Lynne Pemberton - Platinum Coast

‘How did your wife die, Stephen?’ He hesitated, deep in thought for a few moments, then said, ‘Barbara killed herself. An overdose of alcohol and barbiturates.’

He closed his eyes as if to blot out a painful memory. They were still closed when he continued.

‘Barbara had a lot of problems, and I don’t think I helped. She was constantly accusing me of working too hard and neglecting her. She was an extremely demanding woman.’

His eyes were open now but staring straight ahead, unblinking. His voice was very quiet and resigned when he said, ‘I wasn’t capable of giving her everything she needed.’

He directed his brooding gaze at Christina. There was no pain visible now, only resignation. He looked away and poured himself another cup of tea, more for a distraction than anything else.

‘Well, we have something in common, Stephen,’ Christina murmured softly. ‘We’ve both lost loved ones in a tragic way.’

She pushed a cushion to one side and found his hand. He lifted it to his face and kissed her palm, then her fingertips, one by one.

The gesture sent a thrill through her entire body. She stared at his long, angular face, scrutinizing every one of his features individually so as to imprint them on her mind, never to forget his image.

It was that moment that she realized she was hopelessly in love with Stephen Reece-Carlton.

‘Where on earth did you find her?’

Nigel Sinclair stood with Stephen whilst both men watched Christina dancing with a huge red-faced bear of a man, who was sweating profusely and spinning her to and fro in a pathetic attempt at rock and roll.

‘In a shopping centre in Manchester, actually.’ Stephen looked at his host’s bemused face. ‘I’ve always maintained the prettiest girls in this country are from the North, and so unspoilt.’

Nigel dragged his eyes reluctantly from Christina, whose long legs were revealed every time her partner spun her round.

‘Is she totally unspoilt, old chap?’ He nudged Stephen, an insidious leer curling the corners of his full mouth. The inference was obvious.

‘That’s none of your business,’ Stephen growled.

‘Okay, Stephen, keep your shirt on.’ He held up his hand. ‘A chap likes to know these things, that’s all.’

Nigel gave Stephen a chummy slap on the back. Jerry Lee Lewis’s thumping piano in ‘Great Balls of Fire’ ended and Christina emerged from the conservatory, which was set up as a disco, to join Stephen and Nigel.

‘Thank goodness the DJ changed the music. That guy was all set to rock and roll me to death.’ She was breathless, a becoming glow suffused her entire face, and most of her hair had tumbled out of the neat chignon she had spent half an hour perfecting. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the two men.

Nigel was clearly captivated.

‘How about catching your breath with me? I can only dance to slow ones.’

Stephen held out his hand, pulling her away from Nigel Sinclair’s lascivious stares.

Christina took it, and they walked back towards the darkened conservatory where several entwined couples smooched to Barry White singing ‘Just the Way You Are’.

‘It’s been a fantastic party. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.’ Her voice bubbled with exuberance.

She could smell his Givenchy aftershave mingled with a lemon, soapy smell when she rested her head on his shoulder.

‘I want to make love to you, Christina,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘Right at this moment?’ she whispered back, and giggled.

‘If it were possible, yes.’ His voice grew lower.

Christina let her hand slide down his back. She moved her body level with his and pulled him gently against her.

‘Stop it, Christina. I won’t be able to walk off the dance-floor if you continue to do that.’

Standing on tiptoe, her eyes open in wide-eyed innocence, she kissed him lightly on the lips.

‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Stephen.’

He pinched her rounded bottom and said, ‘Let’s go home to bed.’

‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all evening.’

It was almost 1.30 a.m. when they said their goodbyes to Nigel and Penny Sinclair and left their beautiful white-stucco terraced house in Pelham Crescent. Christina sat close to Stephen in the back of the chauffeur-driven limousine he had hired for the evening.

‘I can’t start to tell you what a wonderful time I’m having, Stephen.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘Manchester seems a million miles away.’

The car pulled up outside Stephen’s flat in Eldon Road and the driver jumped out and opened both doors.

‘Thanks, Ray. I’ll see you soon,’ Stephen said, and put his arm around Christina to lead her through the wide, dimly lit hall to his ground-floor flat.

He was opening the door when she stepped back. ‘I refuse to enter unless you carry me across the threshold.’

‘Come on, Christina, it’s after two; I’m tired.’

She stood her ground, challenging him.

He grinned. ‘Okay. But be warned, we may not make it.’ He lifted her and staggered. ‘Christ! You’re heavier than you look.’ She kicked her legs up and down. ‘You’re just a weakling,’ she teased, and they half fell into the entrance hall.

Stephen’s legs buckled and he lost his balance as he kicked the door shut behind them.

Christina collapsed onto the Chinese washed rug in peals of laughter, dragging him down on top of her. He brushed a strand of wayward hair from her face and kissed her, gently at first, becoming hard and demanding as she said, ‘Fuck me, Stephen. I want you now.’

He ripped her new dress and she stained his shirt with dark-red lipstick as they tore at each other’s clothes in mutual eagerness to share each other’s bodies.

Afterwards they gathered up their clothes, which were strewn around the wood-panelled hall.

Then, wearing her black lace panties on his head, Stephen chased her into his enormous marble shower, where they soaped each other in fits of giggles.

Later, dressed in one of Stephen’s old shirts, her hair still damp and hanging loosely down her back, Christina joined him in the kitchen to make piles of cheese and tomato toasties which they ate greedily whilst propped up in bed on the soft feather pillows.

‘Look, you’re covered in crumbs.’

He pointed to the front of her shirt and picked at a couple of crumbs, deliberately stroking her breasts at the same time.

Wrapping one leg across his bare stomach, she rested her head on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she murmured, ‘I’ll never forget this weekend as long as I live.’

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

‘I hope there are going to be many more just like this.’

Christina looked up at the departures screen as they walked into Terminal 1 at Heathrow Airport. BA 294 to Manchester was boarding at gate number six.

‘I’d better go.’

She shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of what to say to this man with whom she had been so intimate only a few hours before.

‘You really shouldn’t have paid for a flight. I could have got the train.’ Her voice trailed off as she saw the slightly irritated look cross his face. She rushed on, still feeling awkward. ‘Anyway, what can I say apart from what I’ve been saying all weekend? You must think I sound like a cracked record.’

‘You don’t have to say a thing, Christina. It’s been a pleasure having you with me. Believe me when I say I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a very long time.’ He took her hand. ‘I mean that.’

‘This is the final call for flight BA 294 to Manchester. Any remaining passengers please go immediately to gate six.’

‘I’ll call you later this evening,’ he promised as they walked towards the gate.