Maximum Exposure (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Daisy saw Ben’s car outside the cottage when she left to go into Hailesbank. Strange. She walked around it a couple of times, puzzling, then gave up and got into her own car. She’d call him later. It was well after midday already and she’d promised her mother she’d be at the house by twelve thirty for lunch. As usual, she was dreading it. For a start, her mother would try to feed her pudding. It remained to be seen whether she’d be able to resist it, though she’d got a lot better in the willpower stakes recently. She was almost back at the weight she’d been when she’d started seeing Jack all those years ago.

All thoughts of Ben were banished as she turned the ignition and began to reverse into the lane. If she was honest, her reluctance to visit the home of her childhood went much deeper than the bottom of a pudding bowl.

She was still scared of her father. Eric Irvine. Policeman, father, charmer, bully, good man, bad man, golfer, chief. She’d substituted her own words years ago for the traditional ‘Tinker, tailor’ rhyme and chanted them in her head any time she had cherry stones, prune stones, fish bones – or anything you left at the side of your plate. There had to be one or two or three or five, but never four or six or it was a bad omen. ‘Policeman’ was neutral, so were ‘golfer’ and ‘chief’. She had her own definitions for ‘father’ and she didn’t share them with anybody. If you got ‘bully’ or ‘bad man’ it meant you were going to be in trouble.

Down the road Ben Gillies was trudging back to Daisy Irvine’s cottage with a set of jump leads. He didn’t see her at the wheel of her Suzuki, even though she had to slow down at the sharp bend – because as it happened, a lorry coming in the other direction obscured her completely. As he walked the last mile down the road, Ben rehearsed in his mind how he would greet her. Brotherly, he supposed. He’d always been a kind of a brother to her. It had been naïve of him to think she might feel the same way he did, just because he wanted to move on from there. She’d never given him any sign of it. Wishful thinking. Set it aside. Still, that wasn’t going to be easy.

Round the final bend, he stopped. The cottage Daisy shared with Lizzie Little really was charming. A shepherd’s cottage originally, he guessed. Behind the cottage lay fields, all the way to the hills, in front – the way he’d just walked – more countryside. Could he feel happy here? He thought of his cramped flat in London. There was no comparison.

He crossed the grassy patch in front of the cottage and knocked. There was a pause, then he heard a call from inside, ‘Coming.’ Not Daisy’s voice. Lizzie’s.

‘Hi again.’

‘Hi you.’ The door swung open and she smiled at him. She had swept her hair up into some sort of twisted arrangement at the back. It fanned out in loose spikes behind her head. A couple of tendrils had escaped imprisonment and fell softly to the long, graceful arc of her neck. Jesus. He couldn’t be the first man who’d wanted to touch the spot where it nestled against her skin.

‘Daisy’s not here. Sorry. Are you coming in?’

‘Oh. Right.’ He stood on the threshold, hesitating.

‘It’s cold with the door open.’

‘Sorry.’ A few minutes couldn’t hurt. He stepped into the kitchen.

‘What’s that?’ Lizzie indicated his carrier bag.

‘Jump leads. My car wouldn’t start last night. I was hoping I could connect them to Daisy’s car and get some life back into the battery.’

‘She’s taken her car. She’s gone off to her folks’ for lunch. Reluctantly, I have to say.’

Lizzie was looking at him curiously. He became oddly aware of her freshness. She was wearing what seemed to be a man’s shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the collar turned up so that it framed the curve of her neck. A pendant hung down to the valley between her breasts. He followed the shape of it. A small red stone, then a silver hoop. Some small red stones – garnets? – suspended by fragile chains. They dragged on her skin as she moved, then released and swung. It was hypnotic. He felt himself growing warm and drowsy, a slave to the gentle movement of the pendant.

 ‘So you had to walk home last night?’ She laughed, a rich, full, warm sound. ‘Why didn’t you come back in here? I’d have thought you two would be tucked up in bed anyway.’

Ben grunted. ‘Didn’t happen.’

She put her hands on her hips and studied him. ‘None of my business, I know, but you’re so right for Daisy, I was hoping you would get it together.’

‘That makes two of us. But she’s got another man in mind, it seems.’

Lizzie groaned. ‘I know. She’s still harking after Jack Hedderwick.’

‘You don’t think he’s going to go back to her?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Not a hope. If Daisy wasn’t so obsessed she’d know that herself.’

Ben thought,
I’ve been a complete idiot.
For the last few weeks he’d thought of little else but Daisy Irvine. He’d gone to sleep seeing the storm-grey eyes with their flecks of gold, longing to feel the soft warmth of her body cradled next to his. What a bloody fool.

He thumped his fist on the doorpost in a sudden blast of anger. ‘Is there something wrong with me?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I know my hair is verging on red. I know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. But I’m pretty fit, I shower daily, I don’t bite my nails, I’m kind to dogs and old ladies. And I’m not invisible. Am I?’ He turned to her, his voice insistent. ‘Am I? Because just recently, I’ve bloody well
felt
invisible.’

Lizzie laughed and laid a hand on his arm. ‘No Ben,’ she said. ‘I would have to say, you’re very visible to me.’

Her eyes were the colour of sagebrush after rain, her lips looked soft and welcoming. He watched as they parted slightly. There was a glimpse of even, creamy teeth and she had moved so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her breath. She wasn’t Daisy – but Daisy’s indifference had hurt. And here, an inch from his grasp, was the sweetest balm to the sore. So then, somehow, he was kissing her, a gentle, inquiring, tentative kiss that nuzzled her top lip and moved on to the lower before settling somewhere in the middle. And she was in his arms and her hands were on his bum, pulling him close to her with an urgency that he had no will to resist. His hands were all over her, pulling aside the shirt, feeling the softness of the swelling of her breasts. Her back was against the kitchen wall, one leg was curled round his back, her groin was arcing towards his, and his kisses had moved from her mouth down her neck and were reaching greedily for her nipple.

‘Wait! Ben.’

He eased away, his breath coming fast and ragged.

‘We can get more comfortable.’ She smiled at him, pulled her shirt back into place and reached for his hand. ‘Come.’

At the door of her room, he stopped. ‘I don’t know about this.’

She didn’t ask about his doubts. She didn’t need to. Instead, she swung him round to look at her. ‘Daisy is my best friend, Ben. I wouldn’t hurt her. But she doesn’t want you. At least,’ she qualified her statement, ‘not yet. I think she might, given time. She hooked her hands behind his waist and pulled him closer. ‘But she has to make her own mistakes, decide what it is that she wants from life. If it’s you … well, perhaps she’ll realise she’s missing out on something if she sees you with someone else. Who knows? But until she gets herself sorted out, there’s no reason you can’t have a bit of fun, wouldn’t you agree?

‘And …’ she pulled his head down towards hers and cradled his face in her hands, ‘let someone prove to you that you are …’ she kissed him on the mouth, ‘… very …’ kiss, ‘… very …’ kiss, ‘… attractive.’

There didn’t seem a lot to say. Ben lifted one finger and gently pushed aside the shirt. Underneath, she was naked. Abandoning all sense, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her in three easy strides across to the bed.

Afterwards, he propped himself on one elbow and studied her as she lay beside him, naked in the sunshine that streamed in through her window. He trailed his hand along the length of her body, enjoying the curves, loving the way she wriggled and inhaled when his hand touched her most intimate parts.

‘You’re amazing.’

‘So I’m told.’

Her hair had come loose from its anchor at some point in their embracing. It lay round her shoulders, spread out across the pillow like dark straw in autumn.

She said, ‘Ben.’ One word that presaged a statement.

‘Lizzie.’

‘I don’t do relationships. Not just now, at least.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’m not into commitment. I like men. I like men who make love well and know when to be gentle, when to be rough. I like men who kiss nicely and don’t start obsessing about me.’

‘Is there a reason for that?’

Her mouth twitched into a smile. ‘The usual. I was hurt. Jilted, actually. I had even made my wedding dress. Love’s young dream … I cried for a year and told myself all men were bastards and I would never lose control of my feelings in that way again. I would see men, but on my terms. I wanted to be in control.’

‘That’s very sad, Lizzie.’

She shook her head. ‘No. For a long time I was angry. I screwed men like they had to pay for Ritchie’s faults. I like sex. I’ve always liked sex. I just don’t like having to give up my independence to get it.’

‘Surely no decent man would ask you to give up your independence? Even if you were in a relationship.’

‘You’d be astonished. Anyway, I’m not angry any more. And I guess maybe one day I will find a man I’d like to spend a long time with. But not yet.’ She laughed. Again, the rich, full laugh. ‘I just thought I should tell you now. I don’t want a partner. I don’t want a husband. I’m very happy to find a friend I can enjoy great sex with. Until we’re both ready to move on.’ She studied him. ‘Does that bother you?’

Ben rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Will I see you again?’

‘Do you want to?’

‘Does the Pope speak in Latin?’

‘No ties. No promises. No seeing other people while we see each other. And no tears when it’s time to move on.’

‘Suits me.’

And then she was straddling him, her long, thick hair falling round her face. ‘Daisy’s loss, Ben,’ she whispered, ‘is most definitely my gain.’

Chapter Nineteen

‘Hello Daisy. You’re late.’ Her father, opening the front door to her, was characteristically critical.

Daisy took in his humour at a glance. She only needed the smallest signs to know if he was in one of his dark moods – the vein in his neck throbbing, his face a shade redder than usual. Whatever it was, she no longer let it get to her, consciously at least. After all, she had the option of walking out.

The greeting was curt but she spied his golf shoes under the hall stand. There were small blades of fresh grass visible from under the soles. He’d been out this morning, which was a good sign. Golfing usually lightened his mood – unless he’d had a really poor round.

‘Good morning, Dad. Lovely to see you too.’ She pecked him on the cheek cheerfully, determined not to be crushed. ‘How was the golf?’

Eric, turning into the corridor that led along to the living room, grunted. ‘Had a birdie at the third and the seventh, and three pars.’

Daisy knew enough about golf after years of listening to her father to understand that this was good. ‘Great,’ she smiled, ‘Mum in the kitchen?’

There was another grunt. The atmosphere of the house settled round her now, muffling, stifling. Did she come here because of a sense of duty? Or did she still long for love? To please her mother or to try, despite everything, to win her father’s approval for what she had achieved in life? Daisy stood at the threshold of the room, uncertain.

‘Hello, Mum. Can I help?’ Her voice wobbled a fraction.

Her mother wiped her hands on her apron, her face cracking into a smile that put the light back into her eyes. ‘Daisy, love,’ she said.

Daisy need not have worried about being able to refuse pudding. She’d forgotten how her appetite dropped when she crossed the threshold of number five Laurel Lane. She escaped as soon as she could, fighting the feeling of disappointment she always had that things hadn’t gone better with her father, and headed to the office. An hour’s work would get her well ahead for the morning.

Christ. Ben. She’d been going to phone him. Something must have happened to him or why would he have left his car at the cottage? She pulled over and dialled his number. It rang out. She was just about to call off when a voice, light and melodious, said, ‘Hello? Ben’s phone?’

There was laughter, a shriek and a yelp, then Ben said, ‘Hi. Who is this?’

‘Ben? Was that Lizzie?’ Daisy was puzzled.

‘Oh Daisy. Hi. Hi.’ Was he flustered? He sounded odd.

‘Are you OK? Where are you? Are you with Lizzie?’

‘Yeah. I’m at your cottage. I couldn’t get my car started last night, so I came back with some jump leads. Lizzie’s going to give me a hand in a minute. I should’ve called first, sorry, don’t know why I assumed you’d be here.’

There was a whisper, a giggle, then another yelp. ‘What’s going on there?’ Daisy smiled. ‘You sound like you’re having fun.’

‘Fun? Yeah. I suppose. Lizzie’s just horsing around. Listen Dais, were you phoning about something in particular?’

‘What? Oh. No. I just wondered why your car was at the cottage. Now I know.’

‘Fine. So I’ll see you later then.’

‘Tomorrow morning probably, at work.’

‘Yeah. Great.’

‘Right. I’m headed there now, for an hour. Tell Lizzie I’ll be back by five.’

‘Will do. Cheers.’

At the cottage, Lizzie and Ben stared at each other.

‘We’ll have to tell her. If we’re going to carry on seeing each other.’

‘No reason why not. She can hardly object.’

‘No. No reason.’ Ben, high on sex and laughter, didn’t regret making love to Lizzie. Christ, she was one sexy lay. He pulled her close to him, closed his eyes, and showered her face with tiny kisses. But it was Daisy’s eyes he was still seeing in his head. He hoped he hadn’t closed that door for ever.

Daisy pulled up outside the offices of the
Herald
and turned off the engine. She felt oddly troubled. There was no reason Ben and Lizzie shouldn’t be enjoying time together. After all, soon she would have Jack back. The more she saw of him at the gym, the more sure she was of that. She felt so comfortable with him again. It was just like they’d been in those first few years, before somehow – how? – their relationship had changed and begun to drift.

Even so…

‘Right,’ said Jay. ‘What have we got for the front page this week?’

‘Flooding in Yetholm,’ said Murdoch. ‘It’s quite bad down there. There’s a chance the old bridge might go.’

‘Possible. Especially if it does go and we can’t get Daisy down there in time.’

‘There’s the bullied soldier story,’ ventured Dave.

‘That’s more tricky. No one’s been able to produce any evidence yet.’

‘I’ve got a story,’ said Sharon.

‘You’ve found Provost Porter with his hand in the till?’

‘No, but he’s having an affair.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘No way!’

‘Who with, for heaven’s sake?’

They all leaned forward, eager to hear the gossip.

‘How do you know?’

The attention she was getting perked Sharon up. ‘I’ve got a friend who works in The Black Horse down at Mains village. Couple of times a week there’s a woman books in, name of Joyce Carlton. Comes around three o’clock, likes to work in her room, has dinner sent up. Quite often it’s dinner for two.’

‘Carlton?’ Murdoch was pensive. ‘Why do I know that name?’

‘She runs a small company called Carlton Catering.’ Sharon was well in her stride. She’d been doing her homework and had everyone’s attention. The drawn look she’d had for the past couple of weeks had gone and the old animated Sharon was back. ‘They have a unit down on the industrial estate?’

‘Got it now.’ Murdoch’s bald head gleamed in the harsh light of the fluorescent tubes from above. ‘Small place between the joinery works and the electrical supply shop.’

‘Could be getting a lot bigger if Joyce Carlton’s plan works,’ said Sharon, the smugness back in her voice. ‘There’s a big catering contract up for grabs with the Council. Includes the local schools and all the Council properties.’

‘Phew,’ Murdoch whistled. ‘And you reckon she’s trying to influence the Provost?’

‘She
is
influencing the Provost. Carlton Catering is on the short list for the final decision, which will be made later this week. And that’s odd because you’d think they’d be too small to be in the running.’

‘But surely that will go through procurement?’

Sharon nodded. ‘Yes. But don’t forget, the Provost’s nephew is Head of Procurement.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Murdoch sat back, ‘I had forgotten that. That’s always been a tricky one, in my book. But Provost Porter has always insisted he’s very hands-off.’

Sharon grinned broadly. ‘Well he’s having some very hands-on sessions with our Joyce. There’s a back door into The Black Horse from the car park. The Provost’s private car has been seen regularly in the car park, but no one’s ever seen him in the hotel. He must sneak in and go straight up to her room.’

‘Jeez.’

‘That’s a serious allegation to make, Sharon.’ Jay was concentrating hard. Ever since he’d apologised to the team and pulled everyone together to try to improve sales and circulation, he’d been working overtime to try to turn things round. ‘You’d have to have some hard evidence –’ Dave sniggered in the background and Jay glared at him, ‘– some hard evidence of what you are alleging before we could publish anything. We can’t land ourselves with a law suit.’

Sharon frowned. ‘Yeah. I know. I’d like to get Daisy down there with me tomorrow. It’s one of the days they often meet. For starters, we could get pictures of the cars, but you never know, we might get lucky and get something else.’

Daisy was dubious. ‘I’ve never been one to stake people out, Sharon. Lurking behind bushes for the sleazy snap, that kind of thing.’

‘Well maybe just this once that’s what we’ll have to do.’ Sharon was short. She clearly felt she was onto a good story and wasn’t about to let it go.

‘A good scandal would send sales rocketing,’ said Murdoch.

‘Scandal certainly sells,’ Jay said ruefully.

‘The affair would be a good enough story on its own,’ said Sharon determinedly. ‘We could get the furious wronged wife angle too. But if we’re careful, we can expose the affair and just mention that Carlton Catering is shortlisted for a contract without actually making any kind of allegation that there is a link.’

‘Daisy?’ Jay turned to her.

She sighed. ‘OK. I’ll give it a go.’ It was a long way from an art-photograph exhibition, but it paid the bills.

‘We need to try to get this story nailed this week if we can, before the contract decision is made. We could still expose it later, but there would be more impact right now.’

‘Right. Thanks team.’ Jay stood, signalling the end of the meeting. ‘We’ll get the flooding story in the bag for sure and use it on the front if this one’s not a goer. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Am I interrupting?’ came a diffident voice as Sir Cosmo Fleming poked his head round the door. ‘Ruby said to go on in.’

‘Not at all. You could be witnessing a great turning point. What do the stars say for us this week?’

 Jay stood up and went over to shake his hand. He’d decided not only that they should retain the horoscopes, but also that Sir Cosmo was an influential local contact. And charm was something Jay Bond did very well when he chose to. Daisy smiled inwardly. Cosmo was such a sweetie, she’d have hated to see him given the chop.

Cosmo, who had been stealing covert glances in Sharon’s direction, focused on Jay.

‘You’re Aquarius, aren’t you? For you, the aspects are exceptionally good. You like to solve problems, rise to a challenge, bring fresh approaches but always have to seek balance.’

‘Hey Cosmo, tell me mine.’ Sharon, who was attending a business lunch later in the morning, was dressed to kill in a smart suit and high heels. Cosmo looked at her with such longing that Daisy almost laughed, but Sharon seemed blissfully unaware of his feelings.

‘With Mars high in the sky, you are in fighting mood,’ said Cosmo gravely, ‘but Venus is rising. You only have to look in the right place and you will find the love you seek.’

‘Oo-er,’ Dave whistled. ‘Hey Shar, go on, look at me!’

‘Piss off,’ said Sharon.