by Liz Fielding
‘Jake is busy. I’m afraid you’re going to have to manage with me.’
‘You?’
‘Do try to curb your enthusiasm, May.’
‘No… It’s just… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful but I thought the whole point of this exercise was that you were busy. Up to your eyes in work. You couldn’t even spare half an hour for lunch. Why are you calling, anyway?’
‘I was going through the to-do list that Jake compiled for me and had just got to the rings.’
She lost control of the foot board of the cot, which she had been holding when the phone rang, and it fell against the arm of the sofa.
‘May?’ His voice was urgent in her ear.
‘It’s okay. Just a little flange bracket trouble.’
‘Is there such a thing as a little flange bracket trouble?’ he said, and she laughed.
Laughed!
How long was it since she’d done that?
‘You’ve done this before,’ she said.
‘Once or twice,’ he admitted. ‘Actually, I called about the rings.’
‘Rings?’ The word brought her up with a jolt. ‘No. I’ve got nuts, bolts, brackets,’ she said, doing her best to turn it into a joke. Keep laughing. ‘I can’t see—’
‘The wedding rings. I thought you’d want to choose your own.’
‘No,’ she said quickly.
‘You’re sure?’
‘I meant no, you don’t have to worry about it. I’ll wear my grandmother’s wedding ring.’
It was the ring she’d been going to wear when she married Michael Linton and took her place in society as a modern version of her grandmother. The perfect wife, hostess and, in the fullness of time, mother.
‘I doubt your grandfather would be happy with the thought of me putting a ring he bought on your finger.’
‘Probably not.’ But it had to be better than picking out something that was supposed to be bought with love, ‘forever’ in your heart and pretending it was for real, she thought, the laughter leaking out of her like water from a broken pipe. ‘But it’s what I want.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
She was sure. Besides, if he bought her some fancy ring, she’d have to give it back but she could wear her grandmother’s ring for ever.
‘I am. Is that it?’
‘No. There’s a whole list of things you have to decide on, but they can wait until I’ve sorted out your flange thingies from your whatnots. Give me half an hour and I’ll be with you.’
‘It has to go there,’ May declared, jabbing at the diagram with a neat unpolished nail.
They were kneeling on the floor of May’s small sitting room, bickering over the diagram of a cupboard that did not in any way appear to match the pieces that had come out of the box.
He’d never noticed how small her hands were until he’d held them in his, soaping away the dirt of the park, applying antiseptic to her scratches. In the last couple of hours, as she’d held the pieces in place while he’d screwed the nursery furniture together—in between keeping Nancie happy—he’d found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else.
‘There is nowhere else,’ she insisted.
Small, soft, pretty little hands that had been made to wear beautiful rings.
‘I’d agree with you, except that you’re looking at the diagram the wrong way up.’
‘Am I? Oh, Lord, I do believe you’re right.’ She pulled off her glasses and sat back on her heels. ‘That’s it, then. I’m all out of ideas. Maybe it’s time to admit defeat and call Jake.’
He looked up, about to declare that there wasn’t anything that Jake could do that he couldn’t do better, but the words died on his lips.
May had taken out her frustration on her hair and she looked as if she’d been dragged back, front and sideways through a very dense hedge. She was flushed with the effort of wrestling together the cot, then the changing trolley with its nest of drawers. None of which, despite the photographs of a smiling woman doing it single-handed on the instructions, she could ever have managed on her own.
But her butterscotch eyes were sparkling, lighting up her face and it was plain that, despite the frustration, the effort involved, she was actually enjoying herself.
And discovered, rather to his surprise, that he was too. Which, since it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with constructing flat-pack furniture, had to be all about who he was constructing it with.
‘You think I’m going to allow myself to be defeated by a pile of timber?’ he declared.
‘What an incredibly male response,’ May said with a giggle that sucked the years away.
In all the frozen years he’d never forgotten that sound. Her smile. How it could warm you, lift your heart, make everything bad go away. No other woman had ever been able to do that to him. Maybe that was why he’d never been able to forgive her, move on. As far as the world was concerned, he’d made it; inside, he was still the kid who wasn’t good enough…
‘Anyone would think I was questioning your masculinity.’
‘Aren’t you?’ He’d meant it as a joke but the words came out more fiercely than he’d intended, provoking a flicker of something darker in May’s eyes that sent a finger of heat driving through his body and, without thinking, he captured her head and brought his mouth down on hers in a crushing kiss. No finesse, no teasing sweetness, no seduction. It was all about possession, marking her, making her pay for all the years when he couldn’t get the touch of her hands on him, her mouth, out of his head.
He wanted her now, here, on the floor.
It was only Nancie’s increasingly loud cries that brought him to his senses and, as he let her go, May stumbled to her feet, picked the baby up, laid her against her shoulder, shushing her gently to soothe her, or maybe soothe herself.
‘I have to feed her,’ she said, not looking at him as she made her escape.
Every cell in his body was urging him to go after her, tell her how he felt, what she did to him, but if he’d learned anything it was control and he stayed where he was until he was breathing normally.
Then he turned back to the cupboard, reread the instructions. Without the distraction of her hair, her hands, her soft and very kissable mouth just inches from his own, everything suddenly became much clearer.
May leaned against the landing wall, her legs too weak to carry her down the stairs, her hand pressed over her mouth. Whether to cool it or hold in the scalding heat of Adam’s mouth on hers she could not have said.
It had been nothing like the kiss they’d shared that morning. That had been warm, tender, stirring up sweet desires.
This had been something else. Darker, taking not giving, and the shock of it had gone through her like lightning. She’d been unable to think, unable to move, knowing only that as his tongue had taken possession of her mouth she wanted more, wanted everything he had to give her. The roughness of his cheek, not just against her face, but against her breast. Wanted things from him that she had never even thought about doing with the man she had been engaged to.
She had been so aware of him all afternoon.
Adam had arrived, taken off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves and her concentration had gone west as they’d worked together to construct the nursery furniture.
All she could think about was the way his dark hair slid across his forehead as he leaned into a screwdriver he’d had the foresight to bring with him.
The shiver of pleasure that rippled through her when his arm brushed against hers.
A ridiculous, melting softness as he’d looked up and smiled at her when something slotted together with a satisfying clunk.
When he’d grabbed her hand as she wobbled on her knees, held her until she’d regained her balance.
She’d just about managed to hold it together while they’d put together the cot. The changing trolley had been more of a challenge.
There were more pieces, drawers, and they’d had to work more closel
y together, touching close, hand-to-hand close. She’d had the dizzying sensation that if she turned to look at him he would kiss her, would do more than kiss her. Would make all her dreams come true.
By the time they’d got to the cupboard her concentration had gone to pieces and she was more hindrance than help. She had been looking at the plan, but her entire focus had been on Adam. His powerful forearms. His chin, darkened with a five o’clock shadow. The hollows in his neck.
She’d felt as if she was losing her mind. That if she didn’t escape, she’d do something really stupid. Instead, she’d said something really stupid and her dreams had evaporated in the heat of a kiss that had nothing to do with the boy she’d loved, everything to do with the man he’d become.
Adam was tightening the last screw when, Nancie fed and in need of changing, she could not put off returning to the nursery a moment longer.
‘You did it!’ she exclaimed brightly, forcing herself to smile. The reverse of the last years when she’d had to force herself not to smile every time she saw Adam.
‘Once I’d got the woggle nuts lined up in a row,’ he assured her as he tested the doors to make sure they were hanging properly, ‘it was a piece of cake.’
‘Would that be a hint?’
‘Not for cake but something smells good,’ he said, positioning a mini camera on top of the cupboard, angling it down onto the changing mat, where Nancie was wriggling like a little fish as she tried to undress her. ‘This really is the business.’
‘Amazing.’ She leaned across to look at the monitor at the same time as Adam. Pulled away quickly as her shoulder brushed against his arm. ‘She’s amazing.’
They were both amazing, Adam thought.
Throughout the afternoon he’d seen a different side to the shy, clumsy girl he’d known, the dull woman she’d become. He’d struggled to see her running a business that involved opening her home to strangers, putting them at their ease, feeding them.
‘You’d be better off on your own,’ she’d said, and he was about to agree when he’d realised that her hand, closed tightly over a runaway nut, was shaking.
He’d wrapped his hand over hers, intending only to hold it still while he recovered the nut, but her tremor transferred itself to him, rippling through him like a tiny shock wave, throwing him off balance, and he’d said, ‘Stay.’
He’d been off balance ever since.
Totally lost it with a kiss that he could still see on her bee stung lips.
‘What shall I do with all this packaging?’
‘There’s a store room in the stables,’ she said as she eased Nancie out of her pink tights. ‘Look, gorgeous, you’re on television.’
Then, as she realised what she’d said, she glanced up at him and he saw her throat move as she swallowed, an almost pleading look in her eyes. Pleading for what? Forgiveness? Obliteration of memory?
‘It’s where we hold the craft classes,’ she said quickly. ‘They’re always desperate for cardboard.’
Nancie made a grab for her hair and May, laughing, caught her tiny hand and kissed the fingers. As Adam watched her, the memories bubbled up. He’d kissed May’s fingers just that way. Kissed her lovely neck, the soft mound of her young breast.
A guttural sound escaped him and she turned, tucking the loose strand of hair behind her ear.
‘Saffy is so lucky,’ she said.
‘Lucky?’
‘To have Nancie…’
And as he looked into her eyes, he realised that the smile that came so easily to her lips was tinged with sadness.
Nearly thirty, she had no husband, no children, no life. Not his fault, he told himself. He’d come for her but she wanted this more than him. Well, he would give it to her. And she would finish what she’d started. Maybe in the hayloft…
‘Is there any news of her? Saffy?’ she prompted.
‘Not yet,’ he said abruptly, gathering a pile of flattened boxes and carrying them down into the yard, glad of the chill night air to clear his head.
It was pitch dark but the path and stable yard were well lit. There had been no horses here in a generation, no carriage for more than a century, but nothing much, on the outside, had changed.
The stable and carriage house doors shone with glossy black paint, wooden tubs containing winter heathers and pansies gave the area a rustic charm. A black and white cat mewed, rubbed against his legs.
There was even the smell of animals and a snort from the low range of buildings on the far side of the yard had him swinging round to where a donkey had pushed his head through the half door. A goat, standing on her hind legs, joined him.
The class had finished a while back. He’d heard cars starting up, cheerful voices shouting their goodbyes to one another as he’d finished the cupboard. But the lights were on and a girl, busy sweeping the floor, looked up as he entered and came to an abrupt halt.
‘Miss Coleridge is in the house,’ she said.
‘I know. She asked me to bring this out here.’
‘Oh, right. You want the storeroom. It’s down at the bottom. The door on the left.’
He’d expected to find the interior much as it had always been, still stables but cleaned up, with just enough done to provide usable work space.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Serious money had been spent gutting the building, leaving a large, impressively light and airy workspace.
The loft had gone, skylights installed and the wooden rafters now carried state-of-the-art spotlights that lit every corner.
A solid wooden floor had been laid, there were deep butler’s sinks along one wall, with wooden drainers and stacking work tables and chairs made the space infinitely adaptable. And, at the far end, the old tack room where they’d made coffee, eaten cake and shortbread, had been converted into bathroom facilities with disabled access. Everything had been finished to the highest standard.
Fooled by those useless labels, he’d assumed this was just a cosy little business that she’d stumbled into, but it was obvious that she’d been thinking ahead. Understood that there would be a time when Coleridge House would have to support itself, support her, if she was going to keep it.
He thought he knew her, understood her. That he was in control.
Wrong, wrong, wrong…
May settled Nancie, not looking up when Adam returned to collect the remainder of the packaging. Then, having angled the monitor camera on to Nancie in the cot, she went downstairs and checked the kitten, who she’d introduced to the kitchen cats, a couple of old sweethearts who were well used to stray babies—rabbits, puppies, even chicks, keeping them all clean and warm.
They’d washed him, enveloped him in their warmth and, as she stroked them, they licked at her, too. As if she was just another stray.
There was a draught as the back door opened and she turned as Adam came in.
‘All done? Did you manage to cram everything in?’
‘No problem. That’s an impressive set-up you’ve got out there.’
She quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘Did you imagine we just flung down some hay to cover the cobbles?’
‘I didn’t think about it at all,’ he lied, looking around the kitchen rather than meet her eyes. Looking at the animals curled up in the basket by the Aga. The cats in the armchair, licking at the kitten. ‘But now I’m wondering about the other side of your business. How you cater for your guests. Make your sweets. This is a very picturesque country kitchen, but I can’t see it getting through a rigorous trading standards inspection for a licence to feed the paying public.’
‘Oh? And what do you know about catering standards?’
‘Amongst other things, my company imports the finest coffee from across the globe. It wouldn’t look good if the staff had to go to a chain to buy their morning latte.’
‘I suppose not.’
May knew, on one level, that Adam was hugely successful, but it was difficult to equate the boy who’d nicknamed her Danger Mouse, who’d alwa
ys been around when she’d got into trouble, who’d stood outside this house, soaked and freezing, as he’d defied her grandfather, shouting out for her to go with him, as a serious, responsible businessman with the livelihood of hundreds, maybe thousands of people in his hands.
‘How do you do it?’ he asked, opening the fridge.
‘Well, I had two choices,’ she said, dragging herself out of the past. It was now that mattered. Today. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘A beer.’ He pulled a face. ‘My mistake.’
‘You’ll find beer in the pantry.’ And, enjoying his surprise, ‘Not all our workshops are women only affairs.’
‘I’ll replace it.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘I’m not a guest.’ And, before she could contradict him, he said, ‘Can I get you anything?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m babysitting.’
‘Right.’ He fetched a can from the pantry, popped it open and leaned back against the sink, watching as she donned oven gloves and took the casserole out of the oven. ‘Two choices?’
‘I could have torn this kitchen out, replaced it with something space age in stainless steel and abolished the furred and feathered brigade to the mud room, but that would have felt like ripping the heart out of the house.’
‘Not an option.’
‘No,’ she said and, glad that he understood, she managed a smile. ‘It was actually cheaper to install a second kitchen in the butler’s parlour.’
Adam choked as his beer went down the wrong way. ‘The butler’s parlour?’
‘Don’t worry. It’s been a long time since Coleridge House has warranted a butler,’ she said and the tension, drum tight since he’d kissed her, dissipated as the smile she’d been straining for finally broke through.
‘Well, that’s a relief. It must still have been a major expense. Is it justified?’
‘The bank seemed to think so.’
‘The bank? You borrowed from the bank?’
May heard the disbelief in his voice.
‘I suppose I could have borrowed from Grandpa,’ she said. She’d had an enduring power of attorney. Paid the bills. Kept the accounts. Kept the house together. No one could have, would have stopped her. On the contrary. Grandpa’s accountant had warned her that big old houses like this were a money sink and she needed to think about the future. Clearly, he hadn’t known about the inheritance clause, either.