‘I’m sorry. I think it was a moth or something.’
‘I’m not complaining.’
She could hardly see his face in the deepening dusk. Neither of them moved. If she was going to kiss him ever, this was it. She lifted a hand, tentatively first, and then touched the scruff of stubble on his cheek.
She felt him inhaling sharply. He took her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. For a moment they stood in silence, the only sound the owl hooting somewhere in the trees above them. And then he said, his mouth almost on hers –
‘Can I –’
She gave the briefest of nods, and as they kissed for the first time she felt his fingers curling around hers, his other hand reaching to feel the curve of her waist. She snaked her hands around his neck, feeling his mouth on hers. She pulled away for a second and looked at him, her breath uneven. His eyes locked on hers and he lifted a hand to her face, running a finger down her jawline for a moment. Lucy’s breath caught as he leaned forward, kissing first her jaw and then the corner of her mouth so gently that all the hairs on her neck rose up. Her hands were still tangled in his hair and she pulled him closer in the shadowy winter evening.
‘I think we might frighten the wildlife if we stay here much longer.’ He gave a slow smile, some time later. ‘Shall we head back?’
He rubbed gently on her palm with his thumb as they walked back in the darkness, which had fallen all at once. His hand was warm and he squeezed her fingers in a silent gesture. She felt as if someone had charged her with electricity.
Just before they reached the lane, he stopped, pulling her into his arms again.
‘I’ve thought about that for a long time.’
She was leaning against a wall, looking up at him. His eyes were dark.
‘Me too.’
Infinitely gently, as if they had all the time in the world, he leaned towards her, dropping a kiss first on her temple, then on her jawbone, and then – finally – on her mouth. Lucy felt herself arching up towards him. She felt him catch his breath.
‘Let’s go.’
They went to his place. The dogs were half asleep in the kitchen. He took a bottle of red wine from the counter, and handed her two glasses. She followed him through to the sitting room where the log burner was slumbering. Opening the door, he tossed in a couple of logs and in seconds the fire blazed into life. Like me, Lucy thought, watching as he poured two glasses of wine and handed her one.
He sat down beside her on the sofa, taking a drink, looking at her over the top of his glass. She took the glass from his hand, placing it beside hers on the table in front of them, and leaned towards him.
‘I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you because Freya is away,’ she said, teasingly.
‘Oh.’ He cupped her face in one hand, looking at her wonderingly for a moment before kissing her. When they came up for air, he said, laughing, ‘I rather hoped you might.’
Chapter 24
‘I have to go.’
Sam rolled over. It wasn’t his imagination. There, lying in his bed, under his covers, was Lucy. She reached out and touched his arm, as if she couldn’t quite believe it either.
‘You have to go where?’ He glanced over her shoulder at the clock. It was half past five in the morning.
‘Hamish. He’s probably eaten half the furniture and peed on the remains.’
‘D’you want me to come back with you?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Don’t worry. If I go now, maybe we’ll avoid activating the village gossip systems. But I’ll see you later?’
He watched as she pulled on her clothes. Her hair was ruffled at the back and she had smudges of mascara under her eyes and she looked utterly beautiful.
‘Okay.’ He tried for a second to play it cool. ‘When?’ And failed. He’d been holding back for so long, and now that he’d actually spend the evening with Lucy in his arms – and in his bed – he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to pull her back into bed, and when she sat down on the edge of it, leaning over to kiss him goodbye, he curled an arm around her waist and murmured, his mouth almost on hers, ‘Stay. We can buy new furniture.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ She wriggled out of his grasp and gave him a cheeky smile. ‘I won’t be far away.’
He groaned. ‘I know. That’s what makes it harder.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
He shook his head, laughing. ‘Go. Now.’
Back in the cottage, Lucy was relieved to find that Hamish had – far from dismantling the place and weeing everywhere – been a paragon of virtue and was curled up, fast asleep, on the armchair. She opened the back door to let him out and gasped with surprise. Hamish stopped stock still, eyes popping. A hedgehog was bumbling across the gravel path, heading for the house Sam had built.
‘Wait,’ she said to Hamish, who was completely confounded by the sight of a walking, spiky pom-pom. It disappeared into the darkness of the little wooden house, and Hamish skittered up the garden to do his business.
Lucy leaned back against the cold stone of the house wall, listening to the silence of the night. Her chin was stinging with stubble rash from hours of kissing, and she felt – well, it had been a long time. Everything ached, but in a very good way. She called Hamish in, ran a hot shower, and climbed into bed and slept almost until lunchtime.
Waking, feeling smug and sated, she rolled over and stretched her limbs. Perhaps she could pop over later and see if Sam wanted to go for a walk with the dogs. A walk with plenty of opportunities for kissing breaks. And if there happened to be a chance afterwards to spend the evening together . . . she sighed, happily.
She popped in to see Bunty, who was grumbling about an unexpected visit from Gordon and Margaret.
‘Honestly, I wish they’d give me some advance notice. I was quite happily minding my own business when they turned up.’
‘Maybe they wanted to say hello.’ Lucy was feeling amenable towards everyone.
‘Humph.’ Bunty made a face. ‘More likely Margaret wanted to see if I’d croaked.’
Lucy gave a gasp of horrified laughter.
‘You’re in a good mood today. What have you been up to? Or –’ Bunty peered at her through narrowed eyes – ‘who, perhaps I should say?’
‘What do you mean?’ Lucy took a step back, protesting innocence. She noticed Stanley coiled on the dresser beside her and took another hurried step sideways.
‘I’m not as green as I’m cabbage-looking. I know that look.’
Lucy cleared her throat. ‘I thought I’d pop in and see if you needed anything. Do you want me to put some washing on, or . . . anything?’ she tailed off, lamely.
‘I do hope you and Sam have stopped dancing around and realized you’re made for each other.’
Lucy felt herself blushing. It was such an irritating habit. She couldn’t hide a thing from anyone without her face giving her away.
‘Heh.’ Bunty slapped the table with a triumphant noise. ‘About bloody time, too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake. Anyone could see it.’
‘But I’m only here for –’ Lucy began.
‘Nonsense. My goodness, when I showed you my diary I hoped it might make you realize that life is for living. I could have turned down the chance to walk out with Harry because he was Canadian, or because it was too risky, or because – oh, a million reasons. But I will never regret grabbing those moments of happiness.’
‘Even though you ended up married to Len, and never had any more children?’
‘Even though. Len was a nice man, and he treated me well. I loved him, and he loved me, in his own way. But I knew what it meant to be truly adored.’
‘You still love him – Harry, I mean?’
Bunty nodded. ‘After all this time. Yes.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘And that’s precisely why I think you and Sam should blooming well get on with it. Mel and I have been placing bets on how long it would take for the two of you to real
ize what was right in front of your noses.’
Lucy put a hand to her mouth. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Bunty chuckled. ‘Now get over there, and don’t waste any more of your precious time worrying about me.’
* * *
Lucy ran a hand through her hair and swallowed hard before knocking on the door of Sam’s cottage.
‘I’ll get it,’ came Freya’s voice from inside.
‘Hi,’ Lucy said, smiling. ‘How was the school trip?’
‘Amazing.’ Freya looked almost feverish, her usually pale cheeks flaming and her eyes sparkling bright. Perhaps she hadn’t slept.
‘I thought I’d pop in and –’ Lucy took a sharp intake of breath as Freya opened the door wider.
‘Come in and meet my mum,’ Freya said, beckoning her inside. ‘Lucy, this is – Stella. My mum.’ The colour in her cheeks rose further.
‘Hi,’ said a tall, slender woman with long, sleek, dark hair.
‘Lucy,’ said Sam, emerging from the kitchen. He hadn’t shaved, and his cheeks were shadowed with stubble which was echoed in the shadows beneath his eyes.
‘I think maybe . . . this isn’t a good time?’ Lucy took a step backwards, bumping into the sofa.
Stella didn’t say anything more, but looked at her, steadily and calmly. The expression on her face suggested that she knew she had a role as Freya’s mother, and that she felt Lucy was surplus to requirements. Lucy sidestepped, avoiding the sofa this time, and apologizing for her bad timing, hurtled out onto the street.
* * *
‘Bloody hell,’ Mel said, opening her door. A sea of dogs milled around her feet and she shooed them backwards, letting Lucy inside. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Not a ghost.’
Mel stood for a moment, hand hovering between the bottle of sherry that was sitting on the kitchen worktop and the kettle. The sherry won.
‘Won this in a raffle. I think you need it more than tea.’
‘Thanks.’ Lucy took a large gulp. It was disgusting, but it helped slightly.
‘So what’s happened?’
‘Oh my God. Well.’
And it all poured out. Their night together (‘I knew it,’ Mel said triumphantly) and going home feeling like she was on cloud nine, and then knocking on Sam’s door to discover –
‘No way. In his house? Bold as brass?’
‘She seemed perfectly normal.’
‘What were you expecting? Horns?’ Mel tipped more sherry into their glasses. ‘What the bloody hell is she up to? She must be after something. She can’t just turn up out of the blue after all this time.’
‘It’s not, though.’ It must be all right to break Freya’s confidence now, surely. ‘Freya told me she’d found her. She searched for her online. I think she’s been trying to track her down. I think she’s hoping they’ll get back together.’
Mel gave a bark of laughter. ‘Not a chance in hell.’
‘Not even for Freya?’
Mel shook her head again. But Lucy thought of Bunty, staying married all those years to a man who wasn’t the one she loved, just for the sake of giving Gordon a stable background. Sam loved Freya fiercely. Did he love her enough to forgive Stella’s behaviour and take her back?
‘I think you might be wrong.’
Mel’s face clouded over. ‘I think it’s extremely unlikely.’
* * *
Sam was wrestling with his conscience. Freya had admitted that she’d been the one to get in contact with Stella, and Stella had admitted over lunch that she’d chickened out, leaving Freya stranded in the shopping centre. ‘I thought you might have guessed then,’ Freya said to him, picking up a piece of pizza thoughtfully, ‘but you didn’t have a clue.’)
When Freya went to the bathroom, he seized his chance.
‘So why now?’
He looked at Stella’s sharp, foxy little face and thought how different she looked to Lucy. ‘I’ve spent the last couple of years in therapy. When Freya got in touch, it felt like a sign.’
Sam raised a dubious eyebrow. ‘Therapy?’
‘Expensive therapy.’ She lifted a long, slim hand. It took a second for him to register that she was wearing both an expensive-looking diamond and a wedding ring. ‘I’m not coming back to claim what’s mine, if that’s what you’re wondering.’ She gave a catlike smile. ‘Or hoping.’
He laughed drily. ‘You’re fine, thanks.’
‘The girl who turned up earlier?’ Stella looked at him.
‘Lucy. She’s called Lucy.’
‘Seems nice. Very – wholesome.’
‘Don’t.’ He could hear the warning in his tone.
‘I wasn’t.’ She smirked slightly. ‘Just, you used to be more – well, let’s put it this way. You’re far more settled than I ever expected you to be.’
‘I didn’t have much choice,’ he said levelly, picking up a napkin and folding it. ‘I was left holding the baby – literally.’
‘You’ve done a good job.’ Stella inclined her head in the direction of the restaurant loos. Freya was standing, head down, looking at something on her phone.
‘She’s a good kid.’
‘You’re a good dad.’
He felt a sick sensation rising inside him. ‘You’re not about to waltz in here and demand custody or something?’
Stella shook her head. ‘Hardly. I think Gavin might have something to say about that.’
‘Your husband?’
She looked at him, her voice quite steady. ‘I promise you, I’m not planning to stage a coup.’ This was a new Stella, he acknowledged, looking at her as she fished in her bag for a lipstick. She flipped open a mirror and applied a layer, looking at him for a moment. ‘Don’t worry. You – and your sweet-looking Lucy – are quite safe there.’
Not completely new, then. She lifted an eyebrow slightly. The sharp tongue he’d once found amusing just left him with a sour feeling in his mouth.
‘Lucy?’ Freya had appeared at the table without either of them noticing. She slid into her chair and looked from one parent to the other. ‘What’s Lucy got to do with this?’
‘Nothing,’ he and Stella said in unison.
That was one thing they both agreed on, at least. Stella sipped her drink and looked out of the window. He took the opportunity to size her up, slightly loathing himself for doing so. She looked good – hair perfectly styled, the sort of understated accessories that were inevitably expensive, and of course that ring. A diamond that size didn’t come cheap. He felt a wave of something – relief, perhaps? He’d always wondered what he’d do if she reappeared, wanting to be part of their lives again.
‘It would feel weird calling you Mum,’ Freya said, chewing a lock of hair and looking at Stella, thoughtfully.
‘You don’t have to,’ Stella said. ‘Stella is fine.’
‘Maybe.’ Freya shrugged. ‘It might just take some getting used to.’
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ Stella said, reaching across and touching Freya gently on the arm. He watched her face light up briefly, and an expression on Stella’s face that he couldn’t read. Regret, perhaps? It can’t have been easy for her. He could hear Mel snorting with derision at that, telling him he was a soft touch. But the truth is that Stella was Freya’s mother, and they were going to have to find a way to be a family of some sort – or to work together as one – despite what had happened in the past.
He splayed his hands, running them through his hair as he tried to think what was best. Freya looked at him from beneath her hair, which she’d allowed to drape over her face. She always did that when she was feeling uncomfortable. And she was biting her thumbnail. Stella sat poised, back very straight, eyes wide. For a moment it felt as if the tension and their silence was ballooning out, filling the whole restaurant. But then a waiter dropped a knife on the floor with a clatter and apologized to them, and it was as if someone had broken the spell. He could hear chatter and laughter, the clattering of plates. Freya looked from hi
m to Stella, still not speaking. Stella raised an eyebrow.
He’d have to take control of the situation.
‘I think we need to sit down and work out the practicalities of all of this, don’t you?’
‘That sounds very wise,’ Stella said. ‘Maybe we should do it over pudding and coffee?’
‘That sounds even better,’ said Freya, with a slightly unsteady smile.
Sam reached out and encased his daughter’s small hand in his own, squeezing it gently. ‘We don’t have to rush into anything. You call the shots, darling.’
Stella nodded agreement, and he allowed himself the tiniest flicker of hope that this might work out in the end.
‘In that case –’ Freya gave him a mischievous look – ‘can we have the super double chocolate layer cake?’
‘I think that would be a very good start.’
Chapter 25
It would have been easier if it hadn’t been for Stella, Lucy reflected, standing back from the cottage window and looking out.
Stella’s car was parked outside Sam’s cottage again, as it had been the day before when Lucy had girded her loins to go and have the ‘look, it was very lovely that we slept together but clearly it’s not going to go anywhere’ conversation. So that’s another day when I can’t do it, she thought, sighing and turning away. She pulled the covers up over her bed and left the bedroom, with Hamish scampering down the stairs behind her.
In the little sitting room there were stacks of papers and notepads from the work she’d been doing on the WI anniversary booklet. If nothing else, she could get that sorted and out of the way.
She’d been working hard for an hour when there was a knock at the door. Hamish leapt across her legs, scattering pieces of paper and barking with excitement. She pulled back the latch, heart thudding in hope that it might be Sam, to find Susan standing there with a big leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She was holding a cardboard box from the village shop.
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