“Are you all right?” Jane peered around the door. “You’re very quiet.”
“I’m okay.” In her way, she was. She would get by. It was only hormones, for Christ’s sake. It would pass, one way or the other.
“Are you sure?”
Grace stood up and turned off the hose. “No, I’m not sure. I hate my hormones, Jane. I hate that I’ve been so long without a man that, as soon as the first decent one comes along, I crumble and fall for him. I hate that he’s not here and I hate myself for hating that he’s not here. Does that make sense?” She untied the filly and led her out of the box.
Jane smiled and Grace saw the sympathy in her eyes. “Yes, it makes perfect sense and I’m glad I’m not where you are.” She grinned. “Does he pass the Icewell Hill test?”
In spite of everything, Grace laughed. The flats on Icewell Hill were dreadful and there was a question that Newmarket girls would ask each other, ‘Do you love him enough that you’d live on Icewell Hill with him?’ “Yes, I believe he does.” She looked at Jane. “Hell, I’d live in a shack with him.”
“You’re beyond help then. Go home, get pissed and watch crap Saturday night telly.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” She put the filly in her stable. “You know what? I may even turn off the phone. I think if I hear his voice I might crumble.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go out for a curry and go to the Shit Noir and get absolutely rat-arsed. Steve’s on an overnight and I was only going to sit at home and eat chocolate anyway. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a very good idea.” The prospect of going to a nightclub and getting very drunk had great appeal. It would be better than sitting at home remembering the previous Saturday night.
* * * *
“Bloody hell, Gracey, I can’t remember the last time I saw you in here.” Billy leaned against the bar. “Are you all right?”
Grace struggled onto a barstool. Three gin and tonics had left her boneless and headachey. “I’m just fine.” She gave him a loose-lipped grin. “I just needed to have a night out, that’s all.”
“You’d better have another drink, then, the usual?”
“No, just a diet cola, I think I’ve filled my quota for alcohol for the night.” She didn’t want to spend the rest of the night sleeping with one foot on the floor to stop the bedroom spinning.
“Lightweight,” Jane giggled.
“I’m out of practice.”
“Nah, you’re just in love.”
Billy handed her the Coke. “Are you really?”
“She’s been obsessively checking her phone all night.” Jane sipped her vodka and Red Bull.
“I wish you hadn’t reminded me of that.”
“Come with me.” Billy took the glass from her hand and led her onto the dance floor as the DJ played a slow song. The floor was filled with couples necking, but at least it was quiet enough for talking. He took her hand and put his arm around her waist.
Grace sighed. There was something so comfortable and familiar about Billy. She wished he were taller.
“Why are you so upset, Gracey? You don’t go on benders.”
The gin made her weepy. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I think I love him, Billy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s about time you had someone.”
“I’ve only known him for two weeks. It’s not supposed to happen that fast.” She closed her eyes and rested her chin on his shoulder.
“Sometimes it does. Sometimes you can’t help yourself. What did I tell you at Wolverhampton?”
“Bollocks and enjoy the ride, I believe.”
“There you go then. Don’t think too much. Sometimes you do that, Gracey. Sometimes you just need to let things happen.”
“Or not. He phones every night. He hasn’t tonight.”
Billy kissed her cheek. “Did it occur to you that he’s feeling the same? That he’s as scared as you? We get scared too. I saw the way he looked at you, the way he stood so close to you. You’ve got to get over this crazy idea that you’re not good enough. You are.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“There are times when I could just shake you. It’s the truth. If you weren’t taller than me, I’d…well, you know.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“Now, do yourself a favor. Call a taxi, go home, go to sleep and try not to get your knickers in a twist. What happens will happen. Love isn’t always supposed to mess you up inside, it’s supposed to make you feel good sometimes too.” Billy stepped back. His eyes glittered in the spinning lights of the room. “Promise me that you’ll not get all churned up over this. Promise me that you’ll just let things happen.”
Grace looked at him. For once, he was serious. “All right, Billy. I will, I promise.”
He grinned. “That’s my girl. Come on, I’ll get you a taxi. I’ll sort Jane out too. Go home and sleep.”
* * * *
Christopher sat on his bed, leaning against a pillow. The phone sat on the bedside table amidst a clutter of loose coins and old receipts and he couldn’t bring himself to pick it up. Conversations just weren’t enough anymore. When he heard her voice, it made him hurt. He wanted to be with her, curled up in the tangle of sheets while she slept in his arms. He would wake her with a kiss, a lot of kisses, along her shoulder, her neck, the curve of her jaw. It scared him how quickly he’d fallen for her, how much he ached for her. He replayed the time he’d spent with her over and over in his head, picking over each memory, loving each one—Grace in the morning, rumpled and sleepy, her hair a tangle of dark chocolate silk on the pale yellow pillow, the cool satin of her skin beneath his fingers when she moved with him, her soft sighs, her purrs.
Christopher wondered if he should try to forget her. He was going to Afghanistan in October and he didn’t think it would be wise to fall in love then bugger off. He would have enough to worry about trying to stay alive. He didn’t want to have to worry about missing her, or her missing him. He’d gone to the officers’ club earlier and tried to drink her away. Three double Irish whiskeys had left him maudlin, slightly dizzy and wanting her more. He knew he’d have a hangover in the morning, he knew he would wake aching for her. He had never fallen so far and so fast and he was frightened. Christopher didn’t think it was supposed to happen like that. He’d thought that kind of romance belonged to fairy tales and to his mother’s soppy Sunday afternoon films. But, here he was, late on a Saturday night, alone in his quarters, slightly drunk and staring at his phone.
Things had moved beyond casual conversation about racing and training drills, of gossip and music. He couldn’t talk about everyday things with Grace anymore because how he felt would get in the way. The things that he needed to say to her couldn’t be talked about on the phone. He wanted to see her, he wanted to confess, but he knew it would take more than whiskey to give him courage, he knew he needed to be sure.
Chapter Four
Grace rode to work on Friday morning, pounding along the Flat Gallop with Billy riding Allonby alongside. Her father wanted to gauge his fitness and had put her on the only horse in the yard who could match him for speed. Horses were so much easier to understand. The bay colt she rode, Crow Bait, was full of quirks like his sire, Green Desert, but he loved to run and she was sorry to pull him up. At least she had a horse to take to the July course that night. It would be good to confront her memories and put them to rest. She was even thinking about staying for the music because Take That were playing and the nostalgia would do her good. It would remind her of a time when things didn’t hurt and puzzle her so much.
“Penny for them.” Billy lit a cigarette and passed it to her.
Grace inhaled then exhaled slowly, watching the thin blue smoke drift into the warm air and disappear. “They’re not worth a penny. They’re not even worth repeating.”
“Grace…don’t try and flannel me.” There was a note of disapproval
in his voice.
“Chris hasn’t phoned for a week. I haven’t heard from him. I’ve put the phone in the cutlery drawer and that’s where it’s staying. That’s all. I knew it was all too bloody good to be true. I’m not his type. I’ll never be Debutante of the Month in Country Life. Old Slapper of the Week in the Shit Noir, more like.”
“Jesus, you’re stubborn. What did I tell you last week?”
“I know, I know. Can we change the subject? I’ve managed to avoid thinking too much all week. It’s better that way. I just need to get on with my job, get on with my life.” She offered him a wry smile. “The house has never been cleaner. I even managed to fix the dripping tap on the bathroom sink.”
“There could be a perfectly logical explanation, you know. It’s not as if being in the army is a quiet life. There could be all sorts of reasons.”
She sighed. “There could be. I’m just not in the mood to think about it. Please, Billy, let it drop. I was doing all right until you brought it all up again.”
“All right, just this once, I’ll drop it. I hate seeing you like this, Gracey. I hate seeing you all closed up and miserable.”
“It’ll pass. I’ll wake up one morning and I’ll have my old life back. My hormones will go back into hibernation and everything will be fine. Anyway, it’s for the best. Imagine the mess if we got involved and it all went tits-up? He’s a family friend of the General’s. What if the General got pissed off and took Allonby from the yard? I know Dad loves me, but he’d have my guts for garters if that happened because it would be my mess…my fault. Let’s forget it ever happened. I’ll put it down to bad judgment and stupidity on my part. Next time I decide to fall for someone, remind me to pick someone in my own class.”
* * * *
Back at the yard after the race, Grace fixed a bran mash for the colt and sent Harry home. She noticed that he drove off in the direction of The Palomino. The fifty pounds the owners had given him earlier wouldn’t last until morning. He’d be eating beans on toast for the rest of the week, as he always did. Grace wondered how a person could drink so much and live. She poured the mash into the colt’s manger and checked his water before turning out the light.
Bats fluttered in the dusk and a nightjar called out from the poplars. She locked the tack room and stood for a moment, enjoying the silence. The horses were all at rest. Allonby slept with his head over the stable door and his white star gleamed softly. He jumped a little when the gates opened. Grace wondered if Harry had forgotten something and walked toward the cottage. She wanted to get out of her suit and lounge about in her Homer Simpson pajama bottoms and old T-shirt. It was time to pull up the drawbridge for the day and wonder what she was going to do with her useless weekend off.
“Hello, Grace.” Christopher stood in the middle of the drive. The night breeze ruffled his hair.
She knew she wasn’t dreaming. She heard the slow tick of his car’s engine as it cooled and the scent of juniper and lemon drifted across the space between them. Grace stopped and looked at him, not sure what to say. She ached to touch him, to assure herself that he was real.
“Christopher?” She put her hands into her pockets and waited.
“I’m sorry, so sorry.” His voice was husky, soft. He took a step toward her. “I’ve done nothing but try to think of what to say to you.”
“About what?” she asked. She felt scared. Afraid of what he wanted to say.
“About us. About being scared. I couldn’t phone you, Grace. It sounds so stupid, but hearing your voice just makes me realize how much I miss you. It frightens me how much I miss you.”
Grace swallowed and looked up at the night sky. The first stars winked against a backdrop of deep, velvety blue. “I know,” she said, finally. “If it’s any comfort, I feel the same.”
“Thank God,” he whispered. He crossed those few feet between them and held her. He sighed into her hair and his heart pounded against her breast. “I thought I was going mad.”
“No.” She kissed his throat and closed her eyes. She trembled when he kissed her. He curled his hand around hers and she let him lead her into the house.
“Bedroom,” he rasped. “Please?”
Grace’s breath caught at the desperation in his voice. She reeled along the narrow hallway, pulling him with her until they stumbled over the threshold and onto the bed. She wanted him to touch every part of her. She wanted to claim him. Her cunt pulsed when he pressed his hips to hers. Grace pushed at his jeans until Christopher rolled over and hurriedly unfastened them before kicking them away. Grace took advantage of the breathless pause to hurry out of her own clothes.
“Ah,” Christopher sighed. “That’s what I’ve missed. Oh, God…Grace.”
She smiled and placed her hand on the back of his neck. “That’s enough talking, soldier. How about showing how much you really missed me.”
He laughed softly. “That won’t be hard.”
Grace glanced down. “Something is.” She reached for his cock, reveling in the heat and solidity of it.
His long, shuddering sigh told her she’d done the right thing. She moved her hand up and down, squeezing, stroking, gliding her thumb over the glistening tip while Christopher moaned into her hair, pausing only to press sharp, fevered kisses on her lips. He moved his hand to her pussy and it was Grace’s turn to gasp when he slipped one finger into her, drawing a leisurely circle around her throbbing clit. She dug her heels into the rumpled duvet and pushed her hips toward his touch, wanting more, demanding more.
Christ, woman. How needy are you?
Grace watched, weak with want, as Christopher fumbled for a condom and carefully rolled it over his dick. “Come here,” he murmured as he eased his way onto her, pushing for entry.
Grace held onto his hips, guiding him, digging her fingers into his arse cheeks when he finally edged into her.
“Oh, God.” She struggled to breathe, to remember how to breathe.
Christopher devoured her lips. He swept his tongue over hers while he moved inside her. Grace wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in until he filled her completely. She moved with him, making sure that nothing separated them, not an inch, not a breath of air. She loved the thud of his heart against her breast, the blessed weight and heat of him. She shivered when he growled softly into her hair, quickening as he did so, until all there was was the slap of skin against skin, as old a song as life itself. The bedsprings creaked in gentle protest as the dance became more frantic.
Grace clutched at Christopher’s buttocks and pushed up, driving him into her, riding him as she’d ride a race. His breaths grew harsher, sharper, fell in heated puffs on her skin. Every thrust, every glide brought her closer. Her pussy clenched around his cock and Grace cried out, hands slipping over Christopher’s sweat-slickened skin.
“Grace.” He pushed once more, then threw back his head and groaned.
She felt the heat of his release as her orgasm crested around his. He crashed onto her and she welcomed him, exhausted and sated and finally at peace.
* * * *
“I remembered my toothbrush,” Christopher told her.
Grace curled up against him, drowsy and warm. “You did?”
“I bought a new one, for here. If you don’t think I’m being presumptuous.”
“Not at all, it’s a good idea.”
“I even brought clothes…and wine. Please tell me you have the weekend off.” His lips were warm on her forehead.
“After tomorrow morning, yes, I do. I have the weekend off.” She would’ve begged to have the weekend in any event. She’d worked so many hours that she was owed days and days. That Christopher was there, real and warm, seemed impossible.
“Thank God for that.” He swung his legs out of bed and Grace watched him as he pulled his jeans on. “Since you’re letting me keep my toothbrush here, I’d better go and get it. I could murder a glass of wine.”
They sat in the living room, the windows open to catch the breeze. Christopher hun
g his weekend clothes in her wardrobe and placed his new toothbrush in the holder, beside hers. His shaving cream and razor rested on the sink and the fridge was full of wine, Godiva chocolates and smoked salmon. Grace loved the sense of permanency those small things gave her. A fresh bouquet of sunflowers tumbled over the lips of the blue jug and glowed in the soft lamplight.
“I promise I will always bring you flowers,” he told her.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He kissed her. “Yes, it does. I should’ve brought some for your mother. Is your father going to kill me?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because I’m spending all my free time with his only child.” He set his glass down and drew her into his arms.
“He knows I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. He won’t mind. He’d rather I was happy and settled.” She turned and rested against him. “He’ll soon let you know if he’s not happy.”
“I won’t hurt you again, Grace. I promise.” His lips were warm on her temple and his hand drifted toward her breasts.
“See that you don’t.” Grace shivered when he slipped his fingers beneath her T-shirt and, after that, there was little need for conversation.
* * * *
“You can finish early,” her father told her. “Just do first lot and then take the rest of the weekend.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s good to see you smile, again, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I suppose you’d like me to keep lover-boy entertained while you ride out.”
“Would you?”
“I was going to watch you lot work anyway. I’ll bring him with me. I’ll give him the man-to-man talk.”
“Which one’s that?”
“The one where I tell him that if he hurts you I’ll bury him under the muckheap.”
Grace laughed. “Dad, don’t forget, he’s a soldier. You may end up being the one who gets buried.”
“Bollocks.” He glanced past her. “Look at him, a long, tall streak of piss. I could take him in a minute…with a pitchfork.”
Grace looked back at Christopher while he stood in the stable yard talking with Billy. She wondered if Billy was giving him a variation of the same talk. “I hope it never comes to that.”
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