The smell of him lingered on her sheets and on her body, bringing with it flashbacks of him thrusting into her, setting her alight in a way that she’d never known before. With an almighty effort, she pushed the thoughts away, got out of bed and began to strip the duvet cover and pillowcases. She threw them into a pile in the middle of the floor and stared at the bare mattress, trying to make sense of what had happened. Already she somehow knew that this night would affect the rest of her life.
Watching Sophie and Melissa out on the beach in the evening sunlight, Emily felt a violent stab of jealousy. Sophie’s situation was so different from the one she had found herself in. Sophie was in a happy, settled relationship with the love of her life, while Emily had been lost, scared and alone, sworn to secrecy and not even able to share the excitement and happiness of all the milestones along the way – the scans, the birth, the first tooth, the first step. Sophie would be able to share all of that with her Steve and although she knew it was irrational, Emily hated her for it.
‘So are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?’ Melissa had borrowed a pair of too-big wellies and an oversized Barbour coat from the house, giving her the comical appearance of a child wearing its parents’ clothes as she and Sophie crunched together over the shingle.
Sophie pulled her own leather jacket around her. Although it was August, the temperature still dropped sharply in the evenings, producing a strong breeze that carried with it more than a hint of ice. She looked ahead at the rapidly setting sun, a fierce ball of orange melting into a slate-grey sea. Walking along this narrow strip of shingle, which rose mystically from the water with each low tide, Sophie had a sudden feeling that she was walking on water. That she was invincible. ‘I’m pregnant.’
She couldn’t be sure if it was the sound of the wind or a sharp intake of breath from Melissa that whipped past her ears. They crunched along without speaking until they reached the end and couldn’t walk any further without wading into the murky depths – the prospect of which Sophie found momentarily, desperately appealing. She hesitated, waiting for the temptation to pass, before turning. Ahead of them the clapperboard house rose up in its pale-blue painted splendour. The last of the sun’s tired rays glinted lazily off the latticed windows, giving the impression that the house was slowly but surely dropping off to sleep.
Melissa reached out and took Sophie’s hand in hers as they stood, still as statues while the wind continued to buffet them, causing their hair to blow around their faces. Her tiny hand felt strong and safe. ‘It’ll be OK, you know.’
Finally, Sophie turned to meet Melissa’s eye and wondered if the gleam of tears she saw there was a reflection of her own. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
Sophie looked up at the clock on the newsroom wall. It was 11.15 p.m. Her eyes felt gritty and sore through lack of sleep but her heart was still hammering with adrenaline. She had just produced her first ever news bulletin and the buzz it had given her was indescribable. She had felt as if she was literally flying as she heard her words being read out to the nation by one of the most familiar newscasters in Britain.
Gradually, the newsroom had thinned out as everyone else drifted home but Sophie didn’t want to go home just yet. To Steve. Who would probably be fast asleep and snoring by now. She wanted to celebrate.
‘So how was that for you, Sophie?’ It wasn’t just the face that was familiar, the voice was unmistakable too.
‘Oh, it was amazing! Thank you. I mean, I know you do this every night but my God, what a buzz!’
Matt Whitelaw laughed, revealing straight white teeth that looked even whiter next to his tanned skin. ‘Yeah, I do it every night but you know what? Every time is different and I never, ever take it for granted. It’s great to see someone so fired up, though. Some of the producers have been around for so long they seem as if they’re just going through the motions.’
Sophie nodded, knowing that he was talking about the two senior producers, Simon Tebbutt and Neil Marsh. Between them they had about thirty years under their belts at this company and while their experience was undoubtedly valuable, they were both a bit too comfortable in their roles and had been secretly described by some of the other producers as ‘bed-blockers’.
‘Still, I guess as long as we stay at the top, they won’t be going anywhere…’ Matt shrugged on his black leather biker jacket and picked up his crash helmet. ‘Listen, I don’t suppose you fancy a swift vino, do you?’
Sophie could feel herself reddening. She glanced around the newsroom to see if anyone had heard but by now it was deserted. ‘Won’t everywhere be closed?’
Matt tapped his nose. ‘I know a place… come on, I’ve got a spare helmet on the bike.’ He strode confidently towards the door of the newsroom, clearly expecting no objection from her.
Sophie hesitated, looking down at her Lycra mini-skirt and knee-length boots. Oh, what the hell? she thought, scooping up her bag and jacket and following him out of the door.
‘You looked great on the bike in that skirt and those boots.’ Matt eyed her legs appreciatively, as they sat opposite each other on soft red velvet chairs in the private members’ lounge he had taken her to. ‘Did you see that cab driver’s face when he pulled up alongside us? I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.’ Matt took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and exhaled, his eyes narrowing behind the tiny wall of smoke, giving him the aura of a fifties matinee idol.
Sophie laughed, a little nervously. The evening had taken on a surreal quality. It was gone midnight and she knew that she shouldn’t be here, alone with another man. A man she had fantasized about ever since she’d started working for this company just over a year ago.
Matt Whitelaw was the main anchor of the late news show. He was arrogant and vain and had been known to have more than the odd petulant outburst behind the scenes, but he was also undeniably sexy. His pale blue shirt strained against the honey-coloured skin on his taut, flat stomach. His blue-grey eyes were framed by long, dark lashes that gave him a look of innocence, even when he was saying the most outrageous things, which meant that he could get away with just about anything. He had that rare quality that drew both men and women to him in droves and probably stemmed from his sharp intellect and fierce wit. They had been discussing the story about Bill Clinton and the White House intern that was just beginning to surface and Sophie was in thrall as he assessed the mounting evidence. ‘Watch this space. It’s going to cause him trouble, this one…’ he finished, with a knowing smile.
Sophie smiled back, alcohol dulling her ability to give a meaningful response. Matt then moved on to talking about the team at work, taking apart each character like a surgeon with a scalpel. ‘I dread to think what you say about me behind my back.’ Sophie’s comment was meant to be light-hearted but as she finished speaking, their eyes connected and Matt’s face took on an intense expression.
‘Oh, I do definitely talk about you behind your back.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately, rolling his words with his tongue. ‘But nothing for you to dread, I assure you.’
Sophie wished he would be the one to look away first, but he had dropped his head slightly and was looking up at her through those lashes in a way that told her he was going nowhere. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away from his and took a sip of her champagne. She felt woozy and slightly sick. She was out of her depth and they both knew it. ‘I think I’d better go home.’
Matt blinked sleepily, not betraying the faintest hint of disquiet. Still he watched her. ‘No, you don’t. The night’s only just begun…’
Suddenly Sophie’s senses, which seemed to have been floating in the ether above her all evening, snapped sharply back