Page 20 of She Devil
He puts one in front of me and one at his place, then reaches into a side pocket in the leg of his trousers to produce cutlery.
‘Voila,’ he says, waving his hand with a proud flourish towards the meal.
‘It smells delicious,’ I say, because it does. Despite the fact my stomach’s jumping with tension, my mouth still waters with anticipation.
‘Would you like some wine to go with it?’ Jamie asks, gesturing towards a silver bucket at the other end of the table with the neck of a bottle of white wine peeking out of it.
‘No, thank you,’ I say, ‘But don’t let me stop you if you want some.’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t drink any more.’
I blink at him. ‘You don’t drink wine, or any alcohol?’ I ask, wanting clarification on that point.
‘Alcohol. Not since my early twenties.’
‘Why did you give it up?’ I’m intrigued about the reason for this.
He looks away and I get the sense he’s uncomfortable talking about it.
‘Mostly because it interfered too much with my tennis training. There’s nothing worse than running round a court with a hangover being bellowed at by your coach,’ he replies, picking up his knife and fork and cutting into his fish. He’s still not looking at me and I could swear his shoulders and jaw have tensed.
Then it hits me. Of course. His mother died from liver failure. Although he never explicitly said so, I got the impression she was an alcoholic and that’s what had caused it. Which actually makes a lot of sense to me after what shook out after my mother’s death.
Jamie had very rarely talked about his mother, who he’d lost when he was only fifteen, and whenever he did mention her I’d got the feeling he’d struggled to come to terms with it—he’d certainly become very morose whenever the subject had come up—so I’d never pursued it.
And I wasn’t about to delve into that sticky topic now. Too personal.
I pick up my knife and fork and begin to eat, savouring the soft, creamy texture of the fresh fish in my mouth.
Thinking about it, perhaps something happened to make him think he was heading towards alcoholism too. Perhaps it was after what happened with us.
A hot rush of distress hits me.
But I can’t let myself think like that. I’d done what I’d done to protect him. To save him from losing everything that had meant something to him.
Anyway, it was probably just the training, like he said.
‘I heard you’ve given up playing professionally,’ I say to distract myself from the sinking feeling in my gut. ‘What happened?’
He looks up at me, his brows pinched together. ‘I had a bad fall on the court during a training session a couple of years ago, which my shoulder never fully recovered from, and it put paid to my winning streak.’ He rolls the shoulder in question as if the mere thought of it had sent a throb of pain through him. ‘Even after a year of physiotherapy the mobility in my shoulder hasn’t entirely returned so I can’t put as much power behind my strokes any more.’
He shrugs. ‘I still play a bit, though, when I get a chance. I sometimes do stints of coaching for kids from underprivileged backgrounds through a couple of sports-focussed charities, to give them opportunities they might not ordinarily have. And I run scholarship programmes to help with club and coaching fees if they show talent and interest.’ He flashes me a self-depreciating smile. ‘At first I thought it would drive me insane, watching all those bright young things priming themselves to take my crown, but actually it’s been incredibly rewarding.’
I realise I’m staring at him, a forkful of food en route to my mouth. ‘I didn’t know all that,’ is all I can think to say, caught off-guard. I didn’t realise he had philanthropic leanings, but then I’ve avoided him—and even conversations about him—as much as possible over the last ten years.
He laughs at my surprise, his whole face lighting up.
My breath catches in the back of my throat and warmth pools in my belly at the sight of it. He looks so different when he’s not being angry with me. I’d forgotten how much his smile affects me. How my whole being responds to it, as if I’m being shot through with pure pleasure.
Another thing to watch out for.
‘There’s no need to look so shocked. I know you think I’m just some self-obsessed playboy, but that couldn’t be further from the truth,’ he scolds me, dipping one eyebrow in mock consternation.
‘Yes, well, we haven’t exactly spent a lot of time around each other recently, so I’m going on past experience.’
I have to look away from him after that and concentrate on forcing down some more of my food so he doesn’t see how much this conversation is bothering me. It was hard enough being around him when he was being cruel and offensive, but now he’s actually acting like a human being I don’t seem to know what to do with myself.
It’s a charm offensive, all right, but I’m not sure where it’s leading.
