Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series (11 page)

Before dessert came along, Sarah excused herself to go to the ladies’. The wine had gone to her head and she took several minutes to freshen up and tidy her hair and make-up, using the facilities provided in the luxuriously appointed rooms. As she was about to leave, Maria entered. Sarah smiled guardedly at her.

Maria dabbed at her make-up lightly. ‘You are enjoying the restaurant, yes? It must be different to what you are used to.’

Sarah was puzzled. ‘No, not entirely.’

‘But you are so different to Tom’s usual women. They are usually much –’ Maria cast critical eyes down Sarah’s dress ‘– slimmer, I believe. And more attractive.’ Her tone turned poisonous. ‘He must have been so desperate to find another woman after Natasha that he let his standards slip.’

Sarah was stunned by this unexpected attack. She took a few moments to gather her wits and calm herself, intent on concealing her inner turmoil. ‘Jealous are you, Maria? That I’m going home with a hunk and you’re off with a doddering old man? Not that a gentleman like Luis deserves a bitch like you anyway.’ With that, she swept out of the room.

When Sarah returned to the table, some of her confusion must have shown on her face as Tom gave her a concerned look. She smiled tightly back at him and turned to Luis. ‘Luis, tell me more about the delicious Portuguese cakes you have.’

Luis went into rhapsodies over the pastries made in the area and insisted on ordering a selection for Sarah and Tom to try. She purposefully ate more than a mouthful of each, savouring them slowly, playfully batting spoons with Tom for the good bits. She spied Maria’s disgruntled face.

‘Maria, are you not having any dessert?’ Sarah wickedly dug her spoon into a rich, creamy topping.

‘No thank you, I don’t want to get fat like a cow,’ Maria said sniffily. ‘You must do a lot of exercise to justify eating cakes.’

‘Tom makes sure I take just enough exercise,’ responded a smug Sarah, catching the man in question’s inquiring eyes. ‘And a little bit of what you fancy doesn’t hurt. Besides, I don’t worry about my weight at all.’

‘I adore her curves. Sarah is perfectly proportioned,’ confirmed Tom. He caught her free hand and gave it a squeeze. Sarah turned towards him and he placed a lingering kiss on her lips.

‘Well, so much for the British being afraid to show their emotions. I think that we’ll pay the bill and leave these lovebirds in peace,’ joked Luis.

Tom spoke. ‘Don’t worry, the bill has already been settled. As thanks for your assistance and excellent company tonight.’ He addressed Luis only, having picked up the atmosphere between the two women.

The four exited the restaurant and split after much polite air-kissing and effusive goodbyes from Luis. Tom walked with Sarah down to the seafront.

‘So, what did she say to you to bring your claws out?’ asked a bemused Tom, once they were out of earshot.

‘In short, she called me fat and ugly and not like your usual, beautiful partners,’ answered Sarah lightly, even as repeating Maria’s words stung.

Tom frowned, his anger evident. ‘What a lying bitch. I thought she looked familiar but I didn’t recognise the name.’ He suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘Got it – Maria Belleza. Useful to know. I’ll be extra-cautious with Luis’ judgement on matters; for him to have got himself tangled up with her shows some exceedingly poor taste.’ He placed an arm over Sarah’s waist and lifted her chin so she looked directly at him. ‘Are you OK? She didn’t hurt you with her bile?’

Sarah dismissed it with a laugh. ‘How fragile do you think I am? I’ve met her kind and much worse before now. Now, let’s go and throw some money at the roulette tables, I feel like being spoiled unmercifully.’

‘I can do that, my dazzling, gorgeous star.’

They recovered their earlier, playful mood in the casino, Sarah winding Tom up with sultry looks and sly gropes. She was on the receiving end of some jealous looks but so was Tom: there were many men attracted by Sarah’s vivacious beauty and curves that were generously sensual in comparison to so many of the ultra-thin women present.

Tom gave her some tokens which she bet with outwardly carefree arrogance on various tables. He watched in some puzzlement as her pile of chips steadily grew while his dwindled. Sarah glanced over but refrained from commenting, and Tom detected a hint of smugness.

‘Not a betting man, are you?’ she remarked drily.

‘I prefer better odds. And doing groundwork first.’

‘You can’t have made a mint being cautious?’

Tom laughed. ‘I took some risks when I was younger. Some worked out, some didn’t. I wouldn’t do the same now.’

‘Miss Evans, how lovely to see you again!’ A tall, handsome man with dark, Latin features had approached from behind.

Sarah swung around, her poker face of a moment ago changing to one of pure delight. ‘Marcos! ¿
Cómo estás
? What are you doing in Portugal?’ She exchanged effusive kisses with him and, without a pause, swung into fluent Spanish.

They spoke for several minutes while Tom watched, his temper bristling. Finally, Sarah turned back to him. ‘Tom, may I present the Conde Marcos del Rey Calvete. Tom Murray, Marcos.’

They shook hands, the two males sizing each other up. Marcos switched to English too. ‘So, you are the lucky man who has the pleasure of this lady’s company? Sarah is, for me, how you say, “the one that got away”. She turned down my proposal three times. Three times! But with so much grace I could never hold it against her.’ Marcos kissed the back of her hand.

Tom stepped in and placed his hand firmly around Sarah’s waist. ‘Bad luck,’ he commiserated insincerely. ‘And now I have her I don’t intend to let her go.’

‘You are a very fortunate man to have captured her. I hope you haven’t bet against this lady. Last time I did, I lost 50,000 Euros. Which she gave to charity anyway.’

‘Not earned, not gained,’ said Sarah. ‘I didn’t feel right spending something I’d won from someone else. I may put this lot towards expenses for this trip, though.’ She gestured towards her pile. She had let her stake stand and in the meantime, it had been added to by the croupier.

‘Sarah, you surprise and delight me every time.’ Marcos kissed her hand again. ‘Now I must take my leave. My men –’ he gestured towards two hefty bodyguards ‘– will be worrying that I’ve outstayed my welcome. Come to see me the next time you are in my country and we will catch up.
Buenas noches
.’

The Spaniard departed quickly, his men flanking him closely.

Tom frowned. ‘I think I’ve heard of him before: made a fortune in wine and also has a few hotels. He really proposed marriage to you?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘A few times.’

‘But you turned him down?’

‘I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me,’ she answered simply. ‘A marriage of convenience wouldn’t have been right.’

Tom released Sarah’s waist and signalled to the waiter for another round of drinks. He watched and drank while Sarah increased her pile of chips further, until she turned to him. ‘Had enough?’

‘It’s been a long day. I’m surprised you’re still going. Let’s walk back to the hotel; it’s a dry, cool evening.’

They cashed in their chips and departed, Sarah several thousands of pounds the richer.

Tom stayed quiet for only a few minutes, then words came spilling out. ‘I don’t know you at all, do I? First you stand your ground against an unexpected verbal assault, and you recover with such aplomb that it makes her look petty. You show an aptitude for gambling, and a generous nature that disgraces everyone around you. And you have Spanish counts in your pocket.’

‘I told you that I spent a lot of time overseas. And working in hotels, you have to be prepared for anything.’ Sarah shrugged.

Tom grabbed her hand and swung her to face him. ‘I love you. And the way you handle everything that’s thrown at you. I love you.’ The words came easily from Tom.

‘And I love you too,’ Sarah returned lightly, although her heart thundered in her chest at his declaration.

He brushed a light kiss to her lips and smiled. ‘Good.’

On the steps of the hotel, Tom pulled her towards him again and held her close. ‘I meant that, you know. About loving you. And earlier about not letting you go.’

‘Of course you did,’ agreed Sarah calmly, although her heart thumped in her ears. She returned the kiss, dropping it onto his cheek. ‘Now take me to bed and appreciate my curves.’

Tom laughed and hoisted her into his arms.

‘Tom, your knee!’

‘You’re as light as a feather.’ He carried her past the surprised hotel staff, into the lift and to the room where he placed her gently on the bed and slowly, patiently stripped her dress away, followed by her inhibitions.

She woke gently at first light, the events of the previous night coming back to her. Tom’s arm was wrapped securely around her again. For a moment, she luxuriated in the warmth and security as she remembered his words.

With a dropping stomach, she recalled the events from earlier in the evening, and wondered if he had held the mysterious Natasha that way. The malicious words of Maria that she had ruthlessly smothered from her thoughts last night now echoed around her brain. She felt, she admitted to herself, a certain curiosity about his ex, but that would have to be suppressed. Theirs was supposed to be only a short- term relationship, up to the end of the season or until the attraction burned out, whichever came first. His long-term plans didn’t concern her, she told herself. Despite their mutual declarations of love.

Tom stirred, his arm loosening, and Sarah slipped free of it. She wasn’t going to get any more sleep so she decided to start work early. She showered and dressed while he was still sleeping, then gently shook him awake and let him know she was leaving.

‘Have a late check-out arranged,’ he muttered. ‘Got some work to do. See you later.’

Sarah spent another productive morning in Estoril and drove the few miles further west along the coast to Cascais. On unpacking in the luxurious hotel overlooking the fine, sandy beach, she discovered her toiletries bag was missing. Racking her brains, she recalled carrying it when she’d said good morning to Tom. It must be caught up in the sheets, she thought, then worried he might not find it before leaving.

She gave the hotel a call, and the receptionist informed her that
Senhor
Murray was still in his suite. He wasn’t picking up his phones, either hotel or mobile, so she sent him a text. Sarah decided to drive back; perhaps they would have time for a quick lunch together.

In no time, Sarah had returned, walking through reception and waving at the staff. She took the lift to the fourth floor again and was almost knocked over by a young, dishevelled brunette rushing into the car. Her blouse was half-unbuttoned, and her hair falling out of a ponytail. She smelled strongly of a heavy perfume. Sarah politely asked her to move, in Portuguese, and received a puzzled look in return. She tried again in English, and the girl stepped to one side, smirking slightly.

Sarah walked down the hall, wondering what that had been about, and trying to recall why the woman had looked vaguely familiar. She knocked on the suite door and Tom answered, on the phone again and buttoning his shirt. He saw her and, for one moment, she thought she saw a flash of something like guilt pass across his face.

‘Hi,’ she whispered, ‘forgot something.’ He nodded and held up one finger, asking her to wait. She pecked a kiss to his cheek and swept past, walking to the bedroom. As she shook out the sheets, she noticed a strange scent in the air, almost like the woman’s perfume. She dismissed it as her imagination; after a night like the previous one, there would be no chance of Tom sneaking in another woman. Her toiletries bag dropped out and she scooped it up, then returned to the living area. Tom had finished on the phone.

‘Fancy lunch?’ Sarah asked brightly.

‘That would be lovely but I have to work.’ On seeing her disappointment, he capitulated. ‘OK, but put that sulky bottom lip away before I take a nibble on it.’

As they left the room, Sarah thought she smelled the perfume again. ‘Did your secretarial support ever arrive?’

Tom frowned. ‘It did, but there was a misunderstanding, an unexpected hitch. I’ll have to sort it out later.’ He didn’t appear to want to say more and Sarah decided not to pry. They went to the cafe underneath the hotel and had sandwiches. Tom demolished a handful of rounds then patted his stomach. ‘I have to do some training today, otherwise I won’t be fit for next week.’

‘Me too: I’ve booked a session with someone the hotel recommended in a couple of hours. How is the knee?’

He prodded the muscles. ‘It’ll be fine for next week; I just need to make up for not training yesterday. Don’t forget we’ve got that game to go to tonight. I’ll see you at the hotel at six.’

Chapter Ten

That evening, they ventured back to the city, to the historic Olympic stadium where the game, between a select Portuguese XV and a visiting young French club side, would be taking place. The two of them were clad in jeans, warm jumpers, and jackets as the evening had turned cold.

Tom was quiet as, holding plastic glasses of Portuguese beer, they walked towards the pitch.

‘Who are the players the chairman asked you to watch?’ Sarah asked in a low voice.

‘I won’t tell you until half time; I trust your judgment.’ He took a sip of the beer. ‘Mmm … tasty but strong.’

‘Well, I’m guessing it’ll be a winger, the scrum half, or the front row – maybe the hooker. At a push, the openside flanker.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘They’re the only positions where you can get away with being small.’ She pointed towards the players in the red and green Portuguese colours. ‘Most Portuguese aren’t that tall and wide, therefore they struggle to compete at international level. And I like the look of the winger: he’s obviously fit but has a bit more muscle.’

Tom and Sarah were soon surrounded by the vocal, flag-waving home supporters as the match kicked off. The game was fast-moving, the Portuguese preferring to throw the ball around and avoid contact, the French relying on their well-drilled set pieces coupled with ferocious tackling.

By half time, Sarah’s mind was made up. ‘It’s the winger and the scrum half, isn’t it?’ Tom nodded so she carried on. ‘The winger is very, very fast but can also pick the right lines. His tackling needs a bit of work, but that’s mostly technique; he’s been in the right place. The scrum half needs to bulk up a bit but he’s quick and shows great decision making, although his execution is sometimes lacking.’

A young Portuguese man overheard her last comments. ‘
Sim
, he is young, he has time to develop.
Olá
, I am Nuno Gomes – I am happy you have come to watch our game.’

Tom shook his hand. ‘I’m Tom Murray, this is Sarah. We’re here on business and thought it would be a nice evening out.’

‘It is – a break from studying and it’s good to relax with a few drinks,’ another youthful supporter added from behind. ‘Even my girlfriend will come to see these games; she is starting to play herself although she spends most time just throwing a ball around. There are few women’s teams to compete against here. Do you play?’ he asked them both.

Sarah let Tom answer. ‘A little, when I’m fit, for a league club: unfortunately I’m injured at the moment. Sarah used to play too.’

Several friendly spectators began to talk with them in very good English, keen to find out what they thought of the game compared to the rugby played in Britain. The match eventually finished in a hard-fought Portuguese win through their fast play, a result which delighted the home supporters.

They were swept up in a crowd who went to a local restaurant for a late meal. ‘This is a typical Portuguese meal,
sim
?’ Nuno said, laughing. ‘
Frango no churrasco com batatas fritas e salada
 – or, as you say, chicken and chips with salad!’ Massive platters containing each item were brought out to their table and passed around. They all devoured platefuls of the delicious food along with jugs full of a very fresh and drinkable white wine.

‘This is
vinho verde
, Portuguese green wine,’ Nuno explained. He laughed again when Tom examined the colour. ‘In this case, green means young.’

‘It’s delicious,’ commented Sarah. ‘In fact, the whole meal was delicious. Thank you for letting us tag along.’

‘
Muito prazer
, it’s a pleasure. It is nice to have visitors, to show them the secrets of Lisbon. You are staying in the centre?’

‘Not tonight, we’re in Cascais. We’ll need to be getting back soon.’

‘There is a train from close to here which goes right to Cascais, and it runs until past midnight. Plenty of time for a few more drinks,’ insisted Nuno.

Sarah and Tom took their leave at midnight, letting the still lively Portuguese carry on to another bar and then a club nearer the centre.

They were back in the hotel in no time; the train was very quick and efficient, travelling mostly along the twinkling Lisbon coast where massive ships passed up and down the Tagus. Sarah and Tom sat contentedly, arms tucked around each other, watching the scenery whip by.

‘Much to report to the chairman?’ Sarah yawned sleepily, the beer, food, and wine having taken a toll.

‘Quite a bit: that scrum half looks to be a possible signing,’ confirmed Tom.

‘A bit of competition for Alex, then?’

‘An alternative if Alex leaves. He’s only signed until the end of the season, like me. I don’t know what his plans are.’

‘Clare will be gutted; she’s quite keen on him. It may be a blessing in disguise, though, as he doesn’t seem to return the interest.’ Sarah nestled up to Tom’s shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing in his earthy, masculine scent. ‘She’s a gem – an improvement on those silly blondes he’s always with.’

‘I didn’t think she had much time for him. She usually ignores him.’ Tom brushed her hair lightly, placing a kiss on her crown.

‘He teases her and she’s nervous around him and thinks she always makes a fool of herself. I must admit, she’s not her usual, gregarious self. Such a shame, as they’d make a great couple.’

‘Mmm, I think you could be right. He needs someone straightforward. I’ve known him so long; he helped me when I lost my mother. But the events with his ex damaged him and I don’t want either of them to get hurt.’ Tom looked out the window. ‘I’ve really enjoyed tonight.’

‘Me too, much more than last night. More relaxing.’

‘You know, we’ll have to come back here in a couple of years and see more of the area. Or the country: it’s supposed to be lovely inland and there’s Porto to the north.’

Sarah smiled wistfully. ‘In a couple of years?’

‘After we’re married.’ He hugged her close to him.

‘Married?’

‘Yes – you don’t think I’ll let you get away, do you?’

Sarah turned to look him in the eye. Tom smiled back openly and kissed the end of her nose.

‘Is that …?’ She didn’t want to complete the sentence. Was he proposing to her?

‘Not yet, but soon,’ he reassured her, with another kiss on her hair.

She snuggled up to him, her last guard dropping and peace settling in her heart.

They fell into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the journey, disembarking at the end of the line in Cascais and wandering down to the seafront. For several minutes, they listened to the waves murmuring romantically to the shore, then they entered the hotel. Sarah fell asleep with Tom’s arm around her, feeling happier than she could ever recall, her heart beating with love for him. Finally, she could accept that her future was with him, that he loved her and wanted her as much as she loved and wanted him.

The insistent ringing of a telephone woke them in the early hours of the morning. Tom leant over and picked up the bedside receiver, speaking a few words. Sarah could hear a shrill female voice on the line, but wasn’t able to make out what she was saying. Tom softly asked the woman to call back on his mobile and hung up. Sarah stayed still as he extricated himself from around her, went into the living area and shut the door. He began a series of muffled calls. Every few minutes, his voice would begin to rise in anger and fall as he collected himself. Sarah stifled her curiosity; he would involve her if needed.

After an age of calls and the sounds of running water, Tom quietly re-entered the bedroom. Sarah kept her eyes closed as she heard the rustling of clothes and the zipping of a bag. She murmured a sleepy enquiry but he shushed her. She felt him rejoin her, his arms going around her, and relaxed back into deep, contented sleep.

She woke to the report of her alarm at 7.30. Turning over and stretching, she soon discovered she was alone in bed.

‘Tom?’

She went to the sitting room, expecting to hear him on the phone, or tapping on his keyboard, but the room was empty. She wandered through the suite to find all signs of Tom had been erased. No clothes, no bag, not even a stray sock.

By the time she was packed and ready to leave, there was still no sign of him. Sarah took the lift down to the front desk and was greeted by a bright-eyed, cheerful receptionist.

She handed over the room key card. ‘Checking out, please. And could you check for any messages?’

‘One moment.’ The smartly dressed receptionist hit several keys. ‘The bill is paid, that is correct. There are no new messages.’ He smiled at Sarah.

‘Nothing at all?’ Sarah checked her phone: nothing there. ‘Is there a place for written messages?’

‘There would be a note on the system and they would be here –’ he gestured towards the cubbyholes behind him ‘– but there is nothing.’ As Sarah continued to look confused, his smile lost some of its gloss. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘I’m not sure. Please, were you here when my … companion checked out?’

He checked his computer again. ‘That would be
Senhor
Murray? No, I only started my shift an hour ago. My colleague Susana was here earlier. She has gone home now. May I help with anything?’

Sarah shook her head and smiled her thanks, grabbing her case to cover her puzzlement. On her way to the hire car, she tried calling Tom again but it went straight to voicemail. She had no more time to worry; the drive to the next destination, Sintra, would take longer and demand most of her attention.

The latest hotel was like something out of a fairy tale. The previous places had been, in comparison, anonymous rooms with little charm. This was a little gem: all-out fantasy, with romantic turrets, winding passageways, and breathtaking views.

However, Sarah couldn’t relax and enjoy it. By seven that evening, she still hadn’t heard a thing from Tom. She called his mobile and left a brief message asking him to let her know if everything was OK. She was tired from her exertions, late night, and interrupted sleep. She showered and sat on the bed until late, waiting to hear something – some contact from him.

The next morning she woke alone again, and the other side of the bed was undisturbed. Sarah tried to quell the panic she felt, distracting herself again with work. Instead of spending the morning exploring the spectacular scenery, she sat dully in the hotel with her phone beside her. She called his offices and spoke with Celia who gleefully refused to give out any details and cackled as she hung up on her. Even a cautiously worded email went unanswered.

She was about to text Lindsay, but remembered the redhead’s plans to go skiing and her warning that her chalet was out of mobile range. Sarah left another message on Tom’s mobile at noon, then finally gave up, checked out of the hotel, and ventured to explore one of the Moorish castles. Despite the stunning surroundings, her mind was firmly on what could have happened for him to disappear like that.

On the flight back to London, there was also no sign of him, nor at her flat. She turned her phone back on to find a curious, stilted message from Clare, who’d returned to the UK the previous week. It said she’d see Sarah first thing in the morning on Saturday, which was the next day. She went to bed but was unable to sleep, tossing and turning all night. It was a grey-faced Sarah who answered the door to a tanned Clare at eight in the morning.

Clare noted her washed-out appearance with concern. ‘You’ve heard, then? Has he told you what’s going on? After that lovely photo you sent me on Monday, I can’t believe he’s done this! What a bastard!’

‘Who’s done what? What’s happened? Is it to do with Tom?’

‘You don’t know?’ On seeing Sarah’s continued bewilderment, Clare swore harshly. ‘I think you’d better sit down and have a gulp of this.’ As Sarah wandered to the sofa, Clare pulled a hip flask out of her pocket and forced her to down a few tots. Then Clare brought a copy of a celebrity tabloid out of her bag. She opened it at a centre page. ‘This. I don’t usually read this stuff but a girl in work brought it in and showed it to me yesterday afternoon.’

Slowly, Sarah focused on a large, glossy photograph. At first, her disbelieving eyes couldn’t comprehend it. There was Tom, her Tom, with his arms wrapped around a slight, but nonetheless stunning, brunette. They were both in formal wear: emerald-green silk draped over her slender body and him in a blue-tartan kilt. She was gazing at him in total adoration, his smiling face only partly visible as he bent to kiss her cheek. One of her hands was placed delicately on his shoulder, and on the ring finger was a massive diamond.

Clare read out the text beneath the photo. ‘
Millionaire entrepreneur Tom Murray-MacDonald with his fiancée, heiress Natasha MacLean, at the belated birthday party of his father, The MacDonald of Strathmar. After a split of several months, the Scottish couple’s marriage plans appear to be back on
. Apparently, the photo was taken on Thursday night. But wasn’t he in Lisbon with you at the time?’

Sarah sat frozen in shock on the sofa. ‘But he
was
with me. He’s supposed to be with me. How could he have a fiancée?’ she whispered. She began to shake and Clare hugged her, and kept hugging her as unrestrained tears fell down. ‘He left on Thursday morning without a word; I haven’t heard anything from him since. We were getting so close in Lisbon and I finally started believing it when he said he loved me and didn’t want to let me go. He even mentioned marriage and children. Why – why did I start trusting him? Why did I start loving him? I never even thought to ask him if he was single! How stupid must I be?’

By now, Clare was crying along with her. ‘How could he do this? I really thought you two were an ideal couple.’ She got up and started pacing up and down, swiping the tears off her face. ‘I finally thought you’d found someone special. How dare he?’

‘Obviously, he found someone who suited him better.’ Sarah laughed painfully. ‘We made love on Wednesday night. Early on Thursday, he received a call. He must’ve left while I was asleep: when I woke up, he was gone. And he’s not returned any of my calls or tried to contact me since. That’s a novel way to be dumped. He’s finally got his revenge for university.’ With effort, she reached for her shredded composure. ‘Right, we’ve an away game to travel to. It’s your first for a while, isn’t it? We’d better clean up and get to the club to catch the bus. Can’t keep everyone waiting.’