Never Too Late (61 page)

a Freudian slip! She didn’t want to be stuck with Simon so

her mind had instantly and unconsciously replaced him

with Max. This was ridiculous.

‘Greece,’ she sighed, trying and failing to put some

animation into her voice. ‘I’ve always wanted to go there.’

But not now, she thought silently.

‘Greece is so beautiful,’ Vida said mistily. ‘I remember

walking miles to see the Oracle at Delphi after this party.

We were all suffering from far too many cocktails and our

car had broken down, so we walked, in evening dress, to

the temple. We were insane to do it.’

Vida had many wonderful qualities, Evie reflected, and

thank God one of them was the ability to talk in a

stream of fascinating reminiscences about her life. Utterly

entertaining, she could keep a crowd amused for hours

on end. Cara and Rosie, engaged in a secret plan to give

Rosie a lot more wine than her mother would normally

allow, leaned forward over the remains of their dinner

and listened.

Grateful that the spotlight was off her, Evie sat back and

ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes

roamed the room listlessly, as if she hoped Max would

appear and take her away from all this talk of weddings

and honeymoons.

A tanned blond man, sitting alone at the bar eating

olives and knocking back red wine from a glass the size of

a goldfish bowl, was staring at her admiringly. When she

noticed him, he gave her a frankly appreciative look and,

picking up his glass, raised it in her direction.

It was amazing the effect the right clothes could have,

Evie thought ironically, giving him a polite smile back. She

felt like a duchess in this dress and yet the man she most

wanted to admire it, hadn’t seen it and probably never

would.

By dessert, Vida and a now tipsy Rosie were discussing

men as if they were two seventeen year olds instead of one,

and Cara, much tipsier, was telling Evie just what a lovely

man Max Stewart was.

‘He’s so kind to me,’ she confided, big dark eyes shining

with a mixture of booze and affection. ‘Asked me all about

my childhood and about how you looked after me. He

wanted to know about the whole family, really … It’s so

nice to meet a man who’s interested in you as a person and

not just as a pair of tits,’ she said, a certain gloom entering her voice. Ewan hadn’t thought she was just a babe with

big boobs, Cara knew that. He’d loved her for the sort of

person she was, but he hadn’t been able to understand

exactly what sort of person that was. All mixed up, she

realised sadly. Totally screwed up, incapable of having a

relationship thanks to that bastard Owen Theal who’d

shattered her confidence.

And Ewan had ended up giving her back that confidence

but she’d been too blind to realise …

No, she wasn’t thinking about him. She was over Ewan.

Finished, finito, ended. She needed another man to take

her mind off things. A man like Max would do it.

‘Do

you think Max likes me?’ Cara asked her sister

earnestly. ‘I think he does but maybe I’m wrong. He’s so

hunky, isn’t he? Gorgeous body.’

‘Yes, he’s gorgeous,’ Evie replied woodenly. What had

she been thinking of? Max would be so good for her sister,

he’d give her love, affection and the stability Cara needed

so desperately. Evie had a fiance, a man she was going to

marry. Cara needed somebody. Just then, a picture of

lanky, tousle-headed Ewan sprang to her mind.

‘What about Ewan?’ she asked suddenly.

Cara’s eyes filled with tears.

‘It’s over,’ she sniffed, fumbling around in her pocket for

a tissue.

Evie put a comforting arm around her sister. ‘You poor

thing. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Nothing to tell,’ Cara gulped. ‘He’s a pig, dumped me,

ended it. Well, I can tell you,’ her voice became flinty, ‘I’m

over him and I’m going to have one hell of a good time

now that I’m here. Vida,’ she said, interrupting a whispered

conversation between her stepmother and Rosie,

‘where are we going next? I want to party!’

The El Dorado nightclub was like a giant, purple velvet

lined cavern with smaller alcoves hollowed out from the

walls like intimate rooms surrounding the dance floor area.

A tail-coated waiter, bribed by Vida, led them to a quiet

nook at the back of the club where voluminous banquettes

were curved like fleshy Dali sculptures around glass tables

and they could watch the dance floor without being

deafened by the music. The dance floor was almost empty,

apart from a few youthful blondes shimmying in white

clothes that gleamed luminously in the disco lights.

As befitted a club where you had to pay a fortune just to

get in, the clientele was of every age imaginable, from the

very young to the very old. All of them appeared to be

very rich. The ice buckets on the tables contained bottles

of champagne and the handbags that lay close to their

owners on the plump banquettes were all Fendi and Prada.

‘This is some place,’ Rosie whispered in awe, looking

around.

‘I’m sure it’s far too sedate for you, girls,’ Vida replied,

waving a braceleted hand at a waiter, ‘but I’m too old for

most of the other nightclubs and this one was recommended

as being suitable for old dears like me.’

‘You’re not an old dear,’ said Rosie, horrified.

‘Look at the price of the drink!’ cried Evie, just as

horrified as she browsed through the leather-covered

wine list.

‘Double tish,’ said Vida, immediately ordering two bottles

of champagne. ‘It’s not every day my stepdaughter gets

married.’

Even Evie needed a drink after that.

Vida proved to be keen on dancing, especially when the

DJ played a rock n’ roll medley which saw half the club

abandon their cigars to get up and dance. Rosie and Cara bopped energetically, but Evie, despite the appreciative glances her copper dress drew, soon sank back down into

their corner and sipped her champagne meditatively.

She didn’t feel like dancing or celebrating. She felt as if

she was at a wake, where an old woman with white hair

would start keening any minute. She didn’t notice the man

approaching her until he was in front of her, asking in

heavily accented English if he could sit down.

Evie shrugged in a ‘do what you like’ way. She didn’t

care who sat where. She didn’t care about anything any

more.

‘You don’t dance with your friends?’ he asked.

Evie realised it was the blond man from the restaurant, the one who’d raised his glass to her. He was forty something, handsome from a distance. But up close his

face was a road-map of red veins from too much alcohol or

too much fresh air or both.

‘You want more champagne?’ he asked, eyes roaming

over her body lasciviously.

Aware that any positive response might be interpreted

as a come-on, Evie shook her head and slid back in her seat

away from him, hoping Vida or the girls would come back

and rescue her.

She didn’t want to be rude but she wanted to get rid of

this guy. Mr Red Vein moved along the seat after her, like a

giant spider after a fly.

‘You are too beautiful to be alone,’ he crooned.

Evie smiled nervously, then stopped smiling because that

would definitely be a come-on.

He stretched out a tanned hand and put it on her knee.

OmiGod, Evie thought with fear, this could not be

happening to her. Things like this didn’t happen to her.

Encounters with strange men in nightclubs happened to

glamorous women with exotic lives, not to boring little

mice like herself. Why had she ever wanted interesting

things to happen to her? She’d never wish for that again.

She’d never wear this bloody dress again either. The

crossover bit at the front was just asking for trouble.

‘I saw you alone and thought you must be lonely,’ he

said, fingers caressing.

‘Well, I’m not,’ Evie said hotly, wrenching her knee away

from him.

He laughed and gave her a scorching look that said, I like

women playing hard to get.

‘You British women are so sexy, so cool,’ he murmured,

eyeing her up as if trying to figure out how to unzip her

dress. ‘I bet you’re not so cool in bed, huh?’

Evie felt repulsed. How dare he speak to her like that?

He was disgusting, she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

His hand reached out again but she was too quick for him.

She slapped his face as hard as she could and shrieked:

I’m Irish, I’m not at all cool and I’m not interested. No, no

no! What part of “no” don’t you understand!’ She leaped

to her feet, banging her shin painfully on the edge of the

glass table in the process.

Whirling around, she walked straight into a giant of a

man who’d suddenly appeared at the entrance to their

nook, blocking off the light from the dance floor. Strong,

comforting arms closed around her and the cologne that

rose from the chest she was pressed against definitely

belonged to Max.

‘Evie, are you OK?’ he asked anxiously, holding her by

the shoulders and staring into her flushed, upset face.

“I am now,’ she said, weak with relief

She could feel Max’s hands tighten convulsively on her

shoulders as he stared furiously over her head at Mr Red

Vein.

‘So sorry,’ muttered the other man, taking one look at

Max’s athletic frame and getting the hell out of there.

Evie leaned against Max’s chest and laughed, relief

flooding through her body. ‘I thought he was going to

pounce on me.’

‘So did I,’ Max said grimly. ‘I’ll kill Mother for leaving

you on your own. She should have known you’re fair game

for every gigolo this side of Sotogrande.’

‘I am not!’ Evie said in outrage, pulling away and looking

up at him crossly.

‘Sorry.’ He pulled her back into the circle of his arms

and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m not rational where

you’re concerned, Evie. I want to protect you from everything

and I should kill that bastard …’

‘Shush,’ she said softly, putting a finger against his

mouth to silence him. ‘Dance with me instead. I’d prefer a

dance than spending the night trying to bail you out from

the Puerto Banus jail.’

His eyes dark with longing as he looked at her, Max

kissed her finger sensuously. Evie felt her belly quiver with

desire, while her heart beat a fierce tattoo in her chest.

His head came down and he kissed her: a kiss so sweet

and tender she wanted to drown in it forever. His mouth

tasted of peppermints and his lips were soft as they moved

against hers. Then he broke away and led her by the hand

on to the dance floor, to a quiet corner where there were

only a few other couples.

The music was still fast and Evie could see Cara’s head

over the crowd, swinging rapidly to the beat, long black

curls flying. The people beside them were sweaty from

their exertions but Max had no intention of jiving. They

both knew they could dance beautifully together: they’d

stunned the crowd at Vida and Andrew’s wedding with

their Fred and Ginger expertise. But Max wanted to hold

her close this time, not trip the light fantastic for the

benefit of the clubbers in El Dorado.

Smiling, Evie put her arms around his neck. He wrapped

his around her waist, pulling her in deliberately close so

that they were moulded together.

She could feel her body crushed against his, feel the heat

of him as they swayed slowly, creating their own tempo

instead of jerking to the frantic beat.

As if he’d seen them and knew they wanted to slow

dance, the DJ let the frantic rock ‘n’ roll music fade, while

gently turning up something slow and melodic. Al Green’s

‘Let’s Stay Together’ rippled around the nightclub and

before long everybody else was dancing at their speed. Evie

let the music flow over her, exquisitely happy in Max’s

arms. He’d have a permanent crick in his neck if they were

married, she thought fondly, giving in to the impulse to

stroke the sleek, dark head that was bent low next to hers.

‘You look beautiful in that dress,’ he murmured into the

soft, dark cloud of her hair.

‘I wore it for you,’ she said simply. ‘I could have cried

when I heard you’d gone out this evening without my

talking to you. I wanted you to see me looking like this just

once.’

‘You always look beautiful to me,’ he said, ‘even when

you’ve just got up and are mooching around the kitchen in

your dressing gown, rubbing sleep from your eyes.’

Evie laughed. ‘That was yesterday, I bet. I was so thirsty

I had to go downstairs before my shower. I didn’t think

anyone saw me.’

‘You can’t hide from me,’ he said, fingers kneading the

small of her back. ‘I watch out for you, I always want to be

seeing you.’ His voice grew huskier. “I want to see you in

the morning after a night spent with me, so I can rub the