Callie, looking at his state of disarray, felt her mouth twitch. ‘I’ll go.’
He held on to her hand as she rose. ‘Get rid of them quickly,’ he implored.
‘I’ll do my best.’ She bent over him and kissed him again, lost in the moment, only interrupted by yet another hammering on the door.
Callie took a minute to adjust her T-shirt and smooth her hair down as best she could but there was no hiding her hot cheeks and stubble-grazed lips. Hurrying to the door, she restrained Vinny by his collar and pinned on a welcoming smile. If Grace had come to collect her dog earlier than expected, she and Johnny could get back to what they’d started. They had the whole night ahead. The thought made her dizzy with lust.
Opening the door, she gazed in blank shock at the person who stood there.
‘Finally! I thought you’d never let me in.’ Her daughter looked down at the spaniel. ‘And, Mum, why is there a dog here?’
Twenty-One
Johannes Vermeer 1632–1675
Dutch painter. Specialised in domestic interiors of middle-class life. Does art always have to depict grand or ‘important’ scenes? What domestic moment would students like to represent and why?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
‘Have you got any money for the taxi? Driver only takes cash. You okay, Mum? You look a bit flushed.’
All sexual yearning shrivelled and fell away in a cold disappointed lump. ‘Frida. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Ibiza!’
‘Mum. Money.’
Callie looked around blindly for her bag. Luckily, she’d hung it on the hook next to the front door. ‘Frida,’ she yelled it back into the house, to warn Johnny, ‘hold on to Vinny, would you? Don’t let him escape.’
‘Is this Vinny?’ Frida dropped to her knees and cuddled an ecstatically writhing spaniel. ‘He’s cute. Why’s he here? Thought you were sharing with Mr Silver Fox?’
‘Get up, Frida.’ Callie located her purse at the very bottom of her bag and thrust it at her daughter’s chest. ‘No idea if there’s enough in there. I don’t have much cash on me.’
‘I know,’ Frida grumbled. ‘I mean have you ever heard of a cab not taking contactless these days. He’s holding on to my case as ransom in case I don’t go back. He’s waiting on the main road. Took me ages to find my way up that track in the dark but I knew I was in the right place as soon as I spotted your car. What a farce.’
‘Well, go back down and pay him,’ Callie snapped. ‘I’ll take Vinny into the garden out of the way and leave the front door on the latch. Go on.’
‘Okay.’ Frida pouted. ‘You’re weirding me out though, Mum. Stick the kettle on, will you? I’m desperate for a tea.’
Callie grabbed Vinny back, lifted the latch on the front door and shunted it shut with her behind before running back to Johnny. ‘It’s–’
‘I heard.’ He was still on the sofa but had got himself sorted, had had time to rebutton his shirt and fasten his belt. Smoothing his hair back, he managed a grin. ‘Timing could be better.’
‘Tell me about it.’ She put Vinny out into the garden and shut the French doors, ignoring the dog’s plaintive whines.
Johnny rose to stand in front of her. He took her hands. ‘Unfinished business?’
Callie blew out an exasperated breath. ‘Definitely.’ Rising to tiptoes she kissed him lightly. And then deepened it. She could scream with frustration. Feeling her nipples budding again in arousal, she moaned against his mouth. ‘I can’t resist kissing you.’
Frida, encumbered by her wheelie suitcase, rumbled along the hall. ‘Shall I leave this by the stairs?’ she called out. ‘I can lug it up later. Got that kettle on yet? Could murder a lemon and ginger. I mean, I know it’s a short flight but took ages on the train to get here from the airport. Sorry I didn’t ring. Phone was low on juice.’ As she entered the kitchen diner she lurched to a halt. ‘Oh!’
Callie and Johnny were several feet apart by the time Frida arrived. Callie bit her lip in dismay as she regarded the scene and saw it through her daughter’s eyes. The candles lending a seductive light, the wine bottles, the remains of an intimate meal for two and, most damning of all, the crumpled and squashed cushions on the sofa. Vinny pressed his nose against the windows, his breath steaming up the glass, huge spaniel eyes reproachful. It was the last, ludicrous detail.
Callie felt a hysterical giggle rise and swallowed it. ‘This is J-Johnny Starling,’ she said, guilt making her stammer. ‘My… um… housemate.’
Frida looked about her with wide eyes. ‘Yourhousemate?Yeah sure.’ She fixed an accusing gaze on her mother.
Johnny rescued the awkward pause by striding forward, hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you, Frida. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ They shook hands, Frida reluctantly.
‘Cool. I’ve heard practically nothing about you.’ She glowered.
