A Cottage in the Country

by Linn B. Halton

  "The choice is yours, Mr Hart."

  CHAPTER 26

  It's Christmas Eve, but more importantly it's the morning after the night before. Aren't you supposed to wake up feeling awkward and ashamed when you indulge in an unexpected night of passion with someone you least expected to fall into bed with? Especially when he's very attractive in a rugged, rough-around-the-edges, sort of way and not at all like any man you've ever met before? A little thrill makes my stomach do a somersault, acknowledging that, at the grand old age of fifty years and one day, I've just had my first one-night stand. It's incredible – if not almost unbelievable. Well, hopefully my only one-night stand, as this really isn't my style, but what a night! I can feel myself blushing, but I wouldn't change one second of it.

  If I thought I'd made love before, scratch that – this was hot passion, unleashed slowly and skilfully. Lewis Hart smoulders when he's not talking. You could say that his talents lie elsewhere. There isn't a part of me that doesn't ache, but in a good way, aside from the muscles in my arms that are still grumbling from stripping wallpaper, of course.

  I've been touched in places that I had no idea were erogenous zones, and others where it feels like something new was awakened in me. And I've touched…Lewis Hart…and felt intense desire behind that solid, muscular bulk. He's a man who has two extremes – if only he could talk with the same level of emotion and passion with which he makes love!

  We connected physically, on a level that touches the soul and to say that was totally unexpected is a huge understatement. Last night he was a different man, someone I haven't yet glimpsed. How sad, if that's the only time he can allow himself to completely let go and tap into his inner feelings. I had the distinct impression he rarely trusts anyone enough to allow them to get close to him. I don't know what his demons are, but it's very obvious they are deep and complex. His battle scars don't show on the surface. For all I know, he may even be nursing a broken heart that will never mend. A part of me aches for the pain his life has inflicted upon him and the person he's become in order to deal with it. He doesn't want to be fixed, as tempting a challenge as that seems to me this morning. But if last night left me feeling this way, then I can only hope that it gave him something exceptional, too. I put my trust in him, followed his gentle direction and didn't hold back. I knew I wasn't merely being used, that was obvious. How much he cared about me in the process was humbling, as if he wanted me to understand I was special. In return, I wanted him to know that I glimpsed the remarkable man at his core, the one who can feel emotion and handle it.

  The bed next to me might be empty now, but there's a space recently vacated by his body and I feel exhilarated still by the thought of that. Why? I'm fifty – my life was over and now it's not. He's made me realise that there will be surprises ahead and some of them are going to be as unexpected and wonderful as last night. He made me feel wanted and special. When my desire threatened to take over, he slowed me down and showed me how to savour every little sensation. I never knew that touching alone could be that sensual, and at one point he was telling me how to breathe, his words spoken softly against my neck. As he breathed in, I breathed out and that simple collaboration made it feel as if we were working as one. His iron-strong arms around me cradled me with a gentleness it was hard to comprehend.

  I want to lie here and reflect, but the smell of bacon wafting through the doorway means breakfast is on the go. I can hear him walking about in the sitting room and he's whistling. Whistling – that's a first! When his footsteps head out into the conservatory and beyond, into the bathroom, I decide it's time to run up to the shower room.

  Looking in the mirror I see bed hair that reflects a tumultuous night; a night of sensual discovery, where touch of hand and mouth suddenly became a thing of wonder. Who would have guessed that a man like Lewis could be capable of…finesse! As the hot water slides down over my body I feel renewed. I'm smiling and I can't seem to stop, but I have to get myself back under control, or I'm going to scare off my builder. Maybe Miss Brooks will survive after all and if he's expecting me to be embarrassed this morning, then he's in for a surprise!

  "Why do you keep looking at me?" I give Lewis a meaningful glance, taking a moment to relax my left arm, which is aching worse than a toothache. The steamer pad is heavy when you have to hold it up above head-height. Still, the final wall is nearly stripped and Lewis is already starting to make good the first two walls.

  "I was checking on your progress. It seems a bit unfair to expect you to work on Christmas Eve," he mutters, but I know that isn't what's on his mind.

  I turn my head to hide a smile, still unable to understand his reaction this morning. Did he think I'd wake up totally appalled by our behaviour and ask him to leave? The shocking truth is that while I've only slept with one other man, sex isn't something foreign to me. Of course, it was very different…if I giggle now, he'll be mortified.

  "I like being productive and it's not as if there's anywhere really comfortable to sit and relax. Anyway, I'm nearly finished; another twenty minutes and this final strip will be done. Do you think filling in the worst of the digs and dents will make the walls good enough to paint?"

  He kicks into work-mode, standing back and assessing the result of his efforts.

  "It depends. If you are looking for a smooth, flawless finish then, no. If you are looking for a more rustic look with a bit of character, then I think it will be just fine."

  "Rustic does it for me," I catch his eye, holding his gaze for a few seconds before he looks away.

  "I don't feel awkward and I don't think you should, either. If we're going to be working together until Bybrooke is accessible again, then we have to put last night behind us."

  He shakes his head in disbelief. "Look, I feel bad. It was out of order and even if you weren't being sensible, I should have known better. And I suggest next time you drink vodka and orange you stick to just the one."

  I feel like I'm being told off for bad behaviour.

  "Point taken. Helpful," I reply with as serious a tone as I can muster. "Lewis, um, this is out of sheer curiosity, but where did you learn how to…um…make it less about the act …"

  "It's called tantric sex and it's about connection and celebrating the body. The word means woven together and I had a good teacher. Let's just say that it was an experience I had shortly after I joined the army, on my first trip abroad and something that once learnt, you never forget."

  "Oh, Sting and his wife…"

  "Madeleine, this isn't going to become a topic of conversation between us. Let's just leave it at that and, yes, I know Sting is infamously linked with it, but it's been practised for thousands of years. My teacher happened to be a Japanese woman who was twenty years my senior. She taught me that lovemaking is an art and not a race. If you are going to do something, then you should do it well."

  It's hard not to laugh – not because I find it amusing, but because I feel so happy today. And, as anticipated, Lewis has made it sound as though last night was simply another task for The Man Who Can, and his execution was faultless. If he's half as good at installing kitchens, I'm sorted!

  Lunch is an uninspiring cheese and pickle sandwich, with a large glass of apple juice. Lewis doesn't want to break off for very long and we eat quickly, in silence. When we go back upstairs I vacuum up the remaining bits of paper off the floor and he begins work on the wall I've just finished stripping.

  There's nothing else I can do in this room without getting in his way. If I begin sanding the skirting boards we'll no doubt trip over each other. He keeps going back to lightly sand each of the spots and then apply another fine layer of filler to make them as smooth as possible.

  I decide to go down into the conservatory and begin sorting through that box of Aggie's. A lot of the documents are yellowing and there are receipts for things that make me smile. I find one for a navy woollen coat, purchased in nineteen seventy-two and some gold earrings from a smart jeweller's shop in Clifton, Bristol. It feels wro
ng to be looking through her belongings and it's sad to think that when we die we all leave behind clutter. Things that someone else will have to sort through and throw away. Oh, Aggie, how I wish you'd had someone very close who could have done that for you. But I hope you understand that someone has to do it. At least I have a vested interest in ensuring that Ash Cottage remains as secluded and peaceful as when you lived here. It simply wouldn't be the same if someone laid claim to the track at the back and I know Terence would be devastated.

  An hour passes and I feel humbled as I piece together a life that wasn't ordinary – by any means. There's a hand-written letter from a lady named Mabel, who commended her for being the first young woman from the Forest to attend university. She was a clever woman, who loved playing the piano and many of the cards so lovingly stored in the box featured pianos or musical notes. She also loved gardening because there were empty seed packets with the date of planting hand-written on them. The growing pile of items on the chair next to me looks a lot larger than it did inside the box, but nearer the bottom are thicker, older-looking documents. There's the architect's plan for the conservatory, and that's a pleasant surprise. It's only eight years old, so it must have been added shortly after her mother died. The death certificate, too, lies inside the box. I'm only halfway through and I realise that the afternoon is slipping away. Time to give some thought to tonight's dinner, but first I'm going to shower and change into something a little more feminine. There's only so long you can live in jeans and jumpers covered in paint and general building grime.

  A tap at the door takes me by surprise. I look up to find Ryan staring back at me through the glass. I'm stunned and it's a moment or two before I leap up and unlock the door to let him in.

  "Belated birthday wishes – I hope you picked up all my messages?"

  I realise that I have no idea when I last saw my mobile.

  "Thanks, and sorry, I've been stripping wallpaper…"

  "You were absorbed there for a moment," he nods in the direction of Aggie's box, "problems?"

  "Um…no, just sorting some papers to do with the cottage. You look like you're going hiking, or something. What on earth are you doing here? Is the road open?"

  It's not raining, but he's wearing a thick ski jacket and stout walking boots. He leans in to give me a hug and a kiss on my cheek.

  "No, both roads are now closed. You really do need to check your mobile. I've left you over a dozen messages, so I gave up and decided to come on foot. I see the heating isn't working again, poor you!"

  I usher him inside and close the door.

  "Sorry, I've been up and down that hill so many times in the last couple of days that my calf muscles think I've become a gym addict. Seriously, you won't believe what it's been like. But why aren't you at home watching some cheery Christmas movie and getting ready for tomorrow?" I know he likes to celebrate in style and there will, no doubt, be champagne to accompany the turkey, with all the trimmings.

  "Because I can't possibly settle down and indulge knowing you're stuck here, under these circumstances. It was awful enough you missed out on any sort of birthday celebration yesterday and, I'm sorry, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. I'm parked further along the main road, just before the bend and there's a guy with a small boat ferrying people across the worst of the flood water. I've come to take you back with me for a few days and I won't take no for an answer. I've been invited to a couple of parties and you can be my plus-one. But tonight I'll be cooking for you. I wanted to come over yesterday, but I had to wrap things up at work."

  At that precise moment Lewis appears in the doorway. Ryan's face registers surprise, which he quickly replaces with a smile.

  "Lewis," he offers his hand and they shake. "Merry Christmas. I didn't realise you were stuck here too. I wouldn't have been quite so worried about her, if only she'd answered her mobile. I've come to take Maddie back to warm up and share a little festive company this holiday. The offer extends to you, too. I have a spare room and a comfortable couch."

  Lewis looks unimpressed.

  "That's a kind offer, but it's easier for me to work through as I'll be heading back home at New Year. I need to get this job finished as quickly as I can."

  He nods in my direction, his eyes searching my face for a few seconds before he turns back to Lewis.

  "To be honest, this isn't the right place for Miss Brooks to be staying at the moment. As soon as I've finished the main bedroom I'll start laying the laminate flooring and that's going to be easier if I can be left alone to get on with it."

  Clearly, Ryan now believes that I've been getting in Lewis' way. Am I a distraction? My head is whirling with random thoughts and a series of little out-takes from last night. His arm sliding down my naked back…What would Ryan think if he knew our little secret? Suddenly, the boost to my self-esteem begins to dissipate. I was fooling myself that I'm the sort of woman who can make rash decisions and then take it in my stride. We are each accountable for our actions and now it looks like I have no choice but to let Ryan rescue me. It wouldn't make any sense to say I want to stay, especially with Lewis making it quite plain he wants me out of here.

  "I'll put some things together, if you're sure, Lewis? I feel awful leaving you here with the mess, and I was just about to plan dinner…"

  "It's not a problem, Miss Brooks. I should be able to finish the bedroom and lay the flooring before the kitchen units arrive on the twenty-eighth. I'd like to be heading back up north on New Year's Eve, so it's going to be tight but I'm sure I can do it. A few days' break away from all of this will allow you to recharge your batteries. And you need to make up for yesterday."

  Yesterday? Oh, he means my birthday.

  Is this the same man I've been holed up with the past few days, or is he saying this to reassure Ryan? I don't expect him to fight to keep me here, of course, but I feel like I'm being thrown out of my own home. If he hadn't joined in I could have persuaded Ryan to stop for a festive drink and then sent him off with a 'thank you'.

  Anger starts to rise up, making me feel hot and a little tearful. I walk around picking up things and begin stuffing them into the only holdall I can find. Ending up back in the conservatory, the two men are now in the kitchen talking about the layout. Lewis actually has the 3D plan in his hands.

  I quickly pick up the remaining documents from the bottom of Aggie's box and stuff them into the side pocket of the holdall. Then I ram the pile of papers lying on the chair back inside the box and push the lid on.

  Ryan comes to look for me and as soon as he spots the holdall he gives me one of his dazzling smiles.

  "Right, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball. I hope you've packed a couple of cocktail dresses, the fun is about to begin."

  Dresses? I dive into the sitting room and grab the first few garment bags hanging on the temporary rail. Throwing them over my arm I'm feeling, rather bizarrely, extremely disgruntled.

  "That's it. I'm ready," I croak, my throat suddenly very dry. Lewis doesn't reappear from the kitchen.

  "Just to warn you, I'll be raiding the shopping and I'll pop the keys through the letterbox if I'm done before you get back," he calls out, rather sharply.

  Ryan has already picked up the holdall and is holding the door open for me, as I do up the buttons on my best winter coat – the one with the faux fur collar.

  As we trudge up the hill and then down the other side it all feels very surreal. One moment I'm with Lewis and the next I'm with Ryan. I know Ryan is my boss and a great friend, but something tells me not to bare all. He keeps smiling across at me as we walk and it's obvious he thinks he's rescued me – but from what? And why?

  CHAPTER 27

  After we left Ash Cottage every step I took made me want to turn around and go back. It wasn't about the intimacy, well, not really – but, like it or not, I couldn't stop thinking about Lewis. Not only had I snatched the cottage out from under his feet, I'd abandoned him in a cold, damp environment with roughly the same level of facilities
that you'd have if you went camping. And who would be stupid enough to do that in the middle of winter? The more I thought about it, the more I realised there were only two possible explanations. The first is that he needs the money to fund the work on his mother's house to get it ready to sell. He said as much, in a roundabout way. The other reason is rather sad to contemplate. If he doesn't have anyone left at all, and his army buddies are probably scattered around the country, perhaps he's lonely. Christmas is the hardest time of the year for people who are old, sick, homeless, alone…

  Ryan's mood is bordering on excitement and my mood is slowly pulling me into a depressive funk. Come on, Maddie, Lewis isn't some abandoned mongrel. He's a man who makes his own decisions and if he's alone, then it's by choice. I think he mentioned that, too. So it's unlikely to be the latter, and if it's about the money then you've done him a favour. He obviously enjoys what he does and, besides, I think this is something he's doing for Aggie rather than a stranger he doesn't know. Yes, of course! By the time we reach the boat I have convinced myself that it is the right thing to leave. Even if it's just to placate Lewis, I'm horrified to think that all I had been was an unwanted distraction. But I can't ignore the fact that he has made me feel good about myself again, in a way that is totally unexpected. For that, I am very grateful. There are no strings attached, I knew that before we shared our first kiss. I can't help wondering, though, about what might have happened tonight if we had spent another night alone together? One night of passion can be construed as a moment of madness; two nights mean there's a real on-going attraction and that would have been out of the question for him. Wouldn't it?

  The evening turned out to be amazing. Ryan had prepared a wonderful birthday celebration dinner and as soon as we entered his vast kitchen/diner, I saw that the table had been laid with great attention to detail. Cut-glass wine glasses gleamed alongside the beautiful place settings. This was not a case of grabbing a few festive things, but everything was colour-coordinated and tasteful. The centrepiece on the table was a selection of reds and greens; from the holly, with bright shiny berries, to crimson roses – it was the result of careful planning.