CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
By the time the tour started, Sapphire had regained her equilibrium and was more positive in her mind about her career. Now that Marco was definitely out of the equation, she could embrace the art world and focus on herself.
She zipped up her cream linen dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline and slipped on some high heels. The dress made her look demure but suited her hair colouring and emphasised the deepening tan she’d acquired while sitting in the traffic-free piazzas, painting the street vendors and the locals.
She glanced in the mirror and was surprised, as she often was these days, to see the reflection of a tall, willowy woman with high cheekbones and full lips. She liked what she saw and hoped that another corner had been turned as a new assertive Sapphire emerged. Slicking on some pink lip gloss and set off for the exhibition, tucking her invitation in her bag even though she was now well known enough not to need an invitation.
The exhibition was called Retrospection and Introversion and was a relaxed affair, giving Sapphire time to stroll around to look at the other paintings when there was a quiet moment. She turned in to an alcove by a large door, which she’d missed earlier, to find a cluster of pictures lining the walls. She guessed this was the ‘introversion’ part of the exhibition where serene pastels, watercolours and gentle charcoal portraits were intended to calm the mind.
One wall was full of charcoals and she moved closer to get a better look at the style of the artist. They were tastefully framed charcoals, quite small but perfectly executed. As she peered closer, her eyes widened in disbelief. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a cry. Where the hell had they come from?
She reached out and touched one, tracing the contours of the face she knew so well, shaking her head, unable to believe that her love for this man had been laid bare for everyone to see. Each portrait showed Marco Cavarelli at his most vulnerable: a close-up of him asleep on a sofa, his eyelashes fanning his cheek; his jaw jutting pleasingly as the light hit it from the window of an aeroplane; his expression serious as he worked over his laptop.
There was even the very first one she’d drawn of him, with steam coming out of his ears and horns on his head. That was framed in red and drew the eye straight to it.
‘These are excellent, aren’t they?’ Anna sidled up to Sapphire and studied the pictures. ‘It was fortunate that we could include them in the exhibition. They lend just the right tone, promoting what we are trying to achieve – not just trying to sell art for profit, you know?’
‘Where … where did you get them?’ Sapphire stammered, thrown by the images on display when she’d thought they were safely tucked away somewhere.
‘Why, Marco Cavarelli loaned them to us. He is the patron of the exhibition and it was wonderful that he could add these.’ Anna peered at them. ‘They’re not fully signed, but the artist must be someone who knows him well. The medium of art is a wonderful way to express one’s emotions, and these positively vibrate with love, don’t you think?’ Anna smiled gently and Sapphire knew that she knew.
‘They’re not for sale,’ she exclaimed as angry tears blurred her vision.
‘Oh, no, I don’t believe Mr Cavarelli would sell anything as precious as these.’ Anna patted Sapphire on the shoulder.
Sapphire unclenched her fists determined to be civil. It wasn’t her fault that her soul had been exposed for all to see. Blinking back tears, she gave Anna a watery smile, trying her utmost to pretend nothing had changed, but inside she was seething. How dare Marco do this to her? How dare he steal her work and bare her emotions to the art world while simultaneously rejecting her? It was too much.
She stormed out of the exhibition, flagged down a cab and instructed the driver to go straight to Marco’s hotel. She didn’t care if he was there or not – she would bloody well wait all night if she had to.
She marched across the marble floor and up the staircase, her anger driving her on, until she stopped outside Marco’s door. She took a deep, steadying breath which made no difference whatsoever and rapped on the door, almost crying with fury.
Marco opened the door and she launched herself through it, stumbling in her haste. ‘Sapphire, what a lovely surprise.’ He tried to kiss her cheek but she lashed out at him. ‘Get away from me. I don’t want you to touch me.’ Her eyes blazed.
‘So it seems.’ He raised his hands and stepped away from her.
She squared her shoulders and glared at him. ‘You.’ She stabbed a finger in the air. ‘You do nothing but betray me.’ She pushed his shoulder as he stepped forward, swiping at her eyes. ‘I hate you.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘To tell you how much I hate you.’
‘Please calm down, Sapphire.’ He planted himself in front of her and tried to pull her into his arms. He reached out to stroke her hair, making soothing noises, but she pushed his chest as hard as she could, to free herself from his grip. ‘Get off me.’
‘Sapphire, what is going on?’
‘You stole my portraits, my pictures, my soul.’
Marco sighed. ‘Get over yourself, will you, Sapphire? Not everything is about you. I was helping out the organisers of the exhibition.’
His attitude incensed Sapphire, who stood with clenched fists, breathing so heavily she could barely speak, her jaw aching with the tension.
Marco simply glanced at her, inclined his head and said, ‘Come through.’ He led her into the sitting room, leaned against a table, folded his arms and studied her.
‘Please don’t think I want to be here, I had no intention of ever seeing you again,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘And yet.’ He motioned with his hand, pointing out the obvious.
‘I know, here I am again, but …’ The white-hot anger that had carried her through the streets of Florence as she railed against him, dissipated as she finally took in his face, his body, his everything – every single thing that she loved. She felt her lips tremble and bit her lower lip determined not to cry as she stared at him, loving him, wanting him. He looked cool and composed in a perfectly fitting crisp, blue linen shirt, his dark eyes confused as he listened to her ranting at him. She hated him for it.
Yes, she hated him so much. How could he treat her in such a way? ‘Do you know what? I’m done here with you. Take my pictures, take my mind, my heart …’
‘What is wrong with you, Sapphire? All I did was display your very fine charcoals at the exhibition.’
‘You showed everyone.’ She fell into a chair, uninvited, as her legs gave way.
‘I showed everyone – what?’
‘You bared my soul and it was not yours to show. How dare you?’ She rubbed at her eyes, smearing mascara across her cheeks.
‘But there was nothing to tell – you told me that. You assured me, if I remember rightly, that there was nothing between us – that it was just a fling.’
Sapphire clenched and unclenched her fists; she really thought she might break down into full on sobbing, if she stayed much longer. ‘I hate you.’
‘So you said.’
She glared at him, wanting him, just for once, to shout back, or admit that he was in the wrong. Was he even capable of emotion? ‘Bloody man,’ she hissed.
Marco lifted an eyebrow but made no comment.
She shook her head and ran her hand across her brow, utterly deflated. There was nothing left that he could do to her, now. She gathered herself, intending at least to leave with a shred of dignity. ‘If you could make sure my drawings come back to me, please.’
‘Why did you draw my face so many times?’
‘What?’
‘If you hate me so much, why did you draw me so many times?’
‘Because …’
‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t we have a glass of champagne, while you think about the answer? I was just about to open a bottle.’
‘I don’t want a glass of champagne.’
But Marco ignored her and she heard the quiet pop as the cork was pulled. He nudged a glass into her hand and she held it awkwardly, grudgingly, but she could hardly drop it on the floor, much as she was tempted.
‘Let’s sit on the balcony, shall we?’ Again, he didn’t wait for her answer but picked up the bottle and his glass and took them outside.
She followed, watching him surreptitiously. His own jaw was clenched and his back was rigid. He wasn’t quite as laid back as he was trying to appear, and was probably keeping hold of his own temper, she decided. She wished he would fight back – she needed him to fight back, so she could feel vindicated.
‘Bloody man,’ she hissed under her breath again, reluctantly joining him on the squashy sofa, once more. She sipped her champagne, the bubbles making her tongue tingle. She didn’t even notice the taste of it, although she imagined it was a great vintage. She set her still-full glass down; he wasn’t going to appease her that easily.
Marco turned his head towards Sapphire, watching her with measured eyes, taking his time to evaluate her, and it annoyed her. She picked up her glass again under his intense scrutiny and drained it in one go.
He drew in a breath. ‘Bene! Let’s talk, now you have relaxed a little.’
She narrowed her eyes. Was there no way to fluster him?
He continued. ‘I was prepared to believe that you didn’t want to see me again, but –’
‘Just tell me why you sent me a letter asking me to clear my desk,’ she interrupted him. ‘I think the answer to that, will pretty much sum up your true character. What you did to me was ...’ She choked out the words, the remembered pain hitting her with a thump, straight to her heart. She met his eyes. ‘It was unforgiveable, Marco.’
‘Drink more champagne, Sapphire,’ Marco instructed, pressing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, an action she’d noticed he did when under duress.
She dutifully refilled her glass.
‘I want to show you something.’ Marco stood up and pointed into the distance. ‘Look over the hills to where the sky meets the greenery. Just there, you can see the glint of a lake if you look really hard.’
She squinted at the horizon and found a long flat roof amid a field of green, beside a lake that looked like a drop of rain it was so far away.
‘What about it?’
‘Next to the lake is my house. I started building it four years ago. It was to be my family home, but my wife left me for a flashier version of myself, before it was completed. She took off in my E-Type Jag – which, incidentally, I never saw again. I, unsurprisingly, didn’t have the enthusiasm to finish the interior of the house and pretty much moved in here.’ He leaned over the balcony railings as he gazed over the hills, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Finally, he turned around to face her.
She gulped at her champagne and stared at him.
‘And?’
‘When I left you in England, it was to instruct the builders to restart it.’ He paced the balcony, agitated.
‘Good for you.’ Sapphire was puzzled as to the relevance of his story. ‘But, back to our conversation …’
‘I asked you to clear your desk so that you would find the letter and realise I had removed the barrier that was stopping me from declaring my intentions, as it were,’ he said, talking over the top of her. ‘Unfortunately, things didn’t go quite to plan.’
His smile was rueful. ‘So, your turn. Back to your drawings and why you chose to draw someone you hated so much.’ He sat back down next to her and his eyes levelled with hers.
His nearness was intoxicating and she felt slightly dizzy. She really shouldn’t have knocked back that glass of champagne.
‘Um, no, you can carry on if you want. Why did you restart the building of your house and what were your intentions?’ She wished she been paying more attention to what he’d said, instead of gazing at his lovely face.
‘No, really, I would like to hear why you thought I had taken your soul when I borrowed your portraits.’
‘You just shouldn’t have taken them and used them without my permission.’
‘The folder was in your drawer at work.’
‘You had no right to look through my private things.’
‘You left them behind and they were on my property.’ Marco raised his hands in appeal. ‘I’m sorry, okay? But I would like to know why you are so upset about this.’
Sapphire took another slug of her champagne. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘It mattered fifteen minutes ago; why not now?’
She looked for an answer in her wineglass and when it wasn’t forthcoming she looked at Marco instead, her eyes no longer full of hostility.
He stared her out with eyes that sparked humour and interest, mixed with a flash of exasperation. In return she brazened it out, glaring right back at him until their eyes locked.
A heartbeat passed and she waited for Marco to speak as a small smile flickered on his face and his eyes softened. ‘Might it be because your love for me shone out of those drawings? I might be wrong, of course.’ He raised his glass to his lips and gazed at her from over the rim.
She stared back, remembering the lips that she had sketched on paper so many times and how much she enjoyed being kissed by them, while snuggled in their owner’s arms. She slid her gaze away. As if she’d confess to loving him after he’d said it was all over.
But unexpectedly he took the glass from out of her hand and trailed his fingers along her arm and upward to caress her neck, a whisper of his skin touching hers.
She shivered involuntarily. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; she was supposed to be angry with him. ‘Marco, why are you touching me?’
‘Because I like the softness of your skin and it’s been too long since I held you.’
Oh. She swallowed and tried not to lean in to his caress as he drew closer. His lips hovered near her shoulder, his breath warm and inviting.
‘You were about to leave, weren’t you? Finish your drink first,’ he whispered into her skin, which sizzled at his touch, her body heating with longing.
‘I would, but it’s kind of hard to pick up my glass right now.’ He was definitely far too close to ignore. She hovered between indecision and action, feeling confused and awkward. Should she tell him to back off or draw him closer?
He smoothed her cheek with his palm and turned her face towards his. ‘I left England so that we could do this thing the right way. I did not want you to be just another rumour on the society circuit and when that journalist published the photos of us, in St Martin’s, for the first time ever, I felt violated – for you as well as me. Normally I just smile and shrug it off.’ He shrugged now. ‘And, being the old-school type, I also wanted to tell my father of my plans.’
‘Oh!’ The breath left her body in a rush at his words. ‘I didn’t know. Your plans?’
‘I had thought we could marry and you could live over here, but I realise now that it was too presumptuous of me to make such a huge decision on your behalf. I was always taught to look after my women, but I guess it’s far too outdated now to be considered chivalrous.’
Sapphire could only stare wide-eyed at him as he continued.
‘When I left you behind in England, it was to finalise my divorce. I had a newfound sense of urgency that in hindsight was probably misplaced, but it felt real at the time.’ He glanced at Sapphire and she thought his expression was one of someone who didn’t much like what he saw.
‘I also left you a first-class plane ticket to go with the text I sent you. It should have been in the envelope, but Charlotte forgot to print it off. We were to travel to a very lovely hotel for a proper holiday – one where you categorically would not have needed your welly boots or a hat – and then I was going to show you my house, to see if you liked it.’
Sapphire pulled away from Marco’s touch; this conversation was too important for distraction. She thought for a minute before speaking. ‘I spent half of my life being told what to do, before realising that no one actually cared what I did as long as it didn’t interfere with their plans.’ She clasped his hand in both of hers and went on. ‘I’m sorry that it’s made me what I am, but I don’t think I’m past redemption, if – you know – you wanted to take another chance on me.’
‘You don’t have the monopoly on betrayal, you know. I’ve been hurt too,’ Marco said. ‘Not many people end their days unscathed by love. But to be loved you need to give love. The same with trust. I am prepared to trust you and it’s a given that I love you. The house is for you, Sapphire – for us.’
‘Us?’ A flicker of a smile crossed her face. ‘I want there to be an us again.’
‘So, we will work at our relationship.’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’
‘I’m hoping that you’ll say something I want to hear.’
‘I just want you by my side, Marco.’
‘So, can we work through this, together?’ Marco was silent for a moment, before saying, ‘By that, I mean that I’m hoping the art studio I’ve set up for you will be enough to entice you to my villa in the mountains. Or maybe the infinity pool will swing it – whatever floats your boat.’
‘That sounds like the purest form of bribery,’ Sapphire laughed, crinkling her nose in thought.
‘It works for me.’ Marco shrugged, grinning. Another beat passed before he leaned towards her and cupped her cheek with his hand. He lowered his lips to hers, delivering the softest kiss, holding infinite tenderness and love. Sapphire sighed with pleasure. He drew away, saying, ‘You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Stay with me, Sapphire, tonight.’
‘Are we in this for keeps, this time?’
‘I always was. I just neglected to tell you that I love you.’
Sapphire smiled, forgiving him instantly. ‘I’ll have to phone Anna to say I won’t be returning with the team.’
‘I already did.’
‘What? When?’
‘When she called to tell me you were on your way to see me. I wasn’t going to let you go this time.’
‘Sapphire shook her head. ‘And you said you’d changed!’
‘Do you want me to try a bit harder?’
‘No,’ she smiled. ‘I love you just the way you are.’
‘Bene. Then let’s go to bed and reacquaint ourselves with each other.’ He stood and held out his hand.
‘Not the subtlest offer I’ve received, but –’
‘Let’s just run with it, eh?’
The rays from the setting sun lit up the horizon as he spoke, sending orange shards of light through the clouds. It reminded Sapphire of a picture that hung over the chapel in the convent school. God coming down to Earth in all His Glory, she seemed to recall. She sucked in a breath, her gaze switching from Marco to the incredible sunset behind his head.
Her fingers twitched in her desire to paint it.
Marco swivelled around, taking in the view. He turned back to face Sapphire, his eyes wide with incredulity. ‘Really?’
Her expression was rueful. ‘Sorry, but …’
Marco’s face fell.
She grinned, took his outstretched hand and said, ‘No contest,’ then followed him into the bedroom.
***
Copyright @2018 Jackie Ladbury
Fabrian Books 2018
Cover Illustration by Berni Stevens 2018
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without permission of the author, or Fabrian Books, except for brief quotations used for promotion and reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction and any characters and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to individuals or situations are entirely coincidental.
If you enjoyed The Magic of Stars why not try Air Guitar and Caviar another romance in the Blue Skies series.
Here’s a little taster:
CHAPTER ONE
‘I will ask her out, I will ask her out.’ Dylan Willis reassured his reflection in the sports shop window.
Ignoring Beanie, his singing partner, he checked out his stance. His battered guitar was slung low, his legs akimbo, and his brown, leather cowboy boots were suitably scuffed and worn. He intended to look every inch the Rock God he was destined to become. Admittedly, it made it bloody hard to play, but, hey – serious cool came at a price.
Dylan had hoped stardom would call a little sooner, seeing as he was pushing twenty-four, but he was still pretty confident, despite the evidence to the contrary. He just had to pick the right moment to shine.
But that day, he was on a different mission. That day, he was going to shine solely for the beautiful woman who had caused a spike of pure lust and unlikely possessiveness to snake through his veins. He just prayed she’d walk by again, her silky, sunshine coloured hair blowing in the breeze, her huge green eyes watching him with interest.
When she did, he was going to ask her out, and she would say yes, and they would fall in love. He didn’t think it would be too hard to engineer, but it would certainly further his plans if she actually showed up.
He hadn’t anticipated being rained on, either. He peered up at the grey clouds closing in over the tiny square of blue sky, a steady drizzle misting his face and blurring his vision. He squinted down the road, shoving a wayward curl out of his eyes, as it slid, damp and irritating, down his forehead.
He rotated one foot and then the other to stop the numbness from setting in.
A raindrop dribbled down the back of his neck.
He was not having fun.
He also had a bad feeling that the steady trickle was going to turn torrential, and that the gorgeous woman destined to be his one and only wouldn’t show.
He refused to consider that possibility, though. He wanted – no, he needed to see her today. That minute, in fact.
Strumming a song that he could play in his sleep, he shivered inside his flatmate’s leather jacket, praying it wouldn’t shrink in the rain. He’d be a dead man if it did. Rain dripped off his hair, down his nose, and on to his guitar, which he swiped at with his sleeve every now and then. It wasn’t his best Yamaha, so he wasn’t too worried about it warping, but even so.
Beanie pulled his thin coat over his head in a pointless attempt to stop the flow of water dripping down his chin. ‘Do you think we should call it a day?’ he asked.
‘Ah, Beanie boy, I can feel a song of heartbreak coming on.’ Dylan twanged a couple of low chords to demonstrate his misery, as he took in the rapidly emptying street as rain darkened the dingy paving stones.
Beanie nodded and continued doing what he did best, namely shivering and looking ill. Stood as thin as a rail, his complexion would have put any ghost to shame – because he was pale, as in a how long have you got left to live kind of way, and his straggly dog, part terrier, part Hound of the Baskervilles, looked as if the Grim Reaper would claim him at any minute.
Beanie’s musical instrument of choice was a metal triangle, which he attacked with random diligence, the tune in his head apparently being a different song to Dylan’s. They were a sad looking trio, but it made them money.
Dylan took it all in his stride, preferring to spend his time on the streets, rather than in the dump of a rented house he shared with three other mates who hadn’t quite got the hang of working for a living.
But still The Vision hadn’t showed.
‘Sure, they say all the best songs are written when you’re at heartbreak hotel.’ Beanie pulled on his damp cigarette, cupping his palm around it against the rain. ‘This one’s not far off being suicidal, so you’re on the right track.’
Dylan played a melancholy riff to prove Beanie’s point. ‘Thanks, I think.’ He unhooked his guitar from around his neck, but at a flash of blonde hair swinging in the distance, his stomach lurched. ‘Oh, my God, it’s her. Quick, sing.’ He threw the guitar strap back over his head and feigned nonchalance.
Beanie peered out from beneath the shelter of his coat, his neck elongating as he shucked it off like a snail welcoming the rain. He started to harmonise, his head bobbing up and down to the music, tinging his metal triangle indiscriminately, with great concentration.
Staring at the woman heading his way, Dylan faltered. An emerald green, fluffy jumper skimmed her thighs over figure-hugging jeans, tucked into long brown boots. She threw her head back and raked her fingers through her hair, swishing it about, while her lips, a pearly pink, were just on the right side of pouting without making her look sulky. Dylan groaned, imagining his own fingers lacing through that silky hair as he kissed those soft lips, puckering up just for him.
She tilted her umbrella back and appeared to be enjoying the cool rain on her face as she meandered towards them. Pausing as she neared, she threw a coin into his cap on the ground.
Dylan’s imagination orbited way past overdrive as he caught a flash of her bright red fingernails and wondered if it was possible to die from the ache in his groin. He flashed her his best smile and tried to stop his tongue from lolling, as she turned into Starbucks, disappearing from view.
He let his left hand drop, his mournful song dying on his lips. The smile that was known to melt the hardest heart had fallen on stony ground. She’d looked straight through him.
‘What do I do?’ He turned anxious, puppy dog eyes toward Beanie.
‘You can wait for her to come past again next week, which of course, she might not do. Or you can go in there –’ Beanie inclined his head in the direction of the coffee shop, ‘– and get her?’
‘I can. Of course I can. Can I?’
‘What have you got to lose?’
‘Everything?’
‘I think you’ll find the answer is nothing,’ Beanie replied, pulling his coat up around his ears once more.
Dylan ran his hand across the back of his neck and twisted his guitar around his body to rest across his shoulders. He breathed in. ‘Maybe now is not the best time – with it raining, and all.’
Beanie glowered. ‘You’ve talked of nothing else since you first set eyes on her.’
‘Okay, you’re right. I’ll do it.’ He smoothed his hair down with little effect. ‘How do I look?’
Beanie looked him up and down and sniffed. ‘Wet. You look very wet.’
‘Thanks – remarkably perceptive.’
Dylan picked up his soggy cap from the pavement, fished out some coins from the pile, most of which he’d put there himself to nudge the punters in the right direction, and passed them to Beanie. ‘If you see Stanley, make sure you buy him breakfast.’
‘Course I will.’
‘And not the liquid sort, yeah?’
‘You can rely on me, you know that.’
‘Right.’ Unconvinced, he shoved his cap into his battered rucksack and pocketed the rest of the money. ‘Off I go, then.’ He faltered, pushing his hands into his pockets and rubbing the toe of his boot against his calf. ‘I’m too scruffy aren’t I, for someone like her?’
Beanie widened his eyes. ‘I’d shag you any day.’
‘Thanks. Might hold you to that, if I get desperate.’
Beanie whacked him on the back. ‘Just go, will you? I’ll be right behind you, okay?’
Dylan dragged his heels and prayed he was doing the right thing, as he stepped inside the cafe, feeling way out of his comfort zone. His happy disposition and laid-back manner usually charmed people easily, but for once, his ready smile morphed into a tongue-tied rictus as his mouth dried with nerves and his lips stuck to his teeth.
Across the coffee shop, The Vision flicked through the newspaper stand and picked out a colour supplement, before heading to one of the booths, unwinding her scarf as she sat down with her latté. She smoothed out her napkin and placed it at the side of the coffee cup, adding the spoon diagonally across it. Dylan watched in amusement as she angled her phone precisely next to the napkin, lining it up vertically. She was light years away from his bumbling, scruffy self, and he was being ridiculous even contemplating asking her to go out with him.
For a moment, he almost legged it, but he knew Beanie would be waiting outside to shove him back through the door. At least he was out of the rain, he thought, as he ordered a coffee and steeled himself to head her way.
After pretending to look around the café for somewhere to sit, he edged over to her table. ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’
She looked up, and he caught his breath at her perfection, as she gazed directly at him and waved her hand towards the seat opposite. She glanced around the almost empty café, frowning slightly. ‘Feel free, although it’s hardly the best seat in the house.’
‘I think it is.’ He pushed his guitar into a corner and sat down a little too quickly, almost knocking his chair over.
Her brief smile of politeness brightened her face, but she quickly looked away, staring into her coffee.
Dylan watched, mesmerised as she stirred her drink mechanically, until the chocolate powdered star shape on the top dissolved in the froth. He didn’t know what to say next, as he gazed into his own muddy-coloured coffee, stirring it and tapping the spoon on the side of the cup.
She glanced up sharply, and he froze mid-tap. Resting the spoon on his saucer, he cleared his throat, meeting eyes that were questioning. She frowned as her hand hovered over her drink.
‘I just wondered ...’ he began, shoving his hair out of his eyes.
‘Yes?’ She took a sip of her drink, then directed her clear eyes toward him once more.
‘Err, I just wondered, do you come here often?’ Yeah, great line Dylan, really original.
The Vision spluttered into her coffee, grabbing a napkin when the splutter turned in to a cough.
‘Sorry, sorry!’ Dylan lunged forward to thump her on the back, but she waved him out of the way, her eyes flashing.
‘I’m fine. Stoppit!’ She stood up, her chin jutting out. ‘Really? I’m trying to have a moment’s peace, and you march in, plonk yourself opposite me, when the place is almost deserted, drip rain on the seats, and spout one of the corniest lines ever to have been uttered. You think that’s going to swing it, do you?’ She huffed out a long breath and sat down again, her eyes still flashing enough for Dylan to see the intensity of the deep green in her irises. She raised her hand before Dylan could respond. ‘I just get really sick of it. It’s bad enough at work.’
That threw him, although her unexpected outburst had already rocked his confidence. ‘What is?’
‘People coming on to me all the time.’
‘Really? That happens at work?’
‘Yes.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, a ring she wore catching in it. ‘Mostly the same man, but it’s just as irritating.’ She glared at Dylan as she untangled her hair from the ring.
He stood up. ‘I’m so sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have bothered you.’ How could he have been so crass to think it was acceptable to launch himself at a woman who was a stranger to him, even if she’d been more than intimate in his dreams? It was so unlike him, anyway. He wanted to explain that she had made him lose his sensibilities, but he thought that might not go down too well, either. He stood up to leave, reaching for his guitar and shifting his rucksack higher up his shoulder, mortified that he had upset her.
Her demeanour seemed to change, though, when she spotted his guitar. ‘Oh, it’s you, the busker. You usually have a hat on.’ She looked at him squarely for the first time and smiled tightly, almost apologetically.
‘Yes, it’s me.’ His full-on smile re-appeared as he wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out, seizing the moment. ‘Dylan Willis,’ he added.
She looked at his hand as if she wanted to Dettox it, but nevertheless, shook it briefly. ‘Sorry again, I’m just a bit stressed at the moment.’
Dylan’s hand tingled at her touch – he decided he might never wash it again. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He paused, waiting for her to introduce herself.
She didn’t.
But faint heart never won fair lady, he thought, and that was his one chance to win her over, although, so far, he’d made a total balls-up of it. ‘It’s just that I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know how often you come here, so I thought I’d check, in case you didn’t plan on coming back again? I’m not a stalker, or anything.’ He cringed. Why did he have to add that?
‘Right, that’s good to know.’ She peered upwards at him from under her thick fringe. ‘There’s a reason why you think I should tell you my plans?’
He groaned. ‘I’m so sorry. I do sound a bit stalkerish, don’t I? I’m really not.’ He ran his hand around his neck, totally unable to drag his eyes away from her face.
The Vision stayed silent.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to your coffee.’ He picked his guitar up. She clearly didn’t want to speak to him, but still he gazed at her.
No, actually, he couldn’t just leave it. He sat down again, placing his hands flat on the table. ‘Would you like to come and see me play?’
She frowned. ‘Sorry. Play?’
Dylan wanted to wipe away her frown with a trail of tiny kisses. He wanted to melt away her prickly outer layer with the heat of his longing. He wanted to prove to her that they were made for each other.
Of course, he did none of those things. He just willed her to say yes while trying not to show his desperation.
She eyed him warily.
He stared at her some more. His little speech hadn’t gone quite the way it’d played out in his mind. ‘I don’t just play on the streets. I do gigs, as well. I’m really good.’ It came out in a rush and sounded as if he was scraping the barrel in trying to prove his capability. He probably was, but it was the best he could offer.
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Her smile almost reached her eyes.
He waited, rubbing the toe of his boot against the back of his leg again, his smile wilting.
‘What am I supposed to say to that?’ she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing at her phone as if she hoped it would ring and rescue her.
‘Say yes,’ he said. ‘You’ll make my day, and I’ll take you for a pizza afterwards.’
Her almost smile faded, her full lips pursing. She slid her hand across the table, the neat fingers and perfectly painted nails making Dylan want to withdraw his hands from view, even as his hopes soared.
Before they made contact, the woman withdrew her hand, apparently thinking better of the move. ‘Thank you for your kind offer, but I don’t date at the moment. I really don’t have the time.’ Her smile was regretful and polite. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ she added.
His own smile faded as he took in her words, his shoulders slumping as the sharp pain of rejection hit home. He glanced upwards, through his eyelashes, hiding his disappointment. To his surprise, he saw genuine regret tinged with unhappiness behind her smile.
Pushing abruptly to his feet, he stepped away from the table. He’d intruded when she clearly needed to be alone. ‘That’s okay.’ His voice was thick with disappointment and he couldn’t seem to walk away as he should. ‘If you change your mind, I’m in the Dog and Duck every Sunday.’
‘I’ll remember that, thank you.’ She smiled sadly and shook her head, her actions belying her words.
‘Well, good, because that’s where I’ll be.’ He turned away, shrugging with resignation, casting a regretful look at his much-needed coffee as he closed the door behind him.
Beanie was waiting for him, his ready thumbs-up drooping, as he took in Dylan’s dejection. ‘Bad luck, mate.’ He slapped him on the back. ‘She looked stuck up, anyway.’
If he’d hoped to cheer him up with his words, he’d done a pretty useless job of it. Dylan shook his head. ‘Maybe, but she still needs me in her life.’
‘Yeah, well, whatever. You’ll be all right, will you?’ Beanie shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in his unlikely role of agony aunt. ‘Do you want to keep Scrappy-doo for a while, you know, for company?’ he volunteered.
Dylan, barely glanced at his friend, just studied the damp pavement, lost in thought. ‘Nah, you’re all right, mate. I’m not about to top myself, but ... you know.’ He shrugged and tried out a weak smile. ‘It’s cool.’
‘No worries, then. Come on, Scrappy.’ Beanie drifted away, taking the straggly dog with him.
***
Scarlett watched their exchange through the window of the café, blinking in surprise at how rude she had been. Yes, the man had been trying it on, but he hadn’t been arrogant, or pushy. He’d simply asked her out, politely, with no obvious hidden agenda.
He had nice hands, she thought, with fine blonde hair dusting his long fingers, his nails square and perfectly trimmed. Ideal guitar playing fingers, she supposed. His blue eyes had pierced hers, as if he could see into her heart and was prepared to forgive its granite-like qualities, offering her a chance to redeem herself. But she didn’t want her heart mended, didn’t want redeeming. She just wanted to be left alone.
She put her hand up to her brow, sad that she was so broken, she couldn’t even take a harmless chat up at face value and had managed to embarrass the poor chap so cruelly. If she’d been at home, she would have put her head in her hands and wept.
The familiar feeling of falling into an abyss of unfathomable emotions swept over her. The dull ache it caused was no less painful, for all its familiarity, but she had learned to cope with it. Occasionally, though, a new, raw pain thumped her in the gut, overwhelming her. One hit her then, and she pushed her chair back, anxious to leave, knowing that full on sobbing would be the next phase, if her erratic emotions hitched up a notch. She needed to focus on something else.
She grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the café, pulling out her car keys on the way, as if she’d suddenly remembered an errand she had to do. RADA would have been proud to take her on, she thought, as she kept up the act of being someone in a hurry, until she reached her car door.
The legacy of Sky, her ex-boyfriend, ran deep and barbed and she hated what he’d turned her into, knowing she was no longer the woman he’d left behind. She needed to be strong but didn’t have the energy or the desire to carry on and she cursed the man she’d loved, even as she hated him for abandoning her.