Death at the Seaside by F. R. Jameson

Author:F. R. Jameson [Jameson, F. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-24T22:00:00+00:00

Eight

He’d arrived at the fancy restaurant confident of improving her mood, but now left with her in a worse huff than he’d ever seen her in before.

Once out of the restaurant, she didn’t sob or wail; she just let the tears fester so they hardened her whole face against him. He tried to hold her hand, stroll arm in arm, but she shrugged him away and they walked side by side, but unmistakably distant. If she’d been smiley and flirty he’d have no doubt treated her to a return cab ride, expedited her way to nakedness in his bed. But instead – because he could be stroppy too – they took no cab, hailing one neither to the train station nor to the holiday camp. Larry Castle and Elizabeth Franklin just trudged the mile to the chalet in sheer, oppressive silence.

It was a glorious evening – the bright sun shining, the laughter of passing holiday makers seeming like it should be infectious, even the saltiness of the sea air smelled sweet.

Heading to the promenade was a little diversion on the way to his chalet, but he took that route anyway. With all these people about, he wanted her on his arm, to show her off. Yet frustratingly she walked narked-off beside him, and the most annoying thing was he couldn’t think of anything to say to bring her around. Even his reserves of charm felt exhausted at that moment. He was too annoyed with her, too irritated by her. But then he stared at her in that dress and wanted her so much.

Her calves and knees were so pretty and with each angry stride he could make out the shapeliness of her thighs. The black belt accentuated the flatness of her tummy and her breasts swelled above it, the V neck of that fairly daring red dress displaying the beautiful creaminess of her bosom. And maybe the camera didn’t catch it quite as well as it could have (or maybe it was English cameramen at fault) but there was no denying her face was near perfect. With the added bonus this evening of slightly smudged mascara. He always liked when emotion sent women’s make-up askew. The thought of him placing his thumb beneath her eye and smearing it right across her face was one that excited every inch of him. But still he struggled to think of something to say, of a line that would let him have her sooner rather than later.

Maybe he’d been too hasty in turning her down, putting her off. As even when they were fighting, he was absolutely entranced by her. Her meanness excited him. Possibly he was wrong and the Montgomerys would just go away. Hollywood was surely as good a place to hide out as any, and once he got his money out of Britain he was sure he could use it to make some extra. Exciting dollars rather than boring pounds. And when he had that new cash, he could undoubtedly pay someone to keep the wretched Montgomery types away from him.

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