Sara Foster - Come Back to Me

Finally, they were left alone.

Alex moved over to Amy’s face. The image he had of her sleeping just that morning overlaid the bruised, beaten face before him now. He went to stroke her hand, then remembered he couldn’t even touch her. The dam inside him crumbled and he finally broke down.

Mark waited at the bottom of the steps of one of Surrey’s grandest stately homes, fiddling with the hem of his dinner jacket.

He had been looking forward to the Christmas ball all week. It was hosted sequentially by a number of top London law firms that fell just outside the Silver Circle, inviting barristers, solicitors and their aides to put aside their quarrelling for one evening in the spirit of Christmas festivity. It was a night of good-hearted camaraderie, but with an underbelly of point scoring that saw everyone on their guard. The occasion had also become a mock awards ceremony to publicly congratulate and commiserate with the year’s successes and failures of those gathered. Mark, as a rising star, had thus far only been mentioned favourably on the two previous occasions he’d attended, while this was Chloe’s maiden voyage into the jurisprudent atmosphere, so neither of them felt the same level of trepidation with which others from their office approached the event.

‘Looking for me?’

Chloe was suddenly right in front of him. No wonder he had missed her, he thought, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. She had metamorphosised from besuited trainee lawyer to sexy and sophisticated debutante. Gleaming black satin hugged her body, accentuating her curves, the split skirt revealed flashes of tanned calves, and strappy black sandals sparkled as she moved.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Chloe, you look superb.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied, beaming.

Mark held his arm out and she slipped her hand through it. Then they turned and made their way up towards the light and noise.

The dinner, awards and speechmaking were uneventful, though by the time they had finished, Mark’s head was humming from the champagne he’d slugged back with each toast. As the tables broke up to become informal groups of animated conversation, a swing band struck up and people began to dance. Mark followed Chloe over to the bar, and with freshly topped-up glasses they stood in front of a red and gold strewn Christmas tree, the tip of which stroked the high-vaulted ceiling, and watched the festivities around them.

There was a lot Mark wanted to say to Chloe as he watched her sip her drink and gaze about her. Yet he couldn’t find the words to begin, nor could he work out the phrasing in his head.

As they stood there in silence he saw his father approaching, with another man in tow.

‘Mark! Chloe!’ said his father in his usual booming voice. ‘This is Risto Kiesi, he’s taking over from Pamela in family law when she goes on maternity leave. You’ll be having a lot to do with him, Chloe.’

Mark sized up Risto as the other man proffered his hand. He had a mop of curly brown hair and deep-etched laughter lines. Mark reached out and they shook hands, brisk and businesslike.

Risto then turned and said, ‘Chloe’, and again offered his hand, but as she took it he held on to it as he said, ‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ in a tone that was almost too genuine. Mark studied the grip of Risto’s hand on Chloe’s, until it was broken.

‘Likewise,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m looking forward to working with you.’

Risto smiled. ‘Oh, me too.’

‘Chloe!’ Henry butted in, watching them, the proud benefactor of these exchanges. ‘You look wonderful tonight, my dear.’

‘Thank you,’ Chloe said mildly, then there was a pause. Mark knew Chloe was awed and a little frightened by Henry. He had no doubt that Henry was aware of that too, but his father seemed to bask in the fact like a cat in sunshine, lingering longer than was strictly necessary.

‘Would you like to dance, Chloe?’ Risto interjected easily.

Mark’s heart sank. Chloe looked at the packed dance floor then laughed and said, ‘Yes, okay.’ And Mark could only watch as she followed Risto and they joined the jostling crowd. He caught glimpses of her now and again as Risto moved easily around the dance floor, whirling Chloe with him.

Henry stayed by Mark’s side, but his gaze was in the same direction as his son’s. ‘Those two have taken a shine to one another,’ he said. ‘Risto is a brilliant lawyer, I’ve long admired him. We’ve had to promise we’ll keep him on if Pamela comes back, but I doubt there’ll be a problem, hardly any of them can hack it once they’ve started down the family road. His curriculum vitae shows he’s worked with some impressive names; no doubt he’ll be filling the coffers a bit as well.’

Mark said nothing.

‘Better circulate, then,’ Henry said. ‘Wouldn’t do you any harm either, Mark.’

Mark cast a quick glance towards his father, who was waiting expectantly, portly stomach protruding over a burgundy cummerbund.

‘I’ll just grab another drink,’ Mark said, indicating his glass, which to his surprise he’d emptied in the last five minutes.

Henry nodded and strode away.

Mark took his time at the bar, keeping an eye on the dance floor as he downed two quick whisky chasers, and he had only just returned to his position near the Christmas tree as Chloe walked towards him alone, face flushed, smiling.

Mark held out a glass. ‘I got you another one.’

She took the drink. ‘Thanks, Mark. I’d better be careful, though, I’m feeling all light and floaty already.’ Still, she immediately took a sip.

Mark felt the same way, curiously disconnected from his body. His focus on the glass in his hand wasn’t as clear as it might be, but then again, the lighting had dimmed now, and the softness was relaxing him. He tipped a huge slug of liquid into his mouth, enjoying the flare of it against his throat as he summoned up courage.

‘Chloe, you do look absolutely gorgeous tonight.’

Chloe gave Mark a curious sidelong glance. ‘Well, thanks, Mark.’

‘I just wanted to tell you, you know…’

‘Okay.’ She looked amused now.

‘Look, do you want to dance?’ Mark asked, regretting it as soon as he said it. He wasn’t a dancer, but the music was slow enough that he might get through it by simply swaying, which, now he thought of it, he seemed to be doing already.

He grabbed Chloe’s hand and pushed his way towards the dance floor. It had been packed earlier, as he watched, but now it had thinned out. However, it was too late to back out, and he wrapped his arms around Chloe’s waist and pulled her tightly to him, beginning to move to the music.

He pressed his mouth against her neck, then put his hand up to cup the back of her head as he leant towards her for a passionate liplock. He felt her tense, then relax into it, and he let himself go, covering her mouth with his own, running his hands up and down her satin-clad back, over her bottom, back up to her waist again.

When the song finished, the next one began at a much faster tempo. Mark had a momentary bizarre urge to break into some silly kind of jig, but as Chloe finally pulled back from him he saw the look on her face. She was flushed and smiling, but also seemed a bit embarrassed. Was she laughing at him? Was he a joke to her?

‘Are you laughing at me?’

She shook her head. ‘Mark, you’re drunk. Come on.’ She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him off the dance floor, but Mark wanted to feel her in his arms again. He said, ‘Chloe, come here,’ and pulled her back, harder than he meant to, and her body met his with a hefty bump, sending them both reeling a few steps, with Chloe trying to regain her balance by clutching onto Mark, and Mark staggering with the weight of trying to right both of them. They only stopped when Mark met the ledge of the stage, fell backwards over it, and landed with a great crash against the band’s drum kit, which let out a simultaneous bang and cymbal clap.