‘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?’
Ace turned slowly from the TV screen. ‘Was I a bit over the top?’
Martyn snatched up the empty glass.
Ace flinched. ‘I’ve had a shitty day.’
Carrying the glass to the kitchen, Martyn refilled the coffee machine. In silence, he emptied Honor’s cup and stuck it in the dishwasher.
When he returned, Ace was still staring blankly at the television. It got Martyn’s attention. Something was wrong. Because Ace wasn’t usually . . . well, he wasn’t an asshole. He let his voice soften. ‘What’s up?’
With a long sigh, Ace dropped his head on to his hand. ‘Seems like Shelli’s dumped me. Got home last night and she’d cleared out her stuff and left me a note — the classic one-hundred-reasons-you-don’t-make-me-happy note. She didn’t answer her phone. Then, this morning, I got an email from the agency’s new talent, that young black guy I’ve been working with for a few months, telling me thatin the circumstanceshe’s sure I won’t want to represent him any more. He’s sorry that things have worked out like this but he and Shelli . . .’
Martyn dropped down on the sofa, aggravation draining away. ‘Shit. I’m sorry.’
Ace picked up the coffee. ‘Me, too. Sorry I got out of hand with Honor. I did realise that you like her but I’m in a crazy place. I hope things work out for you.’
He did like her. He liked her a lot. The memory of that kiss was like a demon breathing down his jeans. But Martyn sighed,forcing himself to remember why he shouldn’t have begun that kiss. ‘No. You know — husband.’
‘Ah. Is he over here, too?’
‘I don’t know where he is, to be honest. She just told me she’s sort of married. She wanted to tell me more but I kind of . . . didn’t listen. After Rosie.’
Bitterly, Ace laughed. ‘At least you let the husband cross your mind. That’s more than Shelli and her lover boy have done.’
Chapter Eighteen
It was a busy week at the Teapot, the last of July and the English school summer holidays in full swing.
Sophie decided to like her pink hair, humming David Bowie songs as she clattered around the steamy atmosphere.
Ru, almost silent, a baseball hat on back-to-front as his nod to hair hygiene, stood at the steamy, soapy sink washing the eclectic white crockery and stacking it in the wall racks to drain. Kirsty made a short appearance each day, scarily skeletal and snapping at everybody, then clutching her forehead and apologising.
Honor got right into her waitress’s stride of rapid and economical movement, taking orders, serving, clearing tables, sanitising, watching the tables fill and empty, fill and empty. She was astonished when Sophie, having organised a Finnish student, Aletta, to help serve, opened a door that Honor hadn’t really noticed at the rear of the inside seating area to reveal a whole other room. The twenty tables in there began to fill and empty, too.
Very beautiful, with apple-round cheeks and soft full lips, Aletta’s English only failed her if a customer showed any hint of irritation, when she would smile gently and drift away, leaving one of the native English-speakers to get yelled at instead of her.
