Almost a Crime by Penny Vincenzi Page B

he can go through with
    it. He says it turns him up.’
    ‘It would me,’ said Octavia, ‘and it would you, surely. I
    hope,’ she added, leaning forward and kissing him.
    ‘Yes, of course it would,’ he said. He sounded irritable.
    She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So what’s it got to do
    with you? Apart from the fact he’s your friend. And your
    client of course.’
    Tom sighed. ‘He wanted to know what I thought about
    it. About the whole thing.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘I said it all came down to how he felt about Maureen.
    Whether he can forgive her yet again.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Well, he says he can, he wants her back, still loves her.
    Poor sod. But on his own terms. And that certainly doesn’t
    include making everything fine and dandy for her lover.’
    ‘He should turn it to his own advantage,’ said Octavia
    briskly.
    Tom stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean he should get something in return if he does
    agree to play ball with them. As well as Maureen, I mean. I
    presume she wants to stay with him.’
    ‘Of course she does. Faced with the prospect of losing
    Bob and the money and that monstrous house and
    everything, she suddenly finds him the only man in the
    world—’
    ‘You don’t like Maureen, do you?’ she said.
    ‘No, I don’t. I can’t bear those money-grubbing, kept
    women.’
    ‘You like Lauren Bartlett though,’ she said suddenly.
    ‘No, I don’t. I can’t stand her, actually.’
    ‘You don’t behave as if you can’t stand her. I seem to
    remember some rather tactile dancing, the other night.’
    ‘Oh, Octavia, don’t start,’ he said wearily.
    ‘I’m not starting anything. Just making an observation—’
    She stopped. This could get nasty. She was horribly,
    painfully jealous, couldn’t bear Tom flirting even, had
    never learned to laugh it off, to accept it didn’t mean
    anything. And he flirted a great deal; it was part of his
    charm, as natural to him as breathing.
    ‘Anyway, that’s the advice I’d give Bob,’ she said quickly
    now, anxious to backtrack. ‘If he really wants Maureen
    back, that is. He doesn’t have to do anything, it seems to
    me. He holds all the cards. He should play a few of them.
    Only don’t ask me which ones and how,’ she added,
    slithering down on the pillows, ‘I’m much too tired to
    think. I just feel dreadfully sorry for poor Bob.’
    Tom sat looking at her very intently for a moment or
    two, then leaned forward and kissed her. ‘You’re a clever
    girl,’ he said, ‘and I love you. Having trouble sleeping?’
    She nodded.
    ‘How would you like me to help you relax? I swear I’ll
    go back to our room later.’ His dark grey eyes were very
    intense, very serious.
    She looked back at him, equally so.
    ‘I think I’d like that a lot,’ she said. Against all logic, all
    common sense, the fact it was late, that she had an early
    meeting, that she would be exhausted, she wanted him.
    Quite badly suddenly; she could feel her body stirring, feel
    it reaching out into desire. She moved lower in the bed,
    held her arms up to him, like a child. His eyes fixed on hers,
    he pulled off his clothes, climbed in beside her, started to
    kiss her. They were both in a hurry, strangely, almost
    guiltily so; she reached to put the light out.
    ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I want to be able to see you.’
    He liked studying her, stroking her, kissing her small
    breasts, her flat stomach, her neat, taut thighs, liked her to
    look at him, to learn about him and what pleased him. She
    had found that difficult at first; it had been part of her
    insecurity, her nervousness. She preferred darkness. He had
    teased her about it, told her she was an anal retentive, that it
    was all part of her father-complex; that had upset her, she had cried, been angry, pulled away from him. It had taken
    her a long time to learn to relax in bed; and she had known
    in her innermost heart that Tom was right, that her father
    did haunt her sexuality, that even as