Sophie Weston - Midnight Wedding

There was a tiny pause. ‘Something like that.’

She shivered. ‘I shall never understand men.’

He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say, I decided to stay on the case. But it’s your case.’ His eyes were intent. ‘If you don’t want me to, I’m gone.’

The silence demanded an answer.

Cornered, resentful, Holly was forced into honesty. ‘No. Don’t go.’ It sounded as if it was dragged out of her.

‘Holly,’ bawled Gilbert.

‘I’ve got to go…’

Jack said pleasantly, ‘No problem,’ and sat down quite as if she had begged him to stay and he had graciously acceded.

Holly could have screamed.

But Gilbert was becoming too urgent to ignore. With a last look of frustration at Jack, she threaded a quick path through the tables.

‘Take your apron off,’ said Gilbert, too preoccupied to be angry. ‘Tobacco are going to be late and Jerry is finishing now. Get your flute.’

Left at the table, Ramon let out a long breath. ‘Whew. For a moment, I thought she had you on the run there.’

Jack sat back with a faint smile. ‘I knew she was a fighter,’ he said. He sounded pleased about it.

‘Well, you certainly got her mad.’

‘Yes,’ said Jack, his eyes glinting. ‘I did, didn’t I?’

Ramon gave up. ‘Let’s eat.’

They had finished their rough pâté and were waiting for a Moroccan stew when a new musician walked onto the small dais. She had a long golden-brown plait over one shoulder and a gleaming silver flute in her hands.

Ramon, who was drinking his wine, spluttered. Jack remained unmoved. Though when she put the instrument to her lips and went into a long bluesy riff that made the instrument sound like a saxophone, his eyes narrowed.

‘What’s she doing that for?’ muttered Ramon when he got his breath back.

Jack did not answer him. ‘Versatile,’ he mused.

He did not say anything else, though he listened with attention. Holly finished her solo. A keyboard player joined her and they went off on a wild ride that had enough salsa rhythms to persuade some of the crowd to push back their chairs and dance.

‘Very versatile,’ Ramon said drily. ‘Sounds like a girl who’s been taking care of herself for years, doesn’t she?’

Jack did not answer. His face was unreadable. He turned his chair slightly so that, without actually diverting his attention from the musicians, he could keep an eye on the door at the top of the stairs.

Ramon sighed.

The cellar filled up. The staff slid between tables and dancers, carrying impossible burdens of plates of food and bottles and thick short glasses for the wine. The whole place began to hum. The music got louder.

‘This is good,’ shouted Ramon, enthusiastically mopping up the last of his stew with a piece of crusty baguette.

And so it was. The party atmosphere seemed to infect everyone except Jack. Holly, half dancing in her concentration, was oblivious of everything but her music. So no one noticed when the thick-set man came in and stood on the stairs for a minute, scanning the heaving cellar.

No one but Jack, that was. He was out of his seat before Ramon knew what was happening.

‘Get a cab,’ Jack flung over his shoulder, as he made for the musicians. ‘Meet us out the back. Quickly.’

There were times when you did not argue with Jack. Ramon knew this was one of them. He went.

Holly was hot and her hair had started to stick to her neck. When Harry gave her the high sign that he was going into a solo, she lowered the flute with a grin of relief. There was a surge of uninhibited applause. She bowed, laughing.

But then a powerful hand took hold of her.

‘Time to go.’

Alarmed, she swung round. But it was not Brendan. It was Jack. And he was holding her as if he owned her.

‘Excuse me,’ said Holly, brave on salsa and success.

He was impervious.

‘The brother-in-law from hell just walked in,’ he told her with a bland smile. ‘Do you want to stand and fight? Or run?’

Now that Harry was playing, she might just as well not have been there as far as the audience was concerned. No one questioned Jack’s possessive grip on her arm, Holly saw. Just as no one would question Brendan if he chose to…

She stood very still, suddenly no longer hot. Deep inside, she began to shiver in the convulsive, mind-blinding way she thought she had forgotten. And now remembered all too well.

Trying to think, she pushed a hand through the loosening hair at her temple.

‘I don’t know.’ She sounded stupefied.

Jack was brisk. ‘Well, make your mind up fast. He looks as if he knows he’s come to the right place.’

She stared across the cavernous room. Brendan was still scanning the waiters. He had not focused on the musicians yet. He had never taken her music seriously. None of them had. She winced, stabbed by another painful shaft of memory.

And at that moment Brendan caught sight of her. He ran down the stairs and began to push his way between the tables, brushing waiters out of the way. He never took his eyes off her.

Panic gripped Holly. She could not think straight. She could not move.

She heard Jack give an exasperated exclamation. He half-pulled, half-carried her off the dais and through the swing doors into the kitchen.

‘It’s all right, kid,’ he said under his breath. ‘Hang on to me. I’ll get you out.’

Gilbert was at the kitchen hatch. He made to bar their way.

‘You’ve got a difficult customer out there,’ Jack told him briefly. ‘Stall him.’

One concerned look at Holly’s dazed expression, and Gilbert fell back, nodding. The doors banged behind him as he bustled into the club.

Jack took the flute out of Holly’s limp grasp and swept her up the stairs and into the alley. It was full of empty boxes and vegetable matter. The smell shocked her out of her frozen daze.

‘My bag…’

‘Pick it up tomorrow.’

She thought: He sounds as if he has done this before.

It was a startling thought; alarming, in one way. But Holly was beyond alarm and, anyway, there was a steady, unshockable capability about Gorgeous Jack that made you rely on him. Normally it would have set her teeth on edge. Now she was just thankful. She leaned into him, trying to pull herself together.

There was a car at the end of the alley. Holly saw a light on its roof and stiffened.

‘Police…’ she said under her breath.

Jack looked down at her, his eyes suddenly sharp.

‘Taxi cab. I told Ramon to get one.’

He took her hand and ran her to the waiting car.

The Armour Disaster Recovery delegation was staying at a small hotel, immensely comfortable and almost impossible to find. Jack took her there without even asking her. Without asking, either, he booked a room for her and then took her into the small bar.

Holly huddled by the spring fire, her hands tight round the small strong coffee which was all she could be pushed into accepting.

Jack said, ‘For the last time—Holly who?’

She gave in. ‘Dent. Holly Dent.’

He nodded. To her surprise, there was no sign of triumph there. ‘I think you have to tell me about it.’

She swallowed. ‘My bag—’ she said again. She felt as if she had lost her identity along with her canvas shoulder bag and an old tee shirt.

Jack looked at Ramon. The Spaniard sighed.

‘I’ll go back to the club and get it. Anything else?’

‘My flute.’

‘I brought that with me. It’s behind the bar,’ said Jack.

‘Oh?’ She gave a wavering smile. ‘That’s a relief. I wouldn’t want Brendan to get his hands on it. He can be stupid sometimes.’ She rubbed her shoulder unconsciously, as if she felt the shadow grip of a heavy hand.

Jack and Ramon exchanged glances. A muscle worked in Jack’s jaw.