I do not like Leo Frost. I do not.
I grab hold of his hand tightly so that at least I know where it is, but then he moves his thumb across my palm in a very suggestive way and that feels awesome too.
I do not fucking like Leo Frost.
I spend the rest of the film twitchy and on edge about the fact that I’m squashed up next to Leo in the dark, and nervous about the moment when I have to kiss him and the worrying suspicion that I might actually like it.
When the end credits roll, I jump up from the cinema sofa in relief. Leo suggests we take a pleasant stroll through nearby Holland Park, and I agree wholeheartedly. A nice boring walk in the daylight. Much safer than a cosy, low-lit cinema.
On the way to the park, Leo dives into a nearby off-licence, where he picks up a bottle of Chianti and a tube of plastic cups. The sun is still quite high in the sky, and so I flip open my parasol and twirl it around as we wander into the park’s entrance. I spot a family of squirrels darting about near a huge oak tree, and a baby one scrambling up the tree with a nut so big that it keeps dropping it. We laugh, take the mick out of the squirrel and mosey past the young families and couples enjoying the last dregs of the day’s sunshine.
‘So,’ Leo says brightly as we walk side by side down a tree-lined path. ‘Tell me more things about you, Lucille.’
Fuck! With everything that happened with Jamie last night, and Grandma being upset today, I totally forgot to ask about what my fake job should be. Shit. I can’t fudge this again!
Think, Jess. What the chuff would a well-to-do girl from Kensington with impeccable manners and enough time to wear a hairstyle that takes over two and a half hours to prepare do for a job?
‘I’m . . . a socialite!’ I blurt out.
Why? Why didn’t I just think on it a little longer. Fucking socialite?
‘Gosh, really?’ Leo raises his eyebrows sharply in astonishment. ‘I haven’t heard of the Darling family.’
Shit. He knows all the socialites in London. They’re probably all his mates. He knows I’m not one of them.
‘Oh, the Darlings are based in Lancashire,’ I say as confidently as I can. ‘Farmers, you know. I—’
‘Farmers? My best friend Alistair is in farming! What kind of farming?’
‘ . . . Cows?’
‘Alistair breeds cows! Sadly, he’s just had to put his favourite one out to pasture. She was getting a bit old.’
Hmm. Something about that rings a bell. The thing Leo said about ‘getting rid of a fat old cow’ at the funfair.
‘Was the cow fat too?’ I ask.
‘Yes, actually! How did you know?’
‘Oh, um, it’s common.’
Oh my God. Leo was not being sexist at the funfair. He was talking to his friend about an actual fat old cow. I peer at him, eyes narrowed.
‘So what do you enjoy doing with your time, Lucille?’ he asks.
‘Oh, well, I like to read,’ I reply. Which is true. ‘And . . . ’
Dancing, pear cider, copping off, rock concerts, Pot Noodles, stand-up comedy, sexy times, Netflix, partying like a champ . . .
I run through my list of favourite things, but none of my real hobbies are very socialitey at all. What the hell do socialites like to do? I squint and search my brain for ideas. And then I get a vision of the end pages in one of Summer’s celebrity tat magazines. Socialites are always hanging out at fancy events for charity.
‘I’m . . . a philanthropist.’
Leo stops mid-walk and gives me an astounded look. ‘Wow. I had no idea. That’s fantastic.’
‘Yes,’ I say nobly. Leo is mega impressed by my good grace, my selflessness. ‘I’m passionate about charities.’
‘What charities do you aid?’ He takes hold of my hand and swings it as we walk past a young family having a picnic.
‘Uh . . . um . . . ’ My brain scrambles frantically for an idea. My brain is shit. ‘Er . . . well . . . er . . . squirrels,’ I say slowly, nodding in a meaningful way.
Cockwaffle. Of all the amazing charities I could have said, why the fuck did I make one up. About squirrels. Stupid squirrel family that I thought was so cute before. I look backwards and throw the squirrels my withering glance. They are whizzing up a tree trunk and don’t even notice.
‘Squirrels?’ Leo repeats as he raises a ginger eyebrow.
‘Oh yes,’ I say fervently, a vague feeling of panic beginning to circle my chest. I have no blummin’ clue where I’m going with this. ‘I, um, I think squirrels are very important to . . . er . . . to this life. People think they’re cute and that’s all there is to it. But squirrels . . . um . . . they don’t always have it easy.’
What am I saying?
‘No?’ Leo asks with a great deal of interest. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, squirrels need nuts, but . . . in the winter there’s too much snow and they can’t find the nuts. Our charity . . . well, we distribute bags of nuts so that the squirrels don’t go without.’
‘What is your charity called? I’ll make a donation.’
‘Thank you!’ I breathe. ‘It’s called . . . well . . . it’s called, erm . . . Squirrels’ . . . Nut . . . Sacks? Um, Squirrels’ Nut Sacks.’
I look across to Leo and see that he is politely stifling a laugh. I act nonchalant.
Fucking hell, why is my mind so disgusting. Why is nut sack the first nut-related thing that comes into my mind? I am so gross.
‘I must say, it sounds very niche,’ Leo says with an amused chuckle. ‘I had no clue that anything like that existed, but I suppose squirrels need advocates like any other woodland creature.’
‘They really do. It’s an issue very close to my heart.’
Leo gives me a sidelong smile. ‘You certainly are one of a kind, Lucille Darling.’
I grin faux shyly and twirl my parasol some more. And then, out of nowhere, Leo properly yanks me behind a big cherry tree. What is he doing? He pulls me close to him and stands very still. Is this it? Are we going to kiss now? Did my passion for squirrel welfare get him hot?
My heart starts to hammer in my chest. What is it playing at? I look up at Leo to see if he’s going to kiss me, but he’s peeking out behind the tree, an absolutely mortified look on his aristocratic face.
Frowning, I peep round the tree too and see a tall, statuesque woman with gorgeously highlighted blonde hair jogging down the path in designer sportswear with a cute little Yorkshire Terrier attached to a lead.
Leo moves us further round the tree and out of sight as the woman jogs past. When he spots her face, his expression of terror melts away.
‘Who’s that?’
Leo gives me a grimace. ‘It’s actually no one. I thought it was an ex, but I was mistaken.’
Ah. He thought it was an ex. No wonder he wants to hide. Did he think she was one of the many women he has fucked over? Chuh. And there I was getting all wibbly about the prospect of a kiss. I mentally punch myself in the face.
‘Oh,’ I say casually. ‘Why did you hide?’
Leo runs a hand over his stubble. ‘Yeah, that was really embarrassing of me, wasn’t it? Sorry about that. I . . . ’He trails off, looking uncomfortable.
‘You can tell me,’ I purr. Let’s see him wriggle out of this one. ‘You can tell me anything. Shall we sit down?’
I point to a nearby wooden bench. We head over to it and plonk down. Leo opens up the wine and pours it into two paper cups.
‘I thought it was Katie, my ex-fiancée,’ he says eventually, watching as she jogs off out of sight. ‘I really didn’t want her to spot me.’
Huh?
‘You were engaged?’
That juicy titbit was not on Google. And Valentina definitely didn’t mention it.
Leo takes a large gulp of his wine. ‘A long time ago.’
I look up at him curiously. ‘Why didn’t you get married?’
He inhales long and low.
‘I . . . well, I actually caught her fooling around with my father.’
&nb
sp; What the hell? Ew. That is a concept so gross that I want to swear out loud, but I have to keep up the soothing voice.
‘Oh dear,’ I gasp. ‘That’s horrible! Why on earth would they do that? Sorry, that’s very nosy of me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t mind,’ he says. ‘It’s pretty mental, isn’t it?’
‘Um, yes. Pretty mental,’ I agree, wide-eyed with horror.
‘It happened years ago – the summer after I’d left university,’ Leo explains, taking another gulp of his drink. ‘I had this ridiculous idea that I was going to travel Europe, try to become an artist on my own dime without the help of family money.’ He rolls his eyes and laughs mirthlessly. ‘Katie and I had been dating for about a year and she wanted me to join Dad’s company – she had her heart set on a very particular sort of lifestyle and thought me being a Frost would afford her that. When she realized that I was going to focus on art, intended to live by simple means, she completely lost interest in me. Thought she’d have a crack at my dad instead.’
‘But why would he . . . ’
‘My father is many great things, but moral is not one of them.’
I think of the way Rufus Frost looked at me when we met at Leo’s office. Barf.
‘I caught the pair of them drunkenly pawing each other in the downstairs bathroom during a family barbecue,’ Leo explains, his voice low. ‘The two people in the world who I thought had my back lied to me. I had to forgive my father – I’ve not exactly got an abundance of family to pick and choose from – but we’ve never quite recovered from it.’
‘That is so, so rubbish,’ I say, taking the bottle of wine and topping up our cups. No wonder he just freaked out.
Leo’s pale face flushes crimson, the frown between his eyebrows deepening. ‘Apologies, Luce. I didn’t expect that to happen. This grimness is not what I had in mind for today.’
‘God, don’t apologize.’ I lean back against the bench. ‘It must have been a relief to go travelling after all that.’
‘I didn’t go in the end. After everything that had happened, such a romantic notion suddenly seemed idiotic and childish.’
I nod thoughtfully. ‘So . . . have you had many girlfriends since Katie?’
Leo shakes his head and drains his drink. ‘Not really.’
‘No?’
‘I mean, I’ve dated women. Lots of them. So many, in fact, that I’m painted as some sort of womanizer in the press.’ He pauses and gives me a wry smile. ‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this – not exactly helping my cause, am I?’
I do my Lucille giggle. ‘I like that you’re being honest with me. So . . . are you a womanizer?’
He shrugs. ‘I hate that word. But honestly? Yes, I was. I was a bit of a dickhead for a while, actually. Since Katie, I’ve had this issue that every woman I meet has an ulterior motive. Whether it’s my family money, or this ridiculous notoriety of me being a ‘playboy’, or the column inches and being seen in the right places. God, that sounds arrogant, doesn’t it?’ He pulls a face. ‘What I mean is that it’s been easier to live up to the press and become this caricature of myself rather than open myself up to another situation like Katie.’
‘You haven’t seemed like a caricature to me,’ I say honestly.
Leo gives me a warm smile which completely softens his aloof features. He moves closer to me on the bench and, up close, I notice that there’s a light sprinkle of freckles dusted across his patrician nose. Cute. My stomach dips.
‘That’s because you’re different, Lucille.’ He takes my paper cup from my hand and puts it, with his, on the twig-covered ground beside us. He leans sideways against the bench and pulls me towards him. ‘You knew nothing about me when we met at the funfair,’ he continues, his voice husky. ‘You had no idea who I was. No expectations or motives.’
I swallow guiltily. He hasn’t a freaking clue.
It occurs to me that the reason for Leo’s arrogance, his past behaviour, is not as simple as him just being a massive twat. It’s more complex than that. He has this history, this awful thing that happened to him, that hardened him, made him push people away. I get it. Not that it’s forgivable, but maybe if Valentina knew this she’d understand him more, feel less angry at him, get why he acted the way he did.
‘I feel like I can be myself with you,’ Leo murmurs, stroking a finger up my cheek. ‘Like I can share the real me. And I haven’t felt like that for so long.’ He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. And then, cradling my head in his other hand, he leans in and, ever so softly, plants a kiss on my lips.
As his lips make contact with mine, my eyes widen in shock.
Oh.
Leo presses my body to his and runs his hand across my lower back as the kiss deepens.
Oh no.
A sigh of pleasure escapes me, and in response Leo pulls me even closer, kisses me harder. My stupid head starts to spin wildly, my idiot heart thuds out of time, and every dumb nerve-ending in my body zings and fires. What the fuck is happening? I suspected I might like it when he kissed me but . . . not like this.
I run my hands up to the back of his neck, it feels warm and soft and vulnerable and strong beneath my fingertips.
Completely losing it, I cling onto Leo and he clings onto me.
This is how the men and women kissed in Grandma’s movies.
Like they never wanted to let go.
And I think it might be the best kiss of my whole entire life.
I pull back and it takes me a few seconds to come to. Leo laughs out loud.
‘Whoa,’ he says, like that might have been the best kiss of his whole entire life too.
Oh fuck.
I like Leo Frost.
Rose Beam’s Diary
9th July 1985
I’m pregnant.
Frankly, I’m bloody terrified. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried ringing Thom but there’s been no answer. I went to his house after work today but nobody was in. I hope he’s OK, especially after what he told me about those horrible brutes he owes money to. I can’t think straight about this, I need to talk to someone. Hang on, Mum is calling me downstairs . . .
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A chaste kiss in public is acceptable, anything more than that slips into the realm of ‘heavy petting’, and that sort of behaviour is highly uncouth.
Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955
Leo and I make out on the bench for a very hot and steamy twenty minutes, and it is so good that I completely forget where I am, who I’m with and what I’m supposed to be doing. Or not be doing, as the case may be. A grumpy park keeper interrupts to inform us that there has been a complaint from a young family passing by and that we should not be fornicating like this in a public place. Giggling like idiots, we leave the bench and carry on walking round the park. For the whole rest of the way around, we chat about anything and everything, and every five minutes we look at each other and burst into wild laughter for no apparent reason. Like we can’t quite believe how good we are at kissing one another. At how amazing that felt. My adrenalin is pumping. He won’t let go of my hand. This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. But . . . the way his body just felt to my body . . . it wasn’t simple randiness in the usual way when I fancy someone. It was kablam!
When Leo pushes me up against a sycamore tree for another round of kissing, I participate willingly. I care about nothing else other than how excellent it feels – like I’m melting into a puddle of warm, buttery awesomeness.
Leo Frost. Artist. Thinker. Man. Jess melter.
‘Oh, Lucille,’ he groans, nuzzling my neck.
My eyes fly open.
I jump away from the kiss.
Lucille.
Lucille.
This is not real.
It’s fake.
Leo thinks he’s kissing someone entirely different. He’s not kissing me like that. He’s kissing Lucille.
I mentally shake myself. I have to get a fuckin
g grip, and fast.
‘Lucille, what’s wrong?’ Leo says, his eyes flashing with concern as I back away from him.
‘I . . . I need to get home. I’m running late,’ I mutter, nodding quickly as I scan the park for the nearest exit. ‘It’s time to go now. I have to get my, er, my beauty sleep.’
Leo chuckles. ‘Oh no, is that like I need to wash my hair?’
I laugh too, but it comes out a bit manic.
Leo takes hold of my hand again. ‘We could go back to my place?’ He gives me a wolfish grin.
My vagina says yes. YES.
‘No!’ I yell. ‘I really do have to go or I’ll . . . be late.’
‘Late for what?’
‘Er, work. Yes. I have lots of work to do . . . for my charity. For the squirrels. Urgent squirrel business. Bye. Bye now!’
And before he can convince me to stay with another one of those other-worldly, mind-fuck kisses, I spin round, tuck Grandma’s parasol under my armpit and race off out of the park.
In desperate need of cooling off, I decide to jog back home to Bonham Square. It’s not easy in these high heels and I keep tripping up as I go. God knows what I look like, trussed up in this weird sailor dress with my pointy boobs, stumbling through the fanciest streets of London holding an antique lace parasol and angrily muttering ‘fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck . . . balls . . . fuck’ to myself every few steps.
My head is in a massive mess. A twisty whirl of confusion. What is going on? All my life I’ve been very, very careful not to get too giddy about a bloke. God knows, Mum’s warnings about letting people get too close to hurt you scared me off for life. I thought I was way smarter than that.
But I’m not.
I’m an idiot. A fool. A sucker. A chump. An idiot fool sucker chump.
I’ve been so convinced that Leo Frost is a turd, and was so focused on behaving like a made-up person around him, that the real me has been left defenceless, and now I think I’ve got . . . feelings.
Feelings. Urgh. I can feel them, these feelings. Whizzing around my insides and making me feel excited and scared and worried and super horny and like there might be something to look forward to, maybe.
The Vintage Guide to Love and Romance Page 24