by Lorna Peel
Regards
Sophia Nelson
Five minutes later, her laptop heralded another email.
Dear Ms Nelson
I’m not boring? Thanks for that! But, yes, you must be a glutton for punishment if you don’t mind listening to a brother and sister bickering. I hope she’s not snoring yet? Remember, just bang on the wall. I think I had one too many whiskies. I usually have just enough spare time to savour one glass of single malt in the library, not three enormous glasses of cheap stuff. So ignore me if I’m rambling.
A rather sloshed Thomas Heaton
Sophia laughed and clicked on ‘Reply’.
Dear A rather sloshed Thomas Heaton
I don’t think I’ve ever had single malt so I can’t really compare it with the cheap stuff. All I know is that cheap wine causes the most bloody awful hangovers as Michelle and I discovered after her hen night. Thank God it wasn’t the night before the wedding as I’m not sure how our green faces would have gone with her ivory dress and my burgundy one. I looked like Widow Twanky as it was. I hated my dress. Really hated it. Talk about making me look like Ten Tonne Tessie. The slip underneath was nicer than the dress. But, of course, I was too polite to say anything. :( But everyone is meant to look at the bride not the great lump behind her and Michelle did look fantastic and she and Tony are very happy. One girl I was at school with split from her husband after three weeks.
I don’t know about you, but I think I had two too many whiskies.
Very Sloshed Sophia Nelson
A reply arrived very quickly
Dear Very Sloshed Sophia Nelson
From what I could see of the picture you sent of the wedding, your dress was a bit meringuey. Not your fault. Maybe you should have just worn the slip but then you would have completely upstaged the bride. Was it the same colour as the dress?
I’m attaching a picture of me in full regalia in the House of Lords. It was my one and only attendance. Absolutely not sexy. Try not to laugh too much.
Is there such a word as meringuey?! I don’t know? Hope you know what I mean. :)
Thomas
She opened the photograph and smiled. He looked very young and rather uncomfortable. She saved the photograph to her desktop and began a reply.
The robes were, how can I put it? Interesting. Not sexy? Hmmm. Depends on what was underneath! As for meringuey? Brilliant word! The slip was the same colour as the dress. I wish I’d had the nerve to tell Michelle. I mean, leg of mutton sleeves. What was she thinking?
Sophia
Shaking her head, she clicked on send and waited impatiently for a reply.
Interesting? I looked like an idiot. What was underneath? One of my infamous suits. :( So categorically not sexy. I wish you’d had the nerve to tell Michelle, too. You know, I find myself writing emails to you a lot. I never send or save any of them, sometimes I don't even finish what I start. Pathetic isn’t it?
And now I’m very, very, very sloshed.
Thomas
Oh, God, what was in those emails, she wondered, clicking on ‘Reply’.
The next time you’re debating whether to email me, please do. I mean, if I don’t like what you’ve written I can reply and say please don’t send emails like that again. We don’t even have to speak about it so no harm done.
Sophia
She clicked on send then disconnected from the internet, shut down the laptop and went to get undressed and into a pair of pyjamas. While in the bathroom about to brush her teeth, she heard an almighty crash from next door. She threw the tube of toothpaste into the sink, ran to her bedroom, and just managed to pull on a pair of trainers without falling over. She staggered down the stairs and out into the yard. There was darkness in Stephanie’s flat but Heaton was still in his office. She went across the yard and threw open the door. He looked over at her bleary-eyed.
“Sorry, I just heard a crash.” She tried to enunciate each word but they still sounded slurred. “From Stephanie’s flat.”
He quickly reached for some keys and, with a struggle, managed to unlock a drawer and take out another bunch.
“Master keys,” he told her slowly. “For emergencies.”
They crossed the stable yard and he slowly and precisely inserted the key into the lock, opened the door, and they climbed the stairs to Stephanie’s flat.
“Steph?” he hissed, switching on a light. “Steph, what’ve you done now?”
The door to the large bedroom was ajar and Sophia pushed it open. Stephanie lay on the floor beside the bed.
“She’s fell…fallen out of bed. Give me a hand.”
With a struggle, they lifted her back onto the bed and covered her.
“Should we tie her to it?” he asked and Sophia giggled. He closed the door and accidentally kicked over the empty whisky bottle which rattled across the floor. “Shit.” He picked it up with a groan and put it in the sink. “Christ, a one-litre bottle between three of us…no wonder we’re completely sloshed.” He leaned back against the breakfast bar and she saw his eyes scrutinise the strappy top of her pyjamas before resting on her cleavage.
“And what are you looking at?” she asked with a smile.
“You. Your breasts.”
“My breasts?”
He shook his head slowly. “Ignore me, I’m drunk. It’s not right, I said so in my email.”
“Which one?”
“You probably haven’t got it yet.”
“I got your others.”
Again, he shook his head slowly. “Shouldn’t have.”
“What?”
“Told you…fuck…why did you have to come here?”
“Hmm?” she murmured.
“I mean, have you any idea how much I want to touch you?”
“Have you any idea just how much I want you to touch me?”
He heaved himself away from the breakfast bar. “Come here, then.”
She walked forward, he lifted her onto the bar and stood between her legs staring down her cleavage.
“It’s rude to stare.”
“Hold your arms up, then.” She did as she was told and he pulled the top off. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, reaching out to hold her breasts in his hands. She watched as he smoothed a thumb over each nipple then bent his head to kiss them. “Like that?” he asked softly as she sighed.
“Hmm.”
“Hmm yes, or hmm no?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That slip, have you still got it?”
She laughed. “No.”
“Pity.”
He watched while she slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, drew it apart, and pushed it off his shoulders.
“Very nice,” she murmured, running a finger down his chest.
“For a slob who smokes and doesn’t exercise enough.”
“True.”
He bent his head and kissed her mouth, down her neck, and to her breasts. She closed her eyes, running her fingers through his hair as he pulled at her nipples with his lips. Then, there was another crash, and they both jumped violently.
“What the hell was that?” he gasped.
“Stephanie?”
“Stay there.” He went to the bedroom door and she saw that his sister was on the floor again. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“Come on.” She slid off the bar. “Middle of the bed this time.”
They hauled Stephanie into the bed and as Sophia covered her with the duvet, she caught Heaton staring at her.
“What?” she asked softly.
“Go back to your flat,” he whispered and her heart sank.
“But—”
“We’re drunk and I want you too much, but not…drunk…and I’m your boss.” He smiled sadly.
“But—”
“Please?” He went out, returned with her top, and passed it to her. “Please put it on. Now.” Taking it from him, she pulled it on. “Thank you.” He held the bedroom door open and she went back out to the living area. “I’m sorry.”
&nbs
p; “You’re always bloody sorry,” she blurted out. “And you keep pushing me away. I’m sick of being pushed away. My mum and dad did it. Lee did it. And I’m sick of it.”
He frowned. “Why did your parents push you away?”
“They wanted me to be independent because they knew that there’d come a time when they wouldn’t be there for me. No wonder I wouldn’t let Lee go. No wonder I followed him all the way down to London and made a complete idiot of myself. And now you’re doing it. Well, I’m sick of it.”
“Well, how the hell do you think I feel?” he demanded. “Apart from anything else, I can’t sleep with you because I’d hate for you or anyone to think I was only sleeping with you so that you would keep quiet about Danielle.”
“‘Anyone’, being Lady Heaton, I take it?” She shook her head. “Well, she can fuck off.”
He rolled his eyes. “If only it was that simple. I’m sorry, but sleeping with you now would be a mistake.”
“Would it. Is this how little you really think of me? A mistake. Thanks a fucking lot. Fine. Just push me away like everyone else,” she threw at him, turned and began to make her way to the door of the flat. “One night, that’s all. I mean, we’re drunk. We can blame the cheap whisky. We can do the whole corny, ‘last night was a mistake’ thing tomorrow.” He made no reply and she smiled and nodded bitterly. “God, what a slapper, eh?”
“No.”
She opened the door. “Yes. Lee called me a ‘clingy bitch’ and he was probably right.” She went out and slammed the door behind her.
Chapter Seven
She woke with a thumping hangover, which two black coffees, one straight after another, began to eliminate. She stared at the laptop on the table. A notepad with ‘meringuey’ written on it lay beside it and she couldn’t help but smile. Glancing out of the window, she saw Heaton walk to his office with a mug in his hand. In the office, he put the mug down and rubbed his eyes. She blew out her cheeks, remembering his lips pulling at her nipples. Fresh air was called for so she reached for her jacket and went out, just managing not to look in Heaton’s direction, and walked as briskly as she could to the end of the drive and back.
Returning to the flat, she found an envelope on the mat. She put the kettle on for a third coffee and opened it. It was an official letter from Heaton, written on Heaton Abbey House headed notepaper.
Dear Ms Nelson
Please accept my sincere apologies for my behaviour last night, both in person and online, which was completely inappropriate. I would like to assure you that it will not happen again and I have deleted the emails I received from you.
If you feel that my behaviour constitutes sexual harassment and wish to make an official complaint, I will completely understand.
Should you wish to discuss this matter further please contact me so that a meeting can be arranged at which Lady Heaton or Mrs Fields can be present if you so wish.
Again, I apologise unreservedly for my behaviour and any embarrassment, offence or distress it may have caused.
Yours sincerely
Thomas Heaton
She threw the letter onto the worktop, reached for her phone, and rang Michelle at work. “It’s Sophia. Can you talk?”
“Yes, what’s up?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Oh? You sound…angry, is everything all right? Is your dad okay?”
“Dad’s fine,” Sophia assured her. “I need a chat about me. Can I come round sometime?”
“Yes, of course, you can. Look, Tony’s going out with the lads tomorrow evening. Come then? Or is it more urgent?”
Tomorrow? She pulled an exasperated expression. She needed to talk now. “No, tomorrow evening’s fine.”
“About eight?”
“Thanks, Michelle. I’ll see you then.”
She sighed and went to her laptop. Two emails downloaded. Both were from Heaton.
I know I shouldn’t be emailing you like this but I’ve had too much to drink and the image of you in that slip keeps going around and around in my mind. Steph thinks I was born middle-aged but I think you know that I wasn’t, at least I hope you know. One thing you might be glad to know is that the suits will be banished to my wardrobe unless they are really necessary. I really, really want to tell you what I feel for you but I don't think it would be appropriate as I’m your boss.
I know you probably don't care about me one bit so I would be very happy if we could just be friends?
She clicked open the second email.
How the hell can we just be friends when I’ve just told you that I care for you? Please forget I said any of it, it was very unprofessional of me, I apologise.
You’ve gone to bed now so I’ll stop.
Sophia sat staring at the screen for a long time until she re-read all his emails then sadly deleted them one by one. She then opened a new email.
Dear Lord Heaton
Thank you for your letter.
I, too, would like to apologise for my behaviour and the embarrassment, offence and distress it must have caused you. I also apologise for shouting at you again. All in all, it was very unprofessional of me.
I have deleted all of last night’s emails and will not be taking any further action.
Sincerely
Sophia Nelson
She clicked on ‘Send’ and swore.
Her tour, a group of twenty Americans with Vincent Graves in tow, passed without incident. So far, nothing further had been taken from the drawing room, she noticed with relief. Vincent remained behind in the kitchen as she saw the group out to the gardens and was helping himself to another cup of coffee when she returned.
“Excellent tour.” He smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Get asked any daft questions?”
“A few.”
“So, what is Lord Heaton like?”
Behind her, Sophia saw Helen look over with a frown.
“Very pleasant. As is Lady Heaton, and Stephanie. Lord Heaton works very hard here.”
“Is he a recluse?”
Helen cleared her throat with great disapproval at this line of questioning.
“No,” Sophia replied simply.
“No?”
“No. As I said, he works very hard here, but that does not make him a recluse.”
She ended on a note of finality and Vincent nodded and turned as Heaton himself stood at the door looking none the worse for wear.
“Lord Heaton.”
“Thomas, please.”
“Vincent.” They shook hands.
“Would you like to come out to the office or would you prefer to take some photographs first?”
“The photographs first, while it’s dry?”
Heaton nodded and extended a hand out into the corridor. He looked over at her as Vincent went out, flushed, and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile but was probably more of an embarrassed one.
“What an awful man,” Helen hissed.
“I wasn’t rude, was I?”
“No. I hope his Lordship keeps his temper.”
“So do I. I told him that Vincent was okay. Me and my big mouth.”
Sophia went to her flat and kept an eye on them out of the window. The two men crossed the yard about half an hour later and went into Heaton’s office, emerging after a further half an hour. When Heaton returned to his office she went across the stable yard, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“How did it go?” she asked hesitantly, opening the door.
“All right, I think. I’m just glad it’s over.”
“How’s Stephanie?” she added. “I didn’t see her this morning.”
“She’s fine. Even apologised, which was a first.”
“And how’s your head?”
“Okay now. Not so okay at eight this morning. You seem to have escaped relatively unscathed.”
“Just about.” She smiled. “I’m not green in the face, anyway.”
“Thank you for your email.
I don’t get drunk often,” he added quickly.
“I know. Neither do I.”
He nodded. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
“I wasn’t. I was anything but understanding and I’m sorry. I should never have said what I did and I wouldn’t blame you if you sacked me.”
“I’m not going to sack you,” he told her, much to her relief. “We both behaved inappropriately and I think we should both try and put it behind us. Yes?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you. You won’t mind, then, if I send meringuey to the Oxford English Dictionary?”
He frowned for a moment then just managed to keep a straight face. “Do you think they’d take it?”
“Maybe.”
“You’d better send it, then.”
She was at Michelle’s at eight o’clock on the dot that evening.
“Come in.” Michelle smiled. “I’ve just put the kettle on.” They brought their mugs of coffee into the living room and sat on the sofa. “So what’s up? You sounded like you were about to strangle someone yesterday.”
“Lord Heaton,” she replied simply.
“What, he’s a pain in the arse?”
“Yeah, and the rest.”
“What?” Michelle’s eyes bulged. “Oh, my God, you don’t fancy him, do you?” Sophia looked away. “Sophia?”
“I don’t know what to do,” she said miserably. “I need to leave but I can’t because I need the money and I need the flat but…”
“Heaton,” Michelle finished and Sophia smiled sadly and nodded. “Okay, tell me what’s been going on.”
“Everyone thinks he’s a recluse. He isn’t. I mean, he doesn’t go out much but it’s not like he never leaves the house or anything. I mean, we’ve been going walking together for weeks now—”
“Walking?” Michelle interrupted incredulously. “Hang on. Hang on. Rewind. You go walking together?”
“It came up that I go walking and I asked if he’d like to come. He said yes after a bit and we go walking on the moors. Stephanie comes too at the moment, though.”
