Fast Friends (72 page)

‘
I’m being
discreet.’ And, for something to say, she explained about Loulou and her
hazardous love-life. As she talked, she breathed in the expensive aroma of
Dolce & Gabbana aftershave and newly mown grass and after a while her eyes
became more
accustomed to the summer
darkness. Piers O’Donaghue had black
curly hair, dark eyes and a deep
tan which showed against the
whiteness of his
shirt. If she deliberately didn’t concentrate on
the amused, Anglo-Irish
voice she could almost imagine that he was Matt, which was quite absurd but
made him easier to talk to.

‘Two lost souls, then,’ he declared, reaching for her bare
arm
and caressing it with lazy sensuality. ‘Our
bottle’s finished. Do
we stay out
here like the babes in the wood or go in search of
more to drink and risk being disappointed when we
each see
what the other looks like?’

Camilla trembled, suddenly afraid to
break the spell. ‘Let’s stay,’ she said and saw Piers’ white teeth gleam.
Laughing, he
stood up and helped
her carefully to her feet.

‘
You’re either very,
very
ugly or enchantingly modest,’ he
told her, so close now that his
mouth brushed her hair. ‘But you
smell
gorgeous and I’m far too curious about you now to wait
any longer to find out. Listen, they’re playing our
song. We
have to dance.’

Camilla realized that she was holding
her breath as they
entered
the vast, elegantly lit marquee. All of a sudden, beset
by self-doubt and all the old insecurities, she was
terrified that Piers would take one look at her and exclaim in horror, ‘Christ,
you
are
ugly,’ before disappearing into the night.

Instead he pulled her round to face
him, leisurely surveying
the length
of her body for several seconds before giving a low
whistle of approval and reaching out to remove an imaginary
pair
of spectacles.

‘
Why Miss Jones, you’re
beautiful. Why on earth have I never
noticed before?’

Colouring, Camilla glanced down at
the ground. Piers
O’Donaghue
was devastatingly attractive and she was at a loss
for words.

Fortunately, he suffered no such
inhibitions. ‘Come and
dance,’ he
said again, his tone gentle as if he were coaxing a
nervous puppy on to his lap. ‘I adore women who blush. In fact
I
didn’t know there were any left who still could.’

As they stepped on to the dance floor, alive with whirling
couples, the band slowed down and started
playing a moody,
sexy version of ‘Every time you go away’.

‘Please don’t,’ murmured Piers, his warm hand lightly
caressing Camilla’s shoulder blade. Startled, she met his eyes, which
were brown instead of dark blue like Matt’s, but
otherwise
uncannily similar in shape.

‘
Don’t what?’

‘
Go away.’
He smiled, revealing those incredibly white, very
even teeth once more. Thinner than Matt, an inch or so shorter
and probably five years younger, he nevertheless
reminded
Camilla of him so intensely
that she couldn’t stop staring at
him. The dark curly hair and the
narrowed, perpetually-amused
eyes fringed
with thick lashes were what really did it, she realized as they moved around
the dance floor in graceful
unison, scarcely noticing the other couples
around them.

‘
You don’t live in
Bath,’ he stated matter-of-factly. ‘If you did,
I’d know you. You told me that you know Laura’s fiancé so I’d say
at
a guess you’re from London. That means you have to return there . . . but I don’t
want you to go. And I do mean it,’ he added, his expression serious. "This
isn’t a line. It’s a
coup de foudre,
Camilla. Do you understand what I’m
saying to you now?’

* * *

 
Mac was still privately wondering if
he had gone mad. Did
people
know
when that happened to them or did they just carry
on in blissful ignorance of the world around them?

He had been horrified to hear himself accepting Christo’s
invitation to the party, knowing – as they both
did, although it
had remained unspoken between them – that Loulou would
be there.

He had been even more disturbed to
find himself ringing
Cecilia at her hotel in Paris and mentioning casually that he
was going out to dinner that night with
an old photographer
friend.

And, driving down the M4 towards Bath
later that evening,
he
had finally considered the possibility that he might benefit
from a few sessions on the psychiatrist’s couch.

Was he destined, he wondered now, to
spend the rest of his life racing down to Gloucestershire for frantic, fated
reunions
with Loulou?

At that moment, however, the object of his madness
returned
from her search for Camilla and the
familiar longing mixed
with love and exasperation hit him hard in the
stomach – as it always did. She was like a wayward child, always thinking she
knew best, and plunging into predicaments with
bright, hope
lessly misguided
optimism. But at the same time he couldn’t
help admiring her resilience.
The newspaper feature, of course, was what had finally clinched it. Whether or
not that ambitious
young reporter had
realized what would happen, the fact
remained that his ‘exposé’ had been
more than instrumental in
reuniting him with
Loulou. Her secret longing to see him,
whether
true or not, had gripped him with a need equally as
fierce. No longer
the ice queen, her exposed vulnerability had
affected him more deeply and effectively than anything else
could have
done.

And now that she had finally dropped
her guard, allowing
her deepest feelings
to surface, she was utterly irresistible.

‘
I saw her,’ she said
breathlessly, ‘dancing with a divine
man.
The pair of them wouldn’t have noticed if the Seven
Samurai had burst into the marquee, they looked so
besotted
with each other. I’ll ask
Christo to tell her later that we’ve
gone.’

‘Where are we going?’ said Mac, unable to prevent himself
from reaching for her hand. Loulou gave him a look that was so wicked his knees
went weak.

‘
A hotel,’ she
whispered. ‘Bath’s finest. I want us to sign in
as Mr and Mrs Smith, so
that everyone will know what we’re up
to.’
Tugging at his arm and at the same time draining her glass
of champagne, she pulled him towards the front
door. ‘Come
on, I want to be so
sinful and naughty that you’ll never forget
me. .

‘
Don’t worry,’ said Mac,
following her and praying that
nobody could see how distorted the front of
his trousers had
become. ‘Whatever else
happens, I won’t
ever
be able to do
that.’

’If there’s one thing I absolutely adore,’ drawled Piers,
pulling Camilla to him, ‘it’s an insatiable woman. And oh . . . I’ve made you
blush again. If there’s one thing I adore even more than an insatiable woman,
it’s one who blushes at the same time.’

In the coppery glow of the subdued lighting, Camilla
admired the sheen of Piers’ bare chest, splaying her fingers between his
collarbones and trailing them slowly down towards
his taut
stomach.

‘
I don’t know why I’m
like this. I really don’t make a habit
of it. You’re almost my very
first one-night stand, you know.’ Deliberately she refused to allow herself to
remember Nico.

Putting a finger against her lips,
Piers silenced her. ‘I’m not
a one-night stand. We’re going to see a lot more of each other
than this.
Coup de foudre;
I told you.’

Dreamily she kissed his tanned chest, willing herself not
to think too hard, or to hope too much. But it was hard not to hope
when their lovemaking had been so exhilarating, so
totally
perfect.

‘I’m going back to London in the morning,’ she murmured,
testing him. ‘You live in Bath. It’s too far away.’

Piers rolled his dark eyes and
laughed, hugging her against
him. ‘Camilla,
you’re incredible. Most women at this stage are saying, "You will ring me,
won’t you" and "I will see you again,
won’t I?" He imitated a falsetto whine with devastating
accuracy. ‘And here you are, at the very
beginning
of our great love affair, doing your damndest to put me off. I’m coming up
to
London on Wednesday to see you, OK? And nothing you say is going to stop me.’

’Fancy meeting you here,’ purred Loulou, flinging her arms
wide and wondering if it were really possible to be this happy.
She giggled
as Mac poured an effervescent trail of chilled Dom
Perignon over her stomach and thighs and proceeded to lick it
off with exquisite skill and slowness. ‘Aren’t you
glad you
came?’

He paused, leaning on one elbow and glancing up at her.
‘You’re a
witch,’ he said slowly, and Loulou gave him her most sublime smile.

‘But I can
make you laugh,’ she said, tickling his hip with
her big toe. ‘You don’t look as if you’ve laughed much lately.
Was
Cecilia useless at telling jokes?’

Observing her use of the past tense,
Mac replied carefully,
‘She has
her good points.’

‘But mine are better,’ murmured
Loulou seductively, all her
ideas of playing it cool forgotten now that she had finally
enticed Mac back into her bed. ‘What
do you call a man with
no arms and
no legs who swims the Channel?’

Mac bent and kissed her exquisite navel, then shrugged. ‘I
couldn’t begin to guess.’

‘
A clever-dick,’ said
Loulou, smiling and reaching for him
once
more. ‘And since this hotel is bloody expensive and we
really should make sure we get our money’s worth,
you can
show me again just how clever you are . .

Camilla still found it hard to believe
that she could feel so
deliciously
wanton and free of guilt. Not only had she spent the
entire night making love to someone who was virtually a
complete
stranger, but she had done it in Roz’s bed where presumably in the past Roz had
slept with Jack. With Nico too,
she realized
belatedly, and thrust
that
particular thought with
great firmness
from her mind.

And I feel alive again, she thought,
sitting up in bed and
basking in the warmth of the sunlight which streamed through
the open windows.

Perfect peace, thought Camilla,
pushing her hands through
her hair in a lazy attempt to loosen the tangles. Peace and
happiness and a kind of giddy
weightlessness had enveloped
her and she
was finding it ludicrously difficult to stop smiling. And to think, she
recalled idly, that I never thought I could feel properly happy again.

* * *

 
Later, trailing downstairs in her
white silk dressing-gown
because getting dressed might break the spell, she found Piers
in the kitchen making breakfast and
whistling ‘White
Christmas’.
He was naked apart from a black velour towel
slung around his hips and Camilla
felt her stomach disappear
with
longing.

‘I adore women with wet hair,’ he said, handing her a warm
croissant and kissing her collarbone where
droplets of water
from the shower
still clung like warm beads. Into her other
hand he thrust a mug of strong, aromatic coffee. ‘Let’s go
outside.
I wanted to make love to you on the grass last night. Maybe this morning I’ll
get lucky.’