Second Hand Jane (25 page)

“There’s
nothing worse than dry lamb,” he’d said, tossing her a mischievous
look over his shoulder, and Jess got the distinct impression he was
well aware of the state he was leaving her in.

By the time he
served their meal, she had composed herself again and smoothing her
hair down, Jess got up to join him at the opposite end of a large
glass-topped table. All this glass—it was definitely not a child
friendly home, Jess noted, imagining the field day Harry would have
putting his fingerprints everywhere. But then why should it be?

Nick had
excelled himself: the lamb was cooked to perfection, the roast
potatoes were crunchy on the outside and deliciously moist and
fluffy on the inside, and the side serving of spring vegetables,
even though it was autumn, were al dente. Jess wasn’t surprised by
the excellence of the meal; she knew enough about Nick now to know
he was the type of man who wouldn’t attempt to do anything unless
he could do it well.

“You obviously
enjoy cooking because this is superb,” she said, her knife sliding
into a perfectly pink piece of lamb. Her mind flashed back to
another conversation with a surly farmer from the North who had
followed this theme and she shook the images it conjured away.

“I do when I
get the time but I have a limited repertoire.”

“Well, it’s
broader than mine.”

“That surprises
me.” He raised an eyebrow. “I really enjoyed reading about your
culinary adventures, trying all the different cuisines on offer
around Dublin. It was very amusing. You are a talented writer,
Jessica.”

Jess flushed,
unused to praise and unsure how to accept the compliment
gracefully. She decided to brush it aside. “I managed to combine my
two great loves with that series, eating and writing. It was lots
of fun but I am afraid I am the kind of girl who needs to be shown
how to do something ten times before I master it. It all went in
one ear and then flew out the other.”

Nick laughed.
“Which country’s cuisine was your favourite?”

“I would have
to say I enjoyed the Creole course the most. Probably because it
was so different to anything I have tried before but on a weekly
takeaway basis, I am definitely an Indian fan. What about you?”

“I love Thai.
There’s a great restaurant just down the road from here that I
usually eat at once a week. They do wonderful fish cakes. Perhaps I
could take you there and convert you sometime?”

Jess felt her
cheeks stain again. “That would be lovely.” For him she would
definitely forfeit her Malabari Prawn in favour of fish cakes.

Nick served a
wine, which he told her would offset the sweetness of the dessert
he’d prepared. His knowledge of wines was impressive, Jess thought,
raising her glass to her lips. All she knew about the crushed grape
was that if it was crisp and cold, then she usually liked it. As
for dessert, well, it was a foregone conclusion that it wouldn’t be
the Tesco’s Bavarian chocolate pie that usually made an appearance
at any dinner parties she held.

It was a
ramekin of crème brulee that was placed in front of her and even
she knew that this was a temperamental dessert. Nick’s, however,
was set just right and when he produced a miniature blowtorch to
caramelise the sugar, Jess had almost swooned. Just wait until her
mother heard about tonight, she’d thought, dipping her spoon into
the deliciously delicate custard—Marian would go into orbit. It had
been such a long time since she’d been treated like a princess,
Jess realised, and she had to admit to loving every minute of
it.

Nick had been
insistent she leave the dishes when she had stood up in readiness
to clear the table, suggesting they go through to the living area
and enjoy a post-dinner drink instead. Her head swam at the sight
of all the different spirits on display, clustered together on a
silver tray atop a unit that also housed his vast CD collection.
She wondered what types of music other than the jazz CD currently
playing he liked as she decided upon a Baileys on the rocks.
Sitting curled into the corner of the couch with her heels
discarded on the floor beside her, she took a sip of the icy
liquid, deciding that it was indeed just as the advertising
proclaimed, like liquid silk. Nick had opted for a whisky. It was a
man’s drink, she thought, trying to stop her mind from wandering
below the belt as she forced herself to pay attention to his
adventures in Dubai earlier that year.

“You make it
sound like a city built of gold.” She laughed, looking at him over
the rim of her glass. He had replied that it might as well have
been for the vast amounts of money that circulated around the city
built on sand.

Their eyes had
locked then and she had seen the unspoken promise of what was to
come as his had darkened. With a suggestive half-smile playing at
the corners of his mouth, Jess had allowed him to take her by the
hand and lead her through to his bedroom where, he’d assured her,
they would be far more comfortable.

Feeling a
delicious shudder of anticipation, she had stood almost immobilised
by the bed as his hands roamed the contours of her body while his
tongue had probed the inner sanctum of her mouth with a sensuous
slowness that was beginning to drive her crazy. Allowing him to
unzip her dress, she raised her arms obligingly as he lifted it
over her head before pushing her back on the bed. Her eyes half
closed as their arms and legs tangled together.

Nick unhooked
her bra with the precision of the well-practised, and the sensation
of skin against skin was almost more than she could bear but she
was glad he’d left her panties on for the time being. For what they
had cost her, she wanted him to get at least one good gawk at those
babies before they hit the deck. To give credit where it’s due, he
did look impressed as he paused mid-manoeuver before pulling them
down and allowing her to shimmy free of them. He stood then and
began undressing slowly to reveal a taut and defined body. He
definitely worked out, Jess thought appreciatively as she shifted
into a skinny position, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she
definitely didn’t.

He moved
alongside her and Jess felt a tension building inside her as his
hands stroked gently between her legs. Her hand eagerly searched
out his equipment—this was always the crucial moment, she thought
as she homed in: would she be disappointed or pleasantly surprised?
As her fingers sought, found, and closed around the package deal,
she decided she wouldn’t be disappointed. Nick groaned and pulled
away from her rhythmic stroke, leaning over to open the bedside
cabinet drawers in search of a condom.

Thunderbirds,
we are go, she thought, closing her eyes only to open them a moment
later when nothing happened. Glancing down, she watched in horror
as like a balloon deflating without the audible hiss, it was all
over rover.

And so here
they were, lying side by side like two naked strangers, drowning in
a huge expanse of snowy linen. His bed was ridiculously oversized,
Jess thought, risking a sideways glance. She felt a surge of pity
at the sight of Nick’s normally confident features looking so
uncertain. What had happened wasn’t his fault and as she had told
herself earlier, these things did happen. Logic told her it had
nothing to do with her but of course her ego wasn’t so sure. It was
hard not to take it personally, she mused; still, she needed to be
the bigger person and harden up. Oh God, she had it on the brain!
Rolling onto her side, she raised herself up on to her hip and
decided to be brave because she was not going to lie here in this
uncomfortable silence any longer. “Nick, it’s really not a problem.
These things happen and like you said, you have an awful lot of
stress in your life at the moment, so if you would rather I left
then I understand. Do you want me to go?” Her eyes were round green
orbs as she looked at him, unsure as to how she would react if he
told her he wanted her to go.

Nick shook his
head emphatically, looking like a little boy who had lost the
running race and forfeited first prize. “No, of course I don’t want
you to go. I wanted tonight to be just right and it’s kind of
humiliating, that’s all.” He managed a wry smile. “I am only
thirty-nine-years old so I didn’t think I qualified for Viagra just
yet but apparently I was wrong.”

“I’m sure it
was just a one-off,” Jess soothed.

“I hope so.”
His expression was woeful. “I can’t promise I will be good
company.” Reaching over, he stroked her arm. “But I’d like you to
stay and please believe me when I tell you that it is nothing to do
with you. You are a beautiful woman, Jess, and what just happened
is most definitely down to me, not you.”

Suddenly Jess
didn’t care if they lived in harmonious celibacy for the rest of
their days; it had been a long time since a man had showered her
with such compliments. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’ve always
been driven when it comes to business and I don’t know how or when
to switch off.”

“I can imagine
how high pressured your line of work is,” she soothed, stroking his
cheek. Actually, she wouldn’t have a clue but it sounded good.

“You’re great,
you know that, don’t you?” he said, planting a gentle kiss on the
tip of her nose.

He stretched
his arm out along the pillow in invitation and Jess moved under it,
laying her head on his shoulder. Her body moulded into his and she
relaxed, enjoying the sensation of being held—though not quite as
much as she had been enjoying other sensations earlier. Still, she
would take what she could get, she decided as her eyes grew heavy
and began to close. The wine, the dinner, the Baileys, and her
sexual misadventures had taken their toll and with a little sigh,
Jess drifted into oblivion.

She knew it was
early when she woke because she could hear the dawn song. She
couldn’t remember the last time she had heard the birds in all
their morning glory. The pigeons that congregated on the rail of
her mock veranda of a morning weren’t exactly what you would call
songbirds. Reaching across the bed for Nick, she began patting
around and realising the space next to her was empty, her eyes
popped open. Where was he? She listened out for sounds of life—a
toilet flushing, a kettle boiling—but there was nothing bar the
birds. Deciding to investigate, Jess got up and pulled last night’s
dress back over her head before padding through the silent
apartment to the kitchen. Sniffing for clues like Inspector
Cloueseau, she deduced from the lingering aroma of coffee and toast
that Nick had been up and then her eyes fixed on a note propped up
against the kettle.

In the kind of
precise handwriting she would have expected him to have, he
informed her that he had to be on the road early as he had a
meeting in Cork. He’d be back late afternoon, so he would phone her
then. In the meantime, she was welcome to stay and make herself at
home for the day.

Jess sighed. So
there’d be no lingering breakfast followed by a spot of morning
delight then. Glancing round the empty apartment with its
minimalistic styling, she suddenly felt very lonely. Not even
waiting to make a much-needed cup of coffee, she picked up the
phone and called a cab. She wanted to go home.

***

Opening the
door to her apartment, she stepped inside with relief that she
hadn’t been subject to cat calls from Puff the Magic Dragon as
she’d crossed the courtyard because she was not in the mood. He
must be doing some work for a change, she decided, kicking the door
shut behind her—that or he’d decided to pack in the smoking.
Wandering into the lounge, Jess’s eyes swept the room with a
stranger’s eye. How would Nick perceive the organised chaos that
she liked to think of as home? Would he see her eclectic collection
of treasures as just that or would he think of them as junk?

On the wall
beside the antique oak sideboard Brianna and Nora had clubbed
together to buy her for her thirtieth birthday, insisting she
needed it to display her bits and bobs, was a set of six blue and
white Tunisian tiles. When they were arranged together, they formed
a picture of an urn. She had haggled for an age with a
leathery-skinned man in forty degree heat whilst scooters swerved
around her in a souk in the town of Monastir to buy them. The aroma
of foreign spices had still been in her nostrils as she had marched
back triumphantly to her hotel with her carefully wrapped parcel.
When she looked at those tiles, she could still see the twinkle in
that cunning old man’s brown eyes and in her head, she could still
hear the early morning call to prayer that signified she was indeed
somewhere very foreign.

Then there was
the dainty Royal Doulton china cup and saucer set she had bought on
a girl’s weekend down in Galway many moons ago. With a smile she
recalled how she, Brianna, and Nora had had the kind of fun that
only the young and single can have that weekend. She’d been
wandering the town’s cobbled streets on the Saturday morning,
nursing a sore head in search of greasy sustenance, when she’d
found herself being drawn inside the dark and dusty antiques shop.
As she had opened the door and a bell had rung somewhere near the
back, she had half expected a pixie to materialise behind the
counter. The little old woman who appeared a moment later had
indeed been the proud owner of a set of pointy ears. Jess had been
reminded of the little shop where the Wishing Chair in Enid
Blyton’s stories had been discovered and though she hadn’t found a
wishing chair of her own, she had found the cup and saucer set.

She couldn’t
help but think of Owen as her eyes settled on her latest
acquisition—the Carlton Ware leaf dish. While he would give her a
hard time about all the tat she had collected over the years, she
knew that he would enjoy listening to the tales that went with
them. She frowned, unsure if Nick would ever see the merit in
anything second-hand.