In the Still of the Night

Well, she had paid for it, ever since. She had been haunted by her lost baby, by memories of Johnny. In a way her whole life since had been shaped by the events of those few days eight years ago. She had only been half alive; she had put everything into her work, had very few friends and no lovers. She had been too scared to dare risk love again.

When she saw Johnny again it was like being given a chance to begin her life for a second time, wipe out the past as if those eight years had never been.

Going back to the house in the forest had made it even more dreamlike, at the same time even more real. It was so right to go there, to make love again, on the rug, in front of the fire in that room. Time, had whirled backwards; she had been a girl again, their loving so intense that it was like dying.

And yet … and yet she felt the same throb of fear and sick excitement, the disorientation she had felt during the night, when she woke from that dream.

Frowning, she tried to remember what she had dreamt, but it had all gone. Only the emotions remained.

What is wrong with me? she wondered. What am I afraid of?

A sound made her jump. She looked tensely at the bedroom door. It slowly opened and Sean stood there, bare-legged, in a black towelling robe which ended just at his knees. He smiled at her, raking back his untidy hair with one hand in a gesture half shy, half amused. ‘Oh, you’re awake. Did you sleep well?’

She was shy, too. She said, ‘I slept deeply, anyway. Those pills knocked me out. I feel weird this morning.’

She could see his chest between the wide lapels of the robe. He wasn’t wearing anything under it. These were presumably his pyjamas she was wearing. She shifted in the bed and realised she was only wearing the top, her legs were bare. The intimacy was somehow disturbing.

There was something so very male about Sean; you could never forget his masculinity when you were with him but especially at the moment when he was almost naked and so was she. But she couldn’t think of him that way, not now. If Johnny hadn’t come back she might have … but now she never would. Her life had taken a sudden, sharp turn up another path.

‘I was just going to take a shower,’ she said hurriedly.

‘Do you feel up to working? At least it will be in the studio, not on location. We’ll be able to keep the press away from you, and it would be good for you to work, keep your mind off … everything.’

Sean watched as she moved in the bed as if to get up, the far-too-big pyjama top slipping sideways off one shoulder, the lapels gaping, to show him smooth, pale skin, her throat and shoulder, the soft curve of her breast. He felt a stab of desire.

He wanted her so badly it made him angry. A month ago he had been thinking that maybe soon he would make a move towards her. There had been nobody else around then.

Now she was sleeping with this man from her past, the man whose baby she had once conceived. He hated to know that. The purity was spoilt. Seeing her, the way she had been yesterday, when she first came back from making love, her mouth like a ripe plum, her eyes drowsily satisfied, sensuality coming off her skin, she had wrecked his idea of her, of the sort of woman she was. He was bitterly angry with her.

But he still wanted her. More than ever. Knowing he had no chance made him want to smash things. He had trouble not showing it.

‘I’d rather work,’ she said. ‘I won’t be five minutes – could you make some coffee while I’m showering and getting dressed?’

‘Sure. And toast? Or would you like some eggs and bacon? I’m not a bad cook – my father would be shocked if he saw me in my kitchen, knocking up breakfast for a woman, but then he’s old-fashioned; he believes women belong in kitchens.’

‘Does he live in London?’

‘Sure he does – he was a City of London inspector when he retired. He should have gone further – he was a good copper, my Dad, but he hated being behind a desk, and he couldn’t learn to play the political game, so he got stuck at inspector.’

‘So you were following in his footsteps when you joined the police?’

He nodded. ‘It was the family trade. My grandad was a copper down at Bow fifty years ago. We’re a London family, born and bred. We don’t stray far from our patch.’

‘How did your dad feel when you left the force?’

Sean grimaced. ‘Gutted. At first. He was afraid I’d been seduced by fairy gold – that the TV scripts wouldn’t succeed and then I’d be out of a job and on the dole. My dad just couldn’t believe that people like us could get into that world – actors, television, playwriting. He despised it all. A lot of poofters, he said, playing make-believe, putting on make-up. Not for his son!’

Annie smiled. ‘And now?’

‘Oh, now, he and my mum never miss an episode, proud as punch – although they’d die rather than let me see that.’

She watched him, hearing the note of secret pride in his voice. Suddenly she realised that they had that in common – they both came from the same background, working-class, respectable, with fierce ambitions for their children.

‘Where do they live?’

‘Islington, the same house I grew up in. My Dad has taken up gardening in a big way and exhibits at flower shows, and sits out in the garden shed smoking his pipe and watching his seeds grow.’

‘And your mum?’