Quentin

She was trying very hard to get a good blubbering going, but managed only to squeeze a few pitifully unconvincing drops from her eyes. ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ she said, her voice hitching dramatically. ‘Can’t believe you just left me, without so much as a… a… And then pulling that stunt with that girl in the bar…’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Quentin muttered under his breath. They had finally met up at a mutual acquaintance’s house, an acquaintance who with amazing sense of delicacy had left them alone to sort out their differences. It had taken Quent three phone calls and almost all of his patience to get this far, but it looked like Muriel was finally calming down and they might have a sensible conversation. She really enjoyed a good tantrum, he had to admit; she went for the jugular every time. Oddly enough, he remained relatively unaffected now that they were face to face: he didn’t even remotely feel like having a blue with her, although she’d given him more than enough opportunity. Really, all he cared about, with an almost professional detachment, was getting this problem between the both of them sorted and their relationship back on track - get this show back on the road - before he was heading out.

He had, with a lot of wrangling and adding considerably to his reputation of being impossible to work with, secured a window of thirty-six hours. In that time, he had to get to New York, pick up Taz, accompany her to the APA, and get his arse back to LA again. Oh yeah, and convince her somehow to choose him for her date. He was really worried she had already decided to go with someone else, the ex-boyfriend, or someone else from the publishing scene – the ex was her UK editor, wasn’t he? - or…

He forcefully pulled his focus back to the here and now. ‘Listen, Muriel, I’m really sorry I left without letting you know where I was going, it was just a spur of the moment thing, but I understand that it wasn’t fun for you… I didn’t – did not – intend to upset you, yeah? And as for that girl, I was drunk, and tired, and I didn’t think – Christ, I know it was stupid, and I feel really bad about it… Look, just… put it down to… stress or something, or me bein’ a thick bastard, I dunno, but it really didn’t mean anything, M, you know that? I told you I was committed to us, didn’t I?’ He sighed remorsefully and looked at her with his best puppy dog eyes, thinking: if she is gonna try her bloody tricks on me, I’ll show her a thing or two, and he pitched his voice just so. Low, and full of promise. ‘I’m sorry, all right? I’m really sorry, Muriel.’ As he stepped towards her, and saw her resolve wavering, he couldn’t help thinking I’m beginnin’ to sound like a fuckin’ broken record with all this bloody apologizing, Jesus Christ, and he couldn’t help realizing that, with Tazzie, he’d never ever have tried to win an argument this way. And even if he’d be stupid enough to try to play her, he just knew she’d see right through him. Fuck, she’d feel right through him.

Shaking his head, trying to stay in the moment, he took another step towards Muriel. ‘Listen, M, baby,’ He never called her that, fuck, he never used any of those endearments when he was around her… Strange, really, come to think of it. But anyhow, he saw how that little word bore fruit as her eyes lit up and she stepped nearer. ‘Baby…’ he said it again and pulled her close, feeling like an enormous fraud deep within, but ignoring that feeling with a passion. ‘I need to go to New York tomorrow, for about a day and a half… When I was in London, I happened to run into… um, a mate of my Mum’s, she’s a writer, and she’s got this literary thing, this award… It’s a bit like a book Oscar… she’s got no one to go with, so I promised I’d be her date.’

Technically, he wasn’t lying. Tazzie was a mate of his Mum’s, and he’d promised himself he’d accompany her to the Aere Perennius Awards. But if his nose would grow for half-lies, he’d be sprouting a fine eucalyptus tree on his fuckin’ mug right now. He could just see the koala sitting in it, chomping away on the leaves. He hugged Muriel a little closer and lowered his head to kiss her. She responded with a perfect lusty little moan and rubbed herself against him sensually.

‘You wanna do it, Finch?’ she whispered hotly when he released her mouth. ‘Right here, right now?’

No, he didn’t, if he was completely honest with himself. He considered going through with it nonetheless, just to seal the deal, but then something snapped inside him, and he just had enough for now. He let her slip from his arms, putting on his most regretful face. ‘Baby, I’ve got some things I need to take care of, and I’ve got to go to work this afternoon, but tonight… Come to my place, you know where I’m stayin’…’

She gave him a dazzling smile, full of promise, and apparently that was that, he mused as they both walked back to their respective cars. He had, by now, his old suite back, and all his stuff which the hotel had discreetly stored for him; he had his girlfriend back where he wanted her, and so everything was back to how it was supposed to be.

Well…

That wasn’t true, actually. But so long as no one scratched the surface, he expected to be able to go forward as planned.

He drove off, outwardly smiling, at which point his mobile rang. A quick glance, and… fuck. It wasn’t Tazzie. A quiet, cold, very secret disappointment touched his heart every time it rang and it wasn’t her. However, it was someone almost as good: Adrian.

‘Ade,’ Quent said to his phone in the car kit, and he suppressed a particular kind of shiver. Ever since he’d come back from London, he’d been fighting a terrible longing to start smoking again. He’d told himself he couldn’t, not while this wireworks project was running: he needed his strength and it had been hard enough to give up the fags after he’d come back into the States. But thinking of Tazzie, worrying about her, wanting her - fuck, wanting her back - he really could do with a smoke. He breathed in hard, slowly breathed out through his nose, and was on top again.

‘Hello, my dear boy,’ came the polished voice of his transatlantic friend.

‘How are you goin’, mate?’ Quent smiled.

‘Fine, just fine. I’m having a marvellous time with young Taryn, helping her prepare for her awards do. You know she invited me along as her chaperone, since she didn’t really have a date…’ Adrian left it hanging in the air.

‘Oh… Did she? Um…’ said Quentin, his smile vanishing. In his mind, he was already cancelling his flight. His heart sank in his boots.

‘Yes, and of course I have accepted,’ Adrian sounded quite serious, ‘since she told me that you were very, very clear to her that you wouldn’t have the time to see her when she’d be in the US.’

‘Yeah but Ade, I’ve got…’ Quent started, then he looked over his shoulder, indicated and changed lanes, not knowing how to continue.

‘Yes?’ the disembodied voice of Adrian floated through the car.

Quentin sighed deeply. ‘Bloody hell, Ade, I made a fuck-load of trouble and eventually I got thirty-six hours off, just so that I could take her. Taz. To the awards.’

‘Oh. You did? Splendid, splendid. I had absolutely no idea. Nor does Taryn, does she?’ Adrian chuckled. ‘Or she’d never have asked me, I’m sure.’

Another sigh. ‘I dunno, Ade. I’m really not sure she’d actually go with me… I just felt like such a bloody drongo for saying that to her, that I didn’t have any time… reckon I just want to show her that I do, I can get some time off, I mean, it’s not much, but… You know? I just don’t think she’ll… I mean she never rang me since I phoned her, and I never rang her a second time because I just didn’t really know what to say… Christ, fuck, Ade, I feel like a fuckin’ fifteen year old kid straight from the outback! I don’t know what to do!’

Again a deeply amused chuckle filled Quentin’s car. Quent thumped the wheel. ‘Oi! Don’t you fuckin’ laugh at me!’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry… You just remind me of myself, when I fell in love with Oriana…’ Adrian’s last marriage, to a very beautiful actress, had been much publicized. The marriage hadn’t lasted, but Ade had always claimed she had been his one great love.

‘Yeah, and look where it got you. Fuck me dead,’ Quentin growled.

‘Oh, don’t despair, dear boy, your situation looks much more promising than mine ever did. I have complete trust in the positive outcome. Taryn loves you very much, she just doesn’t allow herself to feel it because she’s been hurt, and so she’s grown a little timid… but not for want of feelings for you, believe me.’

‘Wish I could,’ Quent muttered wistfully. In his mind, he marvelled at the fact that less than half an hour ago, he’d been kissing Muriel, feeling satisfied that things seemed to be going forward again… It was like he existed on two bloody levels. One was… out front, where everyone could see him and the other… out back, the outback, the heartland, where his heart resided…

‘…have an idea. How about we…’ the voice of Adrian drifted back into his conscious mind.

‘Eh? What, Ade? Fuck, sorry, I wasn’t... I got distracted… I’m driving,’ he added that last bit as an excuse, and a pretty lame one at that. Not that it wasn’t true, but normally he was very well capable of barrelling down the road and conducting a conversation at the same time.

‘Keep your wits about you, Quentin! Don’t run off the road, I’ve got a young lady here who’d be very distracted if you did, although she wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Now listen. How about I give you all the details, where we’ll be staying, what time we’re supposed to leave, and you…’

Quentin grinned as Adrian unfolded his plan. It was perfect. No way would Tazzie say no to that - to him. And he’d have a good chance to show her… show her… What exactly was he after, showing her? That he had made time for her, that he could be relied upon, that he cared… that ultimately, she was his sweetheart…? Yeah, that. All that. And then some.

He ended his conversation with Adrian in a much better frame of mind than he started it, parked his car outside the studio and went to work.

Later, in the evening, he received Muriel in his restored suite, he himself restored as well after a trying afternoon in the studio, by a slow hot shower and a quick hot wank. A wank that had been brought on by thinking of Tazzie again. Every time he showered, more images of him and Tazzie at Nana, having the most glorious sex of his life, invaded his mind. Christ, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. She was like a magnet: beautiful, sweet, loving, generous… Nothing artful or deceitful about her, no hidden agendas… Just her luminous eyes, her soft skin, her quick wit and her ready smile… He even found her insecurity charming. She always thought she wasn’t pretty enough for him. Well, looking at the gorgeous specimen of womanhood that had just entered his suite, he would say that no one was pretty enough to top that, yet he never ever thought of Taz in even the same league. She was so much more… real. He could live in the muck with Taz, he could swag it with Taz, and she would still be as beautiful and as irresistible to him. He grinned, trying to imagine Muriel waking up in a sleeping bag out in the outback. Not a pretty sight, he reckoned.

‘You look happy!’ Muriel gave him a sparkling smile in response to his grin. She glided over and kissed him very sensually, her well-maintained, fatless body supple under his hands in its sliver of a dress.

Quent kissed her back then grabbed her hand and guided her to a small glass table with a burning candle, a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses on it. ‘Here you go, baby, let’s pop this feller here, hey?’ he said cheerily.

‘Ohhh, you’re a romantic after all,’ Muriel sighed, and grabbed a glass, while Quent expertly opened the bottle. The champagne sparkled in the candlelight.

‘To us,’ Quent winked, and sipped. He didn’t like champagne very much; he’d have a beer or a whiskey if it was his call, but he knew Muriel felt like Marilyn Monroe drinking bubbly, so he’d gotten a bottle. Was the least thing he could do, he reckoned.

‘Us…’ Muriel responded, and stared into his eyes with smouldering enthusiasm. ‘So, we’ve got tonight, and tomorrow morning you’re flying to New York?’ She took a rather inelegant swig and suppressed a little burp behind her hand. ‘Oh, this is good stuff,’ she praised the booze.

‘Should be, cost a few quid,’ Quent remarked, one eyebrow raised. ‘But yeah, I’m off tomorrow early, and back the day after, in the evo.’

‘Hard to believe they gave you the time off at this stage of the production…’

‘Well I had to kick up a stink to get it done. I’m not Mr. Popular at the mo, but I’ll make it up to them later, you’ll see. I’ll behave so well, they’ll finish this thing early.’

Muriel frowned. ‘This friend of your Mom’s… she must be really important for you to go so far out of your way – it’s not like you, Finch. Nothing comes between you and work. I know I never did, anyway. Do I know her, this author? Or, wait a minute,’ she laughed teasingly, ‘you’re under your Mom’s thumb! Aren’t you? Aren’t you?! Yeah, that’s it! You’re a Mommy’s boy!’ she laughed harder, and it wasn’t all innocent mirth. Something in there was sharp, and way beyond just teasing.

Quentin frowned in return, but kept silent. Sipped his champagne and refrained from pulling a face when the tartness, enhanced by the bubbles, hit his palate.

‘So who is she,’ Muriel continued, still in this slightly whiny, nagging tone, ‘who is this all-important writer? Bet she’s a boring old woman who writes stupid family sagas, if she’s a friend of your Mom’s. I’ll probably not even know her name. I can’t believe you’re going through so much trouble for this, when you and me could have spent all that precious time in bed…’ She shimmied sensually and looked at him from underneath her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

‘Yeah, well…’ said Quent, putting down his glass and quietly longing for a smoke, ‘reckon we’ll have more nights ahead of us, hey?’

‘…so who is she? Come on, who is she? Who’s the woman to lure you away from your wo-o-o-rk…’ She drew it out and bent forward giggling, taking the piss, the champagne glass still in her hand.

Quentin was getting bored and, in all honesty, annoyed. He’d hoped for a peaceful, romantic, quiet get-together, he’d hoped for some sort of feeling of loving between the two of them. Not this sharp-edged niggling… He turned and opened the door to his private terrace, feeling the need to create some space between them. ‘Taryn Archer,’ he said over his shoulder, feeling it roll off his tongue and reverberate in his heart. ‘The author’s Taryn Archer.’

Taryn

Adrian was snoring in the chair beside her, but she was too excited to sleep. She’d listened to music on her iPod, she’d tried to read, she’d tried to get some ideas going for her writing, but nothing could distract her mind from the fact that she was flying towards one of the most important literary awards in the world, and she was going to win it.

On top of that, she was physically, topographically, getting closer to Quentin, which was something she couldn’t seem to ignore, however much she wanted to. She was still upset with meeting him so suddenly and very disappointed by their all too short phone call, and she was completely convinced that his feelings for her, insofar as they even existed, did in no way match hers. He did not care for her at all; he’d made that eminently clear. His filming was more important. And really, she had always expected this, she told herself: when he was in the US last year to try to get his work permit back, she’d just known that he’d never have returned to Nana, to her, if he would have gotten it back there and then. He hadn’t gotten it back though, and so he returned, and so their love affair blossomed. For however short it lasted. But she knew; she just knew that there would always be something new on the horizon, something to capture his complete attention and lure him away. And still, it was an almost tangible sensation, getting closer and closer to him as the airplane flew on, and on…

She’d fallen asleep after all, because she woke up as the descent into New York started and the hum of the engines changed tone. Adrian had woken up as well, and he squeezed her hand and smiled at her. He was so full of, of… glee, that was the only word that fit properly, that she could not help but smile back at him. She was really glad to have asked him to accompany her; it seemed like he was looking forward to it immensely. Well, it was lovely if she could make him happy: he had been a wonderfully supportive friend to her these last days. She’d never have thought, and she was so, so happy that she’d found the courage to ring him when she had been riding the underground in desperation.

The plane landed smoothly, and they got through customs and security much faster than she’d expected. A taxi to the hotel, and then Taryn found herself looking at a beautiful suite, furnished by the APA organisation. A king-size four-poster bed, crystal chandeliers, Louis Something-or-other chairs, the works. She felt like a star already, and soon as she was alone, she ran towards the bed, jumped up, whooped and dove right into the downy luxury that waited there especially for her. Her bathroom was breathtakingly beautiful as well: big round marble tub, mirrors everywhere and towels that were so opulently fluffy she actually contemplated, for just an instant mind you, nicking one. Or two. Or all of them. She laughed delightedly and pirouetted, but then she remembered her dress.

Her gorgeous gown! She had to get it out and check if it wasn’t too wrinkled! Singing softly, she opened her suitcase and with delicate fingers she lifted it out. Reg had come through in an absolutely splendid manner with this beautiful, beautiful piece of couture… Tazzie twirled around again with the dress in her arms then hung it from her wardrobe door on a padded coat hanger. She fished the matching shoes out of her bag and set them underneath the dress. She also had a tiny handbag, very elegant, and a pair of earrings. She had refused a necklace: she had Quent’s ring on a gold chain, and that’s what she intended to wear. So Reg had, very cleverly, styled the dress and the accessories to accommodate the gold signet ring. The signet theme was simply repeated on her bag and in her earrings.

Taz decided to lie down for a while, to get in a little beauty sleep before the big event. She wanted to look her best, and she knew she’d feel her best wearing what was waiting for her there on her wardrobe door. She’d actually felt really beautiful when Regina had been modelling the dress on her, and that was a novel, and very pleasurable, experience. She looked forward to wearing it immensely.

The bed was amazingly comfortable, and Tazzie dozed off, her mobile’s alarm set and the mobile itself waiting for her on the pillow beside her.

She woke up again right before the alarm rang, feeling nervous as well as excited, and she decided she needed a shower. It was time to get ready.

She had been to a very expensive hairdresser in London, and had spent a small fortune on new make-up, matching her dress. She’d paid attention when the girl had applied it to her face, and had experimented with it at Ade’s until she was satisfied she could get it just right. She was determined to do it herself, even though Ade had tried to convince her to get a professional. She wouldn’t hear of it; and secretly, she had to admit to herself, she enjoyed doing her own hair and make-up. It was part of the fun, really.

With about fifteen minutes to spare, Tazzie managed to get ready. She was supposed to meet Adrian in the lobby, and he would arrange for a car to drive them to the award ceremonies. All she had to do was waltz in, hook her arm through his, get in the car, and make her grand entrance at the venue. She sat on the bed, careful not to wrinkle the dress any more than necessary - it was a beautiful deep blue silk, and it sat on her body as if it was poured on and left to dry. She looked at her feet, clad in heels in the same blue silk. How Reg had managed to get the matching shoes done so quickly, she was still amazed. If only Quentin could see her like this… Well, maybe she’d end up in some newspaper or something, and perhaps he’d get to see the pictures… She sighed then got up slowly. Pointless, thinking about that, wasn’t it? A total waste of brain capacity. It was time to get herself down to the lobby, and get this evening started.

The lift came swiftly and descended slowly, and as she walked out into the lobby and saw no signs of Adrian, she felt compelled to check the time. Her watch was accurate, if the clock in the lobby was anything to go by. So where was he?

A slight panic blossomed in her belly, but she quelled it decisively. If she had to go it alone, she would. She’d simply ask for a taxi at the desk. A small frown curled her brow and she stepped towards the receptionist’s desk when she saw Adrian round the corner from where the bar was situated, a pint of beer in his hand and a smile upon his face. He was still wearing his leisurewear, which in his case consisted of light cotton trousers and an argyle jumper. And he didn’t even seem worried. Tazzie’s frown deepened. He lifted his beer to her in greeting and said, ‘Our driver is a bit late; I just spoke to him on the phone. He’s trying his best to get here as fast as he can, but he’s hit a bit of a traffic jam. He’ll be here any minute now, dear girl, by God, you do look magnificent!’

‘Ade, where’s your suit!’ Tazzie said in shock, trying to comprehend his weird attitude. She had been so convinced that he was actually looking forward to accompany her, and here he was, drinking his beer, and apparently he could not even be bothered getting his sorry arse into his tux. She just didn’t understand.

He looked down at himself, smiled again and said, ‘Oh!’ as if he’d only noticed that very moment that he wasn’t dressed for the occasion.

Tazzie was speechless. Adrian, completely unperturbed, drank his beer, wiped his mouth and smiled at her, then suddenly he grew animated and looked over her shoulder. ‘Ah, there’s our driver now. He must have used some sort of supernatural power to get here so fast, poor boy. He looks quite harried.’ He lifted a hand and gave a short wave.

‘But how… I mean… you’re not…’ Tazzie muttered, but Adrian motioned for her to turn around, and when she did, she saw… No, it couldn’t, it just could not be!

But it was, it was him, it definitely was Quentin weaving his way through the people in the lobby. He was wearing a very smart tuxedo and looked fantastic, if only a little stressed out.

He came to a halt in front of her, panting lightly, an apology on his lips, ‘…traffic was a bloody nightmare; tried to get ‘ere soon as I could…’ but then the image of Tazzie in her dress made it from his retinas to his brain, and he stopped speaking altogether. He looked her up and down and his eyebrows climbed into his hairline, and stayed there, as he breathed out slowly.

‘Crikey,’ he softly said.

‘Quent?’ breathed Taz. ‘What are you…’

‘Uh… I’m your driver. For the evo. I’ll drive you to the venue. It’s just that I got stuck, or I woulda been ‘ere waitin’ for ya when you came down… that was our plan anyway…’

‘Your… plan?’ she said, a dangerous edge to her voice, looking from Ade to Quent and back.

‘Yeah… we sorta…’ Quent started, and ‘Oh come on, Taryn, you know you’d much rather go with Quentin than me,’ Adrian followed up, smiling delightedly.

‘Oh that’s just wonderful. Marvellous. Isn’t it? You, the two of you together, seem to know exactly what I want, what I need… Well, thank you, but you’re wrong. Both of you. Good grief…’ and she bowed her head because tears choked her throat and threatened to flood her carefully made-up eyes. She shielded her face with her hands, turned from Adrian and Quentin, and marched back up to the desk, leaving both men baffled for an instant.

‘Would you…’ she whispered to the receptionist, fighting for composure, ‘would you please ring me a taxi?’

Immediately after that, she felt a hand touching her bare back. A hand that radiated a sort of heat that she’d know anywhere.

‘Just belay that order, mate,’ she heard Quentin’s gritty baritone rumble close to her ear, ‘I’ve got a car outside for ‘er.’ He pulled her closer possessively, brooking no disagreement, and when Taz tried to shake off his arm around her (although it felt wonderful, it felt absolutely wonderful to feel him so close by again), he turned to her until their bodies were in full contact. His arm around her tightened, and then she couldn’t turn away even if she wanted to. He smelled so wonderful, and their shared energy coursed through her body, mesmerizing her, taking her breath away... Her eyes burned all the harder and she couldn’t seem to lift her head to look at him.

Quentin inclined his head towards her, his hand digging in her side, pulling her closer still. He said in a low growl, barely controlled: ‘Tazzie, if you knew how much fuckin’ trouble I had to go through to get ‘ere… I’m gonna take ya to the bloody awards if I have to throw you over me shoulder and carry ya, yeah? You know I can, and you know I will… Oh…’ and he pulled her into his embrace as she gave in and sagged against him.

‘Quent, you’ll ruin my make-up,’ she muttered against his shoulder. A few tears escaped her eyes. ‘Or it’ll all end up on your shirt instead of on my face…’

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ he rumbled, and lifted her off her feet in an enormous bear hug. ‘Ohhh… I’ll never let go of you anymore, Taz, Christ, you look a beaut, and you smell really nice… Bloody hell…’ he hitched her up a little higher and actually walked a few steps with her on the way to the exit.

By now, the people in the lobby were beginning to recognize Quentin, and everybody was actually grinning at his irresistible enthusiasm.

‘Yeah, righto,’ he blurted out happily over Tazzie’s head, ‘have a good squizz all of yous, I’m takin’ me bloody sheila to the party!’

‘Put me down, just put me down you nutter, and start speaking English, for God’s sake…’ Tazzie was beginning to laugh through her tears now, and she spotted Adrian watching the whole scene with such beaming joy that whatever reservations she might still have had vanished completely.

‘…you gonna walk with me to the ute like a good sheila?’ he asked of her, putting her down and grabbing her hand. His eyes positively sparkled, and he was so close to her, so close…

She nodded, speechless.

‘Goodo, let’s get a move on then coz I wanna kiss ya Taz, I really wanna…’ he ended on a sigh and leaned in a bit more, a wild, careless gleam in his eyes just before he closed them.

Taz felt her heart pound and she put a hand against his chest. She pushed softly. She might as well have pushed against a Quent-sized boulder; he didn’t budge an inch. On the contrary: he leaned in even more. ‘Quent! No! We’re in the middle of the lobby, please, just… where is that car?’

‘Oh strike me bloody handsome,’ he moaned against her cheek when she turned her head just in time, ‘I’ll loose me nerve in a minnit… All right, come along with me, Tazzie-luv, before the journos get ‘ere…’

They quickly made their way outside, both giddy and grinning, and there was a big black SUV waiting for them. Quentin opened the door for Tazzie, but she hesitated.

‘You really are the driver, aren’t you? You’re going to drive me, yourself?’

He nodded, the grin glued to his face.

‘I’m not going to sit in the back with you driving, don’t be ridiculous!’

He muttered ‘…hoped ya’d say that,’ and slammed the door then in one fluid move opened the front to her. She slid in and clicked the seat belt into place as he climbed in the driver’s seat and started the car.

‘When did you lose the ability to speak anything that remotely resembles English?’ Taz asked him with a warm smile as he took a left turn.

‘That bad is it?’ he shot her a glance and almost ran a red light. ‘Reckon I’m… Taz, I’m shakin’ in me boots here, I was really nervous that you wouldn’t want to go with me, had to change into this monkey suit in the dunny at the airport, then pick up the car, then drive over to the hotel, lost me bloody way, took the wrong exit and then I got stuck in t-…’ he stopped himself rambling, breathed in and out a couple of times, and continued, somewhat calmer: ‘I got stuck in traffic.... I had such a hassle getting the time off of my schedule to do this; I’ve just been runnin’ around like a crazy bugger…’ he sighed once more and fell silent.

Taz felt her heart begin to glow. He’d done all that for her. He may have said he didn’t have the time, but look at him, just look at the poor fellow, he truly was shaking, she saw him tremble. He’d gone enormously out of his way for her, and suddenly she felt really ashamed that she’d ever doubted him. And when he shot her another one of those glances, she couldn’t help but smile at him again with the whole of her heart behind it, and she reached out to touch his cheek.

He swallowed, looked around a little wildly, suddenly indicated and shot forward into an alley that led to the entry of a storeyed car park. He plunged the car in and drove and drove upward in tight curves until they broke out onto the roof, where he parked with a drifting screech right across several free spots, and turned to her. ‘Taz, come here,’ he pleaded urgently.

Chapter Seven

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