CHAPTER SEVEN
SOMETHING hard and sharp was digging into Belle’s cheek. She turned her head, reaching up to grab the pillow, turn it to the cool side.
Her hand encountered something-warm, firm. Not smooth cotton, but soft to the touch. Cashmere…
She’d fallen asleep on the sofa?
There was a blank moment as she groped for memory, then, as she shifted to a more comfortable position and a dozen niggles from back, arm, neck brought the hideous events of the night back to her in a rush, she opened her eyes, only to be distracted by the thought that the pashmina she’d draped over her sofa to disguise its age was not grey.
But then, as the fog of sleep cleared, it became obvious that she was not alone on the sofa.
She raised her head. Ivo, unusually rumpled, with a shadow several hours past five o’clock darkening his chin, was regarding her with sleepy eyes and she felt herself blush.
She’d slept all night on the sofa with Ivo, her head on his chest, her arm around his waist, their limbs tangled together and somehow the fact that they were both covered from neck to ankle in several layers didn’t make it any less intimate.
Any less awkward.
She’d left him. She’d cut him out of this part of her life, had told him, more than once, that she didn’t need him. But last night, despite the cruel way she’d rejected his offer of friendship, had walked away from him, he hadn’t left her stranded without money or keys-which plainly she’d deserved-but had come to find her. Even when she’d turned on him, had blamed him when Daisy had run off, he’d spent hours patiently searching with her.
And when, finally, she’d told him the truth about her life, he’d stayed.
All night.
Of course the fact that she was lying on top of him, that he couldn’t escape without waking her, might account for that. But he hadn’t had to lie there and hold her as she’d finally succumbed to sleep. Hold her, whisper comfort in her ear. Call her ‘my love’…
No. She’d imagined that. He didn’t do those words. He was a minimalist husband. Beautiful to look at. Perfect in every detail. But cold…
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘What for?’
‘Everything.’
For the fact that she didn’t want to move, ever, but to stay pressed up against his warm body.
That she’d lied to him.
‘For falling asleep on you,’ she said, picking on the smallest reason. The one that wouldn’t embarrass either of them.
‘You’d have been more comfortable in bed, but I didn’t want to disturb you,’ he said, stroking a thumb beneath one of her eyes. Last night there had been dark smudges that it had taken some very expensive concealer to disguise. ‘How long is it since you really slept?’
‘I looked that bad?’
The phone rescued him-rescued both of them-jolting her out of a desperate longing to just stay where she was, in Ivo’s arms, to forget everything else.
‘What’s the time?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes.’
No…
She lifted Ivo’s fingers from her face and for a moment just held them. How easy it would be to turn his hand, trail her lips along his fingers, enticing a response, a touch, a kiss, the slow peeling back of her robe, Ivo’s mouth on her neck, his fingers trailing over her skin in a slow prelude to the closeness, the precious intimacy her body craved.
She’d missed him so much…
Realising that she was still holding his fingers, she twisted her head to look at his wristwatch. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That can’t be right. My alarm…’
‘You might have forgotten to set it.’
‘The studio! I should have been there hours ago. Why didn’t someone call? Where’s my BlackBerry?’ she wailed, attempting to disentangle arms, legs.
‘Still in your bag, switched off, I imagine.’ She stared at him blankly. ‘The award ceremony?’ he prompted.
She groaned and, finally free, she jerked away from him, only to find herself hurtling back into Ivo’s arms.
‘Let me go!’ she demanded.
He held up his hands. ‘I didn’t do a thing.’
‘What?’ She eased up, discovered it was her dressing gown trapped between Ivo and the sofa. ‘Well, move!’
‘My leg’s gone to sleep.’ He caught her arms, holding her. ‘Calm down; whoever it is will leave a message.’
‘No…’ Didn’t he see? Didn’t he understand? ‘It’s Daisy! It’s got to be Daisy-’
The machine picked up, her brief message played. The caller hung up.
‘She was always going to hang up,’ Ivo said as, not looking at him, she carefully extracted herself from the sofa.
She knew it, but it didn’t help.
‘It’s a game, Belle.’
‘No…’
A long, insistent peal on the front door-bell cut her off and, heedless of Ivo’s warning, ‘No!’, she didn’t stop to use the entry phone, but raced down the stairs in her bare feet, wrenching open the front door.
‘Good grief, Belle, you look as if you’ve had a rough night,’ Manda said, immaculate from the top of her sleek dark hair to the toes of the Manolos she was wearing on her narrow feet. ‘It’s just as well Ivo asked me to call the studio and warn them not to expect you this morning.’
He had?
‘He did?’
When?
‘Didn’t he tell you?’ Manda shrugged. ‘He is here? I’ve brought him a change of clothes,’ she said, lifting one hand, in which she was carrying a suit carrier and a document case. ‘I’m sure your problems are much more pressing, but I’ve been apologising for cancelled engagements ever since you arrived home and since this one is with the PM-’
‘I didn’t ask him to stay,’ Belle snapped, disappointment sharpening her tongue. Then, ‘What are you talking about? What cancelled engagements?’
‘Nothing important,’ Ivo said, placing his hand on her shoulder, ‘but you’re right, Manda, I can’t expect the PM to reschedule.’ Then, regarding the paper carrier she was holding in the other hand, ‘Please tell me that’s coffee you’ve got in that bag.’
‘Coffee and a muffin,’ she said. ‘Less messy than a croissant. You can eat while I’m briefing you on the way to Downing Street. I’ll wait in the car.’
‘There’s no need,’ he said, relieving her of the bag and the suit carrier. ‘Save time and tell the PM yourself.’
‘Ivo…’ Miranda was, for once, the one left doing an impression of a goldfish.
‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘You want me to go to Downing Street in your place?’
‘He wants my help with some overseas aid project. If it goes ahead you’ll be doing all the work. I’m just cutting out the middle man.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘I need you to do this for me, Manda.’
Belle sensed that this was important. That this kind of trust was something major. Something new.
