In the Name of Love (19 page)

She had expected Darcy to retaliate and give as good as she got; instead she gave a strangled sob and fled out of the room. Charlie licked her finger and drew an imaginary number one in the air. ‘Game, set and match to Charlie Porter,’ she said gleefully, then realised that her colleagues looked embarrassed. Shit, she had gone too far.

Suddenly she felt mortified. She should have found a more mature way of dealing with Darcy instead of shouting at her as if they were still in the playground. She grabbed her bag, intending to find Darcy and apologise, but as she walked along the corridor she bumped into Nicky, who was fuming because Darcy had just told her that she felt ill and had to go home.

‘She does bugger all when she’s here as it is!’ their boss exclaimed. ‘She’s already had one warning from me. Another one and she’ll be out.’

Charlie felt even worse then. ‘Actually, I think she’s been working much harder lately, and there is a nasty bug going round.’

Nicky looked rather surprised. She knew how unpopular Darcy was, but she didn’t want to be seen to be picking on someone who was ill, so she replied, ‘Okay, well, I’ll leave it for now.’

*

Darcy opened the door to her Notting Hill flat, praying that India had already left for work. India was her closest friend but Darcy couldn’t face her now. She felt raw with humiliation. She hadn’t actually told anyone at work that Felipe was her boyfriend, but when her colleagues had seen the pictures and assumed that he was, she hadn’t corrected them. She had been so caught up in the wonderful fantasy that he might be interested in her that she had failed to think about Charlie …

The flat was empty. Luckily the cleaner had already been, so all the dirty wine glasses and mugs had been cleared out of the living room, the carpets hoovered and surfaces polished. Darcy and India were both bone idle when it came to housework and relied on their cleaner to keep order twice a week. Darcy knew it was a luxury – the trouble was she was used to luxury. Recently her father had threatened to reduce her allowance and Darcy didn’t know how she would cope without it.

She curled up on the midnight blue velvet sofa and clutched one of the cushions for comfort. She lit a cigarette, even though India would freak as she hated Darcy smoking inside the flat. Why was her life such a failure? Nothing she did ever seemed to go right. She was in a dead-end job, she didn’t have a boyfriend and she wasn’t popular. She knew that people saw her as a confident rich girl, but it was all an act to stop them looking any further and realising what a loser she really was … She found herself pulling up the sleeve of her grey cashmere cardigan and looking at the series of pale, silvery scars criss-crossing the inside of her arm.
It
had been a while since she had self-harmed, a good therapist and medication had helped, but no one in her family ever talked to her about it. It was Darcy’s dirty little secret …

Her phone vibrated with a message. It was from Drew, her ex.
Any chance of a shag tonight x?
He didn’t even attempt to flirt. That’s all she was to him now, a shag when he felt like it. A small part of her said that she should ignore it, or say no, that she was worth more than this, but she was too used to doing exactly what he asked, and longed for any kind of attention. So instead she texted back,
Am at home. How about now? Bring something x
She meant coke. Along with the self-harming there had been drugs. That was the reason she had been expelled from her exclusive private school and subsequently did badly at sixth-form college, failing to get into university. It was one of the major reasons why her parents were so down on her. She had entirely failed to be the successful daughter they thought they deserved.

See u in half an hour
, came the reply. He didn’t even bother to sign off with a kiss now he was getting what he wanted.

It wasn’t even as if she particularly liked having sex with Drew, she reflected afterwards, watching him straightening his tie – he hadn’t bothered to take off his shirt or his socks. He was too focused on his own pleasure ever to consider whether she’d had any. She hadn’t.

He was whistling as he looked in the mirror. Catching
her
looking at him, he said, ‘Still the best head girl, Darcy.’ Then laughed at his own crude joke.

‘Glad I’m good at something,’ she muttered. The coke was wearing off and she felt like a drink, anything to avoid getting back to reality.

Drew wandered back to the bed. ‘You’re good at lots of things, especially in the sack and …’ He broke off as his phone rang and Darcy never did get to hear what else she was good at as he had to go straight back to the office and do something important with a hedge fund, whatever the fuck that was.

Her phone beeped with a text message. Unexpectedly, it was from Charlie.

Sorry, I was out of order. It’s early days with Felipe and I guess I felt insecure. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch. Hope you feel better soon. Charlie x

Darcy deleted the message without bothering to reply and poured herself a vodka. She was unlikely to forget being humiliated so publicly. Charlie Porter could go fuck herself.

Felipe had planned to spend his Friday morning going to the deli and buying food and drink, as he didn’t plan on venturing out that weekend. Instead his mother had called him and asked him to meet her for coffee as she was in town. Aware that he hadn’t seen her in several weeks, Felipe reluctantly agreed. He had been putting off telling his mother that he was seeing Charlie, anything for an easy life, but now as he sat drinking espresso he realised he would have to come clean. Vittoria was banging on about her favourite subject – the
one
and only Paloma – how beautiful she was, how generous, how clever, how she was organising Vittoria’s favourite charity ball, her attributes never-ending …

‘Mama, I am never going to get back with Paloma.’ Felipe cut across her outpouring.

Vittoria Castillo de Rivas paused and brushed a piece of imaginary fluff from her black-and-white-checked Chanel jacket while gathering her thoughts. At nearly sixty-five she was still a striking-looking woman, whose fine bone structure had stood the test of time. Her shiny black hair, which didn’t show a hint of grey, was swept into an elegant pleat and as ever her face was immaculately made up. Felipe didn’t think he had ever seen his mother looking less than perfect. Of course, when he was a child he had rarely seen his mother before eleven in the morning. A nanny always got the children up and gave them breakfast while Vittoria spent hours getting ready.

‘Why do you say that, Felipe? Don’t be so stubborn. You must see that you and Paloma are a perfect match. She is beautiful, sophisticated, charming … You just need to say sorry for this little blip in your relationship and she will take you back, I am convinced of it.’

Felipe sighed. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation with his mother. He’d better get straight to the point.

‘We are not a perfect match. And, if you must know, I have met someone else. Someone who means a great deal to me. And if it is all right with you, I’m going to bring her to your party. She’s English and she’s called Charlie.’

In her dismay Vittoria swallowed her coffee too quickly and nearly choked.

‘Are you okay, Mama?’ Felipe asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

‘No, I’m not! It’s as if my children are all deliberately conspiring against me. First there is your brother, following his unconventional life-style, and then there’s your sister who is never going to settle down at this rate. And now you talk about this girl. Well, what does this Charlie do?’ she demanded, sounding as if she could hardly bring herself to pronounce the name.

‘She’s a television presenter, specialising in sport. She is very talented and very beautiful. I am sure you will like her.’ Felipe sounded confident but he was certain that Vittoria wouldn’t take to Charlie, who was far too opinionated and feisty for his mother’s conservative tastes.

‘And what about her family? Who are they and what do they do?’

‘I have no idea,’ Felipe lied, knowing perfectly well that Charlie’s dad was a plumber and her mother a sales assistant. That information would have sealed Charlie’s fate even before his mother had clapped eyes on her, as Vittoria was an appalling snob. That was one of the many reasons why she refused to see his point of view about Paloma, who came from a wealthy and aristocratic family. A family his mother wouldn’t object to linking with the Castillo de Rivas name. Well, she was going to have to deal with the disappointment.

‘Does this Charlie have a second name?’

‘It’s Porter. And this might sound strange, Mama,
but
please don’t talk about riding with her. She had a horrific accident last year and is still struggling to come to terms with it.’

His mother looked astonished. ‘But how can you possibly be involved with someone who does not share your passion for your sport? And at this crucial time in your career! Are you mad? What can you possibly have in common with this Charlie?’

Felipe thought of his passionate connection to her – their overwhelming and intoxicating physical attraction to each other as well as their emotional bond. But there was no point in trying to put this into words for his mother. She would never understand. If she had ever loved Felipe’s father, she had kept it very well hidden. Passion didn’t seem to figure in Vittoria’s world.

She glared at him then pursed her lips. ‘I suppose it is all about sex.’

Felipe didn’t bother to correct her.

She adjusted her Chanel pearl necklace. ‘And does she at least speak Spanish?’

‘She’s learning,’ Felipe replied. And almost smiled as he thought of the words he had been teaching Charlie to say, all related to their bedroom activities along with a colourful collection of swear words. He wasn’t about to tell his mother that Charlie knew how to say ‘fuck me’ in perfect Spanish …

His mother arched an eyebrow. ‘How typically English. I presume she is capable of eating Spanish food and won’t be asking for fish and chips at my party?’

Felipe laughed, even though he knew his mother didn’t intend to be funny.

‘And I suppose you haven’t told her that your uncle is a renowned breeder of fighting bulls? You know what the English are like about animals, so absurdly sentimental.’

Felipe could just imagine Charlie’s views on bullfighting. He didn’t think he would be proposing they went on a date to one any time soon.

‘I know you think the world revolves around the family estates, but believe it or not we do have other things to talk about.’

And then, because he had had quite enough, he kissed his mother goodbye.

By the time he met Charlie at Malaga airport a couple of hours later, Felipe had forgotten all about the annoying encounter. As Charlie rushed through arrivals to embrace him he was struck again by how very beautiful she was and how much he wanted her … He took her straight to his apartment overlooking the sea where they made love for the rest of the evening. He couldn’t get enough of his green-eyed girl … and nor could she of him.

Charlie stretched her arms above her head, happily blissed out after sex. For the first time she took in the luxurious and spacious bedroom. It had to be the grandest one she had ever been in, with its high ceiling decorated with delicate plaster mouldings, an immense chandelier and an ornate stone fireplace, over which hung an elegant Venetian glass mirror. It was decorated in a surprisingly feminine style, with the walls painted
a
pale pink, deep pink velvet curtains, and a rococo-style bed covered in silver leaf. As they had raced through to the bedroom she had glimpsed a huge living room, an ultra-modern kitchen, and a flight of stairs that apparently led up to a roof terrace. Felipe had told her he only had a one-bedroomed apartment. This was bigger than most people’s houses! Then there was the white Ferrari in which he had picked her up. Charlie hadn’t quite realised how wealthy he was … or the style in which he lived.

‘I wasn’t expecting your bedroom to look like this,’ she commented. ‘But still,’ she teased him, ‘it’s good that you’re in touch with your feminine side and manly at the same time.’

Felipe grimaced. ‘Not my taste really. Paloma interior designed the whole apartment. It was one of her many projects to improve me.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie realised that she would rather not have known that the beautiful Paloma had lain in this very bed, contemplating her perfectly designed bedroom. She felt herself coming over all princess and the pea when she said, ‘I don’t suppose you could get a different bed, could you?’

‘For you, anything. So are you hungry? he asked, kissing her shoulder.

‘Starving. What are you going to whip up, Mr Five Star?’ she joked, knowing that Felipe possessed many fine qualities but cooking wasn’t one of them. That was what happened when you grew up with a chef preparing all your meals, including your packed lunch for school.

‘I thought we could go out for tapas, and you could sample some local delicacies.’

‘Delicious. And when we get back, I’ll try another Spanish delicacy.’ She lightly stroked his cock and, even though they had made love twice, Felipe felt another stirring of desire …

He laughed. This was another very good reason why he was so attracted to Charlie. She loved sex as much as he did. Paloma had always acted as if it was something she knew she had to do, but not appearing to relish it. She was always happier getting out of her rococo bed than tumbling into it with him.

They finally made it out of the apartment around ten. The city was buzzing with people shopping, having dinner, drinking in bars, watching the world go by. Charlie adored seeing everyone out and about with their family and friends so late at night. They ate tapas and drank rosé at a local bar, flirting all the while, then it was back to bed again.

With every moment they spent in each other’s company Charlie felt she was getting closer to Felipe. The one thing she felt bad about was the fact he couldn’t talk to her about riding. Even the calluses on his hands, from where the reins had rubbed, reminded her of his profession and she had to struggle not to think about it. For so long she had felt trapped by her fear and the appalling memories. She desperately wanted to be free from them; she just didn’t think therapy was the answer. Time surely was the best healer …