by Rosie Dean
Pulling me in, he pressed a button and the doors closed. Instantly we were kissing like adolescents on a school trip. The lift moved and we were travelling upwards. I figured he wanted to take the long way down. Too soon, it stopped at the top and the doors opened. Lex took my hand and led me out. I must have looked puzzled because he grinned and took my briefcase. ‘I thought you might like to see where I live when I’m in town.’
My heart, stomach and knees all flipped – though not so you’d notice. There was a large door ahead and Lex was taking a key from his pocket. Unless I was mistaken, there was a high probability of some afternoon delight. ‘I had no idea you lived here,’ I said.
‘I like surprises, don’t you?’
I nodded, which was daft because I hated surprises. I’d much rather know what was happening – and when. That way you can be prepared. You can wear the right underwear, for a start. Today it was cool, cotton pants and old comfy bra.
His apartment was light and airy. He’d left the air-conditioning on too, so the oppressive heat of the recent week stayed on the landing. The floor was polished beech, there were two sofas in chocolate brown leather and curtains in poppy-orange, brown and teal. ‘Wow. Smart place.’
‘It’s functional,’ he said, putting my bag down and leading me through to the kitchen – a feature in polished chrome and smoked glass. I guessed he didn’t use it much. There was a sophisticated, temperature controlled wine cabinet which was twice the width of the oven, and all that stood on the marble worktop were massive salt and pepper mills and a kettle.
He explained how the wine cabinet worked. It had different areas at different temperatures for different varieties of wine…
What is it with men and gadgets? I was cranking up for a bit of afternoon delight and he’s doing his Albert Einstein impersonation – only without the accent.
He did, however, pull out a bottle of Tattinger and corked it expertly with just a ‘pfft!’ and decanted it into two elegant flutes which were so fine they rang like bells when they touched.
Handing one to me, he said, ‘To you.’
I sipped the champagne and bubbles tickled my nose. ‘This is lovely,’ I said quietly, suddenly feeling awkward. You see, it doesn’t matter how much I want somebody, or how vividly I’ve fantasized about him, when it comes down to doing the deed, I’m never quite as gung-ho as my fantasies suggest. He must have sensed it, because he slipped his hand through mine and kissed me very gently. It was slow and easy. At one point, he fed me champagne from his own glass and then swooped in to taste it on me, till I got the hint and we began taking it in turns to feed each other.
By the second flute, we were on our way to the bedroom – also in shades of brown, cream and teal. The bed was wide and not particularly inviting, since it looked like he’d just got out of it, but the champagne, on my empty stomach, was doing its stuff so I overlooked it. I’d even stopped worrying about my cotton pants.
Lex put our glasses on the bed-side table and drew me up against him. He took the clasp from the back of my head and dragged my hair down. Not for the first time, I wished I had that heavy, satiny hair which flows perfectly like in a l’Oréal advert, instead of starched and kinky. Lex didn’t appear to notice, turning his attention to the hollow beneath my throat, where he began a trail of kisses across my collar bone and down the line of my dress between my breasts. His hands were beginning to inch my skirt up, just like they had the other night, except this time there was no need to stop him. There was no risk of an audience, and this really was the ideal place for a first…
‘Omigod!’ I shrieked.
‘Wurgh?’ he said from within my dress.
‘What time is it?’ I pulled my watch into focus. ‘Lex. I’ve got to go.’
All romance abandoned, I shoved him out of the way and yanked my skirt back down.
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he demanded with an understandable lack of grace.
I held his face in my hands. ‘It’s Hamlets tonight. I’ve got to choreograph the finale.’ I lurched out of the bedroom, cannoning off the door jamb.
‘Millie!’ He followed, catching me up in his arms before I could reach my briefcase. ‘Call them and say you’re stuck in London, tell them the train’s been delayed, the taxi’s broken down, anything. You don’t have to go.’ He went to kiss me again but I cut it short.
‘Yes, I do. Next week it’s dress rehearsals and then the show. There won’t be time to choreograph it after tonight.’
‘Well, let someone else do it.’
I thought for a moment…
‘Millie, for God’s sake, it can’t be that difficult.’
‘It is. I’m the only one who can do it. In any case, I have to be there. I’m really sorry, Lex. I wish I’d known you were planning this, I’d have come earlier or asked for a different date. Sorry.’ As he dropped his arms from round me, I planted a quick kiss on his cheek and turned to grab my briefcase. ‘I’ll call you,’ I said, yanking open the door and lunging for the lift button. I was going to be sooo late.
The apartment door was on a self closer. I could just see Lex turning away before it shut.
I was only twenty-minutes late, thanks to a freakishly hassle-free journey, but I was exuding guilt, which made me grumpy and terse. ‘Listen, all of you!’ I yelled at the rabble of teens and pre-teens on stage. ‘I’ve had a very busy day, I’ve rushed back from London, I’ve had no dinner,’ not counting two packets of crisps on the train, ‘I’ve got a stinking headache and we’ve the whole of the finale to work out. Tonight. So stay awake and listen!’
‘PMT,’ someone grunted, before disguising it as a cough. There were sniggers, but either my tone or demented appearance got through to them, and after an hour of concentrated effort, the finale was taking shape.
We broke for fifteen minutes and I went outside to call Lex. I’d tried on the train but only reached voicemail. The humiliation and frustration of his two failed seductions would be enough to turn any guy off. He was sure to give me the heave-ho and, if he did, I’d have to kiss goodbye to the Marshal & Crowe account too. I took a deep breath and dialled his number.
After a couple of rings he picked up. ‘Hello, Millie. How are your little Hamlets?’
I gasped with relief. ‘Fine. I’m giving them a quick break. How are you?’
‘Well, I’d be a bloody-sight better if you hadn’t left with such insulting speed. I must be losing my touch.’
‘Oh, no. No, you’re not. You’ve got wonderful touch, fabulous in fact. You could touch me for hours, so long as we got the timing right.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it. So, do you have any plans to rush off after Classics at Clavering?’
Did I hell. ‘Absolutely none. I’m all yours,’
‘Good. Then I’m going to take you back to the house, lock you in my room and not let you out till I’m thoroughly satisfied.’
Yikes. ‘Won’t your family mind?’
‘I’ve no intention of inviting them.’
I giggled. ‘No, I mean, us being there.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s my business keeps a roof over their heads. Anyway, mother thinks you’re lovely and my sister’s a huge fan.’
My ego swelled with delight. ‘Sounds like a date then.’
‘Good girl. Oh, by the way, mother wants to know if you’d like to help her with the teas at the village fete on Saturday.’
‘What about Classics at Clavering?’
‘Oh, the fete’s all over by five and the concert doesn’t kick off till seven.’
‘Well…’
‘Say “no” if you don’t want to. She usually press-gangs at least half a dozen women into volunteering.’
‘Where do they hold it?’
‘In our bloody garden. Same every year. You know, the usual country fete stuff: hoop-la, guess the weight of the organist, fondle a boy-scout…that kind of thing.’
I laughed. It sounded like it might be fun. ‘Will you be there?’
‘Christ, no. I’
ve endured enough fetes to last a lifetime. No, I’ve got a bit of business to deal with. Some chap’s coming over from France. I’ll meet you at Clavering. Old Reverend Warwick’s going, he can give you a lift over.’
‘What? I mean…he doesn’t have to. I can easily drive.’
‘And stay off the champagne all night?’ His voice dropped to a deeper, sexier level. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘You make a very good point. Okay, I’ll travel over with…the vicar. If you think he won’t mind.’
‘Course he won’t. Benevolence is in the job description, isn’t it?’
‘Okay. I’ll call Vonnie, tomorrow, and she can let me know what I’m in for.’
He made a humming noise. ‘If I call you tomorrow, will you do the same for me?’
I grinned. ‘See you on Saturday.’
I rang Mum after rehearsal. She didn’t waste any time on small talk. ‘How are things progressing with Alexander?’
‘Fine.’
‘No more than that?’
‘It’s early days, Mum.’
‘I knew right away, with your father.’
‘Well, you were very lucky.’ I could almost hear the silent Hail Marys she was transmitting in my honour. I was the black sheep, the late-developer, the snaggy nail. ‘Can I have your paella recipe,’ I asked, deliberately changing the subject.
‘Si,’ she sighed. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she was crying. I’d disappointed her…again. There was a sob. She was crying. ‘Mum. I’m sorry. Was it thinking about Dad? I know you miss him. We all do.’
‘No.’
‘I know you want me to find someone to settle down with but it’s not that easy out there. I can’t promise I’ll meet exactly the man you would have chosen for me.’ I heard her sniff. ‘I won’t pick anybody awful.’
‘It’s not that.’ She coughed and blew her nose.
‘What is it then?’
‘My car has failed its MOT. They say it needs over a thousand pounds spending on it. And the washing machine went ‘pop!’ yesterday.’
‘Oh, Mum. I can help you with that. Let me treat you to a washing machine; it can be an early birthday present. Tony will help you out with the car – he probably knows somebody…’
‘No! I cannot take from my children.’
‘Why not? You gave us life. What’s a few quid between generations?’
‘No!’ She snapped and then sniffed. ‘Thank you. I will work this out. There are people much worse off in this world than I am. I have a roof over my head and I have enough to live on. I have my beautiful family and, with God’s good grace, I will be okay. I will be okay. It’s just these two things in one week make it hard.’
‘Okay, so I’ll lend you the money. Tide you over this rough patch.’
‘No. I have money in the bank.’
‘Mum, that’s your nest-egg.’ And a very small one it was, too.
‘It’s for emergencies. This is an emergency. I’m lucky I have it.’
‘But if you take a lump sum out, without giving the bank proper notice, you’ll forfeit some interest, won’t you?’
‘Just a few pounds. Now, that’s enough on the subject. I shouldn’t have got so emotional. It’s the menopause.’ She sniffed again. ‘God will provide.’
I’d been here before with Mum. You couldn’t shake her faith. ‘If you say so.’
There was an ominous silence, until she said, ‘So, have you got a pen and paper?’
‘Why?’
‘Do you want my paella recipe, or not?’
Chapter 16
Preparations for the fete were well underway when I arrived. The theme was the Wild West. Someone had placed large, badly painted cut-outs of cacti by the gate and there was an old horse and trap parked nearby with a sign saying, ‘Trips round the green: £1 per person.’ The gates didn’t open till two but the place was teeming with people. Stalls and tents were up, bunting was strung from tree to tree and somebody was testing the loud-speaker system. In the kitchen, Vonnie had trays of cakes, covered in cling-wrap and about fifty blue cups and saucers sitting in an orderly fashion on the kitchen table. Over by an open window were two hot water urns.
She was wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a white shirt, with a scarlet neckerchief and her hair dragged into a pony-tail. I’d borrowed a costume from the theatre wardrobe. It was blue and white check cotton, with a full circular skirt and a detachable underskirt made of satin-edged net, and I’d tied my hair in bunches with blue and white ribbons.
‘Oh Millie!’ she cried. ‘What a triumph! You look as if you’ve just stepped out of a time machine.’ She hugged me and inspected the dress more closely. ‘Oh, for a figure like yours, darling. Wait till Lex sees you in that. You must wear it to Clavering, it’s so flattering.’
I’d actually blown a wedge of cash on a floaty, feminine number in lemon and lime, complete with silk Pashmina and matching underwear. There was no way I was wearing this old relic for my first night of passion.
‘What do you want me to do, Vonnie?’
‘I’ve worked out a rota system. You’re on two till two-thirty then three-thirty till four. Everything’s ready, so if you want to have a wander round, go ahead.’
I walked out into brilliant sunshine. Everybody was tidying up their stalls or rushing about looking for a piece of string to hold theirs together. As I wandered round, there seemed to be a continual loop of conversation:
‘Hello.’
‘Lovely day.’
‘Beautiful.’
‘Should be a good turnout.’
‘Hello.’
I’d brought my camera with me, so I tucked myself away, by the orchard, and hoisted out the telephoto lens. I sat in the shade, just watching and thinking how lucky I was.
‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
I’d recognise that warm, husky voice anywhere. Way too sexy for a vicar. Josh was standing under one of the apple trees and wearing a full-length black frock and dog-collar. It reminded me just how right it was that I should be with Lex. A frisson of excitement fizzed through my veins at the thought of what was in store for me later. ‘Yes. It’s like something out of a history book.’
‘So are you. That dress suits you.’
I glanced down. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sitting there, you look like a girl in an Impressionist painting.’
I glanced around at the dappled sunlight. Okay. I could see how that might be. He came closer and nodded towards my camera.
‘How about I take a picture of you?’
‘Me?’
He held his hand out. ‘Your turn to be on the other side of the lens.’
I was about to argue then thought, what the hell? I could always delete it. I passed him the camera. For someone who’s spent a chunk of her life on stage, you might be surprised to learn I actually felt self-conscious. I heard the shutter click.
He lowered the camera and looked at the image, pulling the corners of his mouth down and nodding. ‘Pretty good. Here.’ He handed it over to me. ‘Not exactly Monet or Seurat but promising.’
I looked at the shot. ‘The light is lovely...’
‘And you have the wistful look of a Renoir.’
‘Really? Didn’t he have a beard?’
Josh laughed. ‘Must go. I’ve got to witness the opening of the fete and then I’ve a wedding to do.’
I glanced at my watch. ‘Oh, me too. I’m on tea duty.’
He offered a hand to help me up and smiled that soft, blue-eyed smile that had mesmerised me three weeks ago. Probably still could if I let it. He’d make some lucky girl a wonderful husband…just not me. Whereas Lex…Lex never failed to set my pulse racing.
I suddenly remembered my manners. ‘Oh, thank you for taking me to Clavering. I could have driven but Lex…’ what should I say…Lex wanted me loosened up on champagne for a night of passion?
‘No problem. Why take two cars?’
We came out of the shade into the full heat of
the sun, and I thought how awful it was for him to spend a day like this in a long black dress.
Serving teas during my first shift was a doddle. I was on duty with Arabella, who looked delightful but hot in a pink satin saloon-girl dress. She was extremely envious of my petticoat, which was starting to get on my nerves with all its layers of scratchy netting.
‘You’re staying here tonight, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re going out with Lex, he needs someone nice like you.’
‘Oh? Thank you.’
‘I didn’t like his last girlfriend; she was really up herself. And the one before that didn’t like Mummy at all. And then there was one who pinched an entire case of 1979 Margaux – one bottle at a time...’
I braced myself for the whole catalogue of former girlfriends but was saved by an order for six cream teas. I wondered, as I leaned through the window, yelling after an old chap to come back for his change, how many girls before me had been persuaded to don fancy dress and serve tea. It was hot by the urns and there wasn’t even the breath of a breeze. By the end of my second and final shift, I couldn’t wait to get out into the fresh air.
People were basking on the upper lawn and a school band was playing The Deadwood Stage. It had been the perfect afternoon for a village fete. To savour such a delightful English day, I took a walk away from the house and stalls to where the grass became springier and on into the dappled shade of the orchard; back to where Josh had taken the picture of me. I looked at my camera and clicked through to the image. I zoomed in to check how my face had looked. Vague…wistful maybe? Dopey could do it. I zoomed out again. Yes. I looked better from a distance, which is how Josh had seen me. Not that it mattered, of course.
From beyond the trees, I could hear the church organist giving it his all on Loves Divine while the congregation did their self-conscious best to follow. I tapped the camera with my finger. Would it be okay to pop in and check out the wedding? I mean, it was a free country, wasn’t it? And it would be kind of interesting to see Josh in action…purely to measure his kind of performance against the likes of Father Riley…wouldn’t it?
I wandered through a wooden gate into the churchyard. The church door was open. No. It wouldn’t do any harm to pop in and watch the ceremony. So I slipped in and sat at the back. There was an order of service in front of me for Samantha Letitia Daniels and Nathan Wilks. I picked it up to find the lyrics.