A Country Scandal: a sexy, scandalous page-turner

by Sasha Morgan

  ‘Gary?’

  ‘Hmm?’ He was on his laptop, continuing the property search.

  ‘Do you remember our honeymoon?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Course I do, why d’ya ask?’

  ‘Just thinking…’ She stared out of the front window. Children were playing noisily in the street. No garden for them to release energy, just a busy street and back yard.

  ‘What?’ Gary looked puzzled. She had his full attention now.

  ‘How would you like to go back?’

  ‘You mean to the Cotswolds?’ He remembered the lush, green hills and quaint villages they’d visited on their mini tour. His old Fiesta had just about managed the trip down there and together they had explored the charming tearooms, the black-and-white Tudor building trails, the historic halls and old-world village pubs. Both he and Tracy had loved it, being a far cry from the built-up sights of Preston, with its tall old factory chimneys and smoky, grey skies. They had adored the cosy rented cottage, which had proved to be an ideal base in one of the central small villages. Each evening, after a fun-packed day visiting the surrounding area, they’d browse the internet using local information to decide where to go next. Tracy had been enchanted by the beautiful stone cottages with trailing roses and wisteria growing up the walls. Gary had enjoyed the camaraderie in the local pubs, where they had always been made welcome. One landlord, when told it was their honeymoon, gave them a bottle of champagne and toasted them a long and happy marriage, blessed with healthy children. That was another consideration – children. Did he really want his kids playing out on the roadside like round here? Or would he sooner see himself kicking a football with them in a large, secluded garden, safe from traffic and smog? In his mind’s eye, he could see Trace at the gates of a small, country school, not waiting with the many mums outside the railings of their nearby primary. After a few moments’ thought they looked at each other.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Tracy asked.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go for it.’

  ‘But what about our parents? We’d be far away from them.’

  ‘It’s not that far, Trace, and besides, we’d get somewhere big enough to have them stay. Plus, we’ll get a decent car, so we can always come back whenever we want.’ Tracy nodded in agreement: yes, that all made sense.

  ‘OK, let’s do a search.’ Gary typed ‘properties, sale, Cotswolds’ into the laptop and a display of houses filled the screen. He whistled at some of them, not just the grand scale of the properties, but the prices, too. Then a name leaped out at him. It was where they had rented the honeymoon cottage.

  ‘Look, Trace!’ She quickly leant forward to see the screen.

  ‘Treweham! That’s where we stayed!’ She clapped her hands in delight.

  ‘The Gate House, set on the edge of the Treweham Hall estate and surrounded by beautiful parkland…’

  They were completely in awe of what they had discovered and truly thought fate was playing a hand. Often on their honeymoon they had joked about living is such an idyllic place. Now it looked like their dreams may come true.

  Chapter 12

  Flora lay wantonly, sated with utter pleasure in the haystack. The combined sensations of Dylan’s stubble rubbing against her pale, soft cheek, the smell of his aftershave and the excitement of his hands caressing her bare breasts made her cry out his name with desire.

  He slowly made his way down her long, shapely legs, till he reached a sleek, blond triangle of pubic hair. He nuzzled his face down to taste her, making her hips bolt upwards, so he steadied them with his two hands, whilst letting his tongue gently glide into her. ‘Dylan!’ she cried again, making him intensify his rhythm. Then his mouth gradually traced his way back up her body, his lips kissing her flat stomach, her firm breasts, until he covered her mouth to stop her from any more screaming. He didn’t want the whole of Treweham Hall knowing what he was up to with their stable girl.

  His hand was on her thigh, pushing her legs further apart. She felt him at the very core of her and then he was deep inside her with a single thrust. Flora gasped, but he didn’t stop, grinding deeper and deeper. Her body ached with lust. It had been a full week since she had seen him last. She heard him grunt and felt him pulse as he released himself. Taking a few steady breaths, he rolled off her and lay by her side.

  Since he had introduced himself at the stables a few weeks ago they had met quite regularly. Despite the ten-year age gap, they had plenty in common: horses. Together they had ridden the Treweham Hall estate, through its forests, over the wild-flower meadows and alongside the crystal-clear rivers, always to return to the stables where Dylan had coaxed Flora into loosening her inhibitions.

  ‘I can’t stay long. I’m supposed to be meeting Seamus and Tobias at The Templar.’

  ‘Oh, right…’ Flora’s voice held disappointment, which tugged at Dylan’s guilty conscience.

  ‘But I’ll be back soon, promise.’ He kissed her hard on the lips.

  ‘When?’ she persisted, her voice hopeful.

  ‘Soon, don’t worry.’ He got up and dressed himself, as Flora did the same. Turning, he kissed her again. ‘Until next time.’ He winked and left the stables, whistling. Flora admired his perfect muscular body and dark, curly mane of hair. The famous Dylan Delany – he was so gorgeous and he was all hers.

  *

  ‘No way, that doesn’t sound at all like Tobias.’ Finula was busy sprinkling freshly baked custard tarts with nutmeg.

  ‘But it was his number plate – who else could it have been?’ insisted Megan, her mouth watering at the scent of Finula’s latest creations.

  ‘I don’t know, but there’s got to be some explanation, honestly. Tobias is a top bloke. He wouldn’t nearly run someone over and not stop. Especially with his history—’

  ‘Any chance of some service here?’ Dermot called through to the kitchen. It had been a hectic afternoon with many locals and tourists making the most of the beautiful spring weather. Relaxed couples sat outside sunning themselves, sipping cool lager, children ran and squealed in the beer garden, and Zac lay panting by the back door of the pub kitchen with a bowl of water.

  ‘Coming!’ called Megan, and scooped up two plates of prawn salad. Scurrying through to deliver the meals, she noticed how full the place was getting.

  ‘Over here, please, Meg!’ shouted a red-faced and harassed Dermot. Megan hurried behind the bar.

  ‘Next, please.’ She scanned the small crowd at the bar waiting to be served. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nick sitting at one of the tables in the corner with a friend. He looked comfortable, laughing with a guy with blond hair, arms animated in conversation. He noticed her looking and waved. She waved back smiling.

  ‘When you’re ready,’ said a voice tinged with humour. Quickly turning, Megan stared slap bang into two green eyes, flecked with amber. They belonged to a face with a strong jaw line and full lips, which were smirking ever so slightly at her.

  ‘Sorry,’ Megan mumbled, blushing as she reached for a pint glass, ‘what can I get you?’

  ‘A large malt, please.’ He grinned as she looked at the pint glass and swiftly swapped it for a smaller spirit glass.

  ‘There you go.’ She placed it in front of him. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘One for yourself.’ He smiled, nodding his head slightly. The light caught his hair, all black and glossy. He reminded her of a young Oliver Tobias, whom she recalled from her mum’s old videos, all swarthy and with a distinct presence. He frowned slightly; obviously she was staring again. Flushed, she thanked him and quickly started serving another customer. Whilst doing so, Megan noticed the man acknowledge the blond-haired friend of Nick’s, then go outside to join two men sitting at the tables on the grass verge. One of the men looked familiar to Megan, but she couldn’t place him.

  At the table, shaking, Tobias put down his glass. My God, he thought, for a moment back there he’d seen a ghost. Carrie’s ghost. That girl behind the bar bore a startling resemblance
to Carrie and it completely jolted him as he had entered the pub. The fact she’d been distracted had given him time to study her face. She had the same cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes and her hair was dark, albeit slightly shorter in a bob, rather than long like Carrie’s had been. It was uncanny and it unnerved him.

  ‘You all right, Tobias?’ Dylan asked, noticing his hand quiver when he knocked back his drink. Tobias didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the girl that had come out to collect glasses. Dylan’s eyes followed Tobias’ stare. As did Seamus.

  ‘Holy shit,’ muttered Seamus, seeing for himself the double of his best friend’s dead fiancée. Megan couldn’t help but notice how all three men were staring at her. She looked down to see if something was wrong. Had she spilt something? Had her top come down? No, everything was in place. One of the men, the one with ginger hair, spoke to the other two then got up and made his way back into the pub. She now recalled the other man. She’d seen him on the TV; he was a jockey. Megan wondered if they lived round here or if they were visitors.

  Finally, by late afternoon, when everyone had finished eating, drinking and basking in the sun and trickled home to sleep off their lazy afternoons, Megan and Finula sat by the bar drinking well-deserved pints of cider.

  ‘Ah, that tastes good,’ Finula gasped. Her cheeks were rosy from working in the steamy kitchen. She wiped the auburn curls plastered to her forehead.

  Megan didn’t know how she did it, producing so many delicious meals with such ease and efficiency. When she said as much Finula just shrugged. ‘It’s what I love doing. I’ve always got a buzz from creating dishes that people appreciate. I enjoy watching their reaction when it first hits the taste buds. A bit like your paintings, I suppose.’

  Megan had never really thought of it like that.

  ‘Yes, it probably is. It’s good to see people’s faces light up when they like what they see.’ Megan hadn’t had much time to invest in her painting as originally planned but she’d shown Finula her portfolio one evening. Impressed, Finula had offered to display some pictures in The Templar. A few pieces had been sold, which encouraged Megan to concentrate more on her art work. Drinking the cold cider, she closed her eyes, letting the cool liquid hit the back of her dried throat, glad that not only had her shift in the pub finished for the day, but she was taking the next few days off, too. Perhaps now was the best time to set up the easel and start mixing colours again.

  ‘Before you go, would you mind delivering this to the Hall?’ Finula dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a piece of paper containing a long list of vegetables and fruit. ‘Just pop round the back to the gardens. There’s usually someone about in the greenhouses. Tell them I’ve sent you from The Templar.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Megan had never set foot in Treweham Hall and was a touch apprehensive about ‘just popping round the back’. Taking the list, she asked, ‘Are you sure? I mean, won’t they mind a stranger strolling through their grounds?’

  Finula laughed. ‘You’re not a stranger strolling through their grounds, you’re a local, working in the village pub, delivering our fresh vegetable requirements. Seriously, Megan, you need to change your attitude towards the Cavendish-Blakes. They don’t lord it up like you seem to think.’

  ‘I don’t think that. I’m sure they are nice people, even though their son’s a maniac driver,’ she added flatly.

  ‘And,’ Finula pointed her finger accusingly, ‘you’ve got that wrong, too.’

  Megan walked down the stone-walled pathways, over the little hump-backed bridge covering the babbling brook, through the village green with its cricket pavilion and past the old church with its ancient graveyard. Next to it stood Treweham Hall.

  Taking a deep breath, she checked her back pocket for the list and made her way through the enormous iron gates. The Hall really was magnificent with its sandstone edifice, large mullion windows, stone columns and decorative cornice. The gardens were well manicured, arrayed with daffodils and fresh spring foliage. Megan followed the gravel path to the side of the Hall, which led round the back to the grounds. She was still a little uneasy and half expected to be held at gun point by some gamekeeper in tweeds. Typically, despite Finula’s assurances, there was no one in sight. Hesitating she decided to look into the greenhouses, hoping to see someone pottering about, but no, they were closed shut and empty of any gardeners. What now? The list definitely had to be delivered as the pub had completely run out of vegetables. There was only one thing for it: she’d have to call at the Hall. Slowly, she walked towards the rose archway, and through that she could see the huge wooden back door of the main building. Hammering on the door with its rustic fox-head knocker, she waited with baited breath. After a few seconds she hammered again. Still no response. Then, just as she was about to leave, she heard a slam and the hinges creaked as the door swung open. Those green eyes flecked with amber stared into hers again.

  Recognising her immediately, Tobias smiled lazily. ‘Hello again.’

  Chapter 13

  ‘Hah!’ Finula threw her head back and barked out a laugh. She was sitting in Megan’s back garden in denim shorts and a black top, large dark sunglasses covering her freckled face. ‘Serves you right,’ she finished with a sense of righteousness as she slid her flip-flops off, wriggling bright purple toenails.

  ‘Trust you to send me when there was nobody about,’ Megan replied with a touch of exasperation, although seeing Finula’s reaction when relaying the events of a few days ago she was beginning to see the funny side.

  ‘Yes, and instead of getting the gardener, you got the Lord of the Manor himself,’ joked Finula. ‘He isn’t so bad, is he?’

  ‘Well, no, I must admit, he does have rather a nice smile,’ Megan conceded.

  ‘And the rest,’ replied Finula drily, and sipped her elderberry juice. ‘Hmm, this is good, Megan.’

  Megan had found a few bottles in her gran’s pantry and had a jug of it chilling on the garden table.

  ‘I know. Gran always used to make it for me. It really takes me back, smelling the cloves and cinnamon. Your arms are burning.’

  ‘Oh bugger, that’s what pale skin does for you. I’m not made for the sun.’

  ‘Here, put some of this on them.’ Megan handed her the suntan lotion discarded at her feet.

  ‘It’s all right for you, all beautifully bronzed.’ She eyed Megan with envy. Megan had developed a slight tan in the last few days. She’d been lucky with the weather, which had been unusually warm and sunny, whilst she’d been spending time at home. Her brunette bob had developed highlights and she oozed a healthy glow. Compared to how she had felt a few short months ago, it was a relief to feel as happy and relaxed as she did. All the fresh country air made her sleep well at night. Walking Zac through the leafy lanes of Treweham and working hard at The Templar had kept her fit – that and keeping busy renovating the cottage. That morning she had stripped the wallpaper from the sitting room, leaving the walls grey and chipped. Deciding to have them freshly plastered, she had searched the internet for a local tradesman, but couldn’t find anyone.

  ‘Don’t suppose you know a good plasterer, do you?’

  ‘No, but I know someone who will.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tobias.’ Finula smirked. ‘Seriously, he owns a property business, buys houses and renovates them. He’ll have all kinds of tradesmen working for him.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t realise he had his own business, besides obviously helping to run the estate.’

  ‘Since his dad died last year, he pretty much runs the whole thing.’

  ‘Busy man, then.’ She considered how much responsibility he must have for his age – he couldn’t be more than thirty.

  ‘Does he have a wife to help him?’

  Finula’s mouth twitched. ‘No, Megan, he’s single.’ She looked directly at Megan.

  ‘Just asking.’ Megan held her hands up defensively.

  ‘Yeah, course you were. He was engaged once, a long time ago.’

 
; ‘What happened?’ Megan was more than curious.

  ‘Very sad.’ Finula shook her head. ‘She was killed in a car accident, drunk driver ploughed into her.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Megan covered her mouth with her hand. ‘That’s awful, poor man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Finula said gravely, ‘which is why Tobias is the last person to have nearly driven into you.’ Megan pondered Finula’s last remark. Given Tobias’ history she couldn’t help but agree with her friend’s chilling words. But how could Nick imply he was capable of doing this? As if she had conjured him with her thought, she heard his voice calling from the side passage.

  ‘Anyone home?’

  ‘Round the back!’ called Megan.

  Nick appeared and made his way over to them. ‘Just thought I’d call and see how you and Zac are.’ He looked at Finula, who was suddenly getting up from her deck chair. ‘Don’t go on my behalf.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Finula replied dully. Megan sensed a degree of awkwardness as she glanced from one to the other. ‘Time to go, hon, see you tomorrow.’ Finula kissed Megan on her cheek and flip-flopped out of the garden, completely ignoring Nick. Megan frowned and looked at Nick questioningly.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh dear, hope I haven’t ruined your afternoon.’ He plonked himself in the empty deck chair.

  ‘Do I detect a little tension between you and Finula?’ Megan poured him a drink of elderberry and handed it to him.

  ‘Thanks. Yes, I’m afraid you did.’

  ‘Why?’ Megan was puzzled.

  ‘Well, let’s just say I didn’t want what Finula did.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Me and Finula, we used to date.’

  ‘Really? She never mentioned it.’ Megan was totally taken by surprise that Finula had never told her.