Chapter Fourteen

Carrie Edwards was a challenge. That was partly what attracted Tom, because few women resisted him for long, or matched him in sexual appetite. Since reaching maturity (which he reckoned was when he’d walked out of his relationship with Jane and taken charge of his life), Carrie had been the only woman he’d really wanted to spend time with. She was no beauty, not a patch on the kind of arm candy he liked to be seen around town with, but she had spirit and a dry wit, and besides, he liked a challenge.

Hell, though, the woman could be impossible. She’d always been the one in control, turning him down and agreeing to meet him whenever pleased her. He hated that.

He’d miscalculated, too. He hadn’t figured for a minute that she’d refuse to see him again after he married Serena. He could still remember how angry he’d been the day he’d spotted her on the platform at Covent Garden tube station, looking frustrated as a train pulled away. She must just have missed it. He could see her nose wrinkle and made out a crisp ‘Pah’ of annoyance as he approached, unnoticed.

‘Well, look who it is,’ he’d said, sidling up behind her and throwing an arm casually around her shoulders.

‘Hello, Tom.’ She had not been welcoming.

‘You could sound more pleased to see me.’

‘Really? You think?’

‘What’s biting you, Carrie? Late for a meeting?’

‘Yep. And I could do without bumping into the biggest liar in London.’

‘Me?’ His surprise had been genuine. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Come on, Tom.’

‘What? Come on, what?’

‘You told me it was over with Jane.’

‘It was. I just had to find the right moment to get out.’

‘It took a while, didn’t it?’

‘What’s eating you, Carrie? It’s done, isn’t it?’

She stared at him. Another train was approaching, he could feel the blast of compressed air sweeping towards them as it emerged from the tunnel into the station. Carrie stepped forward, poised to board.

‘Is this about Serena? Serena’s just a career move. You know that, Carrie.’ He’d focused all his charm on her as she turned to glare at him again. ‘So when can we meet? Eh, sexy?’

The train had stopped, passengers were disgorging and he’d had to struggle to stay close to her.

‘Bugger that, Tom.’ They were on the train now and her words rang into the carriage. Heads turned.

He’d bent towards her and said in a low voice, ‘I don’t want things to change between us, Carrie.’

Silence. Another withering glance, then, ‘Poor Serena,’ she’d said. Her eyes, normally so bright and amused, had been full of a pity that had incensed him.

‘I’ll treat her right.’

‘What, by sleeping with me?’

‘What’s wrong with that? She’ll never know.’

People were looking away, but he’d sensed them straining to listen. They’d reached Holborn. The doors opened and Carrie jumped out. The last he’d seen of her had been an averted profile and a nose held high.

Fuck her, he’d thought. Then – if only I could.

That thought had stayed with him a long time.

He was in Marta’s spare bedroom when his agent called.

‘Hey, Angela,’ Tom smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

‘It’s fixed. Friday at noon.’

‘Okay.’

‘Is that it? Okay? Aren’t you pleased?’

She sounded whiney, desperate for bloody praise. Tom smothered a sigh and turned on his most appreciative voice. Best keep her sweet, for now at least. ‘Thrilled, darling, absolutely thrilled.’

‘Tom—’ The hesitation was almost palpable.

‘What?’

‘You won’t mess this one up, will you? Get there late, forget your audition piece...’ Her voice tailed away nervously.

‘What do you think I am, Angela? Some kind of amateur?’

‘No, darling, but I was wondering if I should perhaps come up? Be with you?’

Fuck that. Tom had plans for Friday night and Angela Cutler didn’t figure in them.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t need that.’

‘I just thought ... maybe I could ... help relax you?’

Christ. Maybe he should get a male agent, it would be a load less demanding. On the other hand ... Tom thought about the male agents he knew and took barely half a second to decide to stick with Angela. At least he could control her.

‘Not necessary, darling. I promise. I’ll be great.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Sweetheart, listen, if I get this part I’ll be back in London before you can blink. And I’ll give you a night to remember, I promise you.’

‘Really?’

‘Scout’s honour.’ Stupid expression. Tom, never having been a Boy Scout, had no idea what it meant, but Angela seemed to appreciate it.

‘I’ll hold you to that. Come to think of it, I’d hold you to anything.’

He laughed indulgently.

‘Call me after.’

‘I will.’

Call me after. Maybe he would. Call her after a celebratory night with D.A. Delight, the delectable Caroline Edwards. Carrie Delight. He hadn’t contacted her for a week, but now the time was not only right, it was necessary – he needed someone to pay for his room in Glasgow.

Jake had gone to work. Marta was out. Tom walked into Jake’s study, booted up the computer and logged on to the bed-buddies.net site.

<Hello D.A>

He thought she might not reply, or that he might have to wait till she got home from work – Carrie wouldn’t be so stupid as to use her work computer for this site. But the answer popped up right away.

<Fuck off.>

He laughed out loud.

<Plan to. Friday?>

<Said I wouldn’t see you again.>

<Sweet Delight. Glasgow? Then I’m off south.>

<No.>

<Last time ever.>

<Nope.>

<Okay then.>

There was a pause. He had backed off deliberately, to throw her, but it was a calculated risk. After three minutes, Tom stared out of the window and watched a magpie pecking at something on the lawn, its black and white plumage resplendent in the sun. Nothing. Had he miscalculated? Four minutes passed. The magpie had hopped out of sight. One for sorrow. Damn.

Ping. He twisted back to the computer.

<Last time?>

Result!

<Promise.>

<Last time then.>

<Great. You know Glasgow – where? Can you book with your card? Mine’s just gone out of date – new one will be down south.>

<Same old Tom, huh?>

<Where then?>

It had worked. An audition for a television part, a free hotel room for the night and some fantastic sex thrown in. What could be better? Tom smoothed back his hair and winked at himself in the mirror behind Jake’s computer. Star Turn had come up trumps again.

Humming softly, he opened Jake’s desk drawer to find a pen and paper to jot down details of the hotel. He rummaged inside and dislodged a notebook. Beneath it, partially hidden by a pile of bills and bank statements, was a bundle of bank notes.

Handy. Thanks mate, many thanks indeed.

He left half a dozen notes, folded the rest and stuffed them in his pocket. With any luck Jake would forget how much he’d put in the drawer, stupid sod.