Firstly, sorry for the huge delay between chapters. Life has suddenly been so busy over the last few weeks that I've hardly had time to write anything, let alone work out the complexities of both POV's in this little tale!
Secondly, I must apologise (yet again) for being utterly dreadful at replying to your reviews. I'm so, so sorry. It's really bad of me, especially as they are all so lovely, and inspire me so much. All I can say is thank you, I'm sorry that I am a bad, bad Cat, and I will do my best to put it right.
So, here it is, the next chapter and I'll hope you'll forgive me a small reference to a line of Richard Curtis dialogue in the opening sentence. If M&A can scatter them throughout Ep2, S2, then I feel can put one in here. ;-)
As ever – Kudos own the characters, and the lyrics are the property of Duran Duran.
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"I made a break, I run out yesterday,
Tried to find my mountain hideaway.......
Please, please tell me now.
Is there something I should know......
Do you feel the same, 'cos you don't let it show."
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"Carlos! Where the sod's my sodding Land Rover?"
Gene strode into the bar, his face twisted in a scowl that only grew deeper when he saw that it wasn't Carlos behind the bar, but his cousin Esteban. Shit. He'd never get a straight answer now. Esteban made Chris Skelton look like a contender for bloody Mastermind, and his grasp of his own native tongue was tenuous, never mind about English.
"Land Rover?" Gene barked, resisting the urge to mime the action of driving. He might be drunk but he wasn't going to forget his dignity.
Esteban shrugged, smiling happily, as he polished the glass in his hand. "No entiendo – lo siento"
"My… Land…. Rover?" Gene raised his voice and spoke slowly. Surely he must be able to understand what he was asking? "Where…. Is…. It? Has… Ava…. Taken….. It?"
"Lo…. siento. No…. hablo…… inglés."
Gene exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to grab Esteban by the throat and shake the answer from him. He leaned over the bar, searching by the side of the cash register where Ava habitually kept his keys when she'd confiscated them from him. There was no sign of them.
Bollocks. He just wanted the bloody Land Rover so that he could go home and fall into bed, but it would seem that Ava had borrowed it to go gallivanting. Wearily, he walked back to the door of the bar and looked out, searching for alternative transport. There was only one taxi in the village and Andres always waited for his customers outside Ava's . If he wasn't there, you had two choices; wait or walk. The main square was deserted and there was absolutely no sign of Andres or his car.
Bugger.
"Esteban, where's Andres?"
There it was again; the idiot grin and the casual shrug.
Gene took a deep breath. "Taxi?" he tried, teeth clenched.
"No."
"Why not? Where's he gone?"
Esteban said something but Gene hadn't a hope hell of understanding it. He caught the words "Alicante" and "aeropuerto" and deduced from them that Andres was probably going to be unavailable for the rest of the afternoon. "Well, when's he back from the airport?"
"Lo Siento. No hablo inglés."
Jesus Christ!He did on bloody purpose! Gene was convinced of it. English was easy. Everyone could speak it if they only made a little bit of an effort. Then going abroad wouldn't be so damn complicated because everyone would know how to speak properly.
"Where's Carlos? ……..Caaarrrrlooossss?" He must know the bloody answer to that!
Esteban mimed something, raising his hands up and down to his mouth before picking up a whisky bottle and proffering it in Gene's direction.
Eating?...... Lunch? "Almuerzo?" Gene offered, tentatively and Esteban grinned in delight.
"Si! Almuerzo!"
Gene sighed and shook his head in disbelief. Christ, he must be drunk if he was actually trying to communicate in Spanish. He waved away Esteban's offer of yet more alcohol as it looked like he was going to have to walk home and he needed to sober up a little before the attempt. "No, no more drink…... I need coffee."
From the other side of the room, the geriatric poker players beckoned him over to them enthusiastically. Gene hesitated, torn between the lure of the cards and lure of his bed. He was exhausted and he couldn't remember a time in the last few months when he'd gone to sleep sober. Drink didn't help him to get any rest though; it just caused him to fall into some sort of alcohol-induced coma for a few hours, before he woke feeling as knackered as ever. The thought of his huge, comfortable bed, just waiting for him to sink into, won over the desire to try his luck at cards. He downed the coffee that Esteban had poured for him and shook his head regretfully.
"Not today, lads. I need to go to bed."
One of the old men; Fidel, he thought it was, laughed, evidently finding this highly amusing and said something to the others which set them all off. He then pantomimed a woman with his hands, one with curves in all the right places, before nodding over at Gene. Gene frowned back at them. He had no idea what they were on about.
"My bed..." he told them again. "I'm going to bed."
This produced a further outbreak of hilarity and Gene was worried that one of them would do himself an injury, he was cackling so hard. What had he said that was so damn funny? He knew that Fidel spoke a tiny amount of English but surely the word bed couldn't be that amusing? Maybe it meant something else in Spanish? Never mind. He tried standing up, testing his legs for wobbliness before sitting down again heavily and holding out his coffee cup.
"Give us another coffee, Esteban. The bloody floor's still movin' up and down."
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God, it was hot. She was boiling in these bloody clothes and sitting by the swimming pool was pure torture. Alex fanned her hand in front of her face, desperate for some sort of breeze as the ice blue water sparkled enticingly, the little ripples at the edge of the curving steps seeming to beckon her, trying their best to lure her into their cool, welcoming embrace. The temperature was even hotter than it had been when she'd arrived in the village; the air still and heavy as the storm clouds grew darker.
She really wasn't sure she should actually be sitting there at all, really. Being there without Gene's permission was making her edgy and the threat of the approaching storm was only adding to her nervous mood. After she'd stepped through the door in the wall, she'd spent a good couple of minutes in the small, bougainvillea-filled courtyard, just gathering the courage to open the door of the house.
Eventually, curiosity had won over her feeling of unease, and she'd turned the key in lock of the old, wooden door, gazing around her in delight at the unexpected loveliness of the room she'd found herself in. It was almost austere in its simplicity, with a basic kitchen at one end, a battered wooden table and chairs in the middle, and a deep-cushioned sofa positioned in front of an open fireplace at the other.
The flattened imprint of Gene's head and body had been clearly visible in the piled-up cushions and she'd run her hand over them softly, as if just touching them could bring her closer to him. He obviously spent much of his time here, watching the television. Alone or with company, she'd wondered? An empty bottle of whisky and a single glass stood on the carpet beside the sofa and Alex had felt slightly better. Alone, she'd decided, unless of course, he swigged the whisky straight from the bottle and the glass belonged to his guest. Pushing that unwelcome thought away, Alex had tried to distract herself by investigating the titles of the stack of videos beside the TV. They'd proved to be Westerns or World War 2 epics; the kind of films that you watched on a rainy Sunday afternoon. All except one, which was labelled in her own handwriting.
"To Kill A Mockingbird" she'd read. "I wondered where that had got to." She'd smiled to herself, remembering the time that she and Gene had watched the film, curled up together on the sofa. It was one of her favourites, and as ever, she'd been entranced by Gregory Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch.
Gene hadn't been at all keen to watch it, but he'd ended up seemingly hooked by the story and its characters. When she'd cried silly, sentimental tears at the end as she always did, he'd teased them away, scattering soft kisses over her mouth and neck as he'd gently removed her clothes, murmuring to her wordlessly as he'd eased himself slowly inside her, holding her close, making her moan with ecstasy as he'd moved over her and in her.
Lost in the memory of that perfect afternoon, Alex had felt her body had begun to ache with remembered desire as she'd recalled the feel of Gene's mouth on hers, how he'd teased her with skillful fingers, coaxing her towards her climax, and how afterwards they'd lain entangled on the sofa, saying nothing, just looking; lost in each other, and somehow, she'd felt complete for the first time in her life. She'd put down the video with a sigh, wondering if they would ever be like that again; if they would ever be able to pick up the pieces of their shattered relationship.
The nagging feeling of unease about being in Gene's house without his knowledge had returned and she'd looked around her, wondering what she should do with herself until Gene made an appearance. At the kitchen end of the room, she'd noticed an open door and through it she'd spied a small hall, and beyond that, a bathroom. The urge to explore the rest of the house had niggled at her but she'd firmly resisted it.
It would be better to wait for him outside in the garden, she'd decided. It was much more neutral and it would look far less like she'd been snooping. Which she was not going to do, she'd told herself sternly as she'd made her way over to the far side of the living room to where three sets of French doors, tightly shuttered against the heat, ran across the back wall. The gaps in the wood sent thin bars of sunlight across the stone-flagged floor and Alex had just been able to glimpse the enticing shimmer of a swimming pool.
As she'd moved, she'd caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. Her hair had been a straggly mess and she'd been right about the make-up too; both her eye shadow and foundation were smudged and melting in the heat. She really hadn't wanted to face Gene looking such a state. Still there wasn't much she could do about it really, she'd reasoned, opening one of the shutters and making her way outside. She'd walked to far side of the garden, turning to look back at the house.
Arranged all on one level in a L-shape round the central swimming pool, the buildings themselves were very old. Alex guessed that they had once been part of the farm that they'd passed on the way up here; a barn and stables, perhaps? There were two more sets of French doors in the smaller building; bedrooms, she supposed.
All the rooms were linked by a veranda that wrapped its way round the house, widening out into a pergola at the far end to enclose a small stone-flagged terrace containing a table and chairs, and a wooden bench, perfectly placed to take in the breath-taking view down the hill to the village and the sea beyond it. She'd taken a seat on one of the chairs, straining her ears to for the sound of Gene returning home.
Now, she glanced at her watch and was surprised at how little time had actually passed. It felt like she'd been sitting there for ages,slowing melting in the intense heat and she was almost at the end of her tether. Restlessly Alex stood up, pacing back and forth, as she looked longingly at the swimming pool. Did she dare? It was just too much of an inviting prospect and once the thought was in her mind, it wouldn't go away. She really needed to cool down and she'd only have a quick dip. Gene wouldn't mind, surely? Without pausing to think about it any longer, Alex stripped down to her bra and knickers and walked down the gently curving steps into the blissfully cool water.
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Gene stopped at the point where the tarmac road ended and the farm track began. Christ, it was hot. He thought longingly of his swimming pool with its icy blue water. Maybe he'd have a swim, cool off a bit before he tried to get some sleep. Mind you, he had to bloody well get home first and that was going to take him a while as three cups of coffee had only gone halfway to sobering him up.
He had two choices; he could follow the track, which took longer, but was far easier on the legs, or he could take the steep path straight up the hill, which was quicker, but may well give him a heart attack. He glanced back over his shoulder at the dark clouds that were racing in from the sea. Whichever route he chose, it was clear that he was going to get soaked. The threat of the impending storm made his mind up for him and Gene cursed creatively as he set off up the track, resigning himself to a long, wet walk. Footsore and drenched he could cope with. Slipping off the side of the narrow path in the pouring rain and breaking his leg was not an option he wanted to explore.
As he walked, he thought about all the things he would say to Ava when he next saw her. How bloody dare she take the Land Rover without asking. She'd always asked to borrow it before. Nothing could be that important that she'd just bugger off in it without a word. He was willing to bet that she'd done it because he'd pissed her off earlier that morning. What was it with woman and their stupid wounded pride? You turned them down and they went and behaved like silly children.
He'd thought that Ava was different, but it would seem that he'd got it wrong yet again. He hadn't slept with her for ages; it was well over a year now and there'd never been any bad feeling between them about it. She'd just made other arrangements in that particular area of her life. He'd really believed that everything was fine between them; that they were OK being friends. So why had things changed now? Was it because he'd admitted that he loved Alex? Who the hell knew; women were a bloody law unto themselves.
Gene kicked savagely at a stone as he walked, scuffing his deck shoes through the dust. What him made him really angry was that he'd thought that he'd actually been pretty decent about the whole thing with Ava. It would have been far easier to string her along with few well-chosen lies, but instead he'd decided to be honest. He couldn't bloody win. Whatever he did, it was the wrong damn thing!
It had been like that with Alex, too. He hadn't know how to give her the answer that she'd wanted, and so she'd got the arse-ache with him and given him the elbow! Granted, he hadn't been entirely blameless, what with him ignoring the question of him moving in, but still, she was the sodding psychologist for God's sake! She should have been able to work it out. And afterwards, he'd tried to do the right thing again; he'd tried really hard to do as she'd asked. She'd still wanted to be friends and he'd done his best, even though it had ripped his soul in two just to talk to her sometimes.
Benito had the right idea. Women were like horses. Too bloody right they were; beautiful to look at, but both mad as a bag of snakes. They had their own peculiar agenda. You never had the first sodding clue what was going on in their heads.
He'd bitten by a horse once. He'd been about sixteen or seventeen, so it must have been just before he joined the police. She'd been bloody female too, come to think of it; Duchess, the coalman's horse. He'd had teeth marks in the flesh of his shoulder for days afterwards, and all because he'd tried to hurry her up a bit because he'd been taking some girl to the pictures that afternoon. Albie, the coalman, had just laughed at him. "It's no good trying to hurry her, lad. She knows her own mind. Leave her be, or she'll take a chunk out of your other arm too."
He'd chucked the job in soon after that. He really didn't trust that bloody mare not to do him serious injury. What had made it worse, was that not only had he been bitten, he'd been stood up by the silly tart he'd invited to pictures as well. Females, he'd learned, be they human or otherwise, were frequently unpredictable and capable of inflicting great pain.
Gene kicked at the stone again and watched gloomily as it bounced over the edge of the track and careered down the the steep slope. That's how he felt at this moment; as thought he was falling so fast he was going to crash. His whole life felt as though it was out of control. He hadn't realised just how safe Alex had made him feel. That sounded bloody daft; a woman making you feel safe, but it was true. Alex had made him feel loved, had made him feel part of something special. Now he had nothing, no one to anchor him to his life, no one to share things with, and he felt adrift and directionless.
A sudden gust of cold wind hit him like a slap and as it did so, a crash of thunder seemed to split the sky in two and the heavens opened. He was drenched almost instantly, water dripping from his hair and eyelashes, his shoes filling with grit. Gene began to swear viciously as he walked, aiming his curses at every woman he'd ever had the misfortune to know.
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As she climbed out of the pool, squeezing the water from her hair, Alex realised that she didn't have a towel.
Shit! ........Shit, shit and bugger!
How could she have been so stupid, she raged, wondering what the hell she was going to do. The sun had gone in whilst she'd been swimming, so there was no chance of drying off naturally and to be honest, she really didn't want to hang around in a state of undress in case Gene returned. Frantically, she rummaged through her overnight bag, but there was nothing in there that could be used in place of a towel. Bugger. Now she had no choice but to borrow one from Gene's bathroom. Well, while she was in there she could sort out her smudged make-up too, she reasoned, as she rounded the side of the pool. Glancing up, she noticed the storm clouds that Ava had pointed out, were almost directly above the house. Maybe she wouldn't be able to wait in the garden for Gene after all.
She tried not to drip on the floor too much as she hurried through the living room, clutching her make-up bag and a change of underwear. The hall presented her with two doors; one, half closed, the other wide open, revealing the white tiled bathroom. Alex made straight for it and locked herself in, before tidying herself up as quickly as she could, washing off her old make-up and drying herself on one of the towels she found on the rail. She couldn't do anything about her hair, but she dried it as best she could, twisting it up into a loose knot, before she turned her attention to her face. Reapplying her usual make-up would take too long and it would only melt again, so she decided on just a quick dab of moisturiser and a dusting of powder to take the shine off. She finished off with two coats of mascara, not wanting to be entirely bare-faced when she meet Gene.
She paused for a minute studying the uncluttered room, and then casually opened the doors of the mirrored cabinet above the sink, steadfastly ignoring the little voice in her head that asked her what the bloody hell she thought she was doing. A quick check of its contents revealed no sign of any feminine cosmetics or toiletries. Good, she thought with a small but satisfied smile; no signs of any permanent complications in Gene's Spanish existence were in evidence in here, at least.
Acutely aware that she was wasting time, she shut the cabinet doors once more and sprayed her wrists and neck with her perfume before pulling on clean underwear; black lace trimmed with tiny pale pink roses. It was hopelessly impractical but wearing fancy underwear made her feel so much better than boring, plain cotton stuff.
Her clothes were still out by the pool and she realised that she really couldn't face putting her jumper and boots back on in this heat. Perhaps she could find a pair of scissors and turn her jeans into cut-offs? As she hesitated, wondering what on earth she could wear instead of her jumper, she spied one of Gene's shirts hanging on the back of the bathroom door, half hidden by a towel. Alex unhooked it, and brought the soft cream linen up to her face, inhaling his scent; breathing in the essence of the man she loved. Even though she knew that she shouldn't, she couldn't resist pulling the shirt on, doing up the buttons with shaking fingers, before she gathered up her things and went outside to retrieve her clothes.
Just as she reached the veranda, a sudden gust of cold air swirled around her and a huge crash of thunder made her jump out of her skin. As the thunder echoed off the hills, the rain suddenly poured from the sky, soaking everything in the garden, including Alex's bag and clothes, in seconds.
When it seemed that the worst of the rain was over, she dived outside to grab the soggy garments, hurrying back to the cover of the veranda . Well, she couldn't put her jeans back on now, even if she did make them into shorts. They were wet through. Making the best of the situation, she un-threaded the thin belt from them and buckled it round her waist, making Gene's shirt into a mini-dress. She cursed the fact that the only shoes she had were her heeled ankle boots, knowing that if she put them back on, she would look undeniably tarty. Still, beggars can't be choosers, she told herself sternly, as she pulled on the boots and went to inside to perch daintily on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs, waiting for Gene to return home. After a minute or so, she realised that she felt ridiculous, sitting there all prim and proper, and so she resumed her restless pacing, her eyes flicking between the front door and the door of the hall that led to the bathroom.
When she'd made her mad dash for a towel, she'd been so worried about getting herself dressed and dried that she'd not given the other room a second thought as she'd rushed past. Now she kept thinking about that other door, the one that had stood tantalisingly half closed, revealing nothing of its contents. The one that could be the door to Gene's bedroom.
I'll just take a quick look, she told herself, unable to resist any longer. I won't touch anything. I just want to see what it looks like. Butterflies fluttered and danced in her stomach as she made her carefully back across the living room to the hall. Hardly daring to breath, she pushed open the bedroom door and peered in.
It was a spare room, unused and dark, the shutters closed firmly across the French doors that she'd seen from the garden. The only furniture was a metal bedstead with a unmade mattress and a chest of drawers. Gene clearly didn't entertain visitors here, then. Well, not the kind that slept in a separate bed, anyway she reasoned grimly. So where was his room?
Stepping back into the hall, she ventured further, rounding a corner and finding herself faced with a short corridor. At the end, another door stood half-open and Alex felt her heart began to beat faster as she walked towards it, her heels sounding shockingly loud in the stillness. Tentatively, she pushed open the door, dreading what she might find there.
As with the other bedroom, French doors led onto the garden and pool, but in here, the shutters stood open, filling the room with light. The bed was huge, dominating the room with its carved wooden headboard and cool white sheets. The bedside table nearest to her held a glass of water, a packet of cigarettes and a paperback book. The one on the other side of the bed was mercifully empty.
Alex sat down on the bed, her knees suddenly shaky. She had no idea what she'd expected to find, in this room, but she was filled with relief that there didn't seem to be anyone else sharing this idyllic little house with Gene. Without really knowing why, she reached out and picked up the book, flicking through the pages with her thumb as she studied the cover. Len Deighton; Gene's reading preferences didn't change when he was on holiday then, she thought with a wry grin. As she put it back on the bedside table, the scrap of paper that Gene was using as a bookmark fell out. Although, it wasn't actually a piece of paper, she realised as she picked it up. It was the edge of a photo, an inch or so wide, one side ripped and uneven.
Alex turned it over, her eyes filling with sudden tears as she studied the image. She had exactly the same photo somewhere in her flat. Taken by Luigi at Chris and Shaz'z engagement party, it was, in its entirety, a picture of the happy couple holding up champagne glasses. She'd been sitting next to them when it was taken and was half in the shot.
Gene had torn both Chris and Shaz out of the photo, leaving just her, on the edge of the frame. She was half in profile, looking away from the camera, her face open and relaxed, her eyes shinning with delight as she'd laughed at some silly remark of his. It was clear that she'd been happy; blissfully so, she recalled, remembering that only minutes after the photo had been taken she'd kissed Gene for the very first time.
And now he was using it as his bookmark. Was that good or bad? Did it mean he treasured this particular photograph, or that he just couldn't find anything else to mark his place? It was impossible to guess with a man as emotionally closed as Gene.
She suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable about being in his bedroom without his knowledge. She put the photo back and, replacing the book on the bedside table, made her way back to the living room. She leaned against the frame of the open French doors, watching the raindrops dancing on the surface of the swimming pool, breathing in the scent of dusty earth and wet leaves. She gave a deep shiver, her whole body tense, unable to relax. Trouble was, the thought of seeing Gene again was terrifying. What if he didn't want her any more?
If he rejected her, he would destroy her.
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Stupid tosser, he berated himself as he squelched muddily past Tomaso and Maria's farm. Why in the name of Christ had he decided to walk home? The rain was easing off now, but he was soaked to the skin. He should have stayed at the bar until Andres had come back from his airport run, or until Ava had deigned to show up, but he knew in his heart why he hadn't chosen either of those easier options.
He didn't want to see Ava; didn't want to fall out with her in public. Not that he wanted to have a row in the first place but she was clearly intent on pissing him off. He wouldn't go back there this evening, either. That'd show her. He'd get a few hours kip and then he'd go back down to the marina and trawl the bars there instead. They were always crammed to the rafters with drunk and desperate woman and that was what he wanted tonight; drunk and desperate and no questions asked. Someone who'd let him fuck her for the price of a few of gin & tonics.
Gene snorted humorlessly as he trudged wearily up the last hundred yards of the track. Who was he trying to kid. He knew exactly how his evening would pan out. He'd get some kip, wake up grumpy and miserable, and then make himself something to eat; soup and toast probably, seeing as that was all that was in the cupboards. Then he'd drink yet another bottle of whisky whilst watching a video. And he knew that at some point in the evening, when he was too drunk to stop himself, he'd watch that bloody Mockingbird film again.
It wasn't his idea of entertainment really, Gregory Peck being all decent and family-orientated, but somehow he just couldn't stop himself from watching it. He knew why n'all. It wasn't because he liked the film; it was because he remembered watching it with Alex, how he'd kissed away her tears afterwards and drawn her down to lie next to him on the sofa, slowly undressing her, kissing and stroking her skin, moving inside her until she'd cried out with pleasure, losing himself in her as he'd followed her to her peak. Even more painful than that particular memory, was the recollection of how they'd been afterwards; how they'd just lain there, gazing at each other, and he'd been lost in her eyes, feeling more complete than he'd ever felt in his life before.
He let out a groan of frustrated desire, knowing that before he could sleep he would have to give in to the demands of his body and sort himself out with a lonely and ultimately unsatisfying wank.
He should stop watching the film, stop thinking about her. What they'd had together was gone forever and he had to stop tormenting himself with the memories. He just had to keep telling himself that it was better for him that it had ended sooner rather than later. She'd never have stayed with him; he wasn't her type. She'd made that perfectly clear by marrying Oliver 'posh-bollocks' Ryecroft as soon as she could.
Jesus Christ, why couldn't he stop thinking about her! He was doing his best , but no amount of alcohol or women could rid him of the constant torment of wanting Alex. Trouble was, he couldn't even talk to anyone about it. None of the team knew what had happened, and he wanted to keep it that way.
At times, it was almost impossible to keep his temper in check when they talked about her, she'd got under their skin so much. They all loved her. Even Ray had started prattling on about the wedding when he'd rung the station on Tuesday to check that Shaz had taken the suit back. The international line had been terrible as usual but he'd quite clearly heard the gossipy tone of delight in his DS's voice.
"Why'd you walk out in a huff like that, Guv? Honestly, you missed the best wedding I've ever been to! It were like something from a bloody film after you'd done a runner…."
Gene had cut him off angrily. "Listen Ray, I didn't ring to talk about the sodding wedding! I rang to see if Shaz had returned the suit."
"Of course she has, Guv. She took it back yesterd'y morning…… Listen, Guv, about DI Drake…."
"That's enough, Ray! What DI Drake does is not my concern. She doesn't work wi' us any more and I do not want hear that woman's name mentioned in my presence ever again! Is that clear?"
"Yes Guv."
"Right. I'll see you next Monday, then."
He recalled Ray's words as he reached his house at last; "like something from a film"….. I bet it bloody was, he thought sourly, with a big marquee, gallons of champagne and all those posh bastards…….. and Alex in that dress, looking so incredibly beautiful that it had physically hurt him to look at her.
It was his own fault. What the hell had he been thinking by even agreeing to be involved in the whole fiasco in the first place? He clenched his fists, trying to rid himself of the memory of his fingers brushing her skin as he'd done up the zip of her dress in Luigi's. He had to keep reminding himself that he was well out of it. Trouble was, it didn't feel as though he was. It felt like shit.
Angrily, Gene dragged his door keys from his jeans pocket and let himself through the door in the wall. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun and in the courtyard, the raindrops sparkled on the sunlit bougainvillea petals.
He unlocked the front door, shutting it wearily behind him and leaning back against it, eyes closed, thankful to be home. He took a deep breath, drawing in the mingled scents of the rain and the wet, dusty garden. There was something else there too; an achingly familiar perfume; roses….. and…… vanilla……and spices. Gene took another breath, his body beginning to tremble with remembered desire. He was truly going mad now; his imagination running away with him.
His house smelt of her perfume.
"Alex." He breathed her name, the merest whisper of sound.
He opened his eyes and there she was; standing shyly in the doorway to the garden, looking like some beautiful, unearthly vision, her hair twisted up in some deceptively simple style, the light highlighting every perfect curve of her perfect body……
Christ, he still must be really pissed if he was hallucinating. He shook his head, closing his eyes again as he did so, trying to clear the image of her from his sight, but when he opened them once more, she was still there, hands clasped like a supplicant in front of her, her mouth curving slowly into an uncertain smile.
She was real.
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To be continued.....
