes.' There were groans and good-natured mutters, and a general exodus towards Jared's room in Wolsey.

‘Well, the library awaits me,' Davina murmured. ‘Alicia, I liked the play a lot. Have you ever thought of writing a whodunit? I think you could give Ruth Rendell, et al, a real run for their money.'

Alicia's blue eyes widened like those of an owl. ‘Really? Do you really think so?'

‘I doubt my sister would want to do anything so run-of-the-mill, Miss Granger,' Neville
stepped
in smoothly.

Jared opened his mouth to tell the idiot to shut up, but Davina got there ahead of him. ‘Oh? You think that genre is run-of-the-mill? I'm surprised,' she purred. ‘I've always found that particular area very rich in talent. In my opinion, Margery Allingham's “Campion” is a fine creation. Every bit as good as Dorothy L. Sayers' “Lord Peter Wimsey”.'

Neville forced a smile on to his lips. ‘Of course. The twenties and thirties was a classic era for whodunits. But nowadays . . .' he spread his hands in a dismissive gesture.

Rupert shifted restlessly, impatient to have Alicia to himself. During the last few weeks, he felt that they'd reached a real rapport. Although she didn't pick him out for special attention, Rupert knew that that was just a cover. She was so shy, she didn't want to make her attraction for him obvious. But he was getting weary of pretending they were just friends. It was time to make his move. She was so beautiful. So alive. He must hear her say those magic words to him, soon. Say to him, ‘I love you.'