Living With The Enemy. Laura Martin
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Lucy gave an inward sigh. She felt disappointed, and that was ridiculous. Common sense told her that Alex Darcy was used to far more stunning sights than she. Just because she had spent over an hour getting ready...
‘You can look upon tomorrow as a fresh start,’ Alex declared. ‘Believe me, this place has incredible healing powers. You’ll wake up tomorrow morning with the warmth of the sun on your face, wander outside onto the terrace, pick fresh oranges for your breakfast... I guarantee you’ll feel like a new woman in no time.’
‘I hope so.’ Lucy took a sip of chilled mineral water and concentrated purposefully on the darkened view. ‘I’m not particularly keen on holding onto the old one.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘Warm sun will be a real change,’ she added, frantically trying to keep the conversation upbeat, ‘after the weather we’ve been having in England—it’s been one of the coldest springs on record.’
Dark brows were raised sardonically. ‘Again?’
‘Did you leave England to escape the weather?’ Lucy ventured, unable to deny her sudden interest in the man opposite her.
The tone of his voice changed; it became wooden, slightly edgy. He picked up a fork and speared some food. ‘It was one of the reasons.’
There were others, clearly. Lucy wondered what they were, but something about Alex’s demeanour told her that further enquiry would not be particularly welcome, and she wasn’t sure that she had the nerve to pursue it. ‘Charles mentioned you haven’t returned in a long while. Don’t you miss the old country?’ she enquired lightly.
‘No.’ Alex held Lucy’s gaze without flinching. ‘Why? Should I?’
His expression was suddenly harder, almost cold. ‘No...no, of course not.’ There was to be no discussion at all about England; that much was clear. Lucy glanced down at her plate to avoid the formidable chill that had appeared in Alex’s eyes. ‘I just thought that—’
‘I have no reason to return, no ties that bind me.’ Alex glanced around the loggia, then turned in his chair to look at the view behind. ‘This is my home now.’
‘You have no family?’ Lucy queried hesitantly.
‘No. My parents died a few years ago.’ There was a significant pause. ‘I will be working all day tomorrow,’ he continued, handing a bowl of succulent-looking pasta to Lucy, precluding, with the sudden change of subject, any more obviously unacceptable enquiries of a personal nature. ‘In my study. That is the only place I would prefer you not to enter whilst you are a guest here. I have a deadline I must meet, so if I don’t emerge until dusk, or even beyond, don’t worry.’ His mouth twisted in sudden amusement. ‘I’ll still be alive.’
So, he doesn’t like personal talk, Lucy mused. She wondered why not. Did Alex Darcy have parts of his life that he preferred not to talk or even think about? Was there pain in his past too? It was an intriguing thought.
‘Charles mentioned that you are a writer,’ Lucy murmured, after several seconds had passed. She forked the moist tagliatelle into her mouth and found that for the first time in weeks she actually wanted to go on eating. ‘It sounds exciting.’
Safer ground now. Lucy looked across into the handsome face and saw that the smouldering tension had eased a little. ‘Hardly that,’ Alex replied drily. ‘Satisfying, though, when things go well.’
‘But you’re successful, aren’t you?’ Lucy insisted. ‘Some of your books have been turned into films. I’m not a great reader, but I can remember Charles getting all excited a couple of years ago because a friend of his was short-listed for the Booker Prize—that was you, wasn’t it?’
‘You astonish me.’ Alex looked at Lucy with mild surprise. ‘I didn’t think Charles held my writing career in particularly high regard.’
‘Oh, he does!’ Lucy replied. ‘He’s not the dry old stick that everyone assumes he is! Do you hope to repeat your success?’
Alex lifted his shoulders in a shrug and proceeded to tuck into his plateful of food with healthy enthusiasm. ‘Always hoping. But who can tell? I’m working on it.’
Lucy glanced across with interest. She hadn’t had a conversation that didn’t seem to link up with her own predicament in a long while and it felt wonderfully refreshing to take an interest in somebody else’s affairs for a change. ‘Where do you get your ideas from?’
Alex waved a negligent hand. Lucy sensed that he wasn’t particularly interested in the subject, or maybe his lack of enthusiasm came about because it was a subject that he had discussed so many times with so many people. His friends. Who were they? What were they like? Suddenly Lucy found herself wanting to know.
‘Oh, in the shower, when I’m out walking, watching a sunset...eating a meal...’ He flashed a smile and even white teeth gleamed in contrast against the deeply bronzed face. Lucy felt warm, as if the sun had deigned to shine upon her. ‘The oddest moments.’
‘But you like what you do?’ she persisted.
‘Yes,’ Alex admitted. ‘It’s a creative challenge if nothing else.’ There was a slight pause as he contemplated Lucy’s interested face, then he added, ‘Who am I trying to kid? I love it. I wouldn’t want to do anything else. When a story works well, when the book has been published and is selling like hot cakes ... well, then it’s absolutely exhilarating.’
Lucy stared out towards the hills. ‘That’s what I need,’ she murmured. ‘A new venture. Something good and solid that I can work at. To be a success. If there’s one thing Charles likes it’s success. That’s why I’m such a disappointment to him. He would have loved it if I had entered one of the traditional professions—lawyer, doctor, any of those.’ Lucy raised another forkful of food to her lips. ‘Incidentally, how did you and Charles meet?’ she added. ‘He usually spends all his time with men in dark grey suits.’
‘And you can’t see me in one of those?’ Ebony eyes glimmered in sudden amusement.
She found her gaze lingering on the firm, muscled chest, the tanned forearms, the strength of neck and shoulders. ‘Not at the moment, no.’ Lucy returned Alex’s smile and found to her amazement that she was beginning to relax. ‘Was it through work? It must have been—Charles doesn’t believe in play; he says he thrives on being dull and boring.’
‘I was on a committee he was chairing,’ Alex replied briefly. ‘We went for a drink after a particularly gruelling session and found we hit it off. You know, underneath that rigid exterior you have a stepbrother who happens to possess quite a dry sense of humour!’
‘Oh, I know! He isn’t quite as staid as he looks! I just wish he would let himself go a little more.’ Lucy picked up her glass again. ‘So Charles was chairman, was he?’ she added. ‘He revels in all that power; that’s why he’s a politician, I suppose. Was it to do with the arts?’ Lucy thought about it and frowned. ‘I don’t recall Charles having anything to do with that sort of thing. He’s usually involved with far more boring subjects, like finance.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ Alex replied shortly. ‘A part of my life that simply doesn’t exist any more. Before my writing career took off,’ he added, as if that were sufficient explanation.
‘Oh, so you haven’t always been a writer, then? I assumed—’
‘Dangerous to assume!’ Alex cut in swiftly. He flashed her a sensational smile and expertly diverted the conversation. ‘Drama school. What was that like? Did you ever get any acting work?’
‘A couple of small parts in children’s series. Two or three advertisements for television. I got my Equity card, which is something, I suppose.’
‘You didn’t stick with it?’
‘I don’t think I had any real talent. My tutors were quite encouraging, but...’ Lucy hesitated. ‘I had met Paul by that time, anyway,’ she