Animal Instincts

by Alan Titchmarsh

  Suddenly she turned to him and brightened. “Enough! What about you? Have you decided what to do with the reserve?”

  “I haven’t got much option but to sell. But I really do want it to be sold as a nature reserve – in fairness to Dad. Trouble is, that’s not going to be easy, according to the estate agent. Arthur Maidment’s interested in the land, but he doesn’t want to farm it organically. Also, the estate is worth more if I sell house and land together. I’ve just got to find a buyer for the whole lot but I don’t know if anyone will be interested.”

  “Oh, someone’s bound to be interested, but I’m surprised you don’t want to give it a go yourself.”

  He was surprised at her suggestion. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a lovely bit of countryside. People would die for it. Why do you want to sell it?”

  “I can’t afford to keep it and, anyway, I have my own life to lead somewhere else.”

  “Well, you did have. But that could always change. Why be so set in your ways?”

  Suddenly he was on the defensive, and from a different angle. He’d got used to thinking that he was doing his own thing, breaking away from tradition, and now this woman was suggesting that he was in a rut.

  “But supposing it’s not what I want?”

  “How do you know what you want?” Her eyes sparkled as she teased him. “Why don’t you take a bit of time to make up your mind? No sense in rushing.”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “You’re the second person who’s said that to me in two days.”

  “Must be some sense in it, then.”

  She unnerved him. Not only was she devastatingly attractive, she also had a way of looking at him that completely disarmed him. Suddenly he was laughing. “What is this – a tack room or a psychiatrist’s consulting room?”

  “We aim to satisfy all requirements.” She peeped at him from under her long lashes, her mouth turning up at the corners, and he felt a frisson of excitement.

  “Come out to dinner?” he asked.

  “When?”

  “Tonight.” He could hardly believe he’d said it, but something inside goaded him on.

  “Yes,” she replied positively.

  “Well, that’s sorted out, then.” He was conscious of trying to sound cool, when his mind was anything but. “I’ll pick you up at about eight, but you’re not to nag me any more.”

  “Nag? Me? I’m simply clarifying the range of alternatives open to you instead of allowing you to go your own blinkered way.” And then, as an afterthought, “Though why I’m suggesting you do exactly what those two dreadful ladies would want you to do I have no idea.”

  “They’re not dreadful,” he admonished her. “They’re just . . . single minded.”

  “Mmm. I’ll give you – and them – the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, I’d better help Sally with the boys, otherwise I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.”

  “You don’t look a bit like Captain Bligh.”

  “No, but I’m just as demanding!” She winked, and disappeared, leaving Kit feeling like the champion of the world. But at the back of his mind something gnawed at his conscience.

  Chapter 11: Kit Willow

  (Salix triandra)

  “Well?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Dishy?”

  “Unbelievably.”

  “And?”

  “Dinner . . . tonight.”

  “You fast little–”

  “He asked, not me.” Jinty could not stop smiling.

  “Some people have all the luck.”

  “Not all the time.” Jinty was stuffing hay into a net. She looked across to where Sally was brushing Allardyce’s flanks. “After last time, I think I deserve a bit of a break.”

  “Wonder what he’s like in bed?”

  “You have a one-track mind.”

  “Mmm. Lovely, isn’t it?”

  Jinty hung up the hay-net. “You OK, then? I’d better go and get myself sorted out.”

  “It’s only four o’clock!”

  “I know, but I want to take a bit of trouble. ’Bye!” She waved ostentatiously, and left Sally to carry on grooming Allardyce, muttering under her breath balefully.

  When Kit got back to West Yarmouth Farmhouse the two women were waiting for him in the kitchen. It was clearly a deputation.

  “We’d like a word,” explained Elizabeth, motioning him to a chair. “Sorry about this, but we thought it best to clear the air.”

  Kit decided to come clean. “Look. I’m sorry, but it’s just that–”

  Elizabeth interrupted, “Please don’t say anything. Jess and I have had a chat and we’ve decided that we must apologise for not being . . . as understanding as perhaps we should have been.”

  Kit wondered if he was hearing things. “I’m sorry?”

  “We realise that you must be given time to get over what’s happened. As you know, Jess and I are totally committed to the reserve and it’s sometimes difficult to understand why other people don’t feel quite the same as we do. Naturally, we hope you’ll eventually see it that way,” she did her best to smile, “but we know that the loss of your father must have been a great shock and we want to say that we’re sorry if we’ve appeared less than welcoming. It’s just that . . . well . . . it was a great shock to us too. And a great loss.”

  Kit looked at the two of them, unsure what to say. Jess sat at the table. As his eyes caught hers she offered him the glimmer of a smile, before looking down in her customary fashion.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. Look, I don’t quite know how to say this.” He tried to marshall his thoughts, having been given no time to get his act together or work out what he needed to communicate to them.

  “I have to admit that selling the estate is what I plan to do. I have some savings of my own, which would help to pay the inheritance tax, but I would still have to sell part of the estate simply to keep our heads above water if I decided to stay here – and I don’t know if that would yield enough to keep the place going. I know how much the reserve means to you, and I don’t want you to feel that you’re no longer a part of it. If it is sold, there is no reason why you both shouldn’t carry on working here – so long as whoever buys the estate wants it that way.” He paused, looking at the two women, both of whom were doing their best to meet his eye but finding it difficult. “But it will be a couple of months, maybe more, before probate comes through, and I can’t do anything until that happens, so please don’t think I’m not concerned about you or the reserve.”

  Elizabeth made to protest but Kit raised his hand.

  “I’ve arranged for you to be paid, too,” he said. “You can’t work for nothing for ever. It’s not much but it might help.”

  Jess’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “I have great feelings for West Yarmouth. It’s where I was brought up. It was as much a part of my life – is as much a part of my life – as it is of yours and I won’t see it torn to pieces. But I have to decide what I want to do and where I want to be. You’ve both chosen to be here. I haven’t. You both work here because that’s what you want in life. I envy you both. I’ve yet to find out what I want in my life, but it has to be something that satisfies me as well as being true to the memory of my father, because if it wasn’t then I’d be living a lie. However noble that is, it’s a waste of a life. Is that fair?”

  Both the women were looking at him now. Jess’s eyes were brighter than he had seen them before. She nodded, and for the first time since they had met she kept looking at him.

  Elizabeth spoke first. “Yes. You’re quite right.” The words were measured, not warm but compassionate. He felt that at last he had transmitted to them something of the quandary in which he found himself. He also hoped that they realised his motives were no longer entirely selfish; that in spite of wanting to make his own way in the world, he was not prepared to sacrifice their lives or his father’s work on the altar of personal progress.

  He had finished his speech �
� his policy statement – and now he felt a fraud, as though he’d made excuses for his behaviour. What made it worse was that he was about to go out to supper with the niece of the local Master of Fox Hounds. He felt that Jess and Elizabeth had probably had enough for one day. He said quietly, “So there we are. I’ll let you know the moment anything happens, and I won’t do anything without discussing it with you, I promise.”

  Elizabeth was almost embarrassed. “Well . . . that’s . . . very kind.”

  “Thanks,” Jess said gratefully.

  “Er, I’m out to supper tonight.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth nodded.

  “So . . . I’ll see you later.” He smiled at them, left the kitchen, climbed the stairs and went to his room. There, he heaved a sigh of relief.

  All manner of thoughts ran through Kit’s mind on the short drive to Baddesley Court. What had he been thinking of? What about Heather? It was just a bit of fun, that was all – entertaining company. Heaven knows, he was ready for that. He arrived at Baddesley Court at five to eight. He’d booked a table at the George and hoped she’d approve.

  He rang the bell at the imposing front door, which was opened by a harassed-looking woman in a flour-dusted blue gingham apron, her salt-and-pepper hair doing its best to escape from the bun into which it had been crafted.

  “Hello, Mrs Flanders.”

  “Good heavens above! Kit Lavery! How are you! Come in. I’ll tell the master you’re here.”

  “I’m not here to see the master. I’m here to collect Jinty.”

  “Oh, I see. Goodness! Well, come in.”

  Kit tried not to look embarrassed. Mrs Flanders had been cook-housekeeper for the Billings-Gores ever since he could remember. She was a kindly soul and a good cook, but always seemed to be chasing her tail. She closed the door, then stood and looked at him, her hands on her hips and her tea-towel over her shoulder.

  A gruff voice from a room across the hall interrupted her inspection. “What is it, Peggy? Mmmmm?”

  Sir Roland came out of the library to see the cause of the commotion. “Good Lord! Well I never! What?” He strode up to Kit and pumped his hand. “Good to see you. Looking well, eh? Mmm? Very well.”

  “Good to see you, sir.”

  “Drink before you set off, eh?”

  “No, thanks, I’d better not. Hire car. Better ration myself.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  A distant scuffling down the hall betrayed the arrival of two yapping balls of fluff followed by Charlotte Billings-Gore clad in lavender wool.

  “Kit! How lovely to see you.” She offered a cheek and pecked the air on either side of Kit’s head while the canine delinquents played tag at his feet.

  Kit heard footsteps descending the stairs, and turned to see Jinty dressed entirely in black – narrow trousers and a tight woollen jumper. His mouth fell open.

  “You all right?” asked Jinty.

  He gulped. “Yes. Fine. You look . . . so . . . different.”

  “I should hope so. I scrub up well, you know.” She flashed him a smile.

  Her hair was fresh-washed and bouncy. Her eyes shone under long dark lashes. Her lips glowed. She looked stunning.

  Roly and Charlotte stood side by side, and a wry smile crossed Charlotte’s lips. “You both look rather lovely,” she remarked.

  Kit, who had little to choose from in the way of a wardrobe, had found a pale blue shirt and moderately smart navy crew-necked sweater in his father’s chest of drawers. The navy blue R. M. Williams trousers and black boots he’d brought with him hopefully didn’t look too bad.

  Jinty eyed him. “Shall we go?”

  He felt himself colouring. “Ready when you are.”

  Jinty kissed her uncle’s cheek, waved at her aunt and led the way across the hall to the door. “Your car or mine?”

  “Oh, I’ll drive, provided you don’t mind a hire car.”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “A yellow Fiat Punto.”

  Jinty raised her eyebrows.

  “It’s the best they could do at short notice. I can have a bigger one next week, if I want.”

  “Well, there’s an offer you can’t refuse.” She closed the front door and they walked to the car.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The George. OK?”

  “Ah!”

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, it’s just that that’s where my last man gave me the Spanish fiddler.”

  “The what?”

  “El Bow – the brush-off. Haven’t been back since.”

  Kit felt awkward. “Would you rather go somewhere else? I can cancel. They only just squeezed us in anyway.”

  “No. I’ll have to get over it and the sooner the better. It doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t.” She put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. The tang of her perfume caught his nostrils.

  The George Hotel in Lynchampton was a deceptive building. From the outside it was well proportioned with Georgian casement windows and stone quoins to the corners of the brickwork, but the paintwork was battered and peeling, the swinging sign faded and creaking on its hinges. The inside, however, was all casual, if studied, elegance. Kit and Jinty were seated in the corner of the packed restaurant. Eyes followed them as they snaked their way between the tables, though neither of them noticed.

  They ordered crispy duck and salad leaves as a starter, until Jinty said that it was boring if they both had the same and plumped for scallops. They decided on plaice and monkfish as their main courses, and a bottle of Pouilly Fumé.

  They talked about everything and nothing. Kit could hardly bear to take his eyes off her. He watched her as she talked, noticed how she used her hands, with their long, slender fingers, to make a point.

  She saw how his brow knitted when he addressed a problem, how his eyes smiled even when his lips did not.

  They shared a crème brûlée, with one spoon, and then came the coffee.

  “This is where I was ditched last time I was here. Oh! I forgot the amaretto.”

  “Do you want one?”

  “No!”

  Kit looked directly at her. “Thanks for coming. I’ve really enjoyed it.”

  She looked back. “Me too. It was fun.”

  “And thanks. For not nagging. For not asking me what I’m going to do. And for not telling me what I should do.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He reached across and stroked her cheek. She smiled. “Take me home?”

  She invited him in. He accepted, not wanting to leave her until he had to, not wanting the evening to end. She took his hand and led him across the hall to the library, where the room was lit only by the last flickering embers of the log fire.

  “The olds have turned in. Nightcap?”

  “Small one. Scotch.”

  She smiled at him. “Irish.”

  He laughed. “All right, then.”

  She motioned him to sit on the overstuffed sofa in front of the fire, went over to the drinks cupboard and poured two Irish whiskeys into large glasses, then returned and handed one to him before slipping off her shoes and curling up at the other end of the sofa with her glass.

  For several minutes they said nothing, just sipped their drinks and gazed at the burning logs. Kit looked across at her, then rose, took her glass from her and put it with his on the floor. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

  Jinty looked into his eyes, silently, expectantly. He leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips were soft as down, her hand stroked the back of his head and her tongue crept into his mouth. They lost themselves in each other and their breathing became more intense.

  She pulled away from him slightly. “I don’t do this with everybody, you know.”

  “I should hope not,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of floozy.” She pushed his hair away from his eyes.

  Kit bent to kiss her again and felt a powerful longing to make love to he
r in front of the fire. His hands caressed her back, her arms and her neck, and her teeth nipped gently at his lower lip. His arm was around her waist now, and her fingers ran through his hair. Finally he eased away from her. Jinty looked up at him expectantly and lay back on the sofa.

  “I’d better go before I do something we’d regret in the morning,” Kit said.

  “Or, worse, not regret.”

  He pulled away and looked at her. “My father warned me about women like you.”

  She looked crestfallen. “But you wouldn’t listen.”

  “No. Not always.”

  They kissed on the doorstep, and she watched him drive off into the night in the bright yellow Punto, unaware of the jumble of thoughts whirring in his head. As its rear lights disappeared from view she sighed, and smiled. Next time he would not get away so easily.

  Chapter 12: Love and Tangle

  (Trifolium campestre)

  What made him feel so guilty was that he did not feel guilty. He knew that he should, that he had let Heather down, but how could he regret or be sorry for what had happened last night? He could think of nothing but Jinty. Even the complications and convolutions of the estate were pushed aside in his mind as he replayed the image of her walking down the stairs at Baddesley Court or forking fish into her perfect mouth. And when they had kissed . . . He had experienced nothing like it in his life before. He half laughed to himself, not believing that he could feel like this – so overpowered by another human being. It was unreal. Overnight he had changed from a determined, single-minded yet rational man into a heap of tangled emotions. Single-minded but in another direction.

  He closed the front door and walked across the stableyard to the pig-sty. Wilson was putting away a trough of mixed vegetable scraps that had once been Elizabeth and Jess’s supper. She snorted and chomped her way though it, but raised her head at the sound of his voice.