Page 67 of All Summer Long

Alice felt her lips tremble when she tried to smile and tell him that yes, she was more than okay, and yes, she wanted this with him here, and that yes, there was no one else in the world she could imagine lying here with.

She nodded, stroking the back of his head as he settled himself between her legs.

‘I might cry,’ she said, her voice small. ‘It’s not because I’m sad, okay?’

Robinson kissed her forehead, her eyes, and then her mouth.

‘You’re so darn lovely, Alice,’ he said, holding her hand beside her head, his thumb stroking her pulse point.

‘Don’t think,’ he whispered, rocking his hips down. ‘Just feel.’

He was gentle and she treasured him for it, kissing the tears from her cheeks as he moved slowly inside her, holding her close and murmuring her name.

If Alice had been asked who she cried for, she wouldn’t have known what to say. She cried for herself; sadness for the finality of losing her marriage today even though in reality it had been dead in the water for a while, and she cried tears of pride for how far she’d come since she’d found herself unexpectedly alone. She cried tears of regret for how much of herself she’d kept buried over the years, and for the time she’d wasted not being the person she really wanted to be. But most of all, she cried tears of pain for the inescapable truth that she was going to have to give Robinson back to his real life soon. Beautiful, generous Robinson Duff, the drop dead gorgeous cowboy who’d come to Borne to save his own sanity and somehow saved hers too. She missed him already.

‘Remind me again why I’m doing this,’ Robinson muttered a couple of mornings later, running his hand around the inside of his shirt collar in the back of the car flying along the empty motorway in the early hours.

‘Because I am making hay while the British sun shines, Robinson. Because I haven’t travelled to this tiny rock just to wipe your ass. Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you a slot on this show? A lot, that’s how many, so suck it up and be grateful. Tell them you love their little country and smile for the camera. Tell them you’re coming over here on tour soon.’

‘You’re advising me to lie on breakfast TV?’

‘Doesn’t necessarily need to be a lie, son,’ Marsh said smoothly, snapping his black silk eye mask over his eyes to indicate that that the conversation was over.

Robinson leaned his head back and watched the lights whizzing past his window in a blur. Trust Marsh to get his money’s worth out of being in England. The man was always looking for the next opportunity to make money, and to give him his dues he was the best in the business at his job. Robinson knew that on a professional level he ought to be grateful for the exposure, but coming to England had never been about that. It had been about the opposite, in fact. It was an unwelcome intrusion, his real life seeping further and further in around the edges, like ink bleeding on blotting paper.

Alice switched on the TV in the lounge at the manor and curled up in the armchair to watch Robinson appear on Lorraine’s famous morning sofa. She’d grown accustomed to watching Brad being interviewed when they were together, but the idea of Robinson on TV seemed so much more bizarre. She didn’t know him in his professional capacity at all, in fact while he’d been here she’d made a point of not looking him up or listening to his music. It felt important, almost like it would be disloyal to know more about him than he knew of her courtesy of Google and skewed information from people with vested interests.

‘And coming up after the break we’ve our weekly round-up of the soaps,’ chirped Lorraine, ‘and I’ll be talking to Brad McBride about the explosive scenes coming up for his character this autumn in Doctors On Call, plus country music superstar Robinson Duff will be here to tell us all about his latest album. More in five.’

Alice gasped out loud in pure shock and horror. This had to be a mistake. It was just too co-incidental that Brad could end up on the same show as Robinson. Breathing fast, she slid her tea onto the table and covered her face with her hands.

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ she whispered. ‘What did you do, Marsh?’

‘So, Robinson, it’s an absolute treat to have you here! I know your legions of fans here in the UK will want me to ask if you’ve any plans to tour here soon?’ Lorraine smiled broadly and crossed her fingers at the camera on the viewers’ behalf as she twinkled at Robinson seated opposite her on the couch.

Alice sat dry mouthed on the edge of her seat, her hands gripping the undersides of her thighs with clammy hands. The camera loved Robinson, picking up the tawny lights in his hair and sprinkling green glitter in his beautiful eyes. He came over exactly as he was in real life, honest and open, and Lorraine looked so smitten that she might crawl across the floor in her fabulous shoes and mount him at any moment. Alice couldn’t blame her. Seeing him doing his job was an incredible aphrodisiac; he was confident and sexy, and when Lorraine cut to a clip of him in concert Alice wanted to lick the screen because he was so shatteringly sexy. In that moment, she saw what the world saw and fell for him afresh as a spellbound fan. For a few seconds she forgot all about the fact that Brad was coming on and just appreciated the man in front of her.

‘You spend a fair chunk of your time globetrotting, life must be pretty stressful,’ Lorraine said, leaning towards him a little. ‘What do you do to relax in your down time?’

A loud off-screen clatter made Lorraine jump violently in her seat, and as Robinson looked over his shoulder Brad stumbled into view, shaking his foot free of a trailing camera cable that he’d clearly tripped on as he barged onto the set.

‘I’ll tell you what he’s doing with his down time, Lorraine,’ he shouted, jabbing his finger wildly in Robinson’s direction. ‘He’s boning my wife!’

Lorraine looked as if she might be about to have a heart attack on the spot, and Robinson got to his feet.

‘I’m real sorry about this, darlin’,’ he said to Lorraine, and then to a purple-faced Brad, he said ‘this is neither the time nor the place.’

‘Oh, I think it is,’ Brad said. ‘And you can tell my slut of a wife from me that …’

He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Robinson’s fist connected squarely with his jaw.

‘Never miss a good chance to shut up,’ Robinson said, shaking the blood from his knuckles as Brad stumbled backwards out of view again and could be heard screaming loudly at Lorraine’s crew to get off him as they hauled him off set.

Robinson sat back down again as if nothing untoward had happened, and after a moment Lorraine followed suit and smoothed a hand over her perfectly coiffed hair.

‘Where I come from, it’s not polite to speak like that about a lady.’

Lorraine looked as if she might commando roll across the floor and kiss Robinson’s feet. She coughed to clear her throat and then smiled into the camera.

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