Had it not been for his reckless desire to lose himself in the arms of women, Red may well have done something equally stupid. Every time he bedded a woman, it was that moment with Sophie that he had wanted to evoke. It was like a drug for him. Over and over he repeated the pattern, the desperate and twisted need to resurrect Sophie. For a time, and when he moved to Los Angeles, he saw a shrink; after all, everybody there did. You weren’t considered normal unless you paid somebody to whom you regularly spilled out your guts. The sessions were laughable and became a game to him. He took perverse pleasure in running rings around the so-called expert; an attractive woman with eyes the colour of cobalt. Inevitably he slept with her and having fully compromised her, that put paid to any more sessions. He had done it deliberately, of course. Sex was always his weapon of choice.
Question was, was he brave enough to admit that to Romily? Did he need to? Was she smart enough to figure that out already? Probably yes.
Pushing back the bedclothes, he placed his foot on the floor – his prosthetic leg was propped against the wall the other side of the nightstand. At home he used a crutch to get himself about until he was showered and dressed, but without one here, he used the furniture to assist him. He made it over to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. The dazzling brightness of the snow-covered landscape made him blink, and leaning against the sill, he stood for a moment taking in the magnificence of the view, his gaze sweeping over the sculptured effect the snowstorm had created. It was a timeless and monochrome world he looked out onto. A magpie flew across the pewter-coloured sky, putting him in mind of a Brueghel painting. He watched the bird land on a tree branch, scattering a mini snowstorm with its movement and weight.
‘Toto,’ he murmured, thinking of Palm Springs and the desert, ‘I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.’
He was showered, shaved and fully dressed and with his prosthetic leg strapped on, and was whistling Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’, when there was a light tap at the door. He went to open it.
Dressed in black slacks and a red polo-neck sweater and wearing a pearl necklace, Romily stood before him with a tray of what looked and smelt like a pot of coffee. There was also a plate of toast on the tray with a small dish of butter, and another of what he guessed was marmalade.
‘Sorry I’m such a lousy house guest,’ he said, ‘staying in bed so late. You should have banged on the door hours ago.’
‘No need to apologise, your sleeping in gave me time to wrap some presents.’ She stepped in and placed the tray on the table between the two armchairs in front of the window. ‘I didn’t expect you to surface before noon anyway, given how tired you were last night.’
‘That’s one way to describe me yawning my head off so rudely. Is there sufficient coffee in that pot for two?’ he asked.
‘Depends how much coffee you like to drink.’
‘It would be nice to share. If it wouldn’t be keeping you from something more important.’
She smiled. ‘Now what could be more important than tending to my guest?’
She was back upstairs with another cup and saucer within minutes and the coffee poured.
‘You need to be honest with me, Romily,’ he said, biting hungrily on a triangle of toast. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and if I’m gatecrashing your perfectly orchestrated holiday, you must say so.’
‘I assure you, you’re not. And the arrangements I had in place for Christmas are already in tatters. My cook telephoned earlier to say she is snowbound and with reports on the wireless that there’s more snow on the way, who knows who will make it for lunch tomorrow. If anybody.’
‘Does that mean we might be snowed in together? I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’
She laughed. ‘It may come to that.’
‘But seriously, if you need me to get out of Dodge, just say the word, I won’t be offended.’
‘I told you last night, you’re welcome to stay, and in any case, just like in Bethlehem, there’ll be no room at the inn around these parts. The only house guest I’m expecting, that’s if she makes it up from London this afternoon, is Isabella. Everyone else is local.’
‘If I stay, you must let me help you in the kitchen.’
‘Offer of help accepted,’ she said with alacrity. ‘But before that happens, I need to go to the village to collect the turkey and the rest of the shopping.’
‘Won’t the shops deliver?’
‘I suspect the roads will make that extremely difficult. Much easier, and more fun, if I go on foot.’
He took a sip of his coffee. It was good and strong, just how he liked it. ‘Do you have a sledge?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Several in fact.’
‘Then our problems are over. We can pile the shopping onto one and Bob will be our Uncle St Nicholas!’ He saw her gaze flicker towards the lower part of his leg. ‘Don’t give it another thought,’ he said. ‘I can handle snow all right. I’m a pretty good skier, and not a bad skater, even if I say so myself.’
‘I should have known,’ she replied with a smile.
He shook his head and tutted. ‘Do you mind not doing that?’
‘Doing what precisely?’
‘Smiling. I need to stay focused.’
‘On anything in particular?’
‘On behaving myself.’
‘Please don’t feel you have to.’
‘Are you giving me permission to take liberties with you?’
She gave him one of her penetrating stares. The type that left him feeling thoroughly exposed. How the hell did she do it? For good measure the cup wobbled precariously on the saucer in his hand.
‘I think we’ve danced around that particular question long enough, haven’t we?’ she said.
The cup wobbled some more and before it jumped clean out of his hand, he put it down on the table. He stood up and holding out his hands to Romily, he pulled her to her feet. He had her in his arms, his mouth hovering just a tantalising inch from hers, when there was an explosion of sound coming from downstairs.
‘Whoever that is giving your doorbell hell, their timing is appalling.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘Shall we pretend there’s no one at home?’
She grazed his mouth with her lips. ‘We’ll continue this moment later,’ she said, pulling away from him.
He hung on to her hands. ‘Do you promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘You’d better be a woman of your word.’