Relieved to be out in the fresh air, Amy walked back to the hotel with Ross. Although it was only a short distance, perhaps a mile, she felt tired. Fatigue was flooding into her as her tension released and the wine took effect. “I’m going to crash out as soon as we’re back.”
“Why don’t you go to the hotel spa?” Ross suggested unexpectedly. “Ladies seem to like them.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Ross said magnanimously. “Charge it to your room. I’ll pick up the tab.”
Amy didn’t need telling twice. An aromatherapy massage was just what she needed after the rigours of the day. She was happy and relaxed when she joined Ross for dinner in the hotel restaurant.
“Shall we start with a bottle of white wine?” Ross asked.
She was seeing a different side to him now. The old Ross would have told her what wine they were having, if indeed he’d ordered any.
“I found Marty’s profile on LinkedIn,” Ross said, “complete with photo. I can assure you categorically that he is not the man we saw in that pub. Having established that, I phoned him to say I had a business proposition for him.”
“Do you?” Amy could barely disguise her disbelief.
“Of course not,” Ross said. “He agreed to a meeting, though. We’ll see him tomorrow at ten.”
“We still don’t know much about him,” Amy said, “except that Lizzie said he was hard as nails.” She doubted Marty would be well-disposed towards them.
“Don’t worry,” Ross said. “I’m used to dealing with difficult people. I have to handle Cari every day for starters.”
“She’s your boss, isn’t she; the short woman with bright red hair? I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’ve met Parveen.”
“Parveen is the nursery slopes,” Ross said gloomily. “Cari is a grade A bitch. In medieval times, redheads were burned as witches. I wish we could still do it today.”
“Tactful as usual, Ross,” Amy said, pointing to her own auburn locks.
Ross refused to let her crush his ego. “Can’t you take a joke? Relax, Amy. We’ve just escaped an attempted murder charge and we should celebrate. Forget the white wine. Let’s order champagne.”
He seemed almost charming after that, although the champagne undoubtedly helped. Amy found herself telling Ross her life story.
“I really thought a degree in marketing would be the passport to my dream job,” she said, “but churning out policy literature for Parveen definitely isn’t it.”
“What’s your degree?” Ross asked, topping up her glass.
“A 2:2 in marketing from the University of the West of England,” Amy said.
“There’s your answer,” Ross said. “You need a first for the best jobs, like the actuarial stream at Veritable.”
Amy chose her words carefully. Actuarial work featured at the foot of her wish list, along with sewage disposal and lap dancing. “Yes, Dad said that. In his words, I was lucky to be working at a large company like that with a Desmond. That’s what he calls a 2:2. It’s so unfair, though. Dad doesn’t even have a degree, and nor does Mum. She started one, but gave it up when she got pregnant.”
“That wasn’t your mother we met at Rustica, was it? She didn’t look like you.”
“No, that’s Dad’s mid-life crisis girlfriend.”
“I don’t blame him,” Ross grinned. “From what I saw of her, she’s gorgeous.”
Amy giggled. He’d had his nose down Deirdre’s cleavage. “Behave,” she said. “Dee is Dad’s age. They knew each other at school.”
“They were holding hands like teenagers,” Ross said. “Your father looked like he’d done well for himself, and I don’t mean pulling Dee. That was a Savile Row suit, I’m positive.” He smirked. “I have a few myself. What sort of work does he do?”
Amy rolled her eyes. “It’s really boring.” Almost as tedious as actuarial work, she nearly said. “He’s an IT troubleshooter for a bank. He can find out anything from an IT system. He describes himself as the bank’s equivalent of GCHQ, which makes him sound a thousand times more exciting than he really is.”
“Boring jobs pay the bills,” Ross said.
She felt a pang of pity for him. That statement was tantamount to saying his life was over. He was only thirty or so. “I won’t let myself get trapped,” she said. “As soon as we’re back in London, I’m looking for another job. I’ve had enough of being shouted at by Parveen.”
“I’ll help you,” Ross said, to her astonishment. “I’ll ask my friends if they know of anything.”
“You mean the old boys’ network?”
“If you want to call it that,” Ross said dismissively. “Look, the champagne’s all gone and we haven’t even had our main courses yet. How about another bottle? You only live once.”
The champagne perfectly complemented the lobster which Amy had ordered. She was suddenly ravenous, asking for both cheese and a pudding afterwards.
“I like to see a woman with an appetite,” Ross said approvingly. He reached for her hand across the table, and held it. His touch was firm, his hand pleasantly cool. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “We should be gentle with each other.”
Amy gazed into his eyes. “I hardly know you,” she murmured.
“What is there to say?” Ross asked. “I went to boarding school, Cambridge University and Veritable Insurance. One institution after another. I wasn’t an only child like you, but I might as well have been. I’m much younger than my sisters, and they weren’t home much either. We were all sent away to school.”
“How old were you, Ross?” Amy asked. She blinked away tears of sympathy. She couldn’t avoid a deep sense of compassion for the innocent child Ross must have been, pushed inexorably onto a treadmill when he should have been at home with his family.
“Eight when I first went.” His blue eyes were calm, entirely lacking in self-pity. “One either sinks or swims. You can guess which I chose.”
He was stroking her hand now. “I know you think me cold, Amy. That’s my outer shell, the façade I choose to present to the world. There’s passion within, but I keep it well-buried.” His eyes appealed to her. “I’m saying too much, I think. It must be the champagne talking.”
“No,” Amy said, flattered that he should choose to open his heart to her. “You can say anything you like. I’m your friend, Ross, you know that.” Whatever their differences before, they had worked together as a team today. He’d not only arranged a lawyer to help her, he’d been genuinely shocked to hear about the sham marriage, Jeb and the two sinister strangers. They could trust each other.
Ross lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, as if a moth had swept its wings across her skin. He was interrupted by the arrival of dessert, an indulgent chocolate confection. “Enjoy,” he said.
Once the meal was over, Ross asked if Amy wanted to go to the bar.
“I’ll go to my room,” she said. “It’s been a long day, as you say.”
“I’ll walk you up there.” Ross placed a hand lightly on the small of her back. It was still there as the lift whisked them to their floor, and as she unlocked her door. “May I come in?” he asked.
She turned her face to his. For once, Ross was a picture of humility, his mouth quivering and his blue eyes pleading. During her year in London, she’d longed for a boyfriend, any man at all. Now, a handsome, rich young man was interested in her. True, he hadn’t always behaved well, but today he’d explained why. He’d been attentive and kind. “Yes,” Amy said simply. She should give him a chance.
As soon as they were alone in the room, he enveloped her in his arms and kissed her lips, gently at first and then with increasing passion. His tongue slid inside her mouth, probing the tip of hers. Amy flushed, overwhelmed by desire. Giddy with wine and Ross’ kisses, she began to feel unsteady on her feet. Ross seemed to sense it. He manoeuvred her to the huge, king-size bed.
“Sit down,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She let him guide her, accepting his kisses and the way her clothes seemed simply to slip off as he caressed her. Soon, she was lying naked on the bed and Ross, also naked, was stroking her shoulders, breasts and thighs.
“You’ve got quite a bush,” he murmured, gently parting the lips where her thighs met.
“And is that a problem?” Amy asked dreamily, wondering for a fleeting moment if she really should have saved her lunch money for a wax last week.
“It just stops me doing some of the things I might like,” Ross said, “but I can see from your eyes what you really want, and that’s no problem at all.”
She was admiring his toned, muscled body, and he’d noticed. Tentatively, she touched his groin, seeing he was larger than her other lovers. They’d hardly been a representative sample of the human race, she thought ruefully; she could count them on the fingers of one hand.
“I think I can satisfy you,” Ross grinned. “Wait – are you on the pill, Amy? I thought not. Let me slip on a condom.” He grabbed his trousers and reached into a pocket. Putting on the condom with ease, he was inside her in one deft movement.
Amy’s previous boyfriends had been the same age as her; relatively inexperienced in the bedroom and keen to finish quickly. Ross, nearly a decade older, had a different technique: smooth and lingering. Amy gasped as he tantalised her again and again. After what seemed like hours, she screamed as a wave of pleasure coursed through her.
Ross kissed her mouth tenderly. He rifled his trouser pockets again, this time for his smartphone. “Forty five minutes,” he said, in a self-satisfied tone. “I hoped I could do better for you than that, Amy. Would you let me try again?”
She nodded, lying back as he began to nibble her shoulders and breasts. Heat rose within her. Smiling, Ross donned another condom and concentrated on taking her to the peak of arousal once more.
He was so fit because he worked out every day, she supposed, drifting off to sleep after Ross had left.
Amy slept soundly, only waking when Ross phoned her at eight. “Want to join me for breakfast?” he asked. “I’ve been to the gym already.”
Amy’s heart was light and she hummed a tune as she showered. She’d misjudged Ross before, seeing only his spiky exterior rather than the warm heart within. It was incredible that her father’s assumptions about them as a couple had become reality. Even in her wildest daydreams, she would never have considered it.
Although she raced through her make-up routine and dressed quickly, Ross had already eaten by the time she arrived at the restaurant.
“I ordered coffee for you,” he said, folding his copy of the Financial Times.
“Thanks. This beats toast at Steelhouse Lane any day.” Amy determined to make the most of the sumptuous hotel breakfast, choosing flaky croissants and strawberry jam. The coffee, dark and delicious, cut through the sweet jam and swept away any lurking remnants of sleepiness.
“So,” Ross said, “we’ll see Marty Bridges today.”
Amy was relieved. It was vital to her to find Kat, both to resolve the police investigation into her sham marriage and to help her flatmate escape the men who threatened her. She’d hoped Ross would still give his support. “I’m so glad you want to track her down, even now,” she said.
Ross stared at her. “Why wouldn’t I? I want to take Kat to Thailand, after all.”
Amy gawped back. “What about last night?”
“What about it?” His eyes were glacial. “We’re not in a relationship, Amy. You said you were my friend, and that’s all we are: friends with benefits.”