"They were there. They pulled him off me."
"I hope you pressed charges."
Alexia looked uneasy. Teddy's eyes widened.
"You did press charges?"
"I didn't need to. Edward dealt with it."
"How?"
"We deported him. Quietly. I didn't want the press to make a story out of it. I just wanted him gone."
Teddy nodded approvingly. This was the one reassuring thing he'd heard all evening. For a few minutes he sat in silence, sipping his Bordeaux contemplatively. Then he asked Alexia, "What was his name?"
She seemed surprised by the question. "Does it matter?"
"It matters to me, yes. I'd like to know."
"I'm afraid I can't tell you."
Teddy looked at her, disbelieving. "What? Don't be silly, darling. Who was he?"
"I would if I could, Teddy. But I can't. You're just going to have to trust me on this one."
"Trust you? That's rich! You clearly don't trust me enough to confide in me." Teddy stood up angrily and began pacing the deck. Suddenly all the peace and ease of the evening had gone. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.
Alexia pleaded. "Don't be angry. You knew what we were getting into when I put my name forward for this job."
Did I? thought Teddy bitterly.
"I'm not some back-bench MP anymore. I'm the home secretary."
"I know your job title, Alexia." It was unlike Teddy to lose his temper, especially with her, but he couldn't seem to help himself.
"Then you should also know that there are going to be things, many things, that I'm not able to share with you." Alexia fought back. "It's just the way it is."
"So why tell me anything? Why tell me you're worried about this man and then not let me help?"
Alexia sensed the frustration in his voice, and the hurt. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything. But after the other night, in Lucy Meyer's kitchen, she'd felt a growing need to talk about her fears.
"I told you because you asked. And because I wanted to be honest, as honest as I can be."
"Yes, well. It's not bloody good enough!"
Standing up, she wrapped her arms around Teddy's waist and pressed her body against his. It was an affectionate gesture. Vulnerable. Needy. Contrite. Despite himself, Teddy felt his heart melting.
Turning around, he pulled her into his arms.
"I want to protect you, Alexia. That's all. Can't you understand that?"
"You are protecting me." Alexia whispered. "Right now. I need you so much Teddy. I couldn't do any of this without you."
Teddy kissed her hard on the mouth. He would never stop wanting her.
Never.
Lying naked and sated in bed, wrapped in Michael De Vere's arms, Summer Meyer stared at the ceiling, grinning from ear to ear.
It was official.
She was over Chad Bates.
Michael's breath tickled her ear and the warm weight of his body pressed against her back. He smelled of sweat and cologne and sex, and Summer didn't think she had ever wanted a man quite so badly. Kissing him, she whispered, "I was thinking about what you said before."
"You mean about your arse being the eighth wonder of the world?" Michael's hand crept downward.
"No, not that." Summer giggled.
"Because it is, you know. Honestly, if you were English, I'd be having that thing preserved for the nation. Of course, you Yanks have no sense of heritage."
"I mean what you said about us not really knowing each other, even after all these years."
"Oh. That."
"It's true."
"Well, hopefully it's a little less true now."
Reaching for her breasts, Michael lazily traced a line around her nipples with his index finger. Summer moaned with pleasure. His hands on her body were pure bliss. She shuddered to think of where and how he had picked up his technique.
"I'm serious. I mean I know your whole family better than I know you. Your mom's a machine. Your dad's a saint."
"I wouldn't go that far," muttered Michael.
"And Roxie was always so happy-go-lucky and sweet . . . before, you know."
"Yeah." Michael smiled sadly. "She was."
"But I don't know anything about you. Not really."
Michael lay back, throwing his arms wide, like a hot version of Jesus. "Ask me anything. I'm an open book."
"Okay." Summer propped herself up in bed. Michael loved the way her long chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders onto his sheets.
"Why did you quit Oxford?"
"That's easy," said Michael. "It was boring. Next question."
"Are you easily bored?"
"Very. This is fun."
"By women?"
"If they're boring, yes. Don't worry. You're not boring."
He reached between her thighs. Summer firmly removed his hand.
"I'm not worried. And you're not boring either. Yet."
Michael grinned. He liked a challenge.
"Any more questions, Miss Meyer, or can the witness be excused?"
"Plenty. Why do you always defend your mother when she and Roxie fight?"
Michael frowned. "Do I?"
"You did at supper the other night."
He thought for a while, then said, "I suppose I defend her because nobody else does. I love Roxie as much as anyone, and we all feel terrible about what happened to her. But she can be very unfair to Mummy. She blames her for everything."
"Isn't your mother to blame, though?" Summer asked.
"She can be cruel to Rox at times," Michael admitted. "She's to blame for that."
"But wasn't she the one who drove Roxie's boyfriend away? That's what I heard."
"You can't drive someone away who doesn't want to be driven. He was a grown man, not a goat."
Michael was angry, but he wasn't sure why. He'd never really talked about this with anyone, not even with Tommy, his best friend. No one in the family talked about it. But perhaps, he realized, that was part of the problem, part of what gave Roxie's tragedy its power. The fact that it had become taboo.
"I'll tell you what happened. Mum hired a tennis pro one summer, a guy named Andrew Beesley." Michael spat out the name as if it were poison.
"You didn't like him."
"No, I didn't. Not from the start. He was a snake. Good-looking, but by God he knew it."
Look who's talking, thought Summer, but she wisely said nothing.
"All Beesley was interested in was screwing women. I don't think he ever really cared about Roxie, but she fell for him hard."
"And your mother didn't approve?"
"Neither of my parents approved. Nor did I, nor did most of Rox's friends. By the time Roxie and Andrew got together, he'd already shagged half of Oxfordshire."
And I'll bet you shagged the other half.
"Anyway, he and Rox became an item. After a few months Andrew proposed. Roxie was beside herself with joy. She accepted right away. But Mum was worried he was a gold digger, with good reason, as it turned out. She invited him out to lunch one day, when Roxie was up in London. As I understand it, she offered him money if he would break off the engagement, move to Australia, and never contact Roxie again."
"She bribed him."
"Yes. Against my father's wishes."
"How much money did she offer him?"
Michael shrugged. "Dunno. Enough to set him up in a private coaching business. I suspect a few hundred grand. Anyway, whatever it was, he took it. Pretty much bit Mummy's hand off apparently, which in my book goes to show how little he cared about Rox in the first place. All Andrew Beesley ever wanted was a slice of my sister's inheritance. When Mum made it clear she wouldn't get a penny if the marriage went ahead, he was out of there faster than Boris Becker could drop his trousers in a broom cupboard.
"Roxie blamed Mummy entirely. Said she shouldn't have interfered, that she'd poisoned Andrew against her. I believe she even accused Mummy of sleeping with him at one point, that's how unhinged she'd become." He shook his head sadly. "It was awful."
"I'm sure." Summer's sympathy was genuine. She could imagine how painful it must have been, for all of them.
"The truth is, Rox had totally lost her marbles at that point. She was so in love with this bastard, so totally, hopelessly, dangerously in love. It broke her when Andrew left, it really did. I don't think even Mummy expected her to take it as hard as she did."
There were tears in his eyes. Tentatively, Summer reached out a hand and stroked his face.
"Don't go on if you don't want to."
Michael grabbed her hand and kissed it. "No. It's good to talk about it, actually. It's a relief. About two weeks after Beesley took off, I got a call from Dad telling me Roxie had jumped out of her bedroom window at Kingsmere.
"She definitely intended to die. It wasn't a cry for help or any of that bollocks. She left a note eviscerating poor Mum."
"How horrendous. For all of you."
"Yes," said Michael. "But, you know. She didn't die. It could have been worse."
"Something died, though."
"Yes. Something died. The girl that she was died. The family that we were. It's so fucking sad, but there was nothing I could do about it then, and there still isn't."
Summer wrapped her arms around him, cushioning his head against the soft pillow of her breasts. "Of course there isn't. It's not your fault, you know."
"It's not Mum's fault either. Not entirely, anyway. But she doesn't help herself. After Roxie's fall, Dad was so loving and sympathetic, and Mum just . . . wasn't. It's not that she doesn't care. She's just not very expressive when it comes to emotions."
She's a total fucking machine, thought Summer. Alexia had always intimidated her, and still did to some degree. They didn't call Michael's mother the Iron Lady for nothing. She'd always had an edgy relationship with Roxie, even before the boyfriend came on the scene.
As if reading Summer's mind, Michael said, "Mum's not a warm and cuddly person like your mother. She's practical and she gets on with things. She doesn't like wallowing."
"She thinks Roxie's wallowing? That's a little harsh under the circumstances, wouldn't you say?"
"Not really," Michael said defensively. But then he relented. "I don't know. Maybe. She's tough, my mother, and Roxie isn't tough, and I think fundamentally Mum just couldn't understand why Roxie did what she did."
"What about you?" Summer asked.
"What about me?"
"Do you understand it?"