by Liz Fielding
“I’ve already told you more than anyone else, Ally. I would have told you about Eloise if it had been important. My mother wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
Good question, Fredrik thought.
His mother had obviously heard something that made her think that this was a lot more than a fling, no doubt from the Dowager who could read a man’s thoughts before he was thinking them.
He didn’t say that. Instead he opened the door, walked across the meadow, looking up at the dark shapes of the mountains. The memory of the rock beneath his fingers, the feel of his toes clinging to tiny clefts, the sharp, thin air was so strong that for a moment he felt dizzy.
He reached out, without thinking, for support and Ally was there beside him, her breath misty in the icy air and, without a word, he lifted an arm and drew her close.
“Eloise flew back from America when I was injured.” He could still see her face, the mix of concern and dread easy to read when you knew someone as well as he’d known her. “She wanted to wait for me to recover and I have no doubt that when she said it, she meant it.”
“How long?”
“The doctors said six months. Maybe more. A lifetime when you’re building a career as a solo artist.”
Ally felt something in her crack as she recognized the emotion that had been eluding her for what it was and she shivered, but not with cold.
“You loved her so much that you sent her away.”
“You flatter me, Ally. While she was playing here in San Michele, a soloist with the national orchestra, we had a future, but the moment she won that competition and international stardom beckoned, I knew it was over.”
Ally had once asked Laura Chase how she had been able to walk away from a career as a concert pianist to become the wife of a young curate. She’d said that it had been the easiest decision of her life.
Fredrik had loved Eloise enough to send her away. That she’d gone suggested that he had been right but he must have hoped ...
She leaned into him, a gesture of comfort and his arm tightened around her. “I was mobile a lot sooner than anyone had thought possible and I could have followed her but a man has to have a purpose, Ally. I’m not made to be a coat carrier, to trail in the wake of someone else’s glory.”
“That’s painfully honest.”
“Which is why I hope you’ll believe me when I say that knowing she’s happy, fulfilled, being the person she wants to be means that I can listen to her play with pleasure rather than regret.”
He had opened the door for the woman he’d loved and she’d walked through it.
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” she said, a lump the size of a golf ball in her throat. “You protect the people you love. You protected your mother; you protected your brother and sister from what you believed to be the truth. You protected Eloise from having to stay and nurse you. You give and give and give ...”
She looked up at the dark shape of the mountains against the blazing sky, star-shine picking out a glimmer of white at their peaks, in the hollows where the sun had not reached.
“You’re doing it now. Dominic told me that you haven’t been back to the mountains since you were injured and yet you’ve brought me here so that I can see the stars.”
“I had a different mountain to climb.” He looked down at her. “I’m here today because I wanted to give you something big enough, important enough to show my gratitude for what you’ve done for me and my family.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t want his gratitude but he touched a finger to her lips.
“I’m here for me, too.” He lifted his hand, curved it around her cold cheek and, when she continued to look up at him, he lowered his mouth to hers.
It wasn’t the crazy, rip-your-clothes-off kind of kiss that had taken them tumbling onto the four-poster bed in her room. His touch was tentative and then he drew back a little, giving her a moment to consider if this was what she wanted because suddenly the stakes were much higher than sex.
Her own lips trembled a little and then, as she whispered his name, a whimpering plea for more, he grasped her hand and headed back to the 4x4.
That was it? They were leaving?
He opened the door, grabbed the bag she’d brought with her and a backpack from the back seat and, her hand still grasped tightly in his, he headed into the dark.
“Wait! I can’t see where I’m going,” she said, stumbling after him, crashing into him as he stopped without warning. There was the scrape of a stone and then the sound of a key being turned in a lock.
There was a hut? Somewhere for climbers to rest, stay overnight?
She had no idea what to expect. Something very basic with bunks she suspected, but when Fredrik struck a match, lit a lamp and hung it over a table, in the shadows she saw pine walls, a stone fireplace with a wood-burning stove with an oven, an updated version of the sort of thing she’d seen in a Victorian house run by the National Trust. There were a couple of armchairs and a rug and, as the lamp steadied, grew brighter, she realized that there was a kitchen corner with cupboards, a small sink, a gas burner. And, in an alcove, there was a three-quarter-size bed.
Fredrik lit the stove, filled a kettle at a small sink and set it on the stove.
“Running water?”
“There’s a spring. It’s piped in and when I pull the plug it goes into a filtration pit. It’s going to take a while to heat through,” he said.
The hut or the kettle? It didn’t matter, she wasn’t waiting another minute for this man.
“In that case,” she said, “we’ll have to think of some other way to keep warm.”
“Ally ...”
She didn’t want him to ask her if she was sure. To tell her that this wasn’t a relationship that could go anywhere. She wanted him, hot and vital inside her, and she wanted him now and it was her turn to put her fingers over his mouth ... It was only when she was certain of his silence that she reached up and unwound the scarf from his neck and tossed it onto a chair.
Then she took hold of his jacket zip, hauled it down and when it was open she slid her hands inside the layers of clothes he was wearing and warmed them against his skin.
After that she couldn’t have said who did what except that she slipped the button of his jeans and Fredrik’s hungry kiss was burning her up, making the fire redundant. And then her hands were inside his pants, cradling his backside as he lifted her against him so that she could feel the strength of his need. Then it was her name on Fredrik’s lips as she pushed them down, her hands stroking the backs of long sinewy legs, sliding over the ridges of scar tissue, as she sank to her knees.
She’d never done that before, left herself completely open, defenceless, with any man but if he had changed, so had she. She’d faced her demons and was stronger, no longer guarding herself. For the first time she was able to give herself fully, freely. Or maybe Fredrik was the first man who’d inspired such trust.
His groan of pleasure filled her with a sense of her own power and when he pushed his fingers through her hair, lifted her to her feet and responded with a searing kiss, she knew she was lost.
Later, lying back in Fredrik’s arms beneath a down comforter, with only the flicker of the firelight dancing around the walls, Ally said, “This is where you were today.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Everything was clean, the fire laid, the bed aired, protection within reach.”
“This morning there was a genuine emergency but yes, I came up here this afternoon to lay some ghosts, clear out the cobwebs.”
She could have handled a few cobwebs but the ones he was referring to were the metaphorical kind. He’d faced up to the loss of who he was and this, whatever this was, was an interlude, a pause while he gathered himself.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I’m absolutely starving,” she said, straddling him. “Feed me.”
It was nearly dawn when Fredrik cooked bacon and eggs on
top of the stove. Ally made coffee and they took it outside to watch as the sky turned silver, then bubbles of cloud turned pink and the sun rose, flooding the valley far below them with golden light.
“Have you got any interviews lined up for today?” he asked, when they were clearing up breakfast. Washing dishes as if they were a couple.
“Nothing. The only thing on my agenda today was to persuade someone to bring me up here.”
“Job done, then. You’ll find a new toothbrush in the shower.”
“Totally prepared,” she said. “You only have to arrive somewhere without your luggage once to discover the advisability of tucking a spare toothbrush and set of underwear in your handbag.” She dried the last fork, hung up the cloth near the fire to dry and said, “So, do you want to show me how the shower works?”
The shower was fun, the sex hot. Afterwards, wearing all the spare layers they could find, they walked up the mountain until they reached a pocket of snow where they built a snowman, made snow angels and, like a couple of kids, laughed as they had a snowball fight. They returned wet and frozen to the hut and fell shivering into bed, to warm one another.
“Do you want to go back tonight?” he asked later.
“No ...” The word slipped out, leaving her no hiding place, but she was pretty sure she could stay there forever. Not going to happen. “But Flora will be wondering where I am,” she said. “And we leave tomorrow morning.”
“Send her a text. Ask her to pack for you. I’ll get you there on time.”
Another night with Fredrik?
“You have a signal?”
“This is the highest place where a helicopter can land,” he said. “The hut is used by the mountain rescue team and they installed a communications beacon.”
“Of course. You can’t ever be out of touch.”
“I haven’t turned my phone on,” he assured her.
“Nor me.” No doubt there would be texts, missed calls, from her mother, the vicar, quite possibly the editor of Celebrity but she wasn’t letting the world into this magic place. This magic moment. “I’ll text her later.”
“I’ll stick some potatoes in to cook, then.”
When it was dark, Fredrik helped her set up her camera with a long exposure to capture the sky while they spent a quiet evening in front of the fire finishing up the bottle of red wine that Fredrik had opened to go with the steaks he’d cooked.
They talked, laughed, made love and overslept.
That was good. It meant that in the rush to get back to Liburno and make her plane, there was no time for long, difficult goodbyes with promises that in the light of day might be regretted. She frantically texted Flora, asking her to pack her things and Fredrik arrived on the apron of the airfield with minutes to spare.
No time for a kiss, just a mad scramble from the 4x4 to the aircraft steps before they were pulled away. By the time she flopped into a seat – mouthing a silent ‘tell you later’ to Flora – and turned to wave, Fredrik was driving away.
Once she was home, Ally had little chance to daydream about the time spent with Fredrik on the mountain.
Her mother had asked if she’d seen him. She hadn’t denied it, but explained that he was palace security and the “kiss” that had been all around the village had been no more than a ruse to conceal the real reason for his visit to Combe St Philip. Which was true.
An agent she knew and trusted had taken on the wedding diary, dealing with publishers, negotiating pre-wedding magazine excerpts and foreign rights, earning her fifteen per cent ten times over.
A temporary cover, a sweet picture of a much younger Hope with her beloved pony, was already online and pre-sales figures were ridiculous.
Everyone was pitching in to help with the Wedding on the Green, the WI ladies were practising their cupcake posies, flowers had been pledged, a giant screen booked so that everyone could see the wedding. She still had to come up with a way to keep out uninvited guests. Including the press.
Max had already tossed out half a dozen photographers creeping around the grounds of Hasebury Hall and, as anticipated, villagers had been offered cash for scandal. They had, against all odds, closed ranks and, after a number of ‘incidents’, there was a permanent police presence in the village; but she worried about security on the day.
Not for the wedding – that was Fredrik’s job – but for the village green party.
She asked him if he had any ideas and they had exchanged a number of totally businesslike emails that had no reason to make her heart leap whenever one dropped into her inbox. He asked questions about where this was, where that could go and she had replied.
It was, as she’d told Flora and Hope, a holiday fling. They lived a thousand miles apart. End of.
It wasn’t even as if they would have to spend much time together at the wedding. They might, for tidiness, be a couple but he would be focused on security while she would be fully occupied doing her bridesmaid thing in church and immediately the service was over she would be looking at the photographs, choosing which ones would go on the jacket and getting them to the publisher’s assistant waiting at the printer so that the wedding diary would be printed and piled high in bookshops and the supermarkets the next day.
At least that was what she kept telling herself but the reality confronted her every time she opened her laptop or tablet and saw the long exposure photograph she’d taken of the stars. Saw how far the world had turned while they’d sat in front of the fire, gazing into the flames, words unnecessary. While they’d sat beneath a blazing sky and watched for shooting stars. While they’d made love.
But she didn’t have time to mourn a relationship that never had a chance. She’d delegated a lot of the Wedding on the Green organization to her mother, but she was still working two jobs, putting together the wedding diary, writing her blog as well as dashing into London for dress fittings and publisher meetings after her lunchtime stint at the Old Forge.
Penny had taken on an extra member of staff to deal with increased numbers of visitors coming to the village, but it was still a scrum to get a table most days and when the bell rang to announce another arrival she gave a silent groan. If one more person asked her if they could take a selfie with her, she might just scream.
But she forced a smile, turned to explain that it would be half an hour before a table was free and found herself looking at Fredrik.
His appearance was so unexpected that it was if as the clock had been turned back to that morning in the Three Bells.
The overcoat had been replaced by a dark grey suit, but the white shirt, a silk tie banded in the dark red and gold colours of San Michele were the same. And his eyes, the slate grey of a threatening sky, his intense gaze, had the same bone-melting quality.
The only difference was that the heart-stopping breath-seizing response was multiplied tenfold because now she knew what it was like to lose herself to his touch, wake up in his arms, light up to the smile he kept under lock and key.
Last time she’d gone to him to put on a show for Jennifer Harmon. This time it was real and her feet were glued to the floor.
Chapter Eleven
Ally had no idea how long she stood there before Penny said, “We haven’t got a table at the moment, sir. If you could come back in half an hour we could squeeze you in.”
“No need. I was just hoping for a word with Ally. If you can spare her for a moment?”
The sexy, barely there accent gave him away and Penny turned to her, eyes wide as she mouthed, “He’s the kiss man?”
She swallowed, managed what she hoped was a careless shrug.
“Off you go,” she said, waving her away with a grin. “We can manage here.”
About to protest, Ally, realizing that she was now the focus of several dozen pairs of eyes, whipped off her apron, grabbed her bag, and held up a ‘do not say a word’ hand as Fredrik held the door for her. She stepped out into the street.
“The kiss man?”
She groaned. “You can li
p-read.”
“Oh, I think everyone in the room got that message.” It would have been okay if he’d smiled, but he was back to his poker face and she was getting nothing ...
“I made it absolutely clear, when I came back from San Michele, that you only kissed me to cover up your real reason for being in Combe St Philip.”
“Did they believe you?”
She shook her head. “Not for a minute.”
“Good,” he said, and then he kissed her, right there in the street with the entire café watching and, just like that first time, she kissed him right back.
A youth speeding by on a bike, rang his bell and whistled encouragement.
“We have to stop meeting like this ...” Ally’s voice was shaking as Fredrik drew back, but then so were her knees and just about every other part of her.
“Why?” He took her arm and headed down the street. “It works for me.”
“Does it?” He frowned. “I didn’t know ... I wasn’t sure ...” She pulled herself together. “You are a lousy correspondent.”
“You wanted love letters?”
“I want nothing ...” That was so not true ... “Perhaps a little more than a dear sir, yours sincerely email.”
“Never put in an email something you wouldn’t want the whole world to read.”
Like what? “Hello, how are you? would have done.”
“No, Ally, it wouldn’t.”
No ... “You could have phoned.”
“Really? Phone sex?”
“Is that all we have? Sex?” She stopped. Of course it was. “Fredrik, we both know this isn’t going anywhere.”
“It’s a little soon to be thinking about a destination. Let’s just concentrate on the journey for now. Are you free this evening?”
“No. I’ve got diary pages to put together, a blog to write.”
“So there’s no point in asking you out on a date?”
“A date?”
“You’ve heard of them. Holding hands in the cinema, dinner somewhere quiet?”
“Who are you? And what have you done with Fredrik Jensson?” His only answer was to tuck her hand under his arm and head down the street. “And where are we going?”