A Country Scandal: a sexy, scandalous page-turner

by Sasha Morgan

  Chapter 50

  Tobias had thoroughly enjoyed his time in Brittany. Having a couple of days to chill out was just the tonic he needed whilst all the work at Treweham Hall was in progress. It was good to spend time with Anna and Mark and see how well they had adapted to their life in France. He was so pleased they were now grandparents. Their happiness endorsed his. Any misgivings he may have had were well and truly gone. Now all he wanted to do was to get back home – home to Megan. He deliberately chose not to contact her whilst away. It didn’t seem right whilst he was staying with Carrie’s parents. Not only that, he didn’t want to have to explain himself over the phone. He had to make her understand face to face. The weather had turned. The red-hot sun had vanished, to be replaced by a black, thunderous sky. The rain started to lash down on his drive to the airport. His impatience to get home grew as, entering the terminal, he learnt his flight had been delayed.

  *

  Megan woke with a queasy sensation in her stomach. She hadn’t been feeling her best over the past few days. Little wonder, she thought, seeing as how Tobias had basically abandoned her. The seeds of resentment had taken root and had gradually started to grow. It was one thing being so cloak-and-dagger and disappearing without an explanation, but to not even get in touch? How dare he treat her like that? One minute he was all over her like a rash, the next he’d done a runner! The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She momentarily retched, then calmed herself down. It couldn’t be doing her any good to get so worked up. But where the hell was he? A sinister, menacing thought crept into her overactive mind: who was he with? Megan wasn’t due to start work at The Templar until late morning, which was just as well, considering how long it took her to compose herself and get ready. The nausea kept hitting her in small waves, slowing her down. When she eventually trundled into The Templar Finula took one look at her and commented on how terrible she looked. ‘Thanks,’ was all Megan could muster in response.

  Mid-afternoon, they both settled at the bar for a coffee break. Megan once more gagged over the cappuccino steaming her face. ‘You OK? You’ve gone awfully pale, Megan?’ Finula noticed the bags under her eyes.

  ‘No. I’ve been feeling sick all morning.’

  ‘I think there’s a virus flying round the village. It’s probably that.’

  ‘Probably.’

  Finula hesitated, then went for it. ‘Heard from Tobias yet?’

  Megan heaved a sigh and slammed her coffee down. Ignoring the spillage on the bar she rasped, ‘Not a damn word. What’s he playing at, Fin?’ Her eyes sought Finula’s face for an answer.

  ‘Oh, Megan, don’t worry. I’m sure he’s got a perfectly good explanation,’ she tried to sooth.

  ‘But not to even contact me?’ Megan’s voice cracked and tears swelled her eyes. Finula tilted her head to one side. Wasn’t this a little out of character for Megan? Was her friend overreacting just a touch? After all, Tobias had only been gone three days ago.

  ‘He’ll be back soon.’ She patted her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. ‘And the last thing he’ll want to come home to is a cry baby,’ she softly joked.

  Cry baby. Megan froze. It suddenly hit her like a thunderbolt: her period was late. Frantically racking her brain, she calculated it was by about a week. That wasn’t something to cause concern, was it? Anyone could be a little late at times. But never her. She’d always been as regular as clockwork.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Finula stared at her panic-stricken face.

  ‘Fin, I’m a week late,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘My period. I’m a week late.’ There was an awkward pause.

  ‘But surely you’ve used precaution?’

  ‘Yes, of course! Well, most of the time,’ cried Megan, beginning to feel hysteria rising inside her. ‘The sickness… oh my God…’ She put her head in her hands. The tears started to fall freely now. Finula jumped off the bar stool and hugged her.

  ‘Shush, Megan, it’ll all be all right, I promise. Listen, if it helps, take the rest of the day off.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Megan said in a strangled voice, taking deep breaths. She intended to drive into town and buy a pregnancy testing kit.

  *

  Tobias’ plane finally landed at ten o’clock that evening. He was tired, but still desperately anxious to see Megan. The weather was even worse in England with the heavy rain pelting down and the rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. Tobias drove at full speed to get back, whilst the relentless downpour whipped against his windscreen. The car ate up the miles and by twelve thirty he was entering Treweham village. Not even bothering to go home first, he drove straight to Megan’s. He leapt out of the car and ran to the front door, hammering on it impatiently. Megan was wide awake. Sleep was impossible. She knew it was Tobias at the door, having spotted him though the bedroom window. Well, tough, he could wait in the rain and all night, for all she cared. The knocking got louder. She delved under her duvet, wanting to shut out the world. Then she heard his voice, it was now coming from outside the back door.

  ‘Open the door, Megan!’ He knew she was in. The light in her bedroom had been on. ‘Megan!’ he blasted.

  Cursing under her breath she threw back the covers and marched downstairs into the kitchen.

  ‘Open this door, Megan, or I’ll break the bloody thing down.’ He could see her through the kitchen window. She could just make out his silhouette in the darkness and pouring rain. Megan believed him. He would break her door down, so reluctantly she opened it. He stood in the doorway, rain dripping off him. He took her breath away; his hair was wet through and his green eyes blazed. Despite her anger, there was no denying how her heart had jumped at the sight of him.

  He barged into the kitchen and turned on her. ‘Why weren’t you answering the door?’

  ‘It’s late,’ she feebly answered, avoiding his intense stare.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His face looked genuinely confused. Megan lost it.

  ‘What’s wrong! You’ve been gone for days, without bothering to contact me and you ask what’s wrong!’

  Tobias closed his eyes and sighed. His shoulders relaxed. ‘Megan, sit down. Let me explain.’ He led her to the kitchen table and sat her down. ‘I’ve been in France.’

  ‘France?’ Megan’s head shot up. ‘Why?’

  ‘I went to see Carrie’s parents. They moved there after the accident.’ Megan stared at him baffled, waiting for him to continue. ‘I had to tell them that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with the girl next door and intend to marry her. The last thing I wanted was for them to read about our wedding in the paper. They deserve prior notice. I owe them that.’

  Megan blinked; her mouth was wide open. Had she just heard him right? Tobias grinned. ‘Say something, Megan.’

  ‘But… you never said…’

  ‘Surely you must know how I feel about you?’ His eyes bored into hers. She had to tell him.

  ‘But… I… I’m…’

  Tobias looked searchingly at her. ‘You’re what? Surprised? Disappointed? Give me a clue.’ She could hear the frustration in his voice. Oh God. She just went for it.

  ‘Tobias, I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant?’ Now it was his turn to look shocked. Realisation finally sunk in. He got up and wrapped his arms round her. ‘Megan, that’s wonderful news,’ he whispered in her ear. She pulled back to look at him with tears in her eyes. ‘Tell me you’re delighted, too.’ He searched her face.

  ‘I’ve only just found out, this afternoon, in fact.’

  ‘Marry me, Megan.’ It was more of a command than a proposal.

  ‘Yes, Tobias,’ she laughed in between tears, ‘I will,’ and she threw her arms round him.

  They both slept like babies that night, entwined in each other’s body, safe in the knowledge all was well, safe in the comfort of their love for each other. All the pent-up emotion they had both experienced had finally released, leaving a heart-warming glow burning inside.
They had made tender love, relishing the touch, smell and taste of each other. Afterwards they had held together tightly, never wanting to let go.

  In the early hours of the morning Tobias stirred, immediately comforted by the warmth of Megan’s body lying next to his. He’d not felt this happy in a long, long time. He gently stroked her stomach, elated, knowing his offspring was growing there. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gently.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Everything,’ he answered, and kissed her lovingly.

  Chapter 51

  It was the last day of the cruise. Tomorrow she would be back in her own room, in her own bed, Celia thought with mixed emotions. Whilst deep down she was a bit of a home bird, this cruise had taught her one or two lessons in life she might otherwise not have learnt. The Murder and Mystery night had not been the dreary, monotonous evening she had fully expected. Instead, to her surprise, she had found herself quite enjoying the varied and intriguing costumes the cruisers had worn, inviting interesting conversation. For once, Beatrice had not been the centre of attention. Everyone had mingled together well, each with a story to tell about who they were impersonating and why. One older gentleman, dressed as Hercule Poirot, tentatively approached Celia. She immediately recognised his character and couldn’t help but smile; the first time she had done since boarding the Jewel of the Ocean. This encouraged him to ask her, ‘It’s Miss Marple, isn’t it?’ Celia chortled and was thrilled someone had actually guessed before having to be told like everyone else.

  ‘It certainly is, Hercule Poirot.’ He beamed back and his false moustache almost fell off, making them both giggle like hyenas.

  ‘I notice you’ve been reading one of my favourite Agatha Christie novels.’ Had he really? She hadn’t noticed him.

  ‘Yes, it never fails to grip me.’

  ‘Absolutely. Although my all-time favourite is—’

  ‘The Seven Dials Mystery,’ they both said at the same time, causing more giggles. How did she know he’d have the same favourite as her?

  ‘Yes!’ he cheered.

  ‘Christie was a genius,’ agreed Celia.

  ‘By the way, my real name is Wilfrid.’ He held his hand out.

  ‘Celia,’ she replied with a firm shake.

  Wilfrid had asked if Celia had ever been to the Agatha Christie Festival which was held in Christie’s home town of Torquay, but no, she’d never heard of it.

  ‘Oh, it’s wonderful, Celia! Last year a local historian led a dawn walk to Christie’s former holiday home, Greenway House and garden. It was magical.’ Celia pictured Wilfrid trailing through a splendid, colourful garden wearing a panama; she saw him brushing his fingers over a French-polished desk, overlooking peaceful water, where the lady herself scribbled out the criminal mastermind makings of her intellect. An overwhelming desire to be there with him came over her. It was a strange sensation, not one that she had ever encountered.

  As if he could sense her longing he continued, ‘Celia, I would love to show you Greenway. You must experience it.’ Celia saw Beatrice out of the corner of her eye, laughing with the captain, who was dressed as Dick Barton in a trilby hat and overcoat. Occasionally she would place her hand on his arm as she spoke and he straightened her lopsided tiara affectionately with both hands. The brigadier was standing by, totally surplus to requirements, sipping sherry with a vacant expression. He wore what Celia assumed was his old army uniform, but was clueless as to who he was supposed to be.

  ‘Yes, Wilfrid, I do believe I must.’ She would go to Torquay. She would enjoy wandering round Greenway House with Wilfrid. Why not?

  ‘That’s just marvellous!’ Wilfrid’s face lit up like a Christmas tree in a way that made Celia realise what she’d been missing.

  The rest of the evening had gone in a blur. It transpired Wilfrid and Celia had quite a bit in common besides their choice of reading. They both loved classical music, cats and the great outdoors. ‘I was Scout Master for almost thirty years,’ Wilfrid looked wistfully into the distance, mentally reminiscing many camping ventures.

  ‘I prefer to ramble alone,’ Celia told him.

  ‘Don’t you just!’ chipped in Beatrice, who had suddenly appeared on the scene. Not waiting to be introduced, she plonked herself in front of Wilfrid.

  ‘I’m Lady Macbeth,’ she announced rather dramatically with a snort. She was tipsy, again, noted Celia.

  Wilfrid looked rather uncomfortable. ‘Oh… that’s who you are…’ he said, not sounding at all interested. Celia’s mouth twitched. Beatrice moved on.

  ‘My sister, Beatrice. I’m afraid she’s a touch drunk,’ she explained.

  ‘How awful for you, Celia,’ he replied with concern.

  So, all in all, Celia’s cruise had ended on a positive note. She and Wilfrid had exchanged contact details, along with the promise to write and arrange a trip to Torquay.

  As she was just leaving her cabin, she heard him call her name. ‘Celia! Celia!’ His cheeks were red from exhaustion and he puffed, out of breath, in his effort to catch her before she left the ship. ‘Look, this is for you.’ He held out a book. It was The Seven Dials Mystery with the original cover. ‘Please, it’s yours. I bought it years ago. It’s a first edition and I take it with me everywhere I go.’

  ‘Wilfrid, I can’t possibly…’

  He shook his head vehemently. ‘I insist. Please. I want you to have it.’ She could see his mind was made up. There was no persuading him otherwise.

  ‘Well, thank you so much, Wilfrid. I shall treasure it.’ She took the book and held it lovingly to her bosom.

  ‘Write soon?’ he asked.

  ‘I will. Promise.’

  *

  Tracy, too, had had an enjoyable experience. In fact, she’d had a ball. As soon as she had entered the nursing home an overwhelming calmness had descended upon her. She understood how the faint tinge of disinfectant and subdued stillness could discourage some, but to her it was a reminder of an environment she felt most comfortable in. Here she could make a difference; she was relevant. Her bubbly character and willingness had made her popular, not only with the residents, but the staff too. They didn’t question her choice to work voluntarily, they just appreciated the help.

  Tracy had got chatting to Ted, who informed her where he had lived in Treweham village.

  ‘Oh, those cottages are so cute!’ Tracy had cooed. ‘So you must know Megan?’

  ‘I do that,’ he chuckled to himself.

  ‘What do you think of Lord Cavendish-Blake?’ she couldn’t resist asking, never having really been able to suss out this dark, brooding character who galloped about his estate.

  ‘Grand chap. His family are salt of the earth.’ Tracy nodded, trying to understand how such nice people like Ted, Megan, Finula and Dylan all seemed to like Lord Cavendish-Blake, when to her he cut a rather elusive figure.

  ‘You seem happy enough here, Ted. Don’t you ever miss living in your cottage?’

  ‘I miss Zac, my dog, but Megan brings him here to visit.’

  ‘Oh, Zac’s lovely!’

  ‘Isn’t he just,’ replied Ted, smiling.

  Tracy had walked home with a spring in her step. For the first time in ages she had felt needed. When she had tried to explain this to Gary at tea time he had looked offended. ‘But I need you, Trace,’ he told her with a mouthful of bread.

  ‘But it’s a different need, Gary. You know, just like your shooting club needs you,’ she joked. He smiled, understanding the irony.

  ‘OK, I get it. But does it matter, as long as we’re both happy here?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  Chapter 52

  ‘Dylan, stop fussing, I’m fine!’ Flora was beginning to tire of him hovering around her the whole time. It had been two days now since he had found her collapsed over the kitchen table and at last colour was starting to show in her cheeks. She had felt so much better after having soaked in a luxurious hot, bubble bath he had prepared for h
er. She had declined the offer of his assisting her in it and washing her back. Instead he had patiently waited outside the bathroom, sitting on the top stair, and chatted to her. It was endearing the way he had been so attentive, but as her strength was beginning to return she found him getting under her feet. Flora didn’t want to seem ungrateful, realising how lucky she’d been that he’d found her and was looking after her, but he’d turned into a lap dog. Flora hadn’t lifted a finger. He was forever there, fetching, carrying, plumping up cushions, making drinks and preparing meals.

  He’d surprised her with what a good cook he was. Even though she didn’t have much of an appetite, Dylan made sure she ate something nutritious every day.

  ‘You’re actually quite domesticated, aren’t you?’ she remarked as he came through to the lounge carrying a tray with their lunch on.

  ‘I believe in looking after oneself,’ he replied, putting the tray down on the coffee table. Flora sat up from lying on the sofa and he handed her a plate of spaghetti carbonara. ‘Here, this will build up your strength.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She looked at him. ‘Dylan, you don’t need to sleep on the floor in my room, you know.’ His head shot up: was this the green light he’d been waiting for? ‘Honestly, you can go back home now. I’ll be OK.’

  ‘Not just yet. It would be irresponsible of me to leave you.’

  Even though his back was killing him from the hard floor boards, he didn’t want to go. He enjoyed being there, around her. She made him laugh. Yesterday they had watched DVDs together, huddled on the sofa drinking Cup-a-Soups. They shared the same sense of humour. At one point when they were watching TV his Racer commercial appeared, making them both howl with laughter. The thought of going home to an empty house was a depressing one. He felt completely himself with Flora. He could relax and just be. She didn’t hound him (unlike Samantha, who had text him again). She didn’t expect anything from him. Truth be told, he needed her, not just her sweet body he had spied on through the bathroom door last night, but all of Flora. She was a kindred spirit, they were so… in tune. Then his phone bleeped again.