Love & Freedom (21 page)

She glanced down and saw what he meant. But a few flat roofs one level down didn’t seem a high price to pay for such a view. The sun, dipping towards the sea beside Brighton, spread an elongated patch of light over the balcony and onward, inside, on a thick blue rug.

‘There you are,’ he said, indicating the pool of sunlight on the floor. ‘That’s where I do my nude sunbathing. Nobody can see.’ Then, before she could lick her lips and formulate a reply around the burning image of Martyn baking his nakedness in his private slice of sunlight, he clicked shut the doors and led her back to the winding stairs, just as the doorbell pealed out like a fire alarm. Martyn said, ‘That will be Ace. We can eat.’

Ace Smith. His silvery suit, black shirt but no tie, looked all-designer; he probably wore nothing but. Hair and beard were buzzed down to the stubble, giving his head a suede look, like Martyn’s sofas. He wasn’t exactly handsome but had interesting cheekbones and big brown eyes. He smelled of alcohol.

She knew there was an appropriate formal response to his ‘How do you do?’ but couldn’t remember what it was so just said, ‘I’m good. How are you?’

Ace looked at her, long and slow. ‘Martyn was right, you’re pretty.’

Coolly, she responded, ‘Thanks.’ And sipped her wine.

Martyn poured another glass for Ace and began setting out cutlery and plates. ‘She won’t fall for your bullshit, Ace. She’s too switched on.’

‘But she has a real look,’ Ace objected, tossing his jacket and taking the stool next to Honor’s, edging it closer.

‘She does. But she either doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or takes it for granted. Unresponsive to compliments, anyway.’

Ace fixed his seal-pup eyes on her. ‘Interesting. See, in our business, we’re more used to women who suck in compliments like the rest of us breathe air.’ He let his elbows slide along the polished granite until his arm brushed Honor’s. ‘You’re in good shape. Sure you’re not in the biz?’

There was a looseness about his movements that was consistent with the alcohol fumes and Honor guessed he wouldn’t pass a sobriety test. ‘Biz?’

He waved his wine glass in an encompassing motion. ‘Modelling. Fashion. Photography. Are you an MUA?’

‘No. But I did think, today, watching the shoot, that there are worse jobs.’

His eyes widened. ‘Martyn took you to a shoot?’

Suddenly, she wondered whether she was not supposed to have been there. Maybe she was getting Martyn in trouble? She had only the haziest idea of the agent/model relationship. ‘I was going to go to Arundel on the train and he offered me a ride,’ she said hastily. ‘I really just hung out on the fringes.’

‘Right.’ He looked at Martyn and smiled.

Martyn placed warmed plates in front of them and then began to pull dishes from the oven, steaming and sizzling as they met the air. Ripping foil from the top of each he slid them on to the granite. ‘Braised lamb, Mediterranean vegetables and roast potatoes. Honor’s just here for the summer, looking for her mother.’

‘But not too hard,’ Honor added. ‘I’m beginning to think of that saying, you know? “Don’t wish too hard for what you want, or then you might get it.”’ Politely, she offered the serving spoon for the lamb to Ace.

Martyn took the seat opposite. ‘She’s met Clarissa and I think it’s put her off mothers.’ He took the serving spoon from Ace, who was waving it uncertainly, and ladled a lamb steak on to Honor’s plate.

‘Did you cook this?’ she queried, going next for the baby roast potatoes, golden and crunchy and pitted with rosemary leaves.

‘I ordered it from a caterer and they gave me instructions for how long to put it in the oven. Does that count as cooking?’ He topped up her glass.

Honor remembered Clarissa suggesting his interpretation of ‘domesticated’ revolved around avoiding real cooking. ‘I guess it’s domestication Martyn-style.’

Ace laughed. He didn’t attempt to put any food on his plate but drained his wine glass and held it out for Martyn to refill. ‘We should have had pizza, Martyn – American Hot, in honour of Honor.’

Martyn began to put food on Ace’s plate. ‘Tomorrow night we’ll have fish and chips.’

‘Yeah! Eastingdean fish and chips are the best in the world.’ Ace’s voice was a touch too loud.

‘Honor can take on a gang of thugs armed only with fish and chips.’ Martyn tasted the lamb and then reached for the pepper grinder. He told Ace the whole story, making a big deal out of Frog hopping about – appropriately enough – with steaming fish dropping into his boxer shorts.

Poking desultorily at a potato, Ace nudged Honor. ‘It’s every woman’s fantasy, isn’t it? For a giant to come striding to the rescue, like Martyn did?’ Once more he drained and refilled his wine glass and tried to top up her top up.

She put her fingers over the glass. A smart woman knew when to stay sober. ‘In my experience, men’s ideas of women’s fantasies bear little resemblance to women’s actual fantasies. Your caterer can cook up a storm, Martyn.’

Twizzling his wine glass, Ace fastened his eyes on her. ‘Go on.’

Her fork paused in mid-air. ‘Go on with what?’

‘Educate us. Tell us about what women’s fantasies really are.’ His eyes had slitted and sweat beaded his forehead. The wine was disappearing fast.

‘I’ll pass, thanks.’

‘Ignore him.’ Martyn frowned. ‘He’s taken his winding-down at the end of the week too seriously. Eat, Ace, soak up some of the booze.’

‘What, and waste the buzz?’ But Ace did pick up his knife and fork.

Taking refuge in silence, Honor addressed herself to her delicious meal – the gravy was to die for – and let Martyn steer Ace into talking shop. She listened to curious phrases such as, ‘I’ve taken a pencil on it,’ wondering if it meant the same as, ‘I’ve pencilled it in,’ and noticed that Ace heaped praise on Martyn at every opportunity. ‘DownJo love you. Everyone loves you, Martyn. I do, every time I look at my bank statement.’ Noticing, also, that Martyn never responded, as if he either didn’t want or didn’t need the ego trip.

She had the feeling that somewhere in Ace’s alcoholic pushy bullshit there was a nice guy trying to get out. But he wasn’t making it tonight.

As they were in deep conversation, she went into waitress mode, quietly clearing the plates and stacking them in the dishwasher. Then she figured out Martyn’s coffee machine, sliding in the little pouch and waiting for the jug to fill as she opened cupboard doors and found bright blue coffee mugs and a jar of sugar. The milk was in the refrigerator. She moved her finds over to the island counter and then went back for the coffee jug.

‘You seem at home here.’ Ace’s eyes were once more fastened to her.

‘It’s not hard to find your way around a kitchen.’

‘So does the kitchen figure in your “womanly fantasies”?’ He made stupid quote-unquote signals with his fingers without letting go of his wine.

She made a good-natured
pshaw
noise and slid back on to her stool, taking the opportunity to move it six inches from him.

‘Watching you bending over the dishwasher, then, I had a little fantasy of my own.’

She poured coffee.

‘Ace–!’
began Martyn.

Ace refused to be diverted. ‘Come on, Honor, satisfy my curiosity. Rape?’

She looked at him over her coffee cup.

‘Bondage? Chocolate sauce? Animals?’

‘Stop it, Ace.’ Martyn’s brows had curled blackly over his eyes, reminding Honor of the fake tattoo Lily had applied to the small of his back. His stillness spoke of tension.

Ace smile’s slipped. She could almost see his mind ticking away behind his glassy eyes. ‘C’mon. Put me out of my misery and tell me what women want.’

‘OK.’ She let her voice drop like she used to do when she had told Jess and Zach stories at Halloween. ‘Right now, my fantasy is about a guy who doesn’t speak. Why don’t you try it? It’s particularly appropriate for assholes.’

Sweat bubbled afresh on Ace’s wine-flushed face as he totally missed the point. ‘And you’ve never found a guy who could do that? Well, my little American Hot, why don’t you try me? You can do anything you want to me and I won’t say a word–’

‘She’s telling you to shut up, Ace.’ Martyn was on his feet. ‘I’ll walk you home, Honor. No, don’t argue. It will give Ace the opportunity to drink a gallon of coffee, just in case
Dr
 
Zoë’s wrong and it will sober him up.’

Outside, the gulls had gone to bed – or nest or roost or whatever gulls did at night – and even the noise from the traffic had eased. The air smelled fresh off the ocean and Honor shivered as they rounded the Starboard Walk shops and turned into Marine Drive. Martyn strode silently beside her, hands jammed into his pockets but otherwise not showing any signs of feeling the chill up on the clifftop.

Maybe he was pissed with her because she’d been rude to his buddy. It was bad manners not to get along with a fellow guest. She could almost hear Karen: ‘Really, Honor. I did my best to raise you as a lady. A lady wouldn’t let some creep rile her. Couldn’t you have just quietly excused yourself, without the attitude and the cursing?’ She sighed as they turned into the drive of the bungalow. She could have. But the word ‘asshole’ had popped out. She never had been diplomatic with men who suddenly turned into slimy, scumbag sleazeballs.

She trod up the concrete steps to the patio, fishing out her door key. But Martyn’s long arm descended over her shoulder and his hand closed over hers before she could fit it to the door. She glanced up at him.

‘I’m sorry Ace insulted you.’ He gave an almost smile.

She made a face. ‘And I’m sorry I called your friend an asshole.’

‘I don’t think he even noticed, and he was. He’s not usually like this or I wouldn’t have invited you to meet him. I don’t expect my friends to hit on my other friends.’

‘Even best friends can be assholes.’ Stef – perfect example.

He laughed. ‘I hope the night air has helped cool you off. I certainly needed it – or I might have booted Ace off the balcony.’ He breathed in deeply.

Silence. He was frowning heavily. She peeped up at him from under her lashes, toying with her key. ‘So. Here we are.’

His frown lifted slowly. ‘“Here we are.” I’ve always wondered whether that actually means anything.’

She considered. ‘I guess it can mean a whole range of things. It can draw your attention to my presence, or that we’ve got to where we’re going. It could be an acknowledgement that it’s time to say goodnight. When my grandma says it, everyone just seems to get what she means.’

‘Right.’ He rocked back on his heels. ‘I know you’re here. I know we’ve got where we’re going and I suppose I’d better say goodnight and check that Ace doesn’t need a stomach pump.

‘So, goodnight.’ Pulling her jacket around her.

‘Yeah.’ He sighed, not going anywhere. ‘I hope that at least you enjoyed the shoot?’

‘It was an education. I had no idea what being a model was about or that guys like you did it. In fact, if I thought of it at all, I guess I thought all male models were gay. You know, the make-up, the posing, the interest in fashion – woop!’

His arm hooked her by her waist and yanked her up against the firmness of his body so that her toes just touched the ground. She gasped and his mouth found hers. Hot mouth, hot body, heat flooding her. He adjusted his stance, cupped her buttocks and picked her right off the ground, letting her feel his hardness against her through the thin cotton of her dress.

His velvet tongue stroked hers and her breasts tightened against his chest, his heartbeat, and he made it something longer, deeper, hotter. The kind of kiss she and her high-school friends had called a ‘soul kiss’ – like your souls were communicating through your mouths. They used to giggle and hypothesise over how it would feel. And, wow
 
… It felt like heaven – if you were allowed to feel this turned on in heaven.

Slowly, slowly, he put her down.

‘I’m not gay.’

Breathless, she shook her head. ‘I got that.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’ And then, ‘That didn’t cool me off at all.’

She shook her head again. Her heart was pounding as hard as it had on that run when Martyn had amused himself by letting her try and keep up.

Slowly, slowly, he backed away, his hair lifting in the breeze, his eyes very black in the moonlight. Honor felt words flying up towards her mouth, words like, ‘We could go indoors
 
…’

He paused, as if waiting for her to say them.

Struggling, she kept the words in.

He let out a long sigh. ‘I’d better go.’

Tung. Tung. Tung.
Martyn made his way up the metal stairs on legs that felt as if they belonged to someone else. Whoo, she’d tasted like fire, pressing close as if heaven was just a heartbeat away. Those bare legs beneath her dress. He’d always had a thing about bare legs. Could imagine skimming his hands over, up, up
 
… Watching her eyes turn hotter and more liquid as he went past the point of no return.

He let himself into the flat.

And let the door slam, stalking the length of the open-plan space to where Ace was slumped on a sofa, feet up, an empty wine glass on its side on the carpet. The TV blared. ‘Would you like to explain why you turned up drunk and hit on a friend of mine, like a sad old tosser?’