“I know you are, Tim, but that doesn’t change things for either of us, does it?”
“Um, no. But it won’t happen again.”
“Tim, there isn’t going to be an ‘again’ for it to happen in.”
“What?” He thought his phone was glitching. She couldn’t have said that.
“Tim, we’re over. That’s it.”
“No! Look, let me come over, we can talk about this. I’m not going to drink again, all right? I fucked up once, I know that. I won’t ever again. I promise, Annabelle, I swear. It’ll be different now. God, I hated myself when I woke up. Please. Let’s just get together. We can sort this out.”
“I don’t want you to come over, Tim. I don’t want to talk. It’s over. We’re over. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.”
“No.” His fist banged down on the table. “It was special, Annabelle, I love you.”
“I don’t love you, Tim.”
“You did, you really did. I know you did.”
“Don’t get sex and love mixed up, Tim; they’re very different.”
“Not with us.”
“Yes, with us. Tim, it was good fun, but that was all. Move on. I have.”
“We can move on together. I promise, Annabelle, it’ll be so good.”
“What? You’re going to tell me we can go to university together? That you’ll give up Oxford and Cambridge and come to some second-rate campus to be with me? Face it, Tim, at best we were only going to have a long summer romance.”
“It can be more,” he pleaded.
“Tim, I want you to end this call.”
“No.”
“Tim, you and I are over. Don’t make me say bad things. Please. Switch the phone off.”
“Come and talk.”
“You are hurting me by leaving the phone on. Do you want to hurt me?”
“No. Annabelle!”
“Then switch the phone off.”
“Please.”
“Off, Tim.”
Her face hadn’t altered, there was no trace of emotion anywhere to be seen. With a last gasp of dismay he pressed the button that ended the call, then collapsed sobbing.
32. SECOND TIME AROUND
WHEN THE BRUSSELS TREASURY began to pour its torrent of taxeuros into subsidizing the European train network, England was lucky that most of its old decommissioned lines could be revived without too much effort. Nearly all the old bridges had been knocked down, development projects had spilled across the abandoned stations and marshaling yards, and trees had grown up to clot the embankments out in the countryside. But the cost of resurrecting the old lines was insignificant in comparison to that of establishing a whole new network. Local trains were able to reestablish their prominence quickly in comparison to other countries.
Annabelle had been about five when they reopened Uppingham’s station, not that she remembered the ceremony. It wasn’t quite in the same place as the old one; the town had grown over the original site, pushing the new platforms out toward Bisbrooke. But the last century’s embankments had been renovated and reinforced, taking the new electric induction rails along the same route. They meandered along the lush newly forested valley between Glaston and Seaton before linking up with the main regional track that led directly into Stamford.
The modern two-carriage train whisked Annabelle from Uppingham to Stamford in just under fifteen minutes. She walked from the busy little Victorian station to the George Hotel, not five hundred meters away. Inside, a couple of Jeff’s Europol protection team were sitting in the wood-paneled lobby. Both of them had been in the BMW after the ball, following her and Jeff back to Uppingham. And now here they were again, watching politely as she went up the stairs. They know exactly what I’m here for, what I’m about to do. Their watching eyes had the odd effect of heightening her expectations.
Jeff had booked himself a suite overlooking the long courtyard at the rear of the hotel. In centuries past it had been an enclosure of stables for the coach horses. Now the remnants of middle England sat under its leafy vines to have their afternoon tea served by waitresses in black uniforms with white aprons.
When the door closed she gave him a huge smile. He’d done it, he’d asked to see her again. She was that desirable.
“You came,” he said, sounding surprised and elated at the same time.
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I didn’t believe you’d ask me.”
He closed the distance with three quick steps, and put his arms around her. “Believe.”
Annabelle rested her head on his shoulder, nesting dreamily in his embrace. She fitted there perfectly. Belonged there. “We were bad, weren’t we?” she said huskily.
“So much. Did you like it?”
She tipped her head back so she could see his face. His lips were raised in a knowing smirk.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” She grinned.
“Yeah.” He slid a hand up to the back of her head, and held her immobile as he kissed her. She clutched at him, returning the kiss with an intensity that easily matched his. When they broke apart he growled: “This is going to be good.”
“It better be.”
“There’s something I want.”
“What?”
“A treat.”
Just for a moment her bravado faltered. “What sort of treat?”
He picked a long rectangular cardboard box off the bed; it was tied with a wide red silk ribbon. Standing behind her he pressed one hand against her stomach as he brought the box around in front of her. His tongue licked at the side of her neck. “Take this into the bathroom, and put it on.”
She tugged at the bow on top of the box.
“No,” he said. “In there.” He indicated the open door to the bathroom.
Annabelle gave a casual shrug, and sauntered into the bathroom. Once she’d closed the door, she scrabbled eagerly at the box. In among the folds of thin tissue paper was a white silk negligée. She picked it up by the gossamer shoulder straps and held it high, a slow smile building on her face. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. And she’d accessed enough exclusive store sites to guess what kind of price range it came from.
When she came back out of the bathroom, wearing the negligée—just—the inner blinds had been closed, leaving the room cloaked in a strong diffuse haze of gold sunlight. Jeff was standing by the big four-poster bed without a stitch of clothing on. She deliberately allowed her gaze to linger, enjoying his physique, the broad shoulders, flat belly, long lines of hard muscle, nice firm bum. His cock was already half erect, and still stiffening, which gave her a tingle of pride. And that was just from looking at her.
But then, as the luxurious silk revealed to him, her own body was equally aroused. The tip of her tongue emerged to moisten her lips.
“I am desperate to see you naked in the light,” Jeff said. He stroked her shoulder, fingers tracing the negligée’s strap down to her breast. “And I will. Eventually.”
ANNABELLE FLOPPED BACK ON THE BED as he finally rolled off. Her arms and legs were flung wide, but she was heedless of how that appeared. It was too much effort to move them right now, and besides, he was the only one looking. She wanted that.
Looking was something that simply didn’t happen with Derek. In his digs she’d taken off her clothes and they’d got on with it. She hadn’t known that it could possibly take so long to be stripped out of a garment so tiny, nor that the experience could be so incredibly sensual for her. Then her body was forced to surrender its secrets for him to exploit. He’d laughed delightedly as she squirmed and squealed in reaction to a dangerously proficient caress. And all the time his praise and admiration for how magnificent she was rang through her brain, clever words that made her so hot.