by Rose Amberly
In reality, their first time was a mindless hungry rush like tumbling and tumbling and tumbling off a cliff.
The second time was, if anything, a deeper falling that took away his breath and left him unable to speak afterwards.
Their third time, slow, searing and intense, was also wordless. From time to time, one of them, sometimes both, would cry out.
Sunrise found them wrapped around each other diagonally across the bed, the sheets a hopeless tangle on the floor. The sun shone through the window and made patterns on the wall, on the bed and on Millie’s soft, smooth body. He traced the light patterns with his hand.
“I meant to tell you something important earlier,” he said against her stomach.
Her hand played through his hair, her fingers soft and warm. Life didn’t get much better than that. Lying with his head in the pit of her stomach, feeling the air in and out of her. Her breathing told him how she reacted to his touch. Her hair lay in tangled curls over one shoulder, where he had last played with it. After a night of heavy kissing, her golden velvety skin had turned red on her cheeks, around her mouth, on her chin and throat, and probably all over her. He should have remembered to shave.
“What?” Her whisper started in her stomach somewhere under his cheek. He looked up.
“I love you,” he said, the words that had first come to him last September. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Yes, I know.” Her voice flowed like silk.
He chuckled softly. “It doesn’t do much for a man’s ego if his declaration isn’t even a surprise.”
Her stomach fluttered with a silent giggle. “Oh, you have surprised me plenty. Especially the last few hours.”
“Let me see if I can surprise you again.” He pushed himself up and reached for the last condom on the bedside table.
“I meant to ask.” She had that amazing twinkle in her eyes. “Do you always have a box of condoms in your trouser pocket?”
“I should be so lucky. I bought these in Jersey.”
She took the wrapped packet from him and looked at it from both sides. “I had no idea Carolina Herrera was in the condom business.”
George had laughed more in the last five minutes than in all eight months. “I love you so much, do you know that?”
“I heard a rumour recently, can’t seem to remember where?” Millie stretched, arms above her head, body arched, languorous, sexy as hell.
Oh, yes. He reached for the wrapped condom. “I will endeavour to remind you in a way you won’t forget in a hurry.” Just then his stomach gave a loud growl. “Sorry. Haven’t eaten since the coffee and croissant in Brighton.” He flopped on his back next to her. “I didn’t even finish those.”
“Pity there isn’t a café anywhere near here.”
He aimed a playful grab at her, but she leapt off the bed, laughing before he connected. “Come on then.” And she raced through the door to the front of the cottage.
* * *
George padded barefoot into the café.
“What do you feel like?” she called from behind the open fridge door. Unlike him, she had managed to wear a dressing gown. Pity.
“I’m going to need more than weeds and grasses. Sex is hungry work.”
She lobbed an orange at his head; her aim was surprisingly accurate. “Would you like to get dressed?”
“I seem to remember,” he teased, “you saying something about a café where people can eat in whatever.”
“But you’re not in whatever, you’re without whatever.”
“I can put on the condom, if you like.” He could be funny, too. It was easy when you were happy.
“Well, make the tea, then.” She picked up the hat from where it had landed yesterday and put it on her head. It really suited her. She pulled the brim down and hid her eyes from him, then she went back to the fridge. “Sandwiches? Unless you fancy cake.”
“Oh, cake. Always cake.” He found the kettle in her sparkling clean kitchen and filled it with water.
She was still standing inside the open fridge door as if lost in thought.
“Let me guess, there is nothing in your fridge.”
She jumped slightly. Had she been remembering what they’d done in bed? He was.
She leaned into the fridge. “Almond cake? Lemon-and-mint tart? Rosemary sea-salt chocolate mousse? Orange scones or cardamom-and-saffron white-chocolate cake?” She was busy taking out platters covered in cling film.
“Impossible to choose. Which are you going to have?”
“I am going to have a shower,” she said. “Try all of them. Tell me what you think.” She kissed him quickly on his cheek, but before he could respond, she’d hurried to the back, the tail of her dressing gown flying behind her.
* * *
George used the time not only to enjoy tea and cake, which were sensational like their creator, but to think about his next step. He’d been flying without charts yesterday, but now he had some time to plan. To prepare what he wanted to say.
She was in the shower a very long time. What was it about women and bathrooms?
He put the cakes away in the fridge, then went to find his clothes. He needed a shower too, but maybe later. What he wanted to say to her required clothes; they could get naked afterwards. The thought turned him on again. Now that his stomach was full, other parts of him were hungry.
He chose a window seat behind a blue table with a little bowl of seashells. Millie, oh, Millie. She had created a thing of wonder in his grandfather’s old fish and chip shop. Everywhere he looked, there was a new beautiful perspective; no corner was the same as the other. And she did all this with practically no money. And a broken heart.
What had he done with his time?
Millie was like a wildflower that thrived in the hardest ground. She could give him lessons on survival.
She finally came into the café, wearing ordinary jeans and a baggy top. She looked sexy even in that.
“I made a fresh pot of tea.” He held a chair for her.
She walked towards him slowly, deliberately, as if unsure. “Okay, a quick one. I’ll need to get the place ready. Café opens in a couple of hours.”
“Take the day off.”
“On Easter Sunday?” Her eyebrows lifted. “In my business, we live for weekends like this.”
Well, he could at least help her now. She could have all his money. Christ, she could have all of him.
Just as well they were dressed and sitting with a table between them. He needed to say everything without sexual distraction. Without too much sexual distraction, he amended, as his eyes took in her wet hair curling against her neck.
She poured tea for both of them, added milk, then took her mug in both hands and stared into it.
“Millie, my love,” he began and was gratified to see her face colour, “I made a mistake in the past, keeping my thoughts to myself. I had plans, you see, to whisk you away to London. Everything was planned: the jewellery I’d give you for Christmas, on Valentine’s—that’s when I planned to propose. What a fool I was.” He wanted to reach over and take her hand, but both her hands were wrapped firmly around her mug.
“I wanted to present you with all my decisions like a—like some sort of gift. I don’t want to make the same mistake now. I want you to share my thinking from the off. This thing between us, it’s not mine alone to build. You are—”
“George, you don’t need—”
“Shh.” He touched her arm gently. “Let me get this out, please.”
Millie drank some tea and kept her arms up, holding the mug against her chin.
“I thought, before, you were good enough for me, but I was wrong, Millie. You are far better. I used to have all the answers, and I failed. But you are the answer. I want you to be… you are my future.” He stopped because although she hadn’t interrupt
ed, she didn’t even look him in the eye to distract him. Something else made it hard to speak. He gulped some of his tea, scalding his mouth. The burning jolt seemed to clear his head. He ploughed on.
“I didn’t come prepared yesterday. So I don’t want you to say anything yet.” He took a deep breath. “I will come back in a few days, I will get down on one knee, and you can answer me then.”
That was it. He’d said everything he’d wanted to say. Why did it feel so heavy?
Millie put her mug on the table. “It’s all right. I can give you my answer now.”
“No, Millie, don’t. Let’s do this right. Let me come back with a ring.”
“You want my answer to be about you or about a piece of jewellery?” Her eyes were loving but serious. “Can I please give you my answer now?”
“Okay.” His heart fluttered, and his pulse banged in his temples. He’d heard that proposing was scary, but he shouldn’t be this anxious.
Millie took in a long breath. “There are probably a million charming ways to say this, but I can’t find them.” Her eyes swept the room as if looking for something. “I’m sorry, George, more than you know, but I can’t.”
The anxiety in his heart spread all over and prickled under his skin. I fucked this up again with the wrong words. He reached over and took her hand in both of his. “Millie, you don’t understand—”
“Yes, I do,” she said, very calm.
“I am asking you to marry me.” He persisted, speaking words almost on autopilot, refusing to let himself hear what she really said. “I am giving you everything, my life, my future every—”
“I know. And it’s a wonderful offer. But I have to say no.”
He searched her face for a clue. “Is it about what happened before?”
“A little.”
Cold spread between his shoulder blades. “You said you’d forgiven me.”
“It has nothing to do with forgiveness.”
“Then what has it to do with? Tell me because I don’t understand.”
“It’s just—” She paused. “Not the same—”
“What’s not the same?” His chair made an angry grating sound on the floorboards as he stood up. “I might be a fool, but you gave me the impression last night, the strong impression, that you still loved me.” Heat and cold both flushed through him.
Millie nodded.
“Then, what?” He was hot, too hot.
“It’s about respect, and about… trust.” Tears hung on her eyelashes; she did nothing to wipe them.
“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” He was now cold all over. Freezing, in fact.
“Did you trust me?” She held her hand up to stop him interrupting. “I know you think you trust me now, but would you even be here if Joanie hadn’t told you the truth?”
He tried again “There were reasons.”
She nodded. “You mean your dad? Your mum, your painful past? Yes, I know about your dark demons.” A small sad smile.
Silence stretched as he stood, staring at her.
“Then you know my demons are not about us, you and me. I fight them alone.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “And how long before they win again? How long, George?” She blinked away tears. “How long before you suspect me of something else, before you look at me with hate again? Before you threaten to break down another door?” She swallowed and breathed before saying. “No matter what we feel for each other,” – Her eyes were very sad – “we can’t build a life over a minefield. We both deserve better.”
Images of his savage outburst last summer came back.
“George, I can’t live through another heartbreak and watch you walk out on me for eight months without a word.”
He sat down slowly. Understanding flooded through him on a wave of shame and guilt. Air rushed in and out of his chest, but he couldn’t breathe properly. She hadn’t shouted, she hadn’t accused. But in her sweet calm way, she’d showed him a picture of something he hated – a picture of himself out of control. Every cell in his body pushed him to get out, run.
Running wouldn’t help because the truth would follow him.
He looked up at her, feeling bleak. “Tell me what I have to do. How to make it better.”
“Only you know that.”
“I don’t.” He scoffed bitterly. “I think we have established that I don’t know anything.”
“Then you have to search for the answers.”
“Where?”
She shook her head gently. “They have to be your answers.”
This wasn’t making sense. He understood the words, just not the sentences.
“It’s your journey, not mine or anyone else’s.”
There was a teaspoon on the table; he gripped it hard. “Just tell me, in plain English. What will it take to win you back? Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen.”
“Listen to me, George.” She crossed her arms. “Life is not something you can plan like a business deal. You have to trust yourself, even if you can’t see the answers clearly now, you have follow your own journey.”
He fought against it. “What if this journey takes me away from you?” He swallowed. “Away from us. Have you considered that?”
A pain flashed across her face so fast, he wasn’t sure he saw it. Then she blew out a breath slowly through her mouth. “All I know is that you have to travel your own journey, freely.”
She didn’t say any more. Just sat there and waited.
Slowly, his frustration gave way to understanding. “No, Millie. No.” There had to be solid answers, things he could measure and control, things he could predict. He stood up and went to her and pulled her into his arms, hard. “I can’t just walk out into a vacuum.”
Her arms went around him and pressed him tight, and they stood in the café behind the window with the sun streaming through. He felt her sob. But her head against his shoulder was turned away from his face. And she didn’t look at him.
Eventually she pushed away.
Please don’t do this to us. But he wasn’t going to beg, so he just asked, “Are you sure?”
She nodded and gave him a difficult smile.
George turned and walked away, out into the early-morning sun. He didn’t have anywhere to go, but his feet took him up the hill towards the isthmus.
Millie watched him walk up the hill, the hardest thing she had ever done. Ever.
Every cell in her heart screamed to call him back, to hell with the right decision; choose the easy one instead.
Was she a fool, would she lose him forever? He was proud, too proud to come back.
She opened her mouth to call him. Then she remembered her own words to Du Montfort, last year. He should have wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt.
Millie turned to get the café ready for the Easter holiday customers.
TWENTY-TWO
Five hours later. La Canette, 11am
George had been walking aimlessly for nearly five hours. Or, perhaps not quite so aimlessly. His feet had brought him to River Cross. To the left was the village, to the right, the church grounds and old castle, and ahead the arched bridge that led to Du Montfort Hall. Home.
If he crossed, he would become visible from the house, and they’d know he was on La Canette. His father would know. George turned to go in the opposite direction and nearly collided with two men carrying a briefcase and a stack of folders. Morris and Sweeny.
“George! Good to see you.” Sweeny moved the stack of municipal files to his left hand and pushed his right one so far in George’s face that he had to step back to take it. “We didn’t realize you were coming to the meeting.”
Meeting? George kept his features neutral, not to reveal his ignorance. Sweeny was a middle manager in the land regulations department, and no one in the entire town hall liked him.
He used any bit of information and built it up into a salacious story to make himself seem “in the know.”
If Sweeny was sleazy, Morris was a double-dealing political climber. He would exploit whatever weakness he saw and sell it to the highest bidder.
“I’m glad you’re joining us. What changed your mind?” Morris asked. The open question wasn’t lost on George, a good ploy to trick more information out of someone. It would also reveal the rift between father and son.
George didn’t even know where the meeting was. Surely with two municipal employees, it should have been back in the town hall, and it wouldn’t be on Easter Sunday. What was going on? But he wasn’t a successful negotiator for nothing.
He lifted an eyebrow and gave Morris a quizzical look to put him on the back foot. “I hope it isn’t a bad surprise?” He turned his eyes to Sweeny on the last word. If anyone was going to spill, it would be the ingratiating Sweeny.
Sure enough, the little man gushed. “As if? Everyone was hoping you’d make it even when Lord Du Montfort told us you might be too busy. But you have great ideas, and everyone was hoping you’d solve this dispute.”
So there was trouble. And with Sweeny and Morris involved, it must be serious trouble.
He had a fleeting image of his old father in his wheelchair looking surprised, blindsided as Sweeny mentioned they had seen George on the island. Morris would be watching closely, getting ready to pounce.
George stood aside, holding his arm in an “after you” gesture. It made him look gracious, but more importantly, it obliged Morris and Sweeny to walk in front of him. They would lead him to the location of this mystery meeting.
The two men crossed over the bridge towards Du Montfort Hall. George followed. For the first time since Friday night, he thought of something other than his relationship with Millie.
