Fire Hawk by Geoffrey Archer Page B

hiswaist. She touched her soft, tanned cheek to his, taking care not to press her body against his burns. She smelled of smoke and perfume. To him it was a sexual smell that was uniquely hers.
    â€˜Shall I tell you the truth, lover?’ she whispered by his ear. ‘It’s been hell. Absolute bloody hell. I’ve missed you dreadfully. But—’
    â€˜You took the right decision,’ he interjected. One that had never made sense to him after all her talk of divorcing Martin.
    â€˜Yes,’ she breathed. ‘As I told you, I
need
Martin, Sam. I don’t want to but I do. And he needs me. And I’ve promised to be good. A promise I mean to keep.’
    â€˜Fine.’ Couldn’t be clearer.
    He took her by the shoulders and edged her out of his way. He stared at the closed suitcase on the floor, wondering whether he was capable of bending down to open it without falling over. Chrissie saw his dilemma, crouched and unzipped the lid for him.
    â€˜They’ve folded everything so neatly,’ she murmured. ‘Such thoughtful jailers. D’you have any preference for a shirt?’
    The concept of wearing his own clothes again gave him unexpected pleasure. Chrissie’s fresh-washed smell, however, was a sharp reminder of his own pressing need for a clean-up.
    â€˜I think I’ll take a shower first,’ he told her.
    â€˜You can’t.’ She pointed at his shins. ‘You’ll get those dressings all wet. You could sit on the edge of a bath with your legs outside and do a sponge wash. I’ll help you. D’you know where the bathroom is?’
    â€˜No. And I can manage thanks.’ He didn’t want her fiddling around with him when he was naked.
    He opened the bedroom door. Mowbray’s was a small, modern house with a narrow landing. He moved along it,touching the wall for support until he found the bathroom. Tiled in pink and white it had a small tub and a hand shower. He knew Chrissie was right behind him and he half-closed the door to keep her out. Some odd sense of propriety told him that if they weren’t having sex any more she wasn’t entitled to see his genitals. He slipped the white cotton pants down over the bandages on his shins, then tried to lift one leg while balancing on the other, but the pain became excruciating.
    â€˜Fuck!’ He fell against the wall.
    He heard the door swing open behind him. ‘You halfwit,’ Chrissie clucked. ‘Let me help you.’
    He perched on the edge of the bath as she’d suggested and allowed her to untangle the shorts from his ankles. He saw her shoot a searching glance at the hairy tangle of his groin, as if checking for damage.
    â€˜They didn’t . . .?’
    â€˜No.’
    She remained crouched in front of him, looking up into his eyes.
    â€˜Good,’ she mouthed, grinning in that silly way she’d often grinned when they were about to have sex.
    But they weren’t.
    She stood up again. ‘You’re a lot thinner,’ she told him.
    â€˜It’s the diet I was on. Might write it up as a paperback and make my fortune.’
    His weak joke made her smile. But then, she’d
always
laughed at his jokes, however feeble. ‘You’re looking good,’ he added, even though he seemed to think her stomach wasn’t quite as flat as it used to be. All those dinners out with her husband, no doubt. ‘Nice suit.’
    â€˜It’s Prada,’ she answered, smoothing it down.
    The label meant nothing to him, but he knew it would mean a lot to her. She’d always had expensive tastes in clothes.
    He turned round and ran the bath water until it was warm.
    â€˜I wish you’d let me help,’ she pleaded.
    Twisting to reach the taps had caused a twinge in his kidneys. Every movement he made seemed to hurt.
    â€˜Well, all right.’ Time he stopped being childish. ‘Thanks.’
    She took off her jacket and hung it on the hook on