A Different Kind of Forever(80)

Jane Whyte saw Michael wandering down the hallway and knew at once he was troubled about something. She intercepted him before he could get involved in something that might change his mood, dragged him out the front doors, and took him to the nearest pub. He was drunk after the second pint, his brain and body too tired to offer any resistance to alcohol. Jane tried her best, supplying a comforting shoulder and a sympathetic ear as he poured out his story. She kept one hand on his thigh, the other playing with his hair. He finally turned to her, bleary-eyed, and she kissed him, a long, deep kiss that sent shivers down her back, but when she pulled back and looked at him, his eyes were so blue and sad, something in her heart twisted.

“What is it, love?” she whispered, “didn’t you like it?”

“Don’t do this, Jane. Please.” Michael’s voice was low, his shoulders slumped.

“Come on, my flat’s just around the corner. Don’t sit here and be all sad. So, your lady is stepping out. Just step out yourself a bit. You’ll feel so much better, really.”

“She’s not stepping out,” Michael insisted.

“Well, you told me you saw her picture, right? So, let her have a bit of fun. You’ve been over here for weeks. Did you think she’d just sit at home and do a bit of knitting?”

“No.” Michael buried his head in his hands.

“So, come on then. She’d never know. Wouldn’t you like to just stretch out somewhere soft and quiet?” She moved her hand higher up his thigh.

“Don’t, Jane,” he said tiredly. “I’m not going to f*ck you, so just stop.”

“What are you being so bloody loyal for, anyway?” Jane asked, annoyed.

“I love her, Jane.”

“Then why the hell don’t you get her over here?” Jane hit his arm. “If she’s so f*ckin’ wonderful, she’ll come, right? I know I would. I’d be over here in a flash.”

“Would you?” Michael looked at her intently. “If I asked you to fly for hours just to spend the night with me, would you really?”

“Love, for a roll in the kip with you, I’d walk to f*ckin’ China. Why wouldn’t she, if you two are so in love?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Michael said sadly. “I don’t actually know if she loves me or not.”

“What?” Jane stared at him. He was beautiful to her, his eyes deep blue, his mouth soft and slightly parted, his hair falling down across his forehead. “Oh, now Mickey, how could she not love you? “ She brushed away his hair and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re such a darlin’, really you are. Call her and tell her to come and when she gets here, f*ck her brains out. Believe me, she won’t mind a bit.”

He cracked a smile. “Do you think?”

“Come on, let me get you home. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Let’s go.” She pulled him off the stool and walked him back to the studio. She knew she was only one more pint away from having him naked in her bed, but she didn’t have the heart. Perhaps, she thought, she could find another way.

Diane called him two days later. She would come over to London. As he sat in the darkness, listening to Seth and Gordon Prescott scream at each other, he didn’t care. She was coming to London. That was all that mattered.





CHAPTER ELEVEN



QUINN CALLED HER Monday morning. “I’ve learned my lesson, Diane. I was out of line. Please, have dinner with me? Just dinner - I swear. It won’t happen again.”

“Do you know there’s a rumor going around about the two of us?” she asked accusingly.

“Rumor? Oh, I can imagine. University is just one big opportunity to gossip, isn’t it? Are they saying anything terribly naughty?”

“Quinn, Michael’s sister is on campus. Angela Bellini.”

“Oh. Blast, I’m sorry. Are you afraid she’ll report back to him you’ve been misbehaving?”

“No. It’s not that. I’m just - ” Her shoulder slumped. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you miss him, I’m sure,” Quinn said briskly. “When is he due back?”

“I don’t know, but I’m flying over there this weekend to see him.”

“Ah.” Quinn paused. “Well then, why on earth would you worry about any silly gossip? Please, have dinner. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to eat with the secretary of the Dean of Admissions again. The woman has been stalking me, I swear. Hovering outside my classroom at precisely three-fifty-six, asking what I’m doing after class. I feel positively threatened.”