by Kait Jagger
*
Luna woke with a snort, heart hammering in her chest. Sitting up in the bath – the water was still hot, so she couldn’t have slept for long – she looked down to see her fingers raking her chest and immediately forced them to stop. She’d been scratching herself in her sleep, so ferociously that there was blood under her fingernails and livid scratch marks on her chest.
She quickly scooped water onto herself, wincing at the sudden sting. The wind was wailing outside and the darkened skylights were rattling above her. More hail.
Suddenly a loud pounding noise came from downstairs. The front door. Luna jumped and quickly stood up in the bath, sloshing water onto the floor. She could hear Castor and Pollux barking furiously below. They’ll have gotten out onto the road again, Luna thought, to the ire of some passing motorist.
Wrapping a towel around herself, she shouted, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’ and skittered down the stairs, only to stumble on the final step, banging her elbow into the wall.
‘Ahhh,’ she moaned, an electric shock of pain running up her funny bone. Elbow throbbing and hands shaking, she undid the locks on the door and opened it. The wind immediately whooshed into the hallway, shaking the hanging herbs on the wall and whipping through Luna’s damp hair. Hail was pouring down outside, bouncing off the flagstone porch. Castor and Pollux, standing together outside the bungalow, were going mad, barking and howling in unison.
And there, standing on her porch, hair dripping wet and hail clinging to his jumper, was Stefan.
Luna stared at him in something like shock, the wind howling around them, until he finally shouted, ‘Luna, please. Let me in.’
She opened the door wider and stood to one side. Stefan turned briefly and waved toward the bungalow, where Luna saw Liv briefly lift her hand before retreating inside. Stefan shut the door behind him, and in the sudden stillness a posy of dried rosemary fell to the floor of the hall. Luna hugged her towel to her chest as he lifted his hand to his face, wiping the water out of his eyes.
‘Luna,’ he said finally. ‘Last night, that is not the way I want things to be between us.’
Luna looked at him uncomprehendingly, then looked outside, then back at him. ‘How did you—?’ she began, only for him to interrupt: ‘I’ve known where you were for a month now.’ Then sigh, ‘And I’ve been trying to get to you ever since.’
She swallowed, trying to take that in. Seeing the questions bubbling up in her, Stefan continued, ‘But first John was taken back to hospital, and I had to be there with Augusta, and then I had to stand in for her at the Association of Historic Homes conference. And when I came back from that, I found your motorcycle gone and I…’
He paused, closing his eyes at the memory of this. ‘So I booked myself on a flight to Sumburgh, ready to run all the way from the airport to you. But then Jem called and said she’d convinced you to come to the party, and was I going to be okay with that. And I said—’ He paused again, making an eager face and clenching his fists to indicate his response to Jem’s question. ‘I said, “Yes, Jem, that will be perfectly fine.”’
His tone was becoming almost singsong now, like he was telling himself a story he’d repeated in his head many times. ‘I said to myself, “Here is your opportunity, Stefan. Luna will come to the party and you will sit her down and make things right with her.” And, well, you saw how that turned out.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I stood across the room from you, my Luna, and watched as man after man at that party put his hands on you.’ He sighed again and shut his eyes, swaying slightly on his feet. When he opened them, Luna saw for the first time that they were bloodshot with exhaustion.
His voice going deadly quiet, he continued, ‘I woke up this morning and you were gone, of course. No more than I deserved. And you,’ he smiled, ‘set my alarm, like the efficient little PA you are. I thought, this time I will get to her, nothing will stop me. So I told Isabelle she would have to do the nursery opening on her own and I drove to Heathrow. Just in time for them to cancel all departing flights. Fog,’ he scowled. ‘England weather, against me as always.’
Gathering pace, Stefan lifted his hands and nodded purposefully. ‘So,’ he said, switching to the present tense, ‘I get back in the car and I drive, I drive like a lunatic all the way up the M1 to Edinburgh. I manage to catch an afternoon flight to Sumburgh. Which, you will not believe this, gets diverted to Aberdeen. More bad weather. Now, you see, Scotland is against me.’
‘Next thing I am pacing the airport in Aberdeen, tearing my hair out, when I see a sign for charter flights. And one hour later I am sitting in the passenger seat of the smallest plane I have ever seen, flying over the ocean with a pilot I can only assume must be a madman because the weather is so bad there is no way we should be out there. And I am thinking, “This is it, this is how I’m going to prove to Luna how much I love her, by dying in a plane crash at sea.”’
The hail on his jumper had melted, dripping into a puddle on the floor of the hallway. Stefan leaned back against the wall, eyes red rimmed, visibly shattered. ‘I want,’ he began, ‘to talk to you. I want to talk about those things you said in the garden at Arborage, before you left me. But I’m tired, Luna. So tired I can barely stand. I think I am beginning to hallucinate, even.’ He pointed to the door. ‘I swear I saw a two-headed dog out there.’
Running his hand through his still wet hair, he concluded, ‘What I want to do right now is go to bed with you.’ At her wary expression he added swiftly, ‘Just to sleep, I promise. I want to sleep beside you and tomorrow morning I want to wake up beside you. And then I want to talk.’
Luna hesitated, hardly knowing what to say after this flood of revelations. Stefan’s eyes closed again and his head fell against the wall with a loud thump. He jerked it up and rubbed the back of his skull forlornly.
He’s asleep on his feet, Luna thought, making up her mind. She pointed down the hall, ‘The bathroom is there.’ Then to the stairs. ‘My room is up there.’ Stefan exhaled in relief, kicked off his shoes, and immediately turned and began climbing the stairs.
Luna stood in the hall for some time, unsure what to do next. She picked up the dried rosemary and replaced it on its hook. She walked into the kitchen and, shivering, opened the choke on the Rayburn, throwing a few more pieces of anthracite into the fire. Out of habit, she filled a kettle and put it on the Rayburn to boil. Upstairs she heard the sound of water splashing. Stefan, helping himself to her bath, it sounded like.
Stefan Lundgren was in her bath. In her bedroom.
When the kettle boiled she poured it into her water bottle, as usual. She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth for the second time that night, donning her flannel nightshirt. She returned to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, which she almost dropped when Stefan bellowed from above, ‘Luna!’ Calling her to bed.
She entered the bedroom to find Stefan lying naked in her bed, eyes shut, the last of the water draining out of the tub. She came and stood beside him and he opened one eye, scanning her up and down before homing in on the water bottle in her arms. Momentarily perplexed, his expression quickly turned to one of sheer distaste. Reaching out and grabbing it before she could stop him, he threw it across the room, where it fell with a flaccid thud.
Then his eyes fell on her. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘It’s a nightshirt. My, uh, boss, Dagmar gave it to me.’
‘Take it off.’
Luna scowled. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s freezing in here.’
Stefan rose on one arm. ‘I will keep you warm!’ he yelled, thumping his fist against his chest, looking so insulted and befuddled and bull-headed that Luna decided it wasn’t worth the fight. She pulled the nightshirt over her head and climbed into bed next to him.
He immediately placed his arm over her waist, pulling her butt into his lap. Tucking his knees into hers, he slid his warm feet over her icy ones, murmuring, ‘Otch, Luna,’ and rubbing his toes against hers.
Then he m
ade a noise, almost like a little chirrup in the back of his throat, curled his hand against her stomach. And fell asleep.
*
The following morning at just gone 8am, Luna carefully carried a mug of coffee up the stairs, Stefan’s jumper tucked under her arm. She’d found it in a damp heap next to the tub when she woke a couple of hours earlier, so had taken it downstairs and hung it on the drying rack next to the Rayburn.
It was Stefan who had woken her, thrashing in his sleep. Another bad dream. All it had taken was her hand on his shoulder to quieten him, but as he fell back into a deep slumber, Luna found her mind whirring.
Stefan Lundgren was in her bed. Her sad, lonely bed.
Unable to sleep, she went down to the kitchen, brewed a pot of coffee and sat at the table with her laptop. She logged onto her personal email account to find a long email from Jem, which she decided to read later, plus several from Nancy featuring her blow-by-blow observations from the party. ‘When did you leave for the hotel, anyway?’ Again, Luna decided to respond to this later.
Finally, there was one from Kayla with the subject line ‘I’ve been a naughty, naughty girl’, to which she attached a link to every single photo she’d posted online on Friday. There were many of Luna, including one of her on the floor of Patrice’s loft in her bra and knickers, toothy grin on her face. Next, one of Patrice kneeling next to her, eyes fixed worshipfully on the curve of her hip (Kayla had included a helpful tagline for this: He’s NOT GAY, Luna). And many, many photos from the party of various swamp creatures copping a feel.
Yes, Kayla had been naughty, for Luna knew that Stefan was a follower of hers online, and could only cringe at what he must have thought, seeing those.
Having drunk two cups of coffee and checked out her usual news websites, Luna poured a cup for Stefan. If he was still sleeping, she reasoned, she would leave him be and go for a run.
But he was awake, just sitting up in bed as she opened the bedroom door and placed his jumper on the chair next to it, shrugging off her robe.
‘I brought you some—’ she began, stopping when she saw the look of horror on his face. ‘What?’ she asked in alarm.
‘Come here, flicka,’ he said, and Luna had to steel herself not to swoon at the use of his pet name for her. She came and sat on the bed, placing his mug of coffee on the bedside table. Stefan immediately reached for her, turning her to face him. Gingerly, he placed his hands on her shoulders, positioning his fingers over the livid bruises there, finding that the imprint matched. He looked down at her thighs, also bruised from where they’d been crushed against the vanity unit in James’s bathroom.
His expression full of remorse, Stefan ran his hands to her waist, lifting the sheer cotton vest Luna was wearing. ‘You are too thin,’ he observed, and when she frowned and tried to push his hands away, he insisted, ‘I can see your ribs, Luna!’ His hand moved to the haematoma that had blossomed on her jugular. ‘Did I do that?’ he asked, aghast.
‘No,’ Luna smiled slightly. ‘That was Kay.’
‘Ah.’ His fingers moved to her chest, covered in scratches, and he met her eyes questioningly.
‘That was me,’ Luna admitted. Then, because her answer only begged more questions, she explained reluctantly, ‘I’m allergic to lanolin, and I was wearing a wool jumper last night, and…’
Stefan shook his head. ‘So, you are here in Shetland, working on a… sheep project for my father, and you are allergic to wool?’ He smiled. ‘Only you, Luna.’
‘You mustn’t tell your dad,’ she said quickly, only for Stefan to grimace slightly.
‘Given that he has forbidden me from seeing you, I won’t be telling him anything for the time being.’ Luna raised her eyebrows and he said, ‘I wouldn’t have let that stop me,’ then shrugged slightly as if to say, leave my father to me.
He climbed out of the bed then, and pressed her back on the pillow.
‘You, go back to sleep,’ he said, arranging the covers over her. ‘I will make breakfast.’
He began to put on his clothes and Luna said doubtfully, ‘There’s not a lot of food down there.’
‘I will improvise.’
Privately, she thought it would take a whole lot of improvising to magic any kind of meal out of her bare cupboards, and she wasn’t surprised when, after a few minutes of him banging around the kitchen, she heard the front door open and close.
She couldn’t get back to sleep, so eventually she got dressed, sparing her poor chest for once and putting on her University of Manchester sweatshirt and leggings. The bruise on her neck she concealed by loosely winding a long grey scarf Nancy had given her around it.
When she came downstairs, Stefan was sitting at the table using her laptop, with his tablet alongside open to his diary. Luna blinked at him and he said hurriedly, ‘This isn’t what it looks like.’
There was a saucepan with porridge in it on the Rayburn, and Stefan rose to put two slices of organic gluten-free bread in the toaster. Bread Luna recognised. ‘I threw myself on the mercy of your Norwegian neighbour – Liv is it?’ Stefan confirmed. ‘She seems very nice, but I pushed my luck too far when I asked if she had any bacon.’
‘Mmm,’ Luna nodded. Liv was a card-carrying vegetarian.
‘Anyway,’ he said, stirring the porridge, ‘I have had a very helpful lecture on animal cruelty and the health risks of being a carnivore.’
He sat and watched as Luna ate, and she felt a silence growing in the kitchen. He had said he wanted to talk. But talking, about relationships, about her past, about anything that involved her feelings, was what Luna did worst. Of course, a large part of her conceded that just by being here, sitting across from her at that table, Stefan had won her back. She’d walked away from him once, and it had taken every bit of strength she had; she didn’t think she could do it again.
But there was a small, unyielding voice in the back of her head that insisted that no matter how much she loved him, if this conversation didn’t go well there was no real future for them. Too much stood between them right now.
When she’d finished eating, Stefan placed her dishes in the sink and positioned his chair so it was facing hers. Then he lifted her, chair and all, till she was facing him, and he sat down.
‘There are things I want to tell you,’ he said. ‘Not as excuses or explanations…’ he trailed off. ‘Or maybe, yes, maybe I want to explain myself to you. I didn’t do enough of that before, and it led to bad things.’
Considering his next words for a moment, he began: ‘When Augusta came to me last autumn to tell me that Florian would be unable to become the next Marquess, and that my father, in turn, had refused the opportunity… you remember this time, when I missed Kayla’s performance and flew home to Stockholm?’
Luna nodded. She remembered it only too well, a weekend’s worth of radio silence from Stefan, her thinking he’d dumped her.
‘I flew home,’ he said, ‘to beg my father to reconsider. What Augusta was asking, that I change the course of my life by taking on this enormous thing when I had plans for my business – and hopes for us too, although our relationship was new – it seemed too much.
‘But my father was adamant. And his partner Christian agreed; he didn’t want a life in England, tied to Arborage. So I spent the next few days thinking. You have to understand, Luna, that before Augusta spoke to me, there was no conceivable prospect that Arborage would come to the Swedish side of our family. Definitely not to me. Being “third in line” to inherit might as well have been five hundredth in line.
‘This even though the Swedish side of the family had done as much for Arborage as the English side. More, maybe. Did my grandfather not loan Augusta the money to save the estate from wrack and ruin, after John’s father died? And me, hadn’t I devoted a large part of the past two years to helping her get the place back on financial track?’ Stefan’s eyes narrowed and he said, almost to himself, ‘Did I not love Arborage as much as Augusta? Or John for that matter, who’d spent more than a dec
ade avoiding it like the plague?
‘The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this thing, this thing I thought would never come to me, I wanted it. I wanted it very much.
‘So I came back to Arborage prepared to accept Augusta’s offer. Only to find you spitting mad at me, hopping on a flight to Miami to escape me.’ He smiled at the memory of it. ‘That blew me off course, and I realised that there was something else I wanted very much.’
He paused, studying his hands for a moment. Eventually, he said softly, ‘I knew the moment I tracked you down, standing in that club in Miami, that I loved you. So what I should have done, when we were sitting together on that beach in the Keys, was to tell you the truth about what you were getting into.
‘But I… I think I convinced myself that it would be too much to spring it on you then, especially since I didn’t know if you reciprocated my feelings.’
Luna stared at him incredulously and Stefan rolled his eyes. ‘All very well for you to look at me like that, but I didn’t know, Luna. You with your freezing cold Hallviken eyes and your “yes, I think two assignations per month will be sufficient, thank you very much.” I didn’t know. And I thought, well, maybe this will come as a pleasant surprise to Luna, when the time comes to tell her. You know the thing: “Luna, you are the love of my life, please bear my children, and by the way, what do you think of my ten-thousand-acre estate?”’
In spite of herself, Luna felt her lips twitch.
He sobered and continued, ‘When we got back to Arborage and I gave Augusta my decision, I should have refused her condition that I keep this a secret, particularly from you. You’ve asked me why I didn’t question this last thing, and I have thought long and hard about that.’ His face darkened and he sat back in his chair.
‘Would you believe me,’ he said, ‘if I told you that I have felt just as betrayed as you by Augusta, in the weeks since you left me? She was my mentor, Luna. No, she was more than that. It was she who loaned me the money, her own money, to start my business when no one else would. When my own father thought I was mad.’ Adopting a contemptuous tone that Luna could only assume mimicked Sören’s, he quoted, ‘“No middle-aged businessman will take advice from a twenty-four-year-old.”