Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male (10 page)

Her eyes
softened and she reached up to kiss him.

Holding her
afterwards, Brett said, 'You say you want to get to know me, but you tell me so
little about yourself. I sometimes feel that I know nothing about you.'

She gave him
a contemplative look, then said, 'Are you free on
Wednesday. I'll take you out.'

'Where?'

'It's a surprise.'

He gave a
mock groan. 'I'm becoming waiy of your surprises.'

But on the
whole he was greatly pleased with the way the day had gone. Her television
project was at last out in the open, even though Tasha had told him little
about it. He would be able to talk to her now, try and get her to confide in
him even more. He would dearly like to know who she'd seen today and why it had
made her so overwhelmingly angry. But he hadn't wasted his time while Tasha had
been doing the interview; he'd asked a few casual questions in the village pub
and found out the name of the owner of the house. It shouldn't be too difficult
to find out the maiden name of his wife, and that should lead to her sister,
the woman Tasha had met there. Brett still had plenty of connections in
journalism, plenty of experience in ferreting out the information he wanted.

And she had promised to go to
Cornwall with him. His spirits soared at the thought of it. There, where they
would be entirely alone, she would not only give her body to him, but he would
be able to work on her, make her trust him, so that she told him all about the
project, all he wanted to know. But his thoughts were mostly filled with the
enormous anticipation of making love to her at last, of satisfying this
dreadful ache of longing that drove nearly everything else out of his mind.

Tasha's thoughts were on
Cornwall, too, as the next day she took a cab to the wine-bar where she'd
arranged to meet her friend, Sarah. They hugged, and talked first about Sarah's
live-in boyfriend for a while.

'How
long has it been now?' Tasha asked.

'Almost
two years.'

'And you and Clyde are
still happy just living together?'

Sarah hesitated, then said, 'Actually, I wouldn't mind getting married. I
feel that we've been together long enough to know that we're really compatible,
in every way. And I'd like to start a family.'

'Getting
broody?' Tasha said sympathetically.

'I suppose I must be. My
sister had a baby not long ago, a little boy, and he's so beautiful, Tasha.'

'What
does Clyde say?'

A frown came into Sarah's
eyes. 'He thinks there's still plenty of time. And he isn't keen on getting
saddled with a huge mortgage for a house. But, like I said to him, I would
still be working. Even if we had a baby, I would still go back to work
afterwards.'

Tasha studied her face
for a moment, noted the obstinate look to Sarah's mouth. 'Maybe it might be
better not to push too hard,' she suggested. 'You might grow out of these
feelings in a while.'

'I don't think so. And
anyway, if he really loved me he'd want to marry me.'

'Maybe
he doesn't feel ready yet.'

'What difference would it
make? We're as good as married already.'

'So
why bother to get married, then?'

Sarah stared at her.
'That's what Clyde says. But I'd like to be married before I have a baby.'

'So work on him gently.
Make him think it's a good idea too.'

She
tried to persuade her further, and they were on to their food before they got
round to talking about Tasha. 'Who are you dating?' Sarah finally asked. 'Is it
still the painter?'

'No, someone
new. He's a writer.'

Sarah smiled. 'All these artistic types you go for.
What's he like?'

'Nice. A bit
special.'

'Really?
Tell me about him.'

'He's quite good-looking in a tough kind of way. Very self-possessed. Very masculine.'

'And head-over-heels in love with you, I suppose.
They usually are.'

'He wants me,' Tasha admitted.

'What man doesn't? But do you
want him?'

'Definitely.'

Sarah's eyebrows rose. "That sounds very decisive.
Have you done anything about it?'

'Not yet. It's too soon.'

But Tasha smiled as she said it, her eyes warm, and
Sarah gave her a long look. 'Be careful, Tasha, this man sounds as if he could
do serious damage.'

Tasha frowned. 'What do you
mean?'

'I mean that he could damage your heart—if you let
him.'

'I think that might be a risk I'll have to take.'
But she smiled again as she said it.

Brett had no idea what to expect when Tasha took him
out on the following Wednesday, but fully expected it to be something
energetic. So he was genuinely surprised when she took him to—of all places—the
circus. The big top was set up on a huge piece of common land on the outskirts
of a town to the north of London, a little apart from a traditional funfair
full of stalls and rides: everything from coconut shies to a ghost train. They
wandered round these first, Tasha insisting that Brett try his hand at several
of the stalls. He did best at the rifle range and won her a prize.

'Wow!' she exclaimed. 'That was brilliant.
Where did you learn to shoot?'

It had been while covering a war
for a newspaper, but Brett wasn't about to tell her that. 'Sign of a misspent
youth,' he said flippantly. 'What prize would you like?' He looked along the
shelves lined with white bunnies, cuddly teddies and adorable dogs. 'It looks
like a furry animal or a furry animal.'

He fully expected her to pick one
of those but instead Tasha pointed to a green frog with a big mouth that wasn't
at all appealing. TU have that one.'

As they walked away from the stall
he said, 'Why that one?'

Holding up the frog, Tasha looked
at it consideringly. 'It reminds me of someone.'

'God, I hope
it isn't me!'

That made her
laugh. 'Which one do you think should have reminded me of you? A teddy bear? Or perhaps the lion? Or the rabbit?'

He gave her a playful punch on the
nose. 'Watch it, Briant.'

'No, tell
me—which one?'

'Do you take
teddy bears to bed with you?'

So this time
she gave him a punch on the nose.

They had ringside seats for the
circus, and as he sat down Brett saw that they were surrounded by families,
most of them with fairly young children. He felt out of place and wondered what
the hell they were doing there. He was used to the old-fashioned type of circus with performing animals: lions and tigers in
their cage with a loin-clothed trainer, or elephants that could stand on their
hind legs. But wild animals were no longer a part of the modern circus and he
expected the performance to be flat, bland and unexciting. But the show horses
were still there, cantering on in their glittering panoply of plumes and jewelled harness, and soon he found that he was enjoying
himself.

The clowns
were marvellous and soon had everyone laughing, especially the children. One of
them, dressed in a green outfit and with great,
white-painted eyes and a wide mouth, seemed to notice them and do most of his
antics in their part of the ring. And at the end of the show, in the grand
finale, he took a bunch of flowers, that seemed to
have grown out of his hat, and presented them to Tasha. She took them with a
big smile, then kissed the frog Brett had won for her
and gave it to the clown.

Brett stared.
Now he knew who the frog had reminded her of. He gave her an amazed,
questioning look but Tasha was watching the ring and waving as the performers,
the clowns bringing up the rear, filed out of sight. 'Another friend?' he asked
as they stood up and followed the slow-moving audience from the big top.

'Sort of, I
suppose.' She was holding the flowers and bent to smell them. They were yellow roses,
he saw, and they were real. Giving him a speculative glance, she said, 'Would
you like to meet him?'

He hesitated,
finding himself deeply averse to meeting an ex-boyfriend, an ex-lover, someone
who had been to bed with her, who knew her body intimately and who would have
that knowledge in his eyes, in his voice. How could he shake the hand of a man
who had touched her where he had not? So he said, 'Who is he?'

'A clown.'
She paused, then added, 'Someone I love very much.'

For a terrible moment his heart
lurched sickeningly, but then common sense reasserted itself as he realised
that she had no reason to be so cruel to him, to taunt him. So there must be
some other reason for her bringing him here. Was it another of the tests she
set him, the traps he had to be constantly wary of? Keeping his voice even, he
said, 'OK, let's go and find him.'

They didn't have to search;
Tasha knew the way. When they at last got out of the big top she led him
through the fairground stalls to an area where all the caravans belonging to
the circus folk were parked, and straight up to an old-fashioned caravan that
was all gleaming paintwork and polished chrome. She rapped on the door and
almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for her knock, it was opened by a
tall, thin, elderly man who opened his arms wide to her. Tasha ran up the steps
to him and was enveloped in a tight hug.

After a couple of minutes, when
the man finally loosened his hold a little, Tasha turned and smiled down at
Brett. 'Come and meet my grandfather,' she invited.

They stayed for nearly three
hours. It was the early hours of the morning before they said goodbye, and even
then the old man was reluctant to let Tasha go. 'You'll come again soon,' he
insisted.

'Yes, Grandpop. Very soon.'

He walked with them to the car and in an aside to

Brett said, 'Take care of her
for me. She can be headstrong, you know.'

Brett smiled. 'I'm learning,
sir.' He shook hands without any hesitation.

When they were in the car and
driving back to London, Brett said, 'Tell me about him. Has he always been a
clown?'

'No, he was a very respectable
accountant until he was over fifty. But the circus fascinated him. He used to
do a clown act to amuse me when I was a child, and that led to being an
entertainer at children's parties in his spare time. Then, when my grandmother
died, he took early retirement and joined the circus. He's been there for over
ten years now and absolutely loves it.'

'But he misses you.'

Tasha nodded. 'Yes, but we see
each other as often as we can.'

'He's your mother's father?'

'Yes.'

'What about your parents?'

'My mother died in an accident
when I was quite young. My father was working abroad at the time and stayed on
there. In time he remarried.'

'So your grandparents brought
you up.'

'Yes.' Tasha grinned. 'I had
the most wonderful childhood. I was thoroughly spoilt.'

'No wonder you're so close.'
Reaching out, Brett took hold of a lock of her hair that nestled against her
neck and curled it round his finger. 'Thanks.'

'For what?'

'For letting me learn more about
you.' She didn't say anything so he said, 'Have you any more surprises in
store?'

She gave him an amused glance.
'Of course.'

'I hope they're all as nice as
your grandfather.'

She liked that; it pleased
her. 'Tell me about your family,' she invited.

He shrugged. 'My parents are
both retired and are golf fanatics. I have two sisters, both married and with
children.'

'Do you see them much?'

'Not as much as I should,
probably. I left home at eighteen to go to college and never went back. My
parents moved to a smaller house and it was their home, not mine; it held no
memories for me. They have their lives and I have mine. We meet up for family
occasions, and sometimes for Christmas, but that's it really.'

'It sounds lonely.'

'I didn't mean it to.' He
shrugged again. 'That's the way it is. We're just not that close. But they see
my sisters and their families quite often.'

Tasha gave him a disturbed
look. 'You must miss out on a lot'

'Not really. It would be
different if I was married and had kids, then I'd make sure they saw their
grandparents, met their aunts and cousins, but we get along OK. If they need me
they know they only have to call.'

'But it means that you've been
looking after yourself for a long time.'

'Yes.'

'Perhaps that's why you're
like you are,' she said musingly, half to herself.

'What am I like?' he asked,
immensely interested to know her opinion of him, how she thought of him.

She didn't answer for several
minutes and Brett thought
that she was going to ignore the question, but it seemed that she had been
pondering her reply because she eventually said, 'Enigmatic is, I think, the
most appropriate word I can find. Behind the sexual side of your nature, I feel
that you have hidden depths, things you don't want to share. Perhaps can't
share.'

Brett was stunned by her
perceptiveness; he'd always imagined he'd managed to fool her. Afraid that she
might probe further, he quickly said, 'I'm very willing to share the sexual
side. Any time.'

'Oh, Brett!'
She made a face at him. 'Stop being a conventional male.'

That made him laugh. 'I'll try. I'll try!'

But the dangerous moment had
been averted and he talked of other things until she dropped him off at his
house, almost casually telling him that she would be busy for some time.

'Does that
mean we can't see each other?'

'I really must concentrate on my
programme. My boss has started asking when he can schedule the filming.'

Alone, Brett realised that he
was walking on ever more treacherous ground. What if Tasha wanted to meet his
family? The fact that he'd been a journalist for more than ten years was bound
to be mentioned. And he knew with utmost certainty that if Tasha ever found out
he would lose her. But not, perhaps, if they were already
lovers. He had to get her down to Cornwall and make her his, make her
need him so much that she wouldn't care about his past.