Lola’s face was puzzled. ‘What accident?’
‘He hasn’t said anything to you about it?’
‘No. You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not,’ said Lola, smiling slyly. ‘But I still think he’s wonderful. If I was into guys, he’d be the one. He’s rather beautiful, isn’t he?’
For a horrible moment, Carrie thought Lola might do a Natasha and ask her if she’d shagged Matt, but realized she was far too polite for that. As for beautiful… She saw Matt standing at the wheel, one hand on it, one holding a beer. He was laughing at something Natasha had said, and yet Carrie knew he wasn’t really happy or amused or entertained. Having shared so intimate a space with him for weeks, she could see he wasn’t at ease from the way he pushed his hair from his eyes too often and the way he laughed that bit too loudly at Natasha’s jokes.
There was something not quite right about the way he was standing, something brittle in the air that she couldn’t put her finger on. The way Natasha was talking too quickly, supplying every silence with a joke, trying slightly too hard. She felt a lurch in her stomach, a pang not just of desire but of sympathy for Natasha. Empathy with her. We ache for him, a voice whispered to her. We both want what we can’t have.
Lola shook her head. ‘Don’t try and deny you think he’s gorgeous.’
Carrie laughed and whispered, Natasha style, ‘There’s nothing to deny, darling. Now I’m getting us all a drink. If you don’t say what you want, I’ll choose.’
***
After taking everyone’s order, Carrie stood in the galley, sucking in deep breaths. From the stateroom she could hear Rob’s snores; from above, Natasha’s brittle laughter. Matt was beautiful. He was all hard edges and uncompromising principles, yet she knew that if you could penetrate the surface, if he would let you in, he’d be so warm and tender, you’d never want to leave.
When she returned and handed over the drinks, Natasha was shrieking, ‘No! I couldn’t! I’m sure to have us on the rocks. Matt, no!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Matt was saying. ‘Of course you can do it. You should learn how to handle it.’
He was standing behind her as she held on to the wheel.
‘Well, I’m willing to have a go, but you have to hold me, darling,’ cried Natasha.
‘Tasha. You will not crash this boat or have us on the rocks. Now I’m going to see if Rob’s still alive. If you need a hand, just shout for me—or get Carrie and Lola to help you out,’ he said.
‘Oh, I think I’ve got the hang of it now,’ said Natasha, casting a smile of triumph in Carrie’s direction as Matt disappeared down towards the saloon. ‘I’m learning fast.’
Chapter 37
Carrie and Matt walked back from the harbor in the early evening. Neither of them said much on the way home. Matt was silent to the point of sullenness, and it was obvious that something was troubling him. She had wondered if it was Natasha, but apart from the moment on the boat when she’d seen his expression as he stood behind her at the wheel, he’d acted very much normal towards her. His biggest problem, she suspected, was his brother. Rob hadn’t sobered up until they were turning round to head back to port.
At the top of the town he paused, taking her arm and steering her over to a wall. The touch of his fingers on her skin sent a thrill through her. They stood looking out over the town and harbor. Thick clouds had covered the sun and lights were flickering in one or two of the windows, even though it was only early evening.
‘I know you spoke to Lola and I’m glad,’ he said.
‘Yes, I did. She’s lovely. Someone I’d want to have as a friend, a good friend.’
He nodded but didn’t say anything else. Carrie was disappointed. She hadn’t been expecting praise but she’d been hoping he might open up a little more. She tried again.
‘I decided it was better to get everything out in the open, though I wouldn’t say it was the easiest conversation.’ He smiled and her stomach flipped. She decided to take a risk, her heart beating thick and strong. She knew something had happened on the boat; it had been a turning point for her and for Matt, for everyone. ‘But it’s best to talk about these things, don’t you think? Not to keep them bottled up and creating an atmosphere?’
Matt gazed at her steadily, just long enough to make her want to glance away, then he said, almost regretfully, ‘If you’re expecting some kind of outpouring from me, don’t hold your breath.’
He made outpouring sound like some kind of disease or weakness, and she had to smile. ‘I don’t expect anything from you, Matt, and definitely not an outpouring,’ she said.
‘I think…’ he said softly, touching her cheek gently and making her tingle from head to toe. She held her breath, waiting for him to say how he felt. Then he plunged her into icy water. ‘I think it’s time we moved on. In fact, it’s time we went home. I think we’ve both got what we wanted from this trip. Am I right?’
Home. The word cut through her like a knife. She wasn’t ready to go back yet. She needed more time here.
‘Carrie? Have you got over Huw?’
She already knew the answer and had known for a week now, maybe a lot longer.
‘I haven’t forgotten him, and I’m still angry with him and Fenella for how much they hurt me, but I just don’t feel it’s worth wasting any more emotional energy on them. The thing is, I did want to hurt him, but now it’s as if I just can’t be bothered to do anything about it, like all the anger has evaporated.’ She stopped and swallowed hard. ‘I did love Huw. Part of me always will, I think.’
‘Maybe it would be dangerous to say that you don’t love him anymore,’ he replied gently.
‘Yes. It’s probably safer to think that I do still care about him, but I’ve begun to wonder whether the things we shared aren’t what I thought they were. Maybe our relationship had turned into a business partnership, you know, the farm, the way we lived, all the financial stuff. I realized today that even if I could, I wouldn’t turn back the clock. I wouldn’t have him back, not even as he was before he had the affair with Fenella. I don’t need him anymore.’
‘Then I suppose you’re cured.’
Of Huw, maybe, she thought, but now she had a new problem standing tall and gorgeous right in front of her.
‘And what about you?’ she said, ignoring her churning stomach.
‘Me?’
‘Have you got what you wanted out of this trip?’
He hesitated, then said, ‘When I was sent home from Tuman, I was ordered to spend four months being bored out of my mind. And before you ask, Carrie, I think you know very well that I’ve been doing exactly the opposite.’
He held out his arm, an obvious signal for them to move on, in every way. She knew she’d get nothing more out of him, so she didn’t push. She wanted to tell him, but she never would, that just because she didn’t need anyone, that didn’t stop her wanting someone. And that someone was him.
Chapter 38
They packed up Dolly the next morning and started the long drive back from Cornwall to Oxfordshire. Progress was painfully slow. Dolly didn’t do above fifty, and some of the roads were tortuous and winding. They got stuck behind a tractor for miles and it was impossible to overtake, Dolly just didn’t have the acceleration. Matt spent much of the journey drumming his fingers on the wheel and muttering under his breath. He hates anything getting in his way, thought Carrie, whereas she didn’t mind trundling along at a snail’s pace. She wanted the journey to drag.
By late afternoon they were only in north Devon again. Gasping with thirst and starving, they finally stopped by the side of an estuary for a break. Matt paced about as Carrie sat on a wall, munching on a pasty. She checked her watch. If they didn’t get going soon they’d be hitting the rush hour and Dolly would have a trail of angry commuters behind her, all tooting their horns and showing no respect for he
r age. She was wondering whether to suggest they camped somewhere for the night when Matt threw his can of Coke into the trash with a clatter and jumped into the passenger seat.
‘Let’s go,’ he growled, buckling up again and staring silently out of the window. A van had parked right in front of Dolly’s bumper, leaving very little room to pull out onto the road. Carrie knew she needed to back up to make room. Thrusting the huge rusty gear stick into reverse, she pushed her foot down on the accelerator.
‘Fuck it! It’s no good!’
Matt’s shout was followed almost instantly by an enormous bang from behind them. Carrie closed her eyes, knowing exactly what had happened.
‘I think I’ve hit the wall,’ she said in a small voice.
Saying nothing, Matt unbuckled and jumped out of the van. Carrie gripped the wheel. The crash, the noise, and the impact of what Matt had just said had left her momentarily stunned. Then she came to her senses, climbed out, and went to inspect the damage, dreading what she’d find. Matt was crouching on the tarmac, examining Dolly’s injuries. The chrome bumper had crumpled like a foil takeaway tray, and Dolly’s once pristine orange paintwork was scored with ugly black scrapes.
‘Oh my God. Nelson is going to kill me.’
‘Kill me, you mean. I was supposed to keep you under control,’ said Matt. ‘You’ve wrecked the rear bumper and quarter.’
‘Me? If you hadn’t shouted out, it wouldn’t have happened!’
‘I wasn’t shouting.’ He stopped, looked up at her, and raked his hands through his hair. ‘Does it really matter whose fault it was? It’s Dolly that’s suffered.’
‘We can’t take her back like this. Nelson might have a heart attack,’ she said.
Matt scratched his head thoughtfully, then smiled. ‘The van’s still roadworthy. Get back in and I’ll drive.’
Half an hour later, he was Googling VW repair specialists on the Internet in the nearest tourist information center while Carrie hovered behind him. Closing down the browser, he grabbed her hand and almost dragged her out of the center.
‘There’s a repair specialist up the coast about fifteen miles away. It’s four o’clock now. If we get a move on, we might make it before it shuts.’
As Matt slammed his foot down and Dolly protested loudly, Carrie’s heart was in her mouth, but not because of his wild driving. She wanted to know what he’d meant in the van.
‘What’s no good, Matt?’ she asked.
‘This. Going home, playing these silly games, when we both know we’re desperate to go to bed together.’ He took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a look of pure lust that had her pressing her legs together.
‘Matt. Watch out!’
The van swerved round a tandem bike, leaving the chubby riders wobbling in its wake.
‘Isn’t that what you want too?’ he asked, putting his foot down harder.
Carrie’s heart soared, willing Dolly to grow wings. ‘Of course it is. I have since we set off. Now, can’t you make this thing go any faster?’
***
Harvey, the mechanic from the VW center in the nearby town, gave a sharp intake of breath as he examined Dolly’s bumper.
‘Oh dearie me, you have been having fun.’
‘Can you repair it?’ asked Carrie anxiously.
‘Yes, but it’ll take time. I can’t even order the parts till first thing in the morning, and I can tell you now the supplier won’t have a new bumper in stock. I can get the damage to the bodywork beaten out and repaired in the meantime, but you’ll have to wait three days for the bumper.’
Matt, sitting in Dolly’s open doorway, smiled happily.
‘So we’re going to be without Dolly for three whole days?’ said Carrie, trying not to jump up and down with glee.
‘I’m afraid so, love, unless you want to take the vehicle home and try to get it done there. If you do want to leave it and I push the suppliers, I might have it ready sooner.’
‘Thanks, mate. I know you’re trying to do your best. Three days will be fine,’ cut in Matt, acting all blokeish because that was what you did with a mechanic.
‘Right. I’ll go and get the ledger from the office and book her in,’ said Harvey, probably surprised to have such docile customers. They followed him into a dilapidated trailer, where he wrote down Dolly’s registration number in an oil-stained ledger and said cheerfully, ‘Right. She’s on my list. Shouldn’t cost you more than five hundred pounds, possibly a bit more depending.’
Five hundred, thought Carrie. That was her rent money for the next few weeks, but she didn’t care. She was going to spend three whole days in bed with Matt.
Harvey grinned. ‘You can leave her here now or bring her back tomorrow if you want. I start at seven.’
Matt didn’t hesitate. ‘We’ll leave her. Can you recommend any hotels to stay in for the next few days?’
‘Well, there’s a couple of B and Bs in town if you don’t mind basic. Then there’s the Manor on the edge of the cliff. Bit pricey,’ he said, but it was obvious to Carrie that he didn’t think they couldn’t afford the place.
‘It’ll do,’ said Matt in a no-nonsense tone that made Carrie go weak at the knees.
Harvey grinned. ‘Right. I can give you a lift there myself if you like. I go up the moor road on my way home.’
Twenty minutes later they were jumping down from one of Harvey’s own camper vans—a chocolate-brown model called Dennis—on the graveled forecourt of Hartland Manor, an imposing granite building scattered with plaques declaring its star ratings and awards.
‘You’d better take out a mortgage,’ advised Harvey as he left them standing in front of the stone steps that led up to the entrance.
Carrie hugged herself. She was in shorts and a tank top and the evening sun had gone behind a cloud. Matt didn’t hesitate. In moments his arms were around her and he was kissing her thoroughly. She laid her head on his chest, feeling the warm cotton of his T-shirt under her cheek and his heart beating strong and steady.
‘I’m not seeing Natasha anymore,’ he said. She lifted her chin to look at his face. ‘We both knew it wasn’t serious and we’ve known each other a long time,’ he added, gazing down at her.
‘I’m glad you’ve told me,’ said Carrie, not knowing what else to say, because to say she was sorry would have been an outright lie. Her instincts on the yacht had been right, but she still thought Natasha might have different ideas.
‘She told me she’s been seeing a guy from work, but I’d have ended it—whatever it is—anyway. I’ve been lying to myself and her,’ said Matt, stroking her hair.
‘Me too,’ whispered Carrie, still unable to believe she was in Matt’s arms and that he was going to make love to her. His face was darkly sensual, the pupils of his eyes glittering in the evening light.
‘You go in first. I’ll bring the bags.’
At reception, he dinged the bell impatiently. Carrie tried not to hop from one foot to the other while she waited. From the depths of a leather buttoned sofa, a woman in a smart dress peered disapprovingly over the rim of a G and T. An old guy in a blazer was leering at her round a newspaper.
‘Twin or double?’ asked the receptionist.
‘Double,’ said Matt without hesitation.
As the receptionist turned to find a key, Carrie felt Matt’s hand on her bottom and heard him whisper: ‘I’m glad you crashed Dolly. There was no way we were having our first shag in a camper van.’
‘I didn’t crash her. You made me do it,’ teased Carrie, almost bursting with anticipation.
‘Are you going to start an argument, Caroline?’
She giggled. ‘If I do, what are you going to do about it?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Matt cheerfully, smacking her bottom.
‘Oh!’
The old man buried himself in his newspaper and the woman tutted audibly. The receptionist turned round, the glint in his eye showing that he’d heard everything. ‘Your keys, sir,’ he said to Matt. ‘I hope you have an enjoyable stay.’ He then beckoned Matt to come closer and muttered something in his ear, while glancing meaningfully at Carrie.
‘I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,’ whispered Carrie as Matt led the way up the oak staircase to the bedrooms.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m hardly dressed as lady of the manor.’
‘You look sexy as hell to me.’
‘I don’t think Hartland Manor does sexy as hell. I feel like a tart.’
‘God, I do hope so,’ said Matt, quickening his step and tugging her along the corridor by the hand. They stopped in front of a door at the far end and Matt pushed the key into the lock. He must have heard her tiny gasp of surprise.
‘Sorry, but needs must,’ he said, jiggling the key. ‘They were full. It was all they had left.’
‘I suppose it’s ironic,’ she murmured, tearing her eyes from the brass plaque next to the door that declared ‘Bridal Suite.’
Inside, the room more than lived up to expectations. It was a country-house fantasy complete with high-backed chesterfield sofa and totally clichéd (and totally wonderful) four-poster bed draped with chintzy fabric.
Matt was amused. ‘Hmm. The Manor’s clearly a hotel of the old school. Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?’ he asked.
The way her legs were wobbling, Carrie reckoned it wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but she couldn’t resist saying, ‘I wouldn’t want you to get a hernia.’
He gave a laugh. ‘I suppose I deserved that. Now I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait much longer.’
She didn’t know how she’d waited this long either; not just a few hours, but weeks. He was dark and sexy and arrogant and infuriating and she couldn’t wait to get him into bed. Her hands were shaking as she started to undress him. She forbade him to help and he didn’t object, holding up his arms as she pulled off his top, sucking in his stomach as she ran her tongue over his bare chest, teasing him, wanting to savor him yet painfully impatient. Wound up like a spring inside, yet feeling a delicious languor, a need to linger over every muscle, every inch of skin.
Carrie Goes Off the Map Page 20