The Crystal Cage by Merryn Allingham

Author:Merryn Allingham [Allingham, Merryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460338360
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Nick ran his fingers down my spine in an exploratory gesture. The metallic tick of the ancient alarm filled my ear, and I raised myself onto one elbow to squint at its dial. In the harsh sodium light that penetrated the room’s thin curtains, I made out the hands. They showed ten minutes to four, well before dawn. I gave a small sigh of protest, but it did nothing to deflect him, so I turned over and made ready to enjoy what was on offer. I hadn’t known what to expect after our night in Dorchester, but he’d turned out to be a surprisingly expert and considerate lover. Fun, too, and we had spent most of the three days since our return in bed. It made a happy change from Oliver’s careful schedule, but it was playing hell with my sleep patterns. Not that I really cared; I’d begun to embrace Nick’s chaotic lifestyle with worrying ease.

When we’d arrived back at Waterloo, he had accompanied me to Lyndhurst Villas. I hadn’t expected that, but I was glad to have him with me. The house was empty and echoing, and for the first time in years I didn’t feel at home.

‘I can’t stay here,’ I said.

‘Why do you think I came back with you? Pack a bag and stay at my place.’

I hadn’t been at all sure. If I went to his flat, I would be burning my boats, opting for one man over another. Or would I? I could stay with Nick as a friend, as long as I made that clear. Oliver was in Newcastle and would be there for at least another two or three days. Perhaps all I needed to clear my mind was a change of scene. I grabbed clean clothes from one of the capacious wardrobes that Oliver favoured and then went into the small room that functioned as my office. My laptop, books, my copy of Kelly, a few papers—even to me it seemed as though I were planning to stay away a little longer than a few days.

Nick’s flat turned out to be every bit as grim as he’d described. It was in a small, grubby side street a few minutes from Kings Cross. In daylight the area was hardly salubrious, but by the time we passed the station, the ladies of the night were already doing good business. His rooms, all two of them, were in the basement of a dreary Victorian terrace. Even on a fine June evening they were entirely lacking in natural light, and the very few pieces of furniture Nick possessed were lit by a harsh neon glow. Their air of moth-eaten dilapidation suggested they might well have fallen from a passing skip. I tried not to advertise my sinking spirits, but the contrast with Lyndhurst Villas was too stark to ignore.

‘I did warn you,’ he said, and shrugged. Nick’s shoulders were as expressive as most people’s faces. ‘But you’re welcome to crash for a few days.’

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