The Last Kiss Goodbye (20 page)

She got up slowly and stood between his legs, knowing, but not caring, that she was about to cross a line.

The space between them seemed to take on an electrical charge. Dominic looked up at her, seeking her approval, then gently untied her gown. The flaps fell open, exposing her naked body.

He pulled her closer, and as he kissed her belly, she pressed her hands against the back of his head.

When they pulled apart, she slipped off the gown and it rustled to the floor.

Dominic stood up and she undid his belt, his shirt buttons, stroking her fingers across his downy chest hair.

When he was naked, he kissed her again, this time on the lips, his hands running through her hair.

They fell back on the bed and he positioned himself on top of her. She gasped at his closeness, nerves melding with the excited sensation of skin against skin. She closed her eyes and tried to feel every inch of him: coarse pubic hair, the roughness of his stubble, the softness of the lips that brushed against her breast. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to feel the surprise of where his mouth would go next.

His tongue connected with her nipple and she felt it harden in his mouth.

She tipped her head back in abandon, desperate to heighten every sensation, the pleasure and wantonness, the feeling of being desired.

She had always known that Dominic would be a good lover, but his touch was instinctive, knowing all her sweet spots without her needing to guide him.

A line of soft kisses traced down her abdomen. She knew where his mouth was going and it thrilled and terrified her. She had never been so intimate with another person before, but as his hands parted her thighs and he kissed her, right there in her most secret place, his tongue pushing itself inside her, she groaned in delight.

His sweet strokes sent a pleasure pulse around her body. She didn’t want it to stop, and when he pulled away to put on a condom, she felt maddeningly bereft.

Needing him back inside her, she pushed her knees further apart, and he entered her. She felt her body resist him at first; a short stab of pain that reminded her how closed off her body had been from all touch. But as she relaxed, feeling him sink deeper and deeper into her core, she gripped herself around him until they felt exquisitely bonded.

They moved in rhythm, bodies and breath, until she felt the pressure build in her core, every nerve ending alive. She felt as if she was climbing, higher and higher, her breath getting faster and more desperate, every ounce of passion and emotion she had ever felt compressing into a wild, sweet abandon that ripped through her body like a tidal wave.

His own pleasure was etched on his face and he collapsed on top of her, groaning with release.

Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. And as he clasped her hand, all thoughts of his earlier disappearance, of their differences and her inadequacies, vanished completely.

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘I think you’re going to like Les Cyprès,’ said Dominic as he indicated left through a pair of stone gate posts and down a long drive lined with cypress trees.

‘You mean I’m going to love it more than Monte Carlo?’ replied Ros, remembering the way the Côte d’Azur sparkled in the sun, and the yachts bumped together in the harbour.

‘Even more than Monte Carlo,’ grinned Dominic as he glanced across at her.

‘Even more than that little B and B in Lyons with the world’s flakiest croissants and the courtyard that smelt of lavender?’

‘Even more than that,’ said Dom, pressing his foot on the accelerator so that they picked up speed, the breeze ruffling her hair.

‘I want to live here,’ declared Ros, feeling as if life had been sweetened by the sun and the smells of the Côte d’Azur.

‘We haven’t even got there yet.’

‘I don’t mean Les Cyprès.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘I mean the South of France.’

‘Speaks the socialist . . .’

She shifted in her seat and looked at him.

‘I’m not saying I want a mansion. I’d be happy with one of those little cottages we saw at the turn-off to Antibes. All I want is a bed, a table, a bowl for my peaches and a window that overlooks the Med. That’s got nothing to do with politics. It’s about appreciating nature.’

‘I hope that bed sleeps two,’ smiled Dominic, taking his hand off the gearstick and putting it on her stockinged knee.

‘Oh gosh,’ she gasped as Les Cyprès came into view.

‘I don’t want a mansion . . .’ he teased as he removed his hand.

‘Just look at it,’ she whispered, her mouth dropping open. ‘How many families live here?’

‘Just the Harbords. And they don’t even have kids.’

‘Do they want to adopt me?’ she asked, swooning at the low Latin-style finca, wild jasmine growing unchecked over its whitewashed walls.

They pulled to a stop at the front of the house and knocked on the door. A housekeeper answered, and Dominic went to get their cases out of the boot, leaving them in the hall.

They were led to the back of the house, down a short flight of stone steps to a kidney-shaped pool that stretched the width of the ornamental garden.

Ros could just make out that the woman standing in front of the pool wearing a bathing costume and wide sunhat was holding up a crystal decanter.

‘Drink?’ she called. ‘I’m making martinis. Or daiquiris, haven’t decided yet.’

‘Your call,’ replied Dom, turning to Ros.

‘Ooh, I think it’s the weather for something fruity, don’t you?’ she giggled.

Dominic made the introductions. Up close, Lady Victoria Harbord, his old friend, a woman whose name cropped up regularly in his conversation, was every bit as glamorous as the picture he had always painted of her.

‘Darling Ros, I can’t believe we haven’t met until now,’ she said, putting down her silver cocktail shaker.

‘You’re never in the damn country,’ quipped Dominic, taking off his driving gloves and putting them in the pocket of his cream linen jacket.

Victoria shrugged, and her chiffon kaftan fell off one tanned shoulder.

‘When the sun starts shining, I just want to be by the coast.’

‘I don’t blame you. The view is magnificent,’ smiled Ros, looking out towards the shimmer of blue in the distance.

‘Dommy, did I tell you we’ve just bought a place in the Hamptons? It’s a bloody long way, but Tony says it’s the new Newport. The sunsets over the ocean are stunning, and it’s so handy for Manhattan.’

She focused her attention back on Ros. When she looked at you, Victoria Harbord made you feel as if you were the only person in her orbit.

‘So, Ros. Tell me about Monaco,’ she began, pouring out the daiquiris.

‘I thought you’d be there,’ said Dominic, helping himself to an almond from a bowl on the drinks trolley.

Victoria shrugged. ‘Tony went to meet some of his frightful boring Texan friends. I stayed here and topped up my tan. Frankly I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending an entire afternoon watching souped-up tin cans zooming around Monte Carlo.’

She took a sip of her cocktail.

‘But darling, tell me. Did you see Grace Kelly?’

‘Sadly not,’ said Ros, shaking her head.

‘She’s done wonders for the principality. Princess Margaret should have married Cary Grant. Maybe we’d have got our empire back.’

‘Well, we enjoyed it,’ said Dom, taking off his jacket and throwing it on a sunlounger.

‘You enjoy anything that involves fast cars and alcohol. I want to know what Ros made of it all.’

‘I thought it was like a weird zoo for millionaires,’ she smiled.

‘A sound observation. They go to avoid tax and feel they’ve succeeded in life because they pay an obscene amount for spaghetti.’

Ros laughed. ‘You’re not joking. It cost us over a guinea for two bowls of pasta.’

She glanced over at Dom and noticed how relaxed he looked. Relieved. She had known he had been nervous about her meeting more of his friends and had seemed to be particularly bothered that she and Victoria get on. After all, the hostess of Les Cyprès was one of his oldest friends.

‘Darling Ros. Do you have a swimming costume?’

‘I have three in my case.’

‘Three?’ asked Dominic.

‘A girl needs options,’ Ros replied. ‘Two bikinis and a one-piece.’

‘A
maillot
,’ smiled Victoria, putting down her cocktail glass. ‘We’re in France now.’

‘I didn’t think feminists wore bikinis,’ said Dominic playfully.

‘Why not?’ Victoria winked at Ros.

‘Don’t they demean the movement or objectify women or something?’

‘Feminism is about choice, Dommy darling. And if Ros chooses to show a bit of leg, screw the movement.’

Dominic grinned at Ros wolfishly.

‘Hear, hear.’

Ros went to the cabana to change. She felt washed-out and pale compared to Victoria with her smooth bronzed skin, and her navy blue one-piece was a little school-regulation, but she was too self-conscious to try the bikini.

Peering through the wooden slats of the cabana, she saw Victoria do a perfect swallow dive off the board. She entered the water with an elegant splash, and when she surfaced, rubbing her eyes, she turned and watched Dominic do the same.

Ros remembered a line from a short story she had read by Scott Fitzgerald, about the rich being different from you and me. It had never seemed more appropriate.

She finally emerged from the cabana and inched her way into the water.

Dominic swam up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her under.

She screamed, and then they were all laughing, and before she knew it, her face felt slightly burned and her fingertips were crinkled from their time in the water.

They dried off and changed, just as a short, squat man emerged at the doorway to the house. He was wearing sunglasses, pale trousers and a bold coloured shirt that made his face look even redder.

‘Tony!’ Victoria waved as she slipped her kaftan back on over her bikini. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Cannes,’ he replied in an American accent.

Victoria slipped a loving arm around her husband’s shoulders.

‘Darling, you must show Dommy your new plaything.’

‘What have you been buying this time?’

‘Come and have a look,’ Tony said with pride.

Ros followed them back through the house to where a bright red sports car was parked in the drive. Dom was already sighing with envy before they had even got up close.

‘Ferrari Testarossa,’ said Tony, opening the driver’s door. ‘Fewer than forty of them have ever been made.’

‘And you’ve got one of them, you lucky devil,’ replied Dominic, drawing his hand across the paintwork. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘Why don’t you take her for a spin?’ said Victoria.

Dom looked at Ros but didn’t say anything.

Victoria linked her arm through Ros’s, understanding the situation immediately.

‘Don’t mind us,’ she smiled. ‘We can go for a walk to the cove.’

‘Is that okay with you?’ asked Dom.

‘You know I get carsick if we go over thirty miles an hour,’ grinned Ros.

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Victoria. ‘We’ll go and change, and boys, make sure you’re back in time for dinner.’

The housekeeper showed Ros to their room, and she threw on a rustic blouse and a navy skirt, tying her hair back into a ponytail. She bent to the mirror on the dresser, touched up her lipstick and blew herself a kiss, realising with some concern how easy it was to get accustomed to this luxury.

‘You look lovely,’ said Victoria, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. ‘I’m glad you’re wearing plimsolls. Some guests arrive with just a bag of high heels and they wonder why we can’t go and explore.’

Ros followed Victoria to the far edge of the grounds, where there were stunning views over the Mediterranean. She could immediately see what a spectacular location the house was in – perched in a sheltered hollow of coastline above Antibes, surrounded by lemon trees and wild flowers.

Victoria pointed out a herd of goats, which had been known to eat through the only telephone line linking them to the outside world. She described them as ‘pesky things’, but Rosamund found the idea of such splendid isolation quite heavenly.

As they talked about the literary heritage of the area – how Scott Fitzgerald had written
The Great Gatsby
from a rented villa in Saint-Raphaël, and how Dick and Nicole Diver from
Tender is the Night
were based on the Harbords’ friends, the wealthy ex-pats Gerald and Sara Murphy – Ros realised that Lady Victoria was not the glamorous trophy wife she had first thought. At one point she asked her how someone who was so obviously intelligent and educated could be happy just enjoying herself and throwing parties. Victoria answered the question in the spirit in which it had been asked.

‘People who think I’m a silly socialite are completely missing the point,’ she confided. ‘There is great value in bringing people together. I’m sure Tony wouldn’t be half as successful as he is without the currency I bring to the table. And I’m confident enough in myself not to have to trumpet my contribution.’

They picked their way along the coastal path and chose a spot to sit down at the top of a bluff, looking towards the sea, not a building in sight, only the cries of the birds and the breeze rustling the grass to break the serenity.

‘I’m glad that Tony and Dom are getting to spend some time together,’ said Victoria.

‘How so?’ asked Ros, peering over the top of her sunglasses.

‘Tony’s frightfully jealous of Dominic. Always has been.’

Ros didn’t ask her to be more specific. She didn’t want to know the answer. She supposed that many men would be envious of Dominic’s easy charm and good looks. After all, Tony wasn’t a particular looker. She wasn’t surprised that he had reservations about his wife’s obviously close relationship with the
Capital
editor.

‘So how’s it going with Dominic?’ Victoria asked, more playfully.

‘Rather well,’ said Ros guardedly.

A smile played on Victoria’s lips. ‘I have to admit, I have never seen him like this with anyone else before.’

‘How do you mean?’ Suddenly Ros wanted to know everything.

‘He’s brought girls to meet us before. Mainly to parties at Batcombe. But you’re different. He’s different with you. He’s in love with you.’

Ros smiled. She was desperate to tell her new friend about their night in Paris. How they had spent half the night kissing and making love and telling each other how much they loved one another. But at the same time, she wanted to keep those details a secret between herself and Dominic.

‘No, I’ve seen Dominic Blake with dozens of women, hundreds. And he’s never been like this with anyone else, not even close,’ mused Victoria. ‘But . . . Dom’s life is complicated. You have to be sure you’re prepared to take that on.’

‘The jungle, you mean? The adventuring?’

‘That’s part of it, yes, but . . .’ She paused, seeming to search for the words. ‘Look, life is not a fairy tale and neither are relationships. You have to work at them, set boundaries.’

‘Boundaries?’

‘Ros, you’re an intelligent woman and I am not going to insult that intelligence by saying that Dominic isn’t extremely popular with the opposite sex. No matter what his feelings for you are, men are men; if some strumpet opens her legs right in front of them, what do you think they’re going to do?’

She leant forward.

‘You’ve seen their faces when they’re about to pop. It’s a primordial urge; they’re not in control of themselves.’

‘You think I can’t trust him?’ she asked defensively.

‘I thought I could trust Tony. At the beginning. Although I love him, although I fell in love with him, he’s not an obviously attractive man,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘Not like Dominic. And yet there were at least two affairs in our first three years of marriage. What he lacks in matinee idol looks, his wallet makes up for. If you have something to offer – sex, excitement, money – people will always be interested in you.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I laid down the law. I told him what he had to lose. And I made some rules. I vet his secretaries, limit his time abroad . . .’

‘And you think that helps?’ said Ros, imagining Tony like a panting dog on a tight leash.

‘I do what I can.’

A bird was circling overhead, and Victoria tipped back her head to listen to its song.

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ said Ros softly.

‘Whether I think you can trust Dominic?’

Ros nodded.

‘Dominic Blake is a remarkable man. He’s climbed unclimbable mountains, mapped unmappable rivers, he’s brave and resourceful and on top of that he’s a very good writer. And one of the reasons he’s done all that is because he is a free spirit. He’s unfettered, curious.’

‘So if a girl falls in love with the dashing pilot, she shouldn’t be surprised when he flies off into the sunset the week after the honeymoon. Is that what you’re saying?’ Ros could feel tears building in her eyes.