David jumped out
of the way as the paramedics got to work. Brooke threw her arms around him he squeezed her back as tightly as he could, kissing her neck. She didn’t mind the cold wetness of his shirt sticking to her, she didn’t mind the camera pointed at her tear–stained face. She felt safe and proud, in the embrace of the man she was going to marry.
‘I love you David. I love you so much,’ she said, not wanting to let him go. And for the first time in months, she was more sure of those words than anything else in her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE
Two weeks after her trip to London for the Lupin launch, Tess was bustling around her apartment, getting ready for a day out in the Big Apple with Dom. After their glorious reunion in the low–rent hotel, she could barely remember a time she had felt so excited to see him. He had arrived late the previous night, but today Tess had a packed itinerary planned for him as she was keen to share all her newly discovered favourite places with him: the Conservatory Garden in Central Park, high up on One Hundred and Third Street which, at this time of year was a riot of colour, or the Morgan Library in midtown, which housed everything from a Gutenburg Bible to Bob Dylan’s original handwritten lyrics to ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’. Later, they would share freshwater crab at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station and hot chocolate at the Tea & Sympathy café, a slice of old England in the midst of the Manhattan exotica. Tess was beginning to think of New York as her home – at least for now – and she wanted to show it off like a prize.
It was nine a.m. by the time Tess walked into the living room. She had already taken a shower and put on her carefully chosen outfit for the day: a white skinny–rib T–shirt and dark J Brand jeans that made her legs look especially long and lean. After the shock of putting on five pounds in her first three weeks in the city, she had been on a ruthless eight–hundred–calorie–a–day grapefruit–and–egg diet given to her by one of the girls at work, which had miraculously shifted almost a stone. Feeling sexy, happy, and ready for anything, she ran through to the kitchen, which was flooded by New York sun.
‘Hey sexy,’ she called through to the lounge, ‘you ready for the Grand Tour?’
His body clock shocked by the jet lag, Dom had been up for hours and was lounging on the sofa, reading the New York Post. His hair was dishevelled and he was still in his boxer shorts and an old Ramones T–shirt, bought at Christmas from Harvey Nicks and now relegated to sleepwear.
He ignored the question, pointed and held up the paper. ‘Is this your doing?’
‘What?’
‘How David saved my life,’ he read in a faux theatrical voice. ‘The survivors speak. See inside for an eight–page special.’
Tess stuck out her tongue at him. ‘It’s been one of the biggest stories of the year,’ she said. ‘It must have even reached that little backwater of London.’
Dom snorted. ‘What? A bunch of boat people capsizing in the Carribean? That’s hardly going to make the London Times.’
Tess brought two mugs of tea through. ‘Actually, the BBC News reported it quite extensively. So did your paper. And it was also a lot more serious than your little summary. Thirty people died, Dom. It was horrific.’
Dom shrugged. ‘But David really saved someone’s life?’ he asked. ‘You sure it’s not just his family positioning him on the political launch pad?’
She swiped him on the arm. ‘You’re a cynic, Dom Barton.’
‘Speaks the professional PR.’
Although the incident in Florida had happened five days ago, the papers were still running stories with a host of ‘new’ photographs and first–hand accounts from survivors. Unsurprisingly, David had come out of it a hero. The Billington’s PR machine had arranged a two–page interview with him in the Washington Post, and his opinions on immigration controls had kicked off the topic as a hot debate on talk shows on TV and radio across the country. Although her phone had been ringing off the hook, Tess couldn’t take credit for this particular PR blitz. The cameraman on the beach had caught the whole drama in Technicolor and it had been beamed live across the world; David had created his own spin. Brooke, too, was now seen as the Florence Nightingale of society for her part in the rescue. Us magazine had run a front cover with the words ‘Saviour of the Sand’. Tess couldn’t have created more positive press if she had tried for years. Dom handed her a plate with a cream cheese and lox bagel on it, and she took a delicate bite; she didn’t want to mess up her lipstick.
‘So where’s Jemma?’ asked Dom.
‘Left early this morning. She’s gone to see Cat in Toronto,’ she said, reaching out to squeeze his bare knee. ‘So we’re all alone.’
Dom shook his head. ‘Which is how it would be all the time if you hadn’t invited her to live with you. Honestly, Tess, I can’t believe you’ve come four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean to have Jemma back in the spare room.’
Tess had to stop herself frowning, upset that his good mood in London had evaporated. She put his crabbiness down to jet lag and didn’t want to make it a bigger deal than it was. ‘Dom, I like having her around,’ she said softly. ‘It’s pretty lonely out here, you know – and besides, the Asgills only agreed to hire her if they didn’t have to pay her accommodation as well. By the time you move over she’ll have found somewhere else.’
Dom stood up and paced over to the window. ‘Speaking of the apartment, I’m just not sure there’s going to be enough room for the two of us.’
‘It’s not huge, but we’ll manage.’
‘Not huge? I’ve seen saunas bigger than this place. I mean, where are my golf clubs going to go?’
‘Golf? In Manhattan?’ laughed Tess.
‘Hey, I read that David is a keen player,’ said Dom defensively. ‘He must be a member of some nice club.’
She smiled as she took a long slurp of tea. ‘David and Brooke are lovely, but I’m not exactly best friends with them. It’s not like they’re always inviting me to come round for dinner or play golf.’
Dom looked disapproving. ‘That attitude, baby, is exactly what’s holding you back. Why do you think you never got one of the really big jobs at the papers?’
‘Because they never came up?’