Love Letters (13 page)

‘I have to say,’ said Dermot, not at all put out, ‘that that is a question possibly better suited to a more intimate setting, but since you ask, it was about four months ago. Next question?’

Laura edged her way out of the crowd to the door and escaped. It was a freezing night, her friend had humiliated herself and she still didn’t know how far things had gone between her and Dermot the night before. Monica soon joined her.

‘Thanks for trying, Mon,’ said Laura before her friend could apologise. ‘I know you did your best. I don’t think we’ll ever know. Let’s just assume nothing much happened, shall we?’ A recollection of what had gone on came back to her suddenly. It didn’t seem like ‘nothing much’ really, it had been fantastic – with or without full-on sex.

‘I’m not giving up until I know for a fact,’ said Monica. ‘You’ll never have any peace of mind if you don’t know. We’ll go to the pub now, get the drinks in before the rush, and I’ll ask him a supplementary question. That is what they’re called, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ said Laura dolefully, ‘but you might get us both thrown out for harassing the star! You were quite – er – upfront in there.’

Monica bit her lip, possibly in remorse. ‘I know. But I had to be.’

‘I feel such a total idiot for not noticing –’

Monica stifled a giggle. ‘For not noticing if you had sex with one of the sexiest men on the planet? There’s such a thing as being too unworldly, you know.’

Laura groaned in frustration at herself.

Monica patted her soothingly. ‘Now let’s go and get some Dutch courage – we’re going to need it!’

‘I thought we said—’

‘Do you want to know if you’re still a virgin or not?’

Laura nodded and followed her friend obediently down the road to the pub.

The fact that she had a big black pint waiting for him seemed to endear Monica to Dermot – enough for him to go near enough to her to pick it up, at least. Laura had taken refuge in one of the other small rooms and was listening from behind a panel. They’d decided it would be easier if Monica confronted him by herself.

‘You gave me a hard time in there,’ he said. Laura heard the glass land on the table after several long seconds. She could imagine the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Then she remembered it was a secondary sexual characteristic and stopped herself.

‘I just thought you were completely irresponsible,’ said Monica.

Laura winced. Here she goes again. How could Monica be so rude? She couldn’t tell if Monica was genuinely cross on her behalf or trying to provoke a reaction.

‘Why, for feck’s sake?’

Laura could imagine his indignation and didn’t blame him for it – or the language.

‘Because you should always use a condom,’ said Monica. ‘Not just when you’re asked to.’

You had to admire her persistence, thought Laura, even if it was making her personally want to tie herself in knots to suppress her embarrassment. She didn’t dare actually cross her legs, or hunch over; she was getting the odd funny look as it was.

‘I quite agree,’ said Dermot, sounding quite affable. ‘I always do.’

There was silence. Laura could almost hear Monica narrowing her eyes.

‘So when was the last time?’

Laura wiped away the film of sweat this question created and stuffed her knuckles in her mouth. She no longer cared what the people around her thought about her behaviour.

‘What, that I used a condom? Or had sex?’

Laura let out a little moan.

‘Either. Presumably the answer’s the same.’

Monica was a terrier when it came to getting information, Laura realised, and really wished she could have emulated some less tenacious breed. But would a cocker spaniel really do the job? She was dimly aware that a combination of embarrassment, terror, remorse and a whole lot of other emotions too complex to be named was making her train of thought spin off the rails.

‘As I said before, about four months ago,’ said Dermot and then added, ‘Ah, I think I’ve worked out what this is all about.’

Laura, suddenly terrified she was about to hear herself talked about behind her back, squeezed past several people and appeared in front of them. She couldn’t rely on Monica any longer – she had to confront Dermot herself.

‘It’s me,’ she said from the door of the snug, trying to look as natural as possible and as if she hadn’t been hiding nearby all along.

‘Ah ha!’ said Dermot – cruelly, in Laura’s opinion.

Laura pushed aside some innocent bystanders in order to get nearer to Dermot and Monica. ‘I needed to know if we had sex last night or not,’ she said breathlessly, grateful that Monica had insisted on a hair of the dog and that she’d consumed at least some whiskey.

Dermot’s smile was devastating. ‘And you couldn’t have just asked me?’

Laura swallowed and shook her head. ‘Too embarrassed,’ she explained. ‘I felt I should have known.’

‘If you didn’t know,’ said Dermot softly, ‘the fault would have been mine, not yours. But you fell asleep and then you disappeared, obviously thinking better of it. I’m trying not to feel hurt,’ he teased.

‘It wasn’t really that—’

‘I’m going to find Charles and some music,’ said Monica, relieved that she’d done her duty. ‘You two can sort yourselves out now.’ She wriggled through the crowd with Laura looking plaintively after her.

‘That woman is a piece of work,’ said Dermot admiringly.

‘She’s a good friend,’ said Laura. ‘She put herself through hell for me. Or at least a lot of embarrassment.’

Dermot was not impressed. ‘Quite unnecessary. She, or you, could just have asked.’

Laura lost some of her numbness and began to giggle. ‘How would that conversation have gone, I wonder. I could have said, “Excuse me, Mr Flynn, can you just remind me, did we or did we not have sex last night?”’

‘You would have used my Christian name. I wouldn’t have thought you forward. After all, I have seen you naked.’

Laura tried to take a sip from her glass but found it was empty. The thought of him seeing her naked, of being naked in his presence was intensely erotic and excruciatingly embarrassing at the same time.

‘You need another drink,’ said Dermot and lifted his hand. ‘Whiskey for the lady.’

Magically a glass appeared. When she’d taken a good gulp and feeling she’d been through the worst embarrassment a woman could experience and survive, she said, ‘So, will you come to my literary festival?’

Dermot’s smile made Laura’s stomach turn with desire but her brain told she was probably not going like what he had to say. ‘All original terms and conditions apply.’

Helplessly, Laura looked up into his eyes. They were smiling, but resolute. She looked away again quickly, spent some moments biting her lip and generally trying to make the floor open up and swallow her. When she finally accepted that it wasn’t going to she said, ‘Oh well. No one could accuse me of not doing my best.’ She had agreed to his terms once, while very drunk, but with sobriety had come sanity, and she was not going to let herself do anything quite so foolish now. She turned, preparing to fight her way through the people to find Monica.

She felt a hand on her arm.

‘Hang on now, I didn’t mean there was no room for negotiation!’

Laura turned. She hadn’t meant to be clever, and bluff him into changing his mind, but by some fluke that had been the effect of her reaction.

‘You mean, as we’ve gone some little way towards having sex, you’ll take that part into consideration?’ She smiled, aware that she was flirting again and enjoying the sensation. She hadn’t done much of it herself, but had read enough about how it was done to realise what was happening. She felt on surer ground now that he hadn’t dismissed coming to the festival outright.

‘I don’t mean I’ll cross the Irish Sea and reach England but not actually go all the way to the venue, which is more or less what happened last night.’ His eyes twinkled with wickedness and sex appeal.

‘Oh good,’ she quipped, feeling her confidence grow. ‘I don’t think that would help me convince the sponsors that as you’d come that far, they should still give us money. Not as much as they would have done though, obviously.’

‘Oh, so it was to get sponsorship you were so keen to get me to your festival. I thought you “really admired my work”.’ He put on an irritating imitation of a female voice that didn’t sound a bit like her. He wasn’t flirting any more.

‘I do – did – admire your work,’ snapped Laura, no longer wanting to flirt back. ‘That bit is absolutely genuine. But there hasn’t been much of it lately, has there?’

The twinkle was more speculative now. For a moment she wondered if she’d overstepped the mark. ‘You are very cruel,’ he said, fortunately still amused, ‘but perhaps I deserved it.’

Laura was aware that a woman who’d had more practice with real men rather than literary heroes would have had something clever to say now. Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer, or one of the younger writers of chick lit would have had this man begging to come to her literary festival in a few terse lines. She said nothing.

‘Tell you what,’ he went on, obviously having come to some kind of decision, ‘let me show you a bit of the countryside. Come for a walk with me tomorrow morning. Then perhaps you’ll understand why I’m not eager to leave, even for a short time.’

Laura thought about it. There’d be time: they weren’t due to go back to England until tomorrow evening. Monica wouldn’t mind. ‘Actually, Monica and I went cycling yesterday. I’ve seen the countryside.’ Why did she say that? she admonished herself. He was offering her an olive branch.

‘It’ll look quite different through my eyes, I’m telling you,’ he persisted.

‘I’m sure.’ She still didn’t feel quite ready to give in yet. She was enjoying not agreeing too readily to any suggestion from a man who was obviously used to women jumping at his every word.

‘But you and Monica. You’re not joined at the hip, are you?’

Laura put on a good impression of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Do you not want to show the countryside to a woman who asks such pertinent questions?’

He laughed. ‘You may not think much of my morals, but I can assure you I only ever court one woman at a time.’

‘If they know about each other,’ Laura said, as if to confirm it.

He grinned. ‘That’s right. So, will you come with me?’ He studied her earnestly.

She felt herself being drawn in by his magnetic gaze, despite her intention to remain calm and collected.

‘For a walk?’ Again, she appeared to be seeking confirmation that nothing too much was being asked of her when she knew perfectly well if he’d asked her to row the Atlantic with him she’d probably have agreed to it.

‘That’s all I’m asking you to do – on this occasion. I’ll bring lunch,’ he added as if this would clinch it.

She gave him a prim little smile. ‘Then yes, that would be very nice.’

‘Very nice?’ Her choice of words obviously offended him. ‘Hmph!’

‘Will it not be nice, then?’ she asked, still prim, hoping her amusement was well hidden.

He narrowed his gaze so that his eyes almost disappeared. ‘It will be spectacular.’

Laura swallowed. His voice was so sexy she pressed her knees together to stop them wobbling.

He paused. ‘I’ll get you back in plenty of time to set off for the ferry.’

‘You are keen to get exercise, aren’t you?’ Laura struggled to be brisk. ‘If it’s that difficult for you normally, I’m sure you could find a personal trainer.’

‘Listen, Miss . . .’

‘Horsley.’

‘You’re getting the chance to see one of the most beautiful spots in Ireland through the eyes of—’

She broke in, smiling, pretending to be teasing but in reality being perfectly serious: ‘One of the most gifted writers to have come out of Ireland for a long time?’

His slow, crooked smile could have been ironic, or could have been completely accepting of this description. ‘Well, you said it.’

Laura pretended to be appalled. ‘You’re not supposed to agree with me! How conceited are you?’

‘Some would say: very.’

She held up her hand. ‘Count me as one of that group.’

His eyebrow acknowledged her challenge. ‘Others would say a craftsman should know his own worth.’

She shook her head. ‘Only those very keen to suck up to you.’

‘Yesterday you’d have been the founder member of that group. Good God, woman, you were willing to sleep with me!’

She had to acknowledge that this was true, however much it would boost his over-inflated ego. ‘Fortunately I was saved from myself.’

He laughed. ‘And maybe you can save me from myself.’

Laura laughed back at him. ‘Where shall we meet tomorrow morning?’

‘On the corner, by the shop. We’ll drive a little way first.’

Monica allowed Laura to walk back from the pub on her own after she was convinced nothing bad would happen to her. Laura wanted to be fresh tomorrow and not hung-over. Although she’d already drunk far more than was compatible with healthy living, if she drank enough water and took an aspirin, she should be OK in the morning. She’d drunk more in the last couple of evenings than she’d ever drunk in her entire life, even as a student.

It was Monica’s turn to sneak in during the early hours and Laura’s to be self-righteous, although Monica was fit enough to get up for the massive breakfast they no longer just expected, but looked forward to with worrying eagerness.

‘I’ve got a horrible feeling,’ said Monica, loading a piece of soda bread with butter and Old Thyme Irish Marmalade, ‘that a bit of toast and a banana isn’t going to be enough for me any more. I’ll need the Full Irish every day.’

‘Well, I need a big breakfast because I’m going to be taking exercise,’ said Laura.

‘Mm, so you are. Do you care to be specific about what exercise exactly you had in mind?’

Laura laughed. ‘To be brutally honest, I don’t think the sort of exercise I have in mind is the kind of exercise I’ll be having but I’m sure I’ll be burning up plenty of calories either way.’