Part 12 (2/2)

'Full of goodness. Nutritionist's orders.' He smiled at me over the top of the gla.s.s.

'You're quite safe, you know, Miss Tilly,' he said. 'I don't bite.'

'This is all very nice,' I said, fl.u.s.tered, 'but I just came to talk to you about the necklace. I-'

'Why don't you just have your tea that Maria's made for you, while I go and have a shower and change. Then I'll come down and we'll talk. Unless you want to come up and shower with me...?'

'No!' I said, shocked, and tried not to imagine Clayton's naked body with water cascading over it.

'Back in a minute.'

By the time I thought of something calm and sensible to say, he'd gone. I thought of leaving the necklace on the sofa and just going. No. I had to wait. I had no option really. So I poured some tea and looked around.

Remembering Jake's research and my own misgivings, I wondered if this could be the home of a corrupt footballer. What did I expect to find-boxes of used tenners stuffed in the corner? Brown envelopes bulging with cash? But I made a quick study of the room to see what it could tell me.

There was a huge reclining armchair opposite the wall with the TV set. I could just imagine Clayton lounging back there with the remote in one hand and a gla.s.s of wine in the other. There were a couple of games consoles, a stack of DVDs. But there was a bookcase too-a quick glance showed that Clayton Silver liked thrillers, sports books and travel guides and also had a collection of books on modern art. Which didn't surprise me as much as it would have done a while ago.

The shelf full of photographs mainly featured football teams and triumphs. Lots of medals, cups and champagne. There was one in bright foreign sun of a shop front with a big ribbon across it and Clayton and an older woman about to cut it. His mum, I guessed. Very tanned, very blonde, looking very pleased with herself. And why not? Another photo showed a pleasant middle-aged couple pictured sitting in a garden. The man looked vaguely familiar and I realised I'd seen him on television occasionally. It was Denny Sharpe, the manager of Clayton's first team, the one who'd been like a father to him. It was nice to see his picture there. I looked quickly along the rest of the pictures-but there weren't any of women. Every week Clayton Silver was pictured with some new model or actress, but none of them had got as far as his picture shelf. Interesting.

Suddenly cheerful, I decided it seemed a shame not to try those pastries that Maria had brought, and they were only small. I nibbled one. It tasted deliciously of almonds.

I rummaged in my bag and took out the box with the necklace in it and placed it on the coffee table. I opened the box for a last look. I wondered if Kim Scarlett would wear it. I'm not sure if it was her sort of thing. But how was I to know? I was just running it through my hands, feeling the weight and smoothness of the silver, the gloss of the amber, admiring the deceptive simplicity of the design, when Clayton came back into the room. He leant over my shoulder, so close that I could smell the very expensive scent of whatever he'd used in the shower. He wore a dazzling white T-s.h.i.+rt and beautifully cut jeans. Gulp. It was hard to ignore the sheer physical power of the man. But I was determined to try.

'So this is what a twenty-five-thousand-pound necklace looks like, is it?' he said. 'I didn't get to study it the night I bought it. Too busy looking at the lady wearing it.' He turned his head-his beautifully shaped head-and smiled at me.

He was so close to me I was actually having difficulty breathing. I moved away from him, took a deep breath and said firmly. 'It's a beautiful necklace but I can't keep it, so I'm giving it back to you.'

His smile faded. He looked puzzled as he stood up and moved around to face me.

'And why can't you keep it?' he asked, with a hint of coldness in his tone, that was just a bit scary. Too bad. I knew what I had to say and ploughed on with it. 'Tell the truth,' as the sampler in the cottage said.

'Because it was so expensive. And you don't really know me. And it's not...' I groped for the word I wanted and suddenly found it. 'It's not...appropriate.'

The scary coldness instantly left Clayton's eyes and he hooted with laughter. 'You're telling me that it's not...appropriate...to give you this necklace. Appropriate?' The world almost gurgled in his throat.

'Yes,' I said, beginning to feel like something out of a Jane Austen novel. 'I mean, you don't know me. It was very nice of you to take me to the dinner-and to lunch before that in the helicopter. I don't mean lunch in the helicopter,' I was gabbling, 'but you know what I mean. Anyway, that was very kind of you and thank you very much. I had a very nice time. But the necklace-well, that's just too much. I mean, that's the sort of present you only give to someone when they're very...and I'm not. Am I? I mean, I don't know you. Do I? So I can't. I really can't. But thank you.'

I put the necklace back in its box and pushed it across the coffee table to him.

Clayton was still towering over me, his hands in his pockets.

'You are certainly a one-off,' he said. 'That is the first time, the very first time, anyone has ever returned a present to me. And definitely the first time anyone has said that something had to be ”appropriate”.' He rocked on his heels.

'But it's like this,' he went on. 'I bought the necklace as a way of helping Ted Blake's charity. He's a nice guy. It was sad about his wife and he's trying to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to other mums. That's good. I gave him twenty-five thousand pounds. I could have given him twenty-five thousand pounds anyway, and not got anything back at all. But this time, I got this nice necklace. Now I can't wear it. Might get the guys talking. So what am I going to do with it? Why, give it to a nice lady, of course, and hope she wears it. Otherwise it would just sit in its box and no one would ever see it. And that would be a shame because I think it's quite a nice necklace.'

'It is. A very nice necklace. But...'

'Now what buts?'

'Well, surely, there must be...you must have...I mean, you must have plenty of other women you could give this to, women you know better than me.'

He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Well, there are lots of ladies, yes. Always lots of ladies. And do you know what, Tilly? Every one of them would have s.n.a.t.c.hed that necklace so fast they would nearly have taken my hand with it. But not you. And that just makes me even more sure that you should have it.

'After all, it's just a necklace. I bought it to help a mate's charity. And now I've got it, I have to give it to someone, and I think it would look nice on you. So...'

He picked up the box with the necklace in it, bowed in a jokey way and handed me the box. 'This necklace is for you. For being different. For keeping me company at that dinner and because it looks great on you and I shall think of you wearing it.'

I was still sitting on the sofa. He leant down towards me, took the necklace out of its box and, once again, slipped it over my head. There was that wonderful closeness of him again, that difficulty in breathing. The infuriating part was that he knew d.a.m.n well the effect he was having on me. And I was determined that he wouldn't.

Why does life have to be so complicated?

'Tell you what,' Clayton was saying. 'There's a viewing tonight that I've been invited to. You could come too. Then maybe we could have dinner. Would you like that?'

He moved away and was looking out of the window, as if my reply didn't really matter that much at all. Which made it easier for me to say. 'No. Thank you for the offer, but I can't. I'm booked on a train this evening. In fact,' I glanced at my watch, 'it's time I was leaving.'

Clayton turned back and looked at me. 'Don't go,' he said. 'You can catch a later train.'

'No. I have to get back. I have an appointment with a monk tomorrow. You can't let monks down. Probably a sin.' I started to ease the necklace off over my head. I still wasn't sure what I was going to do with it.

But Clayton took hold of both my hands in his, so I had to let the necklace fall back round my throat, and looked into my eyes. 'What time are you seeing your monk?'

'Lunchtime.' d.a.m.n! Why didn't I say ten o'clock? That would have made life more straightforward. Why did I always have to tell the truth?

'Then that's easy,' said Clayton triumphantly. 'We can go to the gallery. We can have dinner. You can catch the last train. If you're not seeing your monk till lunchtime, you've got time for a nice lie-in. No probs.'

'No, I can't. I have to...'

'Yes you can. Unless you really, really don't want to be with me. And I thought we were OK. I thought we liked each other. Aren't we friends? Can't friends spend an evening together?' He smiled. 'Please?'

I was lost. I was torn. I was tempted. I knew exactly what I should do, what would be the sensible plan. But there again, in the last few weeks, in this strange freedom since Jake and I had split, I had got used to adventures, most of them involving Clayton. And so far, it had been fun. I laughed.

'OK. You win. But I must get the last train. I really must get it.'

And if I'd known what would happen, would I have done things any differently?

Chapter Sixteen.

Despite its easily missed entrance, the gallery was long, thin, light and airy. A waitress offered us a gla.s.s of wine. I took one, but Clayton waved his away and took water, which he sipped while studying the catalogue.

<script>