“Why?
Aren’t you wearing anything?”
“An embarrassed smirk.
Everything shrinks in cold water.
I don’t want you getting the wrong impression of my magnificent manhood.”
He’d also had a sudden irrational fear that photographers with powerful telephoto lenses might be lurking in the dunes, ready to zero in on what was currently his not very impressive cock.
They’d all learned lessons from Jude’s alfresco strip and, to be honest, Charlie didn’t think Jude’s shaft was undersized, but that was the press for you.
Kate found his clothes and walked back into the water with his black silk boxers.
“They’re wet,” he said in disgust.
“It’s raining.”
She waded back through the surf and slumped on the sand.
A few moments later, Charlie dropped at her side.
“God, we nearly drowned,” he said, in a serious voice.
Kate started to laugh.
So did Charlie and found he couldn’t stop.
They lay back, shivering, spattered with sand, lashed by rain and still laughed.
Charlie reached for Kate’s hand.
Her fingers interlaced with his and held on tight and they lay together, cold, wet and alive.
Charlie turned his head toward her and waited for her to turn to him.
When she did, he spoke.
“So.”
“So what?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I was doing out there?”
“None of my business.”
Charlie gave a short laugh.
Everything he did was somebody else’s business.
“You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.
Of course she knew.
Kate’s brow furrowed.
“No, though you look familiar.”
Charlie smiled.
He didn’t believe her.
“Do you live near here?”
“London.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Greenwich.”
“That’s nearer than Islington.
Going to invite me back?”
When she didn’t answer, he continued, “All that swimming has made me hungry.”
“I shouldn’t talk to strangers.
You could be a murderer.”
They laughed again.
Fuck it, I’m still alive. I’m glad.
Charlie sat up with a groan and got to his feet.
He pulled Kate to hers.
They were both shaking, their teeth chattering.
He stared at her.
He guessed she was in her mid-twenties, a few years younger than him anyway.
She was tall and skinny, her dark, red-tinged hair shorter than his.
Her ears stuck out a little and were pointed at the top like a pixie’s.
As she turned her pale face and dark eyes on him, he felt a familiar tug in his groin.
His cock coming back to life.
He dropped his gaze and got stuck on her legs.
They went on forever.
“So you’re not a hippo,” she said.
“What?” Charlie looked back at her face.
“I’ve spent the last couple of hours with your head and shoulders.
I know you have messy dark hair and big, sad eyes, but I wondered what the rest of you was like.
Fat, thin, tail, flippers?”
“I thought you were a sexy mermaid and you thought I was a fat hippo?
I’m offended.”
“Maybe I have a thing for hippos.”
“So, do you see a hippo?” Charlie asked, opening his arms.
Kate looked him over.
“An anorexic hippo.”
He smiled.
“What about a drink, then?” He picked up his wet clothes and boots.
Kate started walking.
“I could do with a lift,” he said, when she didn’t answer.
She sighed.
“Me too, probably.
I left the keys in the car.
Somebody’s bound to have nicked it.”
When they got to the car park, there was only one car.
A red wreck held together by a complex mixture of rust.
Charlie almost hoped someone had nicked Kate’s car but she headed straight for it.
The sun came out and the vehicle looked even worse.
“I’m not surprised it’s still here,” Charlie said.
“If you’re going to be rude about my car, you can forget the lift.”
Kate got in and slammed the door.
Charlie winced, waiting for it to fall off.
He got in the passenger side and dumped his boots and wet clothes at his feet.
“A palace on wheels, to be sure.
It’s a sign.” Charlie used a line from his last film.
“What’s with the strange accent?” Kate asked.
He frowned.
“Hey, I was pretending to be Irish.”
“What for?”
Did she really not know who he was?
“So if you didn’t come by car, how did you get here?” Kate asked.
“Train to St.
Somewhere-or-other, then walked.”
As Kate started the engine, her foot slipped off the accelerator.
The car juddered and stalled.
Charlie braced himself against the dashboard.
“Sorry, combination of frozen toes and no shoes,” Kate said with a smile.
“Just try not to kill us,” he said.
They looked at each other and both sniggered.
In the warmth of the car, Charlie fell asleep.
Kate kept glancing at him.
Now his face was relaxed, he looked familiar, but she didn’t think she knew him.
Was he famous?
Kate tended not to look people in the face, particularly not men.
Better to keep her head down, mind her own business.
Maybe he’d been into Crispies, the café where she worked.
Maybe he knew Richard.
Kate suffered a moment’s cramping panic wondering if he was one of Richard’s friends and then the moment passed.
Pure craziness.
Richard had already shown he didn’t care about her.
Why would he send anyone to follow her?
Charlie’s head rested against the window.
His mouth hung open and Kate could see the tips of his very white teeth.
He was older than her but looked younger now.
Not worried anymore.
A little lost boy.
Except he wasn’t a boy, but a man.
A good-looking man.
Kate knew nothing about him, yet they’d shared a more intense experience than most couples ever did.
They wouldn’t have survived without each other and maybe a touch of luck.
It was a strange sort of bond.
Maybe the sooner they went their separate ways, the better.
By late afternoon, they were snarled up in city traffic.
For the last ten miles, the engine had survived on sniffing the gas tank.
Kate had no money for fuel.
Her purse was back at the apartment.
She’d thought long and hard before she’d purchased the car.
It was an expensive safety net.
When she’d driven away that morning, she’d planned to use her escape pod to crash into a wall.
A non-starter once she realized she might end up injured, maybe paralyzed and others might be hurt.
She needed something certain.
So she’d ignored all walls and carried on driving until she reached the coast.
Only then did she appreciate the particular suitability of the sea.
She could hide forever.
The idea of bumping into another suicidal maniac never entered her head.
The closer she drew to Greenwich, the more anxious Kate became, her mood sinking faster than the Titanic.
Now she’d returned—Lucy, Dan and Rachel would want to talk to her about the wedding that wasn’t.
Maybe she’d go back to the beach tomorrow and try again.
After all, nothing had changed.
Her life was still shit.
If Charlie hadn’t come along, today would have been her last.
Now tomorrow could be.
More clothes would help.
A couple of sweaters to weigh her down.
As if she didn’t feel down enough.
In the mirror, she saw the ghost of a smile flit across her face.
She activated the remote to open the gates, reversed into her parking place at the back of the block and turned off the engine.
Kate glanced up at the windows of her apartment.
She thought she’d taken her last look that morning but she wouldn’t be dying today.
Charlie stirred and groaned.
He opened his eyes and sat up, wincing as he peeled his bare shoulders away from the vinyl.
“Are we back?” he muttered.
“From where?” Kate pushed open the door and stepped from the car.
Her linen shirt had dried to an uncomfortable sandpaper sack, her legs marbled by salt, sand and mud.
Charlie picked up his soggy clothing and joined her on the path.
“We’re going to make a mess,” he said as they walked toward the building.
“We’ve brought half the beach with us.”
On the concrete, next to a small flower bed, a green hosepipe lay coiled like a sleeping snake.
“We could clean ourselves off with the hose.
I’ll let you do me first,” he said.
He put his clothes down by the door and then stood in the middle of the parking area with his arms outstretched, his perfect body as irresistible as a dark god’s.
Kate turned on the tap, picked up the gun and used the initial flurry of warm water on her feet.
The moment the temperature changed, she aimed the jet at the middle of Charlie’s chest and blasted him with cold water.
“Fucking hell,” he yelped.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
He hopped sideways, trying to hold back the torrent with his hands.
Kate directed the jet down his legs and he spun around so he faced away from her.
As he moaned and whined, she realized she was enjoying herself.
“Aren’t you done yet?” he shouted.
“Nearly.”
She pushed him too far.
Kate found the gun wrenched from her hand.
She screamed and ran, but there was no escape.
When she tried to dodge by the side of a larger vehicle, Charlie adjusted the jet to reach further and blasted her over the top of the car.
Kate squealed.
The sea had been warmer.
“You can run, but there’s nowhere to hide,” Charlie drawled in a bad Clint Eastwood impersonation.
She wriggled around the front of one car and tried to duck by the side of another.
“Take your shirt off,” he said.
“There’s some seaweed or something hanging out the back.”
Kate heard the word seaweed and freaked out.
She leaped from her hiding place and whipped the shirt off so quickly, one of the buttons pinged Charlie on the cheek.
His finger released the trigger and the water spluttered to a halt.
“Jesus Christ, Kate.
What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Underwear.”
“It doesn’t look like underwear.”
“Pretend it’s a bikini.”
“That doesn’t help,” he said, a pained expression on his face.
“Get rid of the seaweed and rinse me off before we freeze to death.”
Charlie obliged.
This was like no underwear he’d seen before and he’d seen more than his fair share.
Fire-engine red, frilly, lacy and disturbingly exotic.
The material was dotted with little black flowers and at their heart nestled a tiny red bead.
Except there were no flowers over her nipples.
He could see those just fine—sharp little pencil erasers jutting out in front of her.
The matching strip of material around her hips was a straight band, but at the back, almost nonexistent.
She had the sweetest, most bitable backside Charlie had seen in ages.
Blood surged to his groin as Kate dashed into the lobby.
Good to know the cold water hadn’t had a lasting effect.
He switched off the hose at the tap and then followed her up the stairs, his wet clothes bunched in a ball to hide his erection.
One flick of his fingers and her bra would be off, only he usually knew how a woman would react to that and with Kate he wasn’t sure.
As he moved his gaze up her smooth, tanned back, his eyes lingered on a straight white scar about three inches long, lying below her shoulder blade.
Operation?
Assault?
Inside her apartment, she opened a cupboard, grabbed a couple of towels from a shelf above a boiler and tossed him one.
The other went round her chest.
“Clothes,” she demanded.
Charlie grinned and handed them over.
“Anything in the pockets?” Kate opened another door and pushed everything into a washing machine, along with her shirt.
“No.”
He’d locked his phone, wallet and keys in his apartment.
Bad move.
“Here, you may as well have these, too.”
He reached under the towel, shuffled off his boxers and held them out with a grin.
No reaction.
He frowned as Kate snagged them from his hand, pushed them into the drum and turned on the machine.
Charlie followed her into the main room and recoiled.
“Christ, you’ve been burgled.”
The room was almost bare.
A kitchen occupied a small part of it, but in the other section the only item was a tatty couch, piled with cushions, lying at an angle across the room.
No TV, no music system, no plants, no ornaments, no pictures, no curtains.
“Nope, this is what it’s normally like.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Kate pull down a note she’d taped to a cupboard door.
She screwed it into a ball and kept it in her hand.
He came up behind her.
“I thought you were kidding about the Mars Bars.” He nodded at the wrappers on the counter.
“I only ate nine.
Then I was sick.”
“Why did you eat so many?”
“I didn’t want to waste them.” Kate grinned and he laughed.
“What do you have to drink?” he asked.
“Tea, coffee, hot chocolate.”
“No beer, Jack Daniel’s or similar?”
“No.”
“Then hot chocolate would be great.
Thank you.” He smiled at her, but Charlie could see she’d gone somewhere in her head.
He took the box of drinking chocolate from her fingers and spooned it into two mugs.
“I don’t suppose you have any marshmallows?” he asked.
“No.”
“Whipped cream?”
“No.”
“Twiglets?”
Kate shot him a glance.
“I like Twiglets,” he said.
“Mmm, crunchy sticks coated with Marmite.
My favorite.”
“I like them too, but not in hot chocolate.”
“Try it.
It’s a real treat.”
He watched her mind slide away again and chewed his lip.
“Go and sit down.
I’ll make the drink,” he said.
He poured in the water and whisked with a spoon in each hand.
Kate hadn’t moved, and took the mug he offered.
“Do you want to use the bathroom first?
There’s a bath and a separate shower,” she said in a flat voice.
“After you.” Charlie bit back the automatic “with you”.
Much to his disappointment, Kate took the scrunched up note with her, but while she was occupied elsewhere, he explored.
The first door he opened took him into a room almost as empty as the main one.
Bare boards, no rugs, no curtains.
The single piece of furniture was a trestle table pushed against a wall, a plastic chair tucked underneath.
On top of the table sat an old computer and a sewing machine and, underneath, three cardboard boxes.
He opened the flap of one.
It was full of slinky black material.