EVE LONDON
Copyright ©2021 by Eve London
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1. Luca/Dani
2. Luca/Dani
3. Luca/Dani
4. Luca/Dani
5. Luca/Dani Epilogue
Also by Eve London About the Author
CONTENTS
This is my worst nightmare. I’m sitting in the staff meeting at the firehouse and the Chief has just announced we’re going to have a television crew trailing us for the next week. Of course, some of the guys are excited. Some of these guys are the biggest attention whores on the planet. Like my buddy Rusty, who I know will relish the spotlight falling on him.
Me? I’m not that guy. One of the things I love most about my job is that I often don’t have to talk to anyone. Get in there, follow instructions, fight the fire and get out. Perfect. I certainly do speak to people at fires when needed, but there are rules and protocols. It’s like a script I follow, and I do it well. Never in my life would I meet a girl at a fire and end up dating her like my friend, Huck. That just won’t happen because I can’t make small talk or chat them up. I have zero game when it comes to women.
I get tongue tied around pretty girls. To be honest, not just the pretty ones. All girls. All women. I used to have a chronic stutter and now, thanks to years of effort, it’s mostly fixed. I spent so many years trying to avoid talking it’s like I’ve completely forgotten how to make small talk, though. I’m not ugly, so I attract women, but we never do a lot of talking, if you get my drift. I use my mouth for other things, and they walk away happy.
So, yeah, anyway, a television crew is not my jam and especially not when the Chief introduces a gorgeous woman I hadn’t noticed before who is standing on the sidelines.
“Everyone, this is Danielle Myers. She’s the journalist doing the story. The rest of her crew will be here to film tomorrow. Be nice.” That last part was a grumpy growl designed as a warning. We all knew it meant we should be nice, but not toonice. Not flirty nice.
“Hi guys. I’m so thrilled to be here. Call me Dani. We really want to observe, and we promise not to get in your way. Pretend I’m not even here.”
“Not bloody likely,” I mutter to myself. This isn’t a woman you ignore. Red lips, iris eyes, and sinful curves. Dani is a woman you noticed. She is wearing a full skirt and a tight red sweater that draws my eyes to her lush breasts. Not only mine I’m certain. As soon as the meeting is over, I head out. Kitchen duty calls and as much as I hate talking, I love cooking.
I get busy chopping up a whole mass of vegetables which I’m doing when the Chief brings her by, showing her through the firehouse.
“This is obviously the kitchen, and this is Luca. Unlike a lot of the guys, he can actually cook, so you’ve arrived on a good day.”
Dani cocks her pretty head to the side and extends her hand and, after wiping my own on my apron, I have no choice but to take it.
“Ma’am.” I wrap my hand around hers and meet her eyes. She licks her lips like I’m the tastiest treat in the kitchen and I go a little hard. I’m pleased we have a kitchen island between us.
“Please call me Dani. No one calls me ma’am.”
“Yes ma’am,” I reply, like the moron I am.
She just smiles and then gives me a shrug. “I guess we can work on that.”
The Chief leads her across the room to meet a couple of the other guys. I watch her ass sway as she goes. I wish we could work on plans together, since there are several things I’d like to work on with her, but that won’t be happening. I pull my attention back to the shepherd’s pie I’m making and ignore the way her ass looks in that skirt.
DANI
In a room full of hot men, it’s weird how there is always one that you can’t take your eyes off. I had been warned. My friend Everleigh who works at the Coffee Corner dates one of the guys and when I told her about this assignment, she warned me that I was in for a hotness overload. Weirdly, she hadn’t mentioned Luca to me.
Quiet, sexy, Luca, who has just served me a plate of shepherd's pie so delicious it made me sigh. Luca, who didn’t make eye contact or flirt when we met. Of course, he has to be the one that caught my eye. Dark hair, scruff and the arms on that man. He is arm-porn personified. The man is built like a guy who works out a lot, and he cooks like an angel.
I’m sitting next to Everleigh’s guy, Jase, taking in the dizzying sight that is Luca serving up the last plates of food, his t-shirt stretched across his firm chest and his arms flexing as he loads the plates. I wipe a finger across my bottom lip just to check I’m not drooling.
“What’s his story?” I ask, tipping my head toward Luca.
“Luca? He’s a great firefighter. Also, an awesome cook. Quiet guy. Keeps to himself. Absolute legend at Mario Kart. Single.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “Seeing as I know that’s why you’re asking.”
“I’m asking because I’m a journalist and asking questions is my job.”
Naturally, Jase laughs in my face. “Whatever you say, Dani. A word to the wise. He’s a shy guy. You might be a little much for him.”
I give my hand a dismissive wave. I can’t be offended by that comment because I do have a big personality. It is no accident that I work on TV. I’m the girl who dances on tabletops, I’m the girl who is always at the center of everything. I eat that kind of attention up.
I take my plate over to where Luca is standing in the kitchen with a guy called Rusty.
“That was delicious, Luca. Maybe we'll need to get some shots of you cooking for our story.”
“No thank you,” he mutters, taking my plate and turning towards the dishwasher.
“No thank you?” I can hear the surprise in my voice.
“My man is camera shy,” Rusty replies, clapping Luca on the shoulder. “Not too keen on being on camera.”
“Really?”
“That’s right,” Luca says, turning to stare at me. His glare is sexy as all hell, his dark gaze holding mine longer than was necessary, but it also tells me he is serious. He speaks clearly to make sure I get it, enunciating each word slowly for emphasis. “I’m not that guy.”
“Oh.” It’s hard for me to understand that attitude, and I don’t mask my disappointment too well.
I love being on camera and so do most people we interview. I don’t need Luca for the story. There are a dozen other people I can use, that is for sure, but I want him and not just for how I know he will look on camera. There is something about him that has attracted me. I guess I was here at the firehouse for two reasons now. To get the story up for the news and to figure out what makes Luca tick.
Damn film crew seems to be everywhere I turn.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Rusty asks me as we do an equipment check on one of the fire engines. “The strong silent thing is extreme today, even for you.”
“Don’t enjoy being watched,” I grunt.
“Seriously, if a woman was looking at me how that journalist is looking at you, I’d be the happiest guy at the firehouse.”
I give my head a dismissive shake. “She’s looking at everyone like that.”
“Not so my friend. She looks at you like you’re a lollypop she’d like to lick.” He leans in closer, and his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In fact, she’s doing it now.”
I tell myself not to look, and I last a good thirty seconds before I cave. She’s wearing an emerald green wrap dress today that sets off her auburn hair perfectly. Oh yeah, and it hugs her damned curves as well. She’s busy telling her cameraman something, but her eyes are definitely on me.
She sees me looking and crosses the engine bay, coming to a stop beside me. “Luca, I think you are the perfect guy to help me.”
“Doubtful,” I reply. We’ve been instructed to be polite, but that’s hard for a guy like me when I can’t get words out. It’s harder when I’m stressed and Dani standing next to me, smelling delicious and looking at me like that is making me very stressed.
“Don’t worry, it's not for the camera.” I raise an eyebrow at that. She, in turn, pats my bicep. “Naughty boy, I am certainly open to some off-camera activities of that nature with you, but it’s actually in the kitchen I could use some help.”
“Oh.” She has my attention now. This may be something I actually can assist her with. It’s not that I don’t want to be near her, I’d just rather stay away than have her discover I’m almost always silent.
She doesn’t remove her hand. “The TV station is going to a local chili cookoff and I’ve been nominated to cook. No coincidence our ass of a news producer chose the only female journalist to cook, am I right? Even though most of the other cooks will be guys, he’s stuck in the 1950’s, even though I don't even know if he was born then. Anyway, you and I both know you’re a decent cook and I thought maybe you could help me? I could burn water and I don't want to embarrass myself, plus my boss implied my next promotion was riding on the competition being a success.”
Could this woman be any more different from me? Does she ever draw breath? She’s just said more in that minute than I’ve likely said all day.
“You talk a lot,” is all I manage as a response.
That earns me a laugh. “I know. It’s ridiculous and annoying, sorry.” I don’t think it is either of those things. “Will you help me?”
I want to say no, but I don’t. She looks up to me with her beautiful eyes full of hope and I can’t get the word out. So she gets a decisive nod in response. And in turn what I get is Dani wrapping her arms around me in a hug, her soft body pressed against mine as she cheers, “Yay!” in my ear.
That’s how I find myself freshly showered from my shift and standing at Dani’s front door, seriously regretting my life choices. She lives in a cute condo not far from my house, so I walked over hoping to burn off some nervous energy. That has been an abject failure. I’m considering how to pull the pin on this crazy idea when her front door is flung open and there she is in jean shorts and a tight-fitting tank top. Even if I’d been able to talk before seeing her
like that, barefoot, hair down around her shoulders, I would have lost the power of speech.
“Hey, are you coming in or just going to stand there looking sexy on my front porch all night?” That makes me smile. This woman just says whatever thought enters her pretty little head. Again, could we be more opposite?
“Coming in,” I reply, and when I brush past her, I get the scent of jasmine and something spicy. That’s Dani, as far as I can tell so far. Sweet and spicy all at once.
“So, it’s weird we haven’t seen each other around town, don’t you think? Then again, I do spend a lot of time over in the city for work and I guess shift work makes life nuts for both of us. Anyway, I’m glad we got to meet now. And also, I’m sorry if I put you on the spot and you really just wanted to go home and crash after a fourday shift. I know the fire you guys dealt with this afternoon was intense. Great footage for our piece but those poor people who lost their home. Heartbreaking. Anyway, it was kind of selfish of me. I’m overly impulsive and sometimes I act without thinking,” she says, leading me through the modern living area to a small kitchen. As I place my grocery bags down, she continues. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here, but it is okay to tell me no or to be quiet if I’m too much.”
I have a feeling a lot of people have told her exactly that. Told her she was too bright, too loud, too talkative, too pushy. Just too much. I’m not going to be one of them.
“You’re perfect.”
That earns me a huge smile, and she flips her hair over her shoulder. The woman is so damn sexy.
“That is not true, but I’ll take the compliment, anyway. Thank you.” She turns to the fridge, giving me a spectacular view of her denim clad ass. She faces me again and holds out two beers. A pilsner and an IPA. “This or that?”
“That,” I reply, and she hands me the beer, her fingers brushing mine, our eyes locking for a moment. I break away to take a sip of my beer.
I hope I’m not the only one who felt that stare in their soul, but I have no way of knowing.
DANI
Holy guacamole, Luca is hot. He’s wearing beat up jeans and a basic black t-shirt that stretches across his broad frame. Just a basic outfit and he looks amazing in it. I thought he was attractive in uniform, but this, this is something else. His hair is damp, I assume from the shower, and he smells of soap and man. He takes up a lot of space in my tiny kitchen and I like it. A lot.
Oh yeah, and he’d called me perfect, which was a first for me. He makes me so nervous my mouth is running like a motor, but he doesn’t seem to care. Another first, most men find me exhausting. Heck, sometimes I exhaust myself, but it’s who I am, and refuse to apologize for being me.
“You brought ingredients? Let me know what I owe you. I mean, you’re helping me, right? You shouldn’t be out of pocket.”
“It’s dinner, Dani. It’s fine.”
“Oh, so this is like our first date then?” The words leave my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. Way to make it awkward,Dani.
“Sure. Why not?” He smiles at me and starts unpacking the ingredients for a chili as if this were normal and not the first time he’s been in my home.
“For real? This is our first date?” I laugh. “Wow, okay. I feel like I should have dressed up then. I usually go all bombshell for a date. I’m not even wearing shoes.”
“You’re perfect,” he says again, and a gigantic smile crosses his face. “First dates usually suck. I’m already enjoying this one more than usual.”
That makes me smile. I take a sip of my beer and slide up onto the countertop beside him, looking down at the array of ingredients he’s brought along. I know chili isn’t supposed to be complicated, but he sure as hell seems to have a lot of ingredients here.
“Is there a recipe?” I hope he says yes. “Because no way will I remember this.”
“Yep. I don’t need it, but I’ll print you one.”
“You cook by heart?” I ask, because as someone who can ruin just about any food I touch, that seems incredible to me.
“I do a lot of things by heart,” he replies, and my own does a little leap in my chest.
“Oh yeah, like what?” My tone is suggestive as I respond.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans in and cups my face as his eyes search mine. Then his sexy mouth covers my own and his kiss starts gentle but builds quickly. I open to him and our tongues dance. His kiss is commanding, and it’s pretty clear who's in charge. Can a man own you with one kiss? If that man is Luca, then yes. My whole body is on alert. I rest my hands on his chest and I feel the warm muscle that ripples beneath his shirt. Heat pools between my legs and my breasts feel heavy with need. I’m not a prude and I’ve been kissed plenty, but this kiss, this kiss is something else.
He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine.
“Wow,” is all I can manage.
He smiles before giving me a quick peck. “Finally, lost for words.”
“Anytime you need to get a word in, you just feel free to do that again,” I sass back, but I’m feeling more shaken than sassy. “Meanwhile, show me how to make champion winning chili.”
“Okay, can you dice an onion?” The expression on my face tells him that’s a firm no. “Hop down and let me show you.”
With that, he wraps his big body behind mine and shows me slowly and painfully how to dice vegetables. First, he does it and then he lays his hands on the bench either side of where I’m cutting, boxing me in as I work. His warmth and the sexy timbre of his voice in my ear as he gives me short, deliberate instructions is distracting.
“Focus, Dani, or you’ll cut a finger,” he says, kissing me just below the ear.
“That is definitely not helping me focus, Luca,” I groan. “You are the biggest distraction ever.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” he says, lifting my hair to the side to kiss below the other ear.
I’m not all that sorry either as I turn in his arms and claim his mouth with mine. My arms loop around his neck and my body pushes against his. It feels divine. I can feel the hard length of him against my belly. He’s that much taller than me and I kind of love that he’s hard for me already. He keeps his hands on the bench, not on my body where I want them, but he kisses me like I’m water and he’s been stranded in the desert for weeks.
“How badly do you want to learn to cook?” he asks, pulling away.
“I need to learn, but I have two weeks until the cook off.”
He mulls that over for a heartbeat. “Plenty of time.”
Then his hands reach around and grab my ass, lifting me up so that my core is pressed against his straining cock. I’m starving, but it’s not for chili.
Best first date ever. I have Dani naked and laid out on her bed. I’m staring down at her and I’m in nothing but my jeans, deciding what to do first. She licks her lips in anticipation. Waiting, wondering what my next move will be. She’s a vision lying there, her auburn hair tousled, her lips plump from being kissed and her nipples hard and wanting.
I start there. Leaning over her as If I’m doing a pushup, I suck one little bud between my lips. She arches up towards me and her fingers rake through my hair. I switch to the other side. Sucking harder. Her hips lift off the bed.
“Luca.” My name is a needy plea. I like the sound of it.
I kiss my way down her rib cage and swirl my tongue in her belly button. I can smell her arousal, and it makes my cock strain ever harder behind the zipper of my jeans. I’ve left them on because without them I’d already be buried deep inside her and I want to take this slow. I move my hands down her rib cage ever so slowly, looking up to see her nipples even harder and still damp from my tongue.
I use my hands to spread her open to me. She’s wet and needy and the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
“Luca.” She’s already begging but I won’t make her wait long. Not this time.
“Babe,” is all I get out before I lick her from slit to clit and she bucks against my mouth. She’s so responsive and I love it. I add a
finger to her tight channel as I use my mouth to bring her to the brink. I love that we can communicate this way without words. Not that I’m averse to a bit of dirty talk, but it’s not needed now. Instead, I lick and suck her to a climax that has her body shaking and her mouth chanting my name.
As she floats down, I stand and shuck off my jeans and boxers. My cock stands large and proud as if it can see her lying there flushed and ready for me.
“Two things. One, you’re amazing at that.” She pushes herself up on her elbows, her legs still spread. “And two, you’re kind of huge, Luca. Both of those are good things, but if you use that cock like you use your mouth... Well, you may just be it for me and I did not see you coming.”
Man, I love her openness and honesty. She just puts it all out there. It’s so brave and refreshing. “Well babe, you’re about to see me coming. Inside you.”
That earns me a laugh which in turn, makes her magnificent tits jiggle. I lean in to lick one nipple and she sighs. I stand back and roll on a condom.
“Just so you know, I never come during sex. Don’t feel bad about it,” she apologizes.
I pause midway, condom half on, my dick in hand. No way that was okay. Who had this woman been sleeping with? “Challenge accepted.”
“It’s not a challenge,” she says, biting her lip. Except it one hundred percent absolutely is.
I lean over her body and push her splayed legs up to her chest, so she’s wide open to me. “Perfect.”
There’s no rush so I take my time rubbing my cock up and down her core so that yet again she’s reaching for more. I lift her hands above her head one at a time and then command her to stay.
“I want to touch you, Luca,” she protests.
“Next time.” There is no doubt in my mind we’ll be back here again.
“Oh, there’s going to be a next time?”
I don’t bother to answer that. There absolutely will be more. I already know once will definitely not be enough for me. I rub myself against her, spreading her wetness everywhere before sliding into her in one swift move, filling her to the hilt. She lets out a gasp and I pause, giving her time to adjust to me. Our eyes lock and she gives me a nod. I draw all the way out before sliding back in again. Over and over, I do it. Every so often I lean in and suckle her tit and I feel her clench when I do.
I reach between us and run my thumb across her clit, and I feel her channel tighten. I do it again and again until she’s on the verge. She's definitely not the only one. I feel a tingling at the base of my spine, but I’m not letting go until she does. I give her clit a pinch as I take a long suck on her right nipple and she starts to let go. She squeezes me so tightly I can’t hold on any longer and we fall over the precipice together.
DANI
I lie beside Luca trying to catch my breath after the best sex of my life. He’s already disposed of the condom and climbed back in beside me, pulling me into his side.
“That was quite something,” I say, letting my hand roam over those delicious abs. Next time I intend to lick them. He's right, there will be a next time.
He kisses the top of my head. “It was.”
My traitorous stomach lets out a groan, and I blush. “We should eat.”
I look at the clock. He’s coming off a four-day shift and has to be tired. It’s selfish of me to expect him to teach me how to cook tonight. “Maybe we can raincheck the cooking school and order a pizza.”
“Sure. I can come back tomorrow night.” I don’t actually want him to leave tonight, but we’ll get to that. He releases me and swings his long legs over the side of the bed, leaning down to snag
his clothes. The man’s back is a thing of beauty. Someone should get some marble and sculpt it. “Earth to Dani. What flavor?”
I refocus on him, the whole of him not just his body. “I like everything except anchovies.”
He leaves me naked and alone as he goes in search of his phone, and I wonder how we got here. I did intend to seduce him, but not quite that quickly. I’m not complaining, not even a little, but I usually don’t go all the way on the first date. Still, he’s definitely a good guy.
I pull my clothes back on and when I walk into the kitchen, he’s stacking all the chili ingredients neatly away.
“You’re a neat freak huh?” I tease.
“I like order in the kitchen,” he says.
“And the bedroom,” I say with a wink.
“I didn’t hear you complaining.” He hip checks me as I walk past. “In fact, I think you kind of liked it.”
He certainly isn’t wrong about that. “Maybe.”
He pulls me so I’m pinned between him and the bench, just the way I was when I was cutting vegetables and he whispers in my ear as he covers my hands with his. “You’re a terrible liar.” Goosebumps prick my skin, and my nipples go hard as heat pools again at my core. What is it about this guy? He pushes my hair aside and kisses the back of my neck, then below my ear. “Hands stay here.”
In seconds my shorts are down and he’s on his knees behind me. My legs are spread and he’s working his magic again. He doesn’t let me find release until the doorbell rings with the pizza delivery. Then he has me coming in an instant and I'm a panting, pants-less mess as he saunters to the door to collect the delivery as if he wasn’t just giving me yet another amazing orgasm.
I tidy myself up as he comes back to join me. He’s right. Definitely not the worst date I’ve ever had.
Tonight we really have to get this chili recipe down pat. The past three nights Dani has distracted me. The first two were all me, but last night she greeted me in nothing but an apron and gave me the best blow job of my life with my back pressed against her front door. Needless to say, we never made it to the kitchen.
It’s been amazing, but I promised to help her cook, so tonight I forbid her from touching me.
“No hands, no lips. Only cooking.” I don’t even round the kitchen island. I’m staying on this side where it’s safe.
She thinks this is hilarious until I start barking instructions at her about how to cook the damn chili. Then a little line forms between her brows. My girl is not happy about this turn of events. My hard cock isn’t happy either but I’m back on shift tomorrow and she is convinced she will be fired if she doesn’t win. I’m pretty sure her boss can’t do that but I’m not going to argue with her.
Two large pots are waiting for chili, one meat and one vegetarian, and it’s clearly more than she can handle.
“How do you feed yourself?” I ask. As someone who loves to cook her total lack of skill is baffling. I’ve cooked for her in between our make out sessions the last couple of nights.
“Take-out, frozen meals, rotisserie chicken, pre-made salad, visiting my grandma, you get the idea.” She shrugs as she stirs one pot. “I’m not good with rules and instructions.”
Another way we're opposites, I want to say. I want to add that with me, she’s followed my rules just fine, but that will lead us down a rabbit hole because all those rules have been in the bedroom and we can’t go there now.
Of course, now she’s ready to ask all the questions she’s been too preoccupied to get to the past few nights, which means she wants me to talk, and I can tell my short answers are wearing thin.
“Where do you live, Luca?”
“On Sycamore. With Rusty.”
“Why did you become a firefighter?”
“Wanted to be of service.” That’s true. I always wanted to be a firefighter ever since my uncle took me to the station he worked at in San Francisco when I was ten. I loved the feeling of the place and the easy camaraderie between the men. They were all men back then, unlike now.
“Why a fireman, though?”
“Didn’t want to go away from home. Don’t want to lock people up.” I answer. Then I try asking her questions. “Why journalism?”
And I love the rambling responses she gives me about wanting to write stories but learning at college she was more interested in people’s true lives than in fiction. In fact, it also led to her obsession with true crime podcasts, which is also fascinating to me. But she’s no fool, and she’s worked out I’m using her rambling as a diversion tactic.
“Are you trying to get me to spill all my secrets, Luca?” Her hands are on her hips, not chopping as they should be, or stirring, and she’s trying to look stern. I find it adorable. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she’s wearing yoga pants and a pink t-shirt the color of her lips.
“Just a couple.” I want to know everything about her, and I’ll take all the information I can get. It’s like I’m addicted to this woman. It’s crazy and I know we’ll crash and burn because I don’t know how to tell the world’s chattiest woman, a woman who talks to people for a living, that I find getting more than a couple of sentences out almost impossible.
I feel sad about that. This week with Dani has shown me what I’ve been missing out on by avoiding more than one-night stands with women. I don’t want to let this sassy redhead walk from my life, but I’m not sure how to stop it.
DANI
Cooking with Luca when he’s not touching me is not as fun as everything else with Luca when he is. I feel like the only time he is speaking is to give me the next instruction. Maybe he just wants me to focus, not one of my strengths, but I don’t much like it.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask after an hour of not quite silent cooking.
“Of course not. I’m just trying to teach you. The sooner we get done…” He looks a little hurt by my question and he does have a point about that. I won’t see him for four days after tonight. Our story about the firehouse is done, so I have no excuse to pop in. “Plus, you need to impress the boss.”
“Are you sure?” He gives me a nod. “You would tell me, right?”
“I would,” he says, but there’s something in the way he answers that has me questioning his response. I interview people for a living, and I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing when they’re holding back. “Turn the vegetarian one down a little, I can hear it bubbling too much.”
“It smells amazing in here, Luca. Thanks for helping me,” I say, turning my back to him to do as he’s asked.
“My pleasure.” When I turn back, he’s grinning. “All pleasure all week.”
He’s not wrong about that. Good grief, I’ve had more orgasms with Luca in the past few days than in my entire life combined, but now I’m wondering if that’s all this is.
“I can hear you thinking.” He finally rounds the kitchen island and pulls me in his arms. “Everything is fine as far as I’m concerned, babe.”
Then his mouth claims mine and I decide to let it go. The rest of the night is a blur of enjoying the spicy chili and the spicy heat between the sheets.
When I wake up, he’s gone, and that niggling feeling is back. Was this just sex?
There’s something different about Luca in bed, and I’m not complaining. He has a confidence there that he seems to lack out of it. That makes sense because the man is ah-may-zing between the sheets. He shouldbe confident.
First of all, he insists I come first and often. Insists. As I said, I’m not complaining, but he is very determined that I’m satisfied. That’s not the way most men I’ve been with have acted. They haven’t sat me on the bathroom counter, spread my legs and feasted on me before flipping me over so I watch them in the mirror as they take me from behind either. They also haven’t whispered so many wicked things in my ear. Promises of what’s coming not just on that night but in the future. He doesn’t say much but what he says and the deliberate way he does it is so damn sexy.
Just thinking about it has me all hot and needy. How can that be? Surely my poor pussy must need a rest from all that attention. Instead, I find myself reaching between my legs to bring myself pleasure in the shower before I head off to work.
It’s crazy how hot I am for him, but I’m still worried we’re going to burn hot and bright and then burn out completely because there’s nothing more substantial between us.
I hit the Coffee Corner for a boost before work, because I’m sleep deprived thanks to Luca. Everleigh is behind the counter and she waves at me when I walk in. She joins me in a booth when she brings over my coffee.
“I heard a rumor about you.” She winks at me. My friend has been away from Mountain View for a while, but now she’s back and embracing small town gossip again. “You and Luca, huh?”
“Maybe.” I’ve never been one to kiss and tell. I’m not embarrassed, but my sex life is the business of no one but me and whoever I’m with.
“You’d be a good couple. I mean, apart from the smoldering hot thing you have going you’re a good match.”
“How so?” She knew us both, and she must have a reason.
“Because you never stop talking and he barely speaks. Balance.” She explains her theory. “Ying and yang.”
“I thought maybe I was imagining it,” I say, taking a sip of coffee.
“What part Dani? There’s no way you thought you were the strong silent type.” I poke my tongue out at her and she laughs. “And no, you’re not imagining it.”
“I know you have tea to spill,” I say, pinning her with a look that says doitnow.
“I was at school with Luca from kindergarten and he had a pretty bad stutter back in the day. I think he stopped talking because of it. I mean he talks, of course, but he’s to the point. Careful with his words. He’s not going to give you a monologue.”
That certainly would explain why he didn’t want to be on camera. My favorite thing would be the man’s worst nightmare, no doubt. It would be a source of anxiety, even if he was cured of his affliction.
“Does he still stutter?” I really don't care if he does. I know how debilitating that can be for someone. I’ve done a couple of stories on stuttering in the past. If he’s overcome that, then that’s one more amazing thing about Luca on an already long list. Still, it stings that maybe he doesn’t trust me enough to have told me.
Everleigh thinks on that a minute. “I haven’t noticed it in years, and I’ve spent some time with him lately, but he’s never up for a long talk so it’s very hard to know.”
I take my coffee and head to work. It all makes sense now. The question is, how do I let him know it doesn’t matter to me without making the whole situation weird? I need him to trust me enough to open up with me, but I can see that would be hard for him.
When I leave the coffee shop, I glance across the road and he’s out front of the firehouse. I give him a wave and he jogs his sexy ass across the road to meet me.
“Hey beautiful.” He leans in and brushes my hair over my shoulder. “Sorry I had to bail.”
“Duty calls,” I mumble softly. Now I’m tongue tied. Should I ask when I'll see him next? Ask him what this is between us. Or do I wait and see? The alarm sounds at the fire station before I have a chance to do anything. “Be safe.”
“Ah yeah.” Then he leans in and ghosts a kiss across my lips. Is that a kiss goodbye or a kiss that says see you later? I don’t know and he has no time to explain, so I guess it’s a waiting game for now.
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The house was very still. A tiny creak startled her; and then a soft footfall.
"Bee!"—she said instantly.
A slight figure bent over her in the darkness, and a smothered voice murmured—
"I'm come—to say—good-night."
Amy held her in a long close clasp. Neither could speak at first; and one tiny sob might be heard from Bee.
"And you forgive me, my darling!"
"I—had to! I—couldn't say my prayers. I couldn't say—Forgive me—as—" Bee broke down.
CHAPTER XXII
"COULDN'T BE TIED!"
"I REALLY did think that dear boy had more sense," quoth Mrs. Miles, as her busy fingers arranged rows of tucks in a small frock. Two little maidens of seven and eight brightened the Vicarage home, and she made all their clothes herself.
"Ivor! What has he done?"
"He has done nothing. It's what he is going to do."
"Where is he to-night?"
"Gone to dine at Claughton. I thought you knew. That is not the point! Imagine his taking to Magda, more than to Bee Major!"
"You think he has?"
"Quite sure. When he came back from his call yesterday, he had nothing to say, except what a nice bright girl Magda was. And so she is; and I like her. But you can no more compare her with Beatrice Major than—" Mrs. Miles paused for a simile, as she measured the width of her tucks, and failed to find one. "Not that Magda isn't attractive in her own way. But I wish one could bring her to a point. She is all loose ends, and vague dreams, and general discontent. Nothing that one suggests in the way of work seems to be the right thing. I suppose girls are often like that when they first get away from school; but it is time she should settle to something."
"I thought she had given you some help of late."
"In a casual fashion—when nothing that she likes better happens to turn up."
"That seems to be the way with a good many of the Burwood ladies—older as well as younger."
"I've tried my best to rouse them; and some respond all right. But with most of the girls, it is—'Oh, I can't be tied!' Those Hodgson girls, for instance—five of them, strong clever young people, and well-educated. And they're just running to seed. They do absolutely nothing for any human being except themselves. A house-full of servants—no help wanted there; abundance of money; and life one endless round of pleasure! Riding, hunting, motoring, golfing, dancing, paying visits, travelling—nothing but amusement! I tackled them one day in good earnest, and asked if one wouldn't help in the Sunday-school, and another in the night-school, and another in the shoe-club, and so on. And one and all made the same reply. Oh dear, no, they couldn't be tied! They liked to be free. Which means—free to amuse themselves without stint."
"One wonders that any human being, with brains and character, can be content with such an existence!"
"You see, dear, the point of the matter is that, if they undertake any regular weekly task, something may turn up at that particular hour, which they don't like to miss. An invitation, perhaps."
In the Vicar's strenuous life, work had habitually barred the way upon pleasure. But then he had found his pleasure in his work.
"And if it does?" he said.
"Why, generally they accept the invitation, and toss up the work. I tried to get the Hodgsons to see that they might perhaps owe a duty to other folks besides themselves; and they took it very well. They really are nice girls, you know, only so fearfully useless. One of them actually consented to help me in the library once a week for an hour. And she came twice. Then something turned up that she didn't wish to lose; so she sent an excuse. Next time she sent no excuse, but simply stayed away. And then she wrote a pleasant little note, saying she was so busy-busy! That she was afraid she must give up the library."
The Vicar had put down his pen, and was gravely attentive. He knew it all, of course— probably better than his wife; but she liked to pour forth and he liked to listen.
"There are delightful exceptions, I'll allow. Bee Major, for one. But she has been trained to do her duty; and the others have been brought up from babyhood to think of nothing but themselves. No real sense of duty! The Royston girls are different—except Magda. Whatever you propose to her she doesn't want to do. She can't manage this, and she doesn't 'like' that. Anyhow, I never came across a nicer girl than Bee Major. She would make an ideal wife for Lance!"
"You can't choose his wife for him, my dear."
"More's the pity!" she retorted. "One could often choose for a man so much more sensibly than he chooses for himself! However—since he likes Magda, he shall see her again. I'm asking her and Pen and one or two others—Bee included—to spend the evening here the day after to-morrow. You love having young folks about."
Ivor was already seeing Magda again. She and Pen had been invited to dine at Claughton Manor; other guests being there also.
Bee was asked, and she accepted; and just at the last she had to send an excuse. Nothing short of absolute necessity would have kept her away, since she realised what it might
mean. But that very afternoon Mrs. Major was taken with an acute attack of illness, to which she was occasionally subject, connected with the heart, and serious enough to mean actual danger. Bee could not leave her. Neither could she fully explain; for Mrs. Major had an extreme dislike to being counted delicate; and Bee was under strict orders never to say a superfluous word about her mother's health. The doctor had similar instructions; and he alone, beside Bee and the faithful old "Nurse," knew how grave these attacks were, or might at any time become.
Nothing could have been more unfortunate than one happening just now. Ivor, on hearing of the excuse sent—that Mrs. Major was "very poorly," and that Bee could not be spared— naturally drew his own conclusions. Coupled with her cold manner, it meant of course that she wished to keep out of his way.
Partly, perhaps, in self-defence, and in consequence of the wet blanket to which he had been treated, he turned a good deal of his attention to Magda that evening. She was again at her best, in a prettily-made frock of thin black material, which suited the red-gold of her hair, and the bright curiously-tinted eyes. A spray of variegated leaves, chosen and fastened in by Merryl, gave exactly the right tone; and there was no other colouring to compete with it. She talked well too. She and Ivor exchanged ideas, played upon words, discussed opposite views, laughingly. He found her unformed, but clever, and on the whole refreshingly simple. It went for little, so far; yet the fact that she was the sister of his most intimate friend meant that they had many subjects in common.
For once Pen was in the background. Patricia showed herself, as always, daintily charming, moving amid a circle of admirers. The personality of the admirers mattered little, so long as they were there.
Magda was entirely occupied with Ivor—or rather, with Ivor's attentions. He managed to draw her out, as she had not been drawn out before. He made her sparkle, and showed her to herself in new and agreeable lights. A feeling of delighted gratification, which she did not attempt to analyse, filled her mind in consequence.
Two days later they again met at the Vicarage; and once more Bee, though invited, was absent, since her mother was still too ill to be left, though she might only hint at this. Ivor had no further doubts.
"A convenient excuse!" he said bitterly to himself
Amy, full of remorse, would gladly have taken Bee's place in the sick-room; but it was not allowed; and, she knew Mrs. Major too well to venture on any full explanation to others. She too had been invited, and she had to go, since Bee was bent upon her having the pleasure. It was an evening which, for Amy, spelt the reverse of enjoyment.
Magda this time really shone. She seemed at one leap to have grown older, to have become less school-girlish, more handsome, more taking. A slight consciousness made her voice softer, her manner more restrained, than usual; yet with this came also a touch of increased confidence. She found in herself a power to please, which she had not known before; and the experience was delicious. Others watched her with a mingling of surprise and amusement. Magda was developing, they said. She was "quite coming out."
Amy Smith's sensations included no amusement. She grew inwardly furious, more and more furious, as the evening wore on. Bee's friend—to step in, like this, in Bee's absence! To try deliberately to win Ivor's love away from her! It was scandalous! Disgraceful! Amy found it hard work to hold her wrath within bounds.
Nor did she—altogether. Early hours were the rule at the Vicarage; and by half-past ten a general exodus took place. Wraps were donned, amid talk and laughter, in the breakfastroom; and Amy, standing grimly apart from the rest, found Magda offering a good-bye hand, all smiles.
"Hasn't it been a delightful evening?" Magda was saying.
Amy had always been impulsive; and she was so still, though fast leaving girlhood behind. Without an instant's pause for thought, and not so much as remembering her promise to Bee, she spoke words which leaped up in her mind—
"To you, I dare say! But I couldn't—in your place! I call it—poaching!"
Then, with sudden contrition, as a flame of colour rushed into Magda's face, she knew what she had done. "What do you mean?" came involuntarily.
"Oh, nothing!" Amy tried to laugh. "I'm talking nonsense. Good-bye."
Magda hesitated an instant; then walked off, holding her head high.
"I can't endure that Miss Smith," she said disdainfully to Pen, as they drove home. "Such a stupid ordinary little person! I can't imagine what Bee sees to like in her."
Pen made some chilling reply. She was not pleased with Magda's prominence during the two past evenings.
But Amy had blundered again. She had opened Magda's eyes.
CHAPTER XXIII
HERSELF OR HER FRIEND?
ONE may be walking on a most ordinary path, plucking flowers by the way, and doing—or not doing—one's everyday duties. And suddenly temptation comes!
But in the meeting of that temptation it makes just all the difference, whether the everyday duties have been faithfully carried out, or have been shirked. In the one case, previous weeks have strengthened one's power to stand firm; in the other case, previous weeks have lessened it.
Going to bed this night seemed to Magda almost impossible. There was so much to think about. Life had assumed a new colouring.
A vague sense had dawned upon her vague at first, but rendered more definite by Amy Smith's unwise speech—that she had some sort of power over Lancelot Ivor. Power, it might be, to make him like her. He seemed to enjoy her companionship. She had found that she could interest him, could amuse him, could make him for the moment grave at will. And Amy's remark set the seal to her discovery. If others saw the same, then it must be real—then she could not only have fancied it.
The thought was immensely exciting.
Not that she cared markedly for Ivor himself. Magda did not know what real love meant. But he was handsome and much liked; and her vanity was flattered. Hitherto she had counted for little, either in her own home or among Burwood friends. His attention lifted her upon a pedestal of importance.
He had deferred going away for another night or two; and next evening he was to dine with them. She would see him again. She would have another chance to deepen the impression which—perhaps—she had already made.
And—it meant—temptation!
She woke up to the fact slowly; and it was partly from what Amy had said that she recognised the temptation as such.
Magda was not keenly observant. Thus far she had not known what Amy knew—that Bee's heart belonged to Ivor. It was the last thing Bee would have wished her to know. Here again Amy had betrayed Bee.
Not indeed directly. Her hasty speech at first only aroused Magda's ire, on her own account. She disliked Amy, and she hated to be lectured and interfered with. But as she restlessly walked her room, going over the evening in her mind, and as she thought again of Amy's words, a new sense came into them.
"Poaching! What nonsense!" What could Miss Smith have meant? Poaching in another person's preserve—that was the idea. What—in Bee's preserve? How ridiculous! As if Bee had any particular rights over Mr. Ivor! And as if Bee cared!
But did Bee not care? She recalled her own announcement of Ivor's expected arrival, and Bee's unwonted flush—then her absence, her dreaminess, her look of happiness. It all seemed rather suspicious, even though Ivor had received no especially warm welcome afterwards. Bee was always so funny about things—so slow to show what she felt. Perhaps Miss Smith knew that Bee really did care—and perhaps that was why she had meddled. If indeed it were so—what then?
Was Magda to cut in between, to steal Ivor, to destroy her friend's hopes of happiness? It might mean all this! If left to himself, Ivor and Bee were not unlikely to draw together. But if Magda should exert herself to win him—should use the power which she believed to be hers—she might draw him on to like her more. And then—Bee might lose for ever the man who perhaps had already won her heart.
"Well, I suppose, if she does care, it would be rather mean of me, on the whole," meditated Magda.
That ought to have settled the matter, but it did not. Magda went on reviewing pros and cons.
If she now decisively drew back, and took no further pains to make herself attractive to him, she might thus secure Bee's life-long joy. Ivor, no longer drawn ever so slightly in another direction, would probably turn to Bee. Why not? They were well suited, each to the other. And Bee had saved his life!
It was all conjecture; yet grave possibilities were involved. And whether the conjectures were right or wrong, Magda's duty stood forth clearly.
One more of life's opportunities lay before her. An opportunity for self-denial, for selfforgetfulness, on behalf of her friend. She had so wanted in the past to do something great, something grand, something worth doing. Here was her chance. Self-sacrifice is the grandest thing possible in the life of man or woman.
Nor was it of so severe a type as to be overwhelmingly difficult. She liked to be the prominent person, winning attention and admiration. She also liked Mr. Ivor, and her vanity was pleased. But that was all. Her heart was not affected. To draw back would mean no question of heavy loss, still less of heartbreak.
Miss Mordaunt had spoken of "rehearsals" given beforehand of greater opportunities to follow. What if this were one such "rehearsal"? What if the faithful carrying out of this might mean something greater to come after? So it often is in life.
The thing looked worth doing, apart from any question of rehearsals. Magda thought she would do it. For the sake of right, for the sake of honour, for the sake of her friend—she would hold herself in the background. She would no longer exert herself to be delightful. Mr. Ivor should find her dull and uninteresting. That would put things straight for Bee. She got into bed at last, seeing her own conduct in rosy hues, self put aside, love for Bee victorious, principle getting the upper hand over inclination.
But she forgot to look for Divine help in the carrying out of her good resolution. Some perfunctory prayers had been said earlier—only said with wandering attention. That was all. She had not asked to be made able to tread this path.
And when she awoke in the morning, things wore a different aspect. The road she had marked out for herself had lost its sunshine.
A quiet background is no inviting place for a lively girl, who has just discovered her power to please. And what if Mr. Ivor really were inclined to like her—more than others—more even than Bee? What if he really did wish to see more of her? This thought flashed up vividly. Was she to fling aside such a dazzling possibility, merely because she fancied that Bee was perhaps in love? Why, it would be quite absurd!
Besides—how could she be so rude as to neglect Mr. Ivor, when he came to their house? It would be her duty to make herself agreeable.
Not that Magda was usually bound by any obligations in this direction, when the guest happened to be not to her liking!
Swayed to and fro by such opposite considerations, she went down to breakfast; and the first test came soon.
"Would it be of any use to ask Beatrice Major here this evening?" Mrs. Royston inquired of Penrose.
"I don't know, mother. Mrs. Major has been poorly, but I should think she is better now. Magda will know."
Mrs. Royston looked at Magda, and the thin rope of her last night's resolution snapped under the strain.
"I shouldn't think it would be much use. Bee has been nowhere yet."
"You might find out. She knows Mr. Ivor, and I dare say she would like to come, as he goes to-morrow."
Would Bee not like it? Was her mother not well enough by this time? Magda was aware at least that she might be able. But with the thought came a further temptation, as Pen said
"What has been the matter with Mrs. Major? Not influenza, I suppose? We don't want to get that in the house."
"Something of the sort, I dare say!" Magda replied carelessly.
"Mean! Mean!" cried conscience. She knew she had done it now! Mother and elder daughter exchanged glances, and the subject was dropped. No more chance of an invitation for Bee! And Magda did not want her to come. She did not wish to have Bee as a rival. But how contemptible it was! All her visions of a noble self-forgetfulness had faded into smoke. Everything had given way before her desire to shine. And she knew that she had not spoken the truth. She knew that Mrs. Major was subject to such recurring attacks, though unaware of their exact nature.
When evening came, things did not go as she had hoped. In their own home Pen, as eldest, was automatically more to the fore; and Magda, as the younger, had to submit to being second. Mr. Royston too engrossed a large share of their chief guest. One brief ten minutes' chat with him Magda had towards the close; only enough to make her want more; and then Mr. Royston again took possession, and her enjoyment was cut short.
So she gained little by her disregard of Bee's interests. She had been worsted in her fight, and had flung away another of life's opportunities; and all for nothing. She went to bed feeling indignant and very flat.
And next day the young barrister returned to his busy life in town, without having again met Bee.
That morning Merryl and Frip, as they walked down High Street, saw her coming out of a shop; and she stopped at once to speak to them. Frip was still a small child; but Merryl, since her illness, had shot up rapidly. She had grown much slighter; and her face, though perhaps not strictly pretty, was very attractive, with its look of sunny repose.
"I hope Mrs. Major is better," she said. "We were so sorry to hear about her."
"Thanks, dear; she is getting all right again. She had quite a long drive yesterday."
Frip's shrill little pipe made itself heard before Merryl could reply.
"Why!"—came in astonished accents. "Why, mother wanted to have you to dinner last night. And Magda said it wouldn't be any use, because you couldn't come. And she thought it was influenza."
Bee flushed.
"No, no—Magda only fancied it might be that. She wasn't sure," explained Merryl, always anxious to smooth things down. "She had not been to ask for a day or two, I think."
"No, she had not been. It was not influenza." Bee spoke in a mechanical voice, and her smile was rather forced.
"I suppose—some one must have told her," ventured Merryl.
"People always say that sort of thing, don't they?" Bee remarked. Then, a little hurriedly, she said good-bye, and went on.
"Frip, you shouldn't have told!"
"But I do wonder what made Magda say it. I should have thought she'd have wanted Bee to come. And I'm almost sure Bee is sorry. I'm almost sure she'd have liked to come."
Merryl was quite sure, but would not say so; and the matter dropped. It did not, however, end there. At luncheon some remark was made about Mrs. Major; and Frip, pricking up her ears, put in a word which Merryl, at the other end, had no power to check.
"Mummie, we saw Bee to-day."
"You shouldn't call her 'Bee,' Frip. You should say 'Miss Major,'" admonished Pen.
"But she told me I might call her 'Bee;' so I may, mayn't I? And Mrs. Major is almost quite well again; and it wasn't influenza, not one bit; and Bee could have come yesterday, if you'd asked her, mummie. And I told her you wanted to, only Magda said it was no good. And she looked—I don't exactly know how—only as if she was sorry."
"You do meddle, Frip!" burst out Magda.
"Frip was not very wise to repeat things. But why should you have said what was not correct?"
"I thought it was—of course! How could I know?"
"It would have been kinder to Bee to find out."
That was all that passed; but Magda was much disturbed. It had never crossed her mind that what she did might come to Bee's knowledge.
CHAPTER XXIV
SOMEBODY'S LOOSE ENDS
FOR a fortnight past—ever since Ivor's departure—those "loose ends" had been very apparent. Magda had dropped into a state of hopeless inertia. There was energy enough in her constitution, when it was aroused by a sufficient stimulus; but, like many strong and energetic people, she could be unspeakably lazy. And that was her present condition.
Everything seemed dull and stupid, "stale, flat and unprofitable." Work went to the wall. All that she cared to do was to sit before the fire, reading or pretending to read novels, and going over in imagination those two delightful evenings, which had somehow demoralised her, making nothing else in life worth consideration.
She had fallen back into her usual standing of a "nobody;" and she could not see why it must be so. Other girls were made much of, admired, put forward. Why should it not be the same with herself? She had found that—given certain conditions—it was in her power
to be taking. She wanted those conditions to recur. If only Mr. Ivor would pay another visit to the Vicarage, she might again enjoy that delightful sense of power. There was nobody now in the place for whom she cared or who cared for her
So she made herself far from agreeable to her home-folks, for whom in reality she cared very much; only, a cyclone was needed to reveal the fact. She forgot what she had to do, and refused what she was asked, and replied snappishly, and resented being found fault with, and behaved altogether like a querulous child.
"What are you doing, Magda?"
Mrs. Royston, coming into the morning-room an hour after breakfast, found her second daughter lounging before the fire, with an open novel on her knee, and eyes fixed dreamily on nothing.
Magda slowly stood up. "I'm—reading."
"I think, at this time of the day, you might find something better worth reading than that," as she glanced at the title. "I want you to leave one or two notes for me."
"Isn't Merryl going out?"
"No; not at present. What is the matter? Are you poorly?"
"No, mother."
Mrs. Royston stood looking at her. "Have you practised the last few mornings?"
"I do—sometimes."
"And you look 'sometimes' at your French and German, I suppose. It is a great pity that you let yourself get into such idle habits."
"It's so stupid—practising for one's self alone."
"Why for yourself alone? Why not give other people pleasure. See how pleased your father was yesterday with Merryl's playing."
"He wouldn't have cared for mine. Father hates classical music, and I hate jigs. Merryl only strums. She hasn't a spark of music in her."
"At all events, she does her best; and you do not. You have a real gift for the piano, and you are neglecting it."
"Whatever Merryl does is right, and whatever I do is wrong."
Mrs. Royston sighed. "You always have an answer ready, Magda. I did think at one time— when we so nearly lost our darling Merryl—that you meant to be different. But you go on now just the same. I should like these notes taken, please, at once—and you can ask for the answers."
"Verbal?" Magda spoke in a hard tone, all the more because her mother's words had struck home.
"I don't mind; only, if you bring verbal replies, do bring them correctly."
Magda took up one of the notes. "All the way to Claughton!"
"You used to think nothing of bicycling there two or three times a week. Why should you mind it now?"
"Patricia was fond of me then."
"Patricia has a good deal to think about. I do not believe she has changed to you. Is anything really the matter? If you are not well, tell me frankly."
"I'm quite well, mother."
"Then please take the notes."
Mrs. Royston left the room, and Magda stood staring out of the window—stirred uncomfortably
No doubt it was true that she had "gone on" lately, and especially in the last fortnight, "just the same" as before Merryl's illness. She had lost sight of her remorse and her resolutions, and had again been wrapped up in her own concerns, living an idle and purposeless existence.
"This must be no empty repentance," Rob had said. "When you get back into everyday life again, don't let yourself forget."
But she had allowed herself to forget. She had been beaten again and again, in the strife between right and wrong.
She echoed her mother's sigh, and took up the second note.
It was to Mrs. Major; and strong distaste seized her. She had seen very little of Bee lately. The two had met once or twice in public; but not in private. Magda had been careful to avoid the latter. She knew that she had not been true to her friend; and she knew that Bee must know it. Frip's words could not fail to be enlightening.
And now she was as likely as not to find Bee alone. And she had to go in—had to wait for an answer
She threw her book impatiently on one side, and left the chair with its crumpled cushions before the fire. Which house to take first was the question. She decided on the nearer, because then she could plead a need for haste.
As she went up the garden, she caught sight of Bee's head within the front room, bending over some work. And when she rang the bell, Mrs. Major came out.
"How do you do? Have you come to see Bee?" Mrs. Major scanned the girl critically, having remarked the rarity of her calls.
"I've come to bring a note from mother. She said a verbal answer would do."
Mrs. Major glanced down the page. "Yes—your mother wants an address. Will you ask Bee to look it out in my address-book, please. I have an engagement and cannot wait."
So Magda had no choice. She made her way in, for once so noiselessly that she had time for observation, before Bee awoke to her presence. Something in Bee's bent head and quiet look impressed her—something of resolute patience in the sweet face, with its downcast eyes and dark brows. It made Magda feel uncomfortable—almost guilty. She stirred, and the other glanced up
"Why, Magda! It is quite an age since you came last!"
Magda explained her object.
"Yes—I know where the address is. Sit down. I'll look it up."
"I mustn't wait. I've to go on to Claughton."
"Are you in such a hurry? You once said you could bicycle to the Manor in twenty minutes."
"Did I? Oh, I couldn't quite have meant that. It takes half-an-hour at least and more! And I ought to get back in time to practice."
Bee went to the davenport, where she hunted out the address and wrote it down.
"Will that do—without a note?"
"Oh yes, thanks!"
Magda stood up, and Bee came close, studying her gravely.
"You used not to seem so impatient to be off!"
"I've got to take mother's note."
"Yes, I know—but it is quite early still." Bee sat down, and a light touch on Magda's wrist somehow made her do the same. "I don't think there can be such terrific haste, that you cannot spare a few minutes. I want to ask you what has been the matter lately?"
Somehow, Magda had not expected this; and she flushed up.
"The matter! Oh, why—nothing! Of course not! What do you mean? Why should anything be the matter?"
"You have not been quite the same lately. And I never like to let misunderstandings run on. There is some misunderstanding—isn't there?"
"No! Nothing of the sort!" Magda spoke vehemently. "I don't know what you mean."
Then she felt that this was not true.
"Don't you, really?"
"No, of course, I What do you mean?"
"I have noticed a difference, and I want to know the reason. We are old friends now and it seems such a pity to let anything come between us, when perhaps one word of explanation—"
Magda broke in. "But there's nothing to explain. There isn't, really I—it's only I've been— busy!"
"Busy about what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Heaps of things. Perhaps—more lazy than busy." She tried to laugh, but could not face the wistful eyes bent upon her. "Oh, bother why must you be so inquisitorial?"
"Am I? Well—if you would rather not tell me—"
"I can't. I've nothing to tell."
"Are you sure? Things haven't seemed right. If you would rather drop the subject, I must let you. Only, if I have hurt you in any way, or if you have thought me unkind, I am sorry."
"Bee! It isn't—"
Magda choked over the words. She hardly knew what to say; for the contrast between herself and Bee was not pleasing to vanity
"It isn't what?"
"It's not you! If either of us is wrong, it is I—not you!"
She remembered afterwards that Bee did not contradict the assertion.
"Anyhow, it need not put us apart."
"I suppose not, if—if you don't mind. But—only—" Magda spoke disjointedly, fidgeting with a cushion-tassel. "Only you know—one does feel horrid sometimes; and Frip told me she had told you—and of course—though I really didn't mean to be unkind—"
"When didn't you?"
"You know. You heard what Frip said. And I suppose you would have liked to come—and I ought to have known. And I dare say I did know, really—only one can't always decide rightly, just in a moment. Well—if I'm to make a clean breast of it I didn't want you that evening, Bee. There! It's out!"
"But why?"
"I liked talking to Mr. Ivor. He was so jolly and amusing. And on the whole I rather thought he liked talking with me. He is Rob's friend, you see. And he somehow sort of made me able to talk you know! As some people can, and only a few. And I wanted it over again. And I knew I should have no chance if you, were there. He would only have cared to talk with you."
Magda was not looking up, as she jerked out her little confession. Had she been, she could not have failed to see the swift flash of response in Bee's face. It was quickly subdued, and Bee asked mildly
"Why?"
"My dear, you're dull to-day. You don't seem to understand anything. Why, of course— because you are you! He would be after you fast enough, if you would let him. You can be stiff—most people can, I suppose. But everybody says how pretty you are, and how taking. It's not like Patricia's prettiness. Quite a different sort of thing. But I couldn't help noticing that afternoon, when Mr. Ivor came to call here—though he and I were talking a lot, his eyes kept going back and back to you, as if he couldn't help it; and twice he didn't hear what I was saying."
"I didn't see!"
"Well, anyhow, I did. I declare, Bee, you are looking oceans better than when I came in. You were so white."
"Just a little tired, perhaps. It does one good to have a chat. Don't worry yourself any more about—that—or keep away. Come in as often as you can."
Magda stood up. "All right; I will. But I really must go now, or I shall be late for lunch."
"Yes; I won't keep you. But I am glad you came, dear."
Her good-bye kiss in its tender warmth surprised and touched Magda; for she did not feel that she deserved it.
"I wonder what made me say that about Mr. Ivor?" she debated, as she bicycled out of the town. "But it was true. I'd forgotten, till the moment when I said it, how he did look at her."
And Beatrice, left alone, stood in the room, with both hands pressed hard over her face.
"Oh, if it is! Oh, if it is!" she whispered once or twice.
Then she drew a long breath, and went back to her work quietly, but with a glad light in her eyes.
"What a child Magda is still!" she uttered aloud, with a little laugh. "I seem to be years and years the elder!"
CHAPTER XXV
MAGDA'S OLD CHUM
"SO you know the Roystons," remarked Edward Fairfax to his cousin, Mrs. Miles.
He had arrived the evening before, and had been occupied for an hour past with the newspaper, near an open window. It was a fine day, late in July
There was nothing restless or impulsive about him. Though only six years Magda's senior, he might have been well over thirty, judging from his outlines, his immobility, and his scanty hair. He was neither small and slim like Rob, nor tall and muscular like Ivor; but of another stamp altogether. Medium in site, and solid in make, he had rugged features, yet a very pleasant face. As he sat thus, silent and motionless, a looker-on could hardly have imagined the possibility of Fairfax out of temper. He seemed to be made up of kindliness and good sense. A queer little twinkle in his light-grey eyes gave promise of the "saving sense of humour," which alone goes a long way; and he also had a well-shaped head. As he spoke, he glanced over the edge of his newspaper.
"We know them well. Especially the second girl."
"Magda?"
"That is the one. She says she knew you in old days."
"Yes. Odd little scarecrow of a being, when I first came across her. She'd got into a way of talking all over the shop about her troubles. I cured her of that—made her tell me instead. I used to chaff her fearfully, and she took it well."
"Perhaps she wouldn't have taken it well from everybody. What sort of troubles?"
"Oh, a rum lot! She was always in hot water, somehow. I never could make out who was to blame. So I just told her to keep a stiff upper lip, and not to worry. She had ripping hair— all down her back."
"She has lovely hair now—rather wild sometimes. And she isn't bad-looking. The advice given sounds extremely like Ned Fairfax."
"What else would you have had me say? I wonder if she remembers what chums we were."
"Why—of course. It was she who told me first, when she happened to see your likeness."
"Yes—but still, it was she who dropped me, not I who dropped her. I wrote last, and had no answer. So I stopped."
"You might have tried a second time, if you wanted to keep it up."
"I might—but I didn't."
"Some day soon you are sure to see her. She is rather fond of dropping in here. And you will pay us a long visit."
"Anyhow, I think I'll look up Magda—presently."
"My dear Ned, you have not seen her since she was a child. Wouldn't you rather call her 'Miss Royston'?"
"She is not 'Miss Royston.' And 'Miss Magda Royston' is such a mouthful."
"I should imagine that she would expect it."
Fairfax returned to his paper for another half-hour. Then he put it aside, and went out, aiming for Magda Royston's home.
It was quite true that he and she had been great chums, in the days when he was a big schoolboy from fourteen to seventeen, and she an excitable little girl from eight to eleven. He had made a pet of her, and she had made a hero of him. She had confided to him her every thought and trouble; and he in return, from laughing and pitying, had grown to be fond of the impetuous warm-hearted difficult child, whom nobody seemed to understand. He was rather curious to see what manner of being she had grown into.
Reaching the house, he decided against a formal entrance by means of the front door. It was not an hour for a stiff call; and as a boy, he had been free of the garden. He saw no reason why he should not revert to old habits.
So, following a path amid bushes which led round behind, he found himself close to the kitchen garden; and a few yards in advance of him, their backs turned in his direction, he saw two girls; one small and long-haired; the other rather tall and slight.
"Yes, dear," the latter was saying in a soft voice. "But I don't think it does to mind that sort of thing too much. It isn't worth while. Shall we go and feed the chickens?"
"She needn't be so cross, though—need she?"
"I don't think she means to be cross, darling. Perhaps she is worried about something. That often makes people seem a little cross, you know."
"I beg your pardon—" Ned interposed, with lifted cap; and they turned promptly.
"No—not Magda!" Ned instantly decided. That serene brow, those smiling eyes and happy lips, could hardly appertain to his quondam chum. Unless, indeed, the years had remade her! But this girl was surely younger; hardly more than sixteen, with smooth dark hair. Another sort altogether. Not pretty perhaps in the ordinary sense of the word—but something in the sunshine of that childlike face enchained attention.
"I beg your pardon—" Ned was saying aloud, while such thoughts flashed through his mind. "I fancied you might be Miss Magda Royston."
"Oh, no, I'm only her sister. I'm Merryl," came in frank reply. "Do you want to see Magda?"
"She and I are old friends. I am afraid I have taken rather a liberty in coming this way; but it all looked so familiar that I well, I came. You don't know me, of course. You must have been one of the little ones in those days. I am Ned Fairfax."
Merryl's hand came out cordially.
"But of course I remember. I'm only two years younger than Magda—though we did seem so far apart then. Of course I remember. You were always so good to us little ones. Will you come indoors, and shall I call her? She has gone to the other end of the kitchen garden."
"Then perhaps I might find her there. I should like to discover if she will recognise me— unannounced."
"If you like—please do. But I am sure mother will wish to see you too."
"Hadn't I better choose a more orthodox hour for calling? One afternoon, perhaps. I've come to the Vicarage for ten days."
"Yes, we heard you were coming; and Magda was so pleased."
"Then she has not quite forgotten me. And this of course is little Frip!" Ned's hand grasped Francie's pleasantly. Children always took to him, and Frip proved no exception.
"Frip is our baby still," observed Merryl. "I sometimes think she always will be. We are going now to feed the chickens. You are sure you would rather find Magda yourself?"
Ned was not quite sure. He felt tempted to ask if he might not first interview the chickens; but this suggestion was resisted.
Merryl smiled a good-bye; and as the two went off, he overheard a shrill little voice saying —"I like that man! Don't you?" Followed by a—"Hush, darling."
"That's a nice girl," Ned murmured. He recalled the plump plain-faced little Merryl of former times, and marvelled over time's developments. Would Magda be equally transformed? And if so, in what direction? She had been better-looking than Merryl, despite her "scarecrow" outlines. Whether she would be so still remained to be seen.
Ned knew well the walk at the end of the kitchen garden. It had been there that Magda was wont, in past days, to take refuge from a troublesome world, when in one of her injured moods. He wondered whether she kept the habit up still. Then Merryl's words recurred to his mind; and he questioned—was it Magda who had been "cross"?
There she was—pacing hurriedly along the grass-path, just as in old times. Something had plainly gone wrong with her. She was walking away from where he stood; and he examined the restless movements, contrasting them mentally with the repose of the younger girl's look. Like many men, perhaps most men, Ned loved repose.
Now she was coming back, moving still with a quick impatient swing, as if working off indignation. Her eyes were bent on the ground and he had time to analyse her further, before she looked up. Improved in some ways, he told himself. Height and figure were good; and she held herself well; and the sunshine, catching her hair, lighted the red-gold into brilliancy. But the face at that moment was not a happy one.
Suddenly as a result, perhaps, of his gaze—she glanced full at him. There was a momentary hesitation; and then a glow of pleasure.
"Ned!" she cried, and drew back. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean—Mr. Fairfax."
"Since when have I ceased to be 'Ned'?" he asked, as their hands met.
"Since we grew into strangers," she replied readily. "Ages ago! But I heard you were coming, and I wondered if we should come across one another."
"Was it likely that we should not?"
"How could I tell? Those are such far-off times. But it is nice to see you again. Have you seen mother yet?"
"I did not suppose she would be grateful for so early a call."
"But how did you get round here?"
"Usual mode of progression—on my two feet."
"Oh, how like you are to what you used to be! We always talked nonsense together."
"Did we? My impression is that we discussed endlessly your heart-breaking trials and dismal views of life."
"But then you always made them out to be nothing."
"And then you used to howl and be the better for it."
"Girls always are the better for it, I suppose. I don't howl now. And really I did not often then."
"Not more than three times a week, on an average."
"Oh, I didn't! That is too bad."
"It was a safety-valve. You would have gone off in steam, otherwise."
"But what are you doing now, N—Mr. Fairfax? I mean—what are you—if you don't mind my putting the question? I know nothing of your history."
"Yet we seem to meet very much on the old level."
"I always fancied we should. We were such real friends!"
"Though the friendship has been in complete abeyance!"
"Fizzled out into nothing," she rejoined. "Well, it wasn't my fault. I wrote last."
"I beg your pardon; I wrote last, and had no answer."
"N—Mr. Fairfax! You didn't."
"Miss Magda Royston—pardon me! I did."
"But I do assure you—"
"I sent you a lengthy and most interesting composition, full of sympathy for your bereft condition. And that was the end. I had no reply. So I came to the conclusion that you had found another Ned, and wanted no more of me."
"But indeed, indeed, I wrote last. I wrote sheets; and you never answered them. So I was dreadfully miserable, and I knew you were tired of me, and delighted to get away. And so —"
"So it meant a long gap. But old friends can always begin again, just where they left off."
"It's very nice," murmured Magda. Then she wondered what her mother and Pen would say if she kept N—Mr. Fairfax all to herself out here. "I think I ought to take you indoors," she remarked. "Wouldn't you like to see the others?"
"I'm glad to see everybody. You asked a question just now."
"Yes. I thought you didn't mean to answer it."
"Why should I not? My mother has made a home for me in town, and I have a post in a bank."
"I see—" with a note of disappointment.
"Not romantic, is it? A good many useful things in life are unromantic."
"But you like it?"
"One must do something, and that turned up. It seemed as good as anything else was likely to be."
They began to move towards the house. Magda had suggested this, but it was Fairfax who took the first step. Magda talked eagerly, bringing up one reminiscence after another, and he responded sufficiently to keep her going.
Perhaps his interest was a little less keen than hers; for when they came across Mrs. Royston and Merryl in the flower-garden, and Magda muttered an impatient—"Oh, bother!" Fairfax showed no reluctance. He even quickened his pace to meet them. Magda wanted to keep him longer to herself, for she had no notion of sharing her friend with others.
