Animal Instincts
Page 9
“What do you make of it all, then, Wilson? Bloody complicated, eh?”
Wilson grunted, as if in agreement, and flicked around the rim of her mouth a long and particularly unappetising potato peeling.
“It’s all right for you. All you do is wait to be fed and watered. I tell you, when I come back I’m coming back as a pig.”
“Me, too.”
Kit nearly leaped over the wall of the pig-sty, and spun round to see Jess walking towards him with another bucket of scraps.
“You made me jump.”
“Sorry. Just bringing Wilson’s afters.”
“Hasn’t she had enough?”
“Nah. Got to keep her weight up, haven’t we, old girl?” Jess tipped the contents of the bucket into the trough, and Wilson grunted in gratitude.
“What you doing today?” she asked, more brightly than he had heard her speak before.
He was caught unawares. His mind was so addled that getting up, getting dressed and getting out of the house had been about as much as he could cope with so far. He thought quickly. “Well, I need to sort out Dad’s headstone – just a lump of granite to mark the spot – have a good look round the house, which I haven’t done yet, and then I thought I’d walk the reserve on my own, just so that I can get the feel of it.” It sounded pathetic but it was the best he could do.
“Could you help me with some electric fencing round by the orchard first? Only it’s easier if there’s two, and Elizabeth’s down at the Wilderness putting up nest-boxes.”
“Sure. What do you need electric fencing for?”
“We want to make a decent-sized vegetable garden. Elizabeth’s fed up with buying stuff in the winter, so we thought we’d grow more of our own.”
The sulky, tragic figure of the past few days had been replaced with a more buoyant one. The spiky orange hair seemed to have softened to an auburn shade. Her eyes darted here and there as she spotted a bird, or a patch of primroses. In spite of her appearance, she was clearly a child of nature who had found her true place in life. For the first time he could see why his father had taken her on.
“I still don’t see why you need electric fencing.”
“I want to turn Wilson out during the day. She’ll clean the land up better than any spade, and then, when she’s grubbed out all the weeds, I can fork it over in a few weeks’ time and get sowing and planting.”
“You doing it on your own?”
“Yeh. I told Elizabeth I wanted to. Never grown veg before. Fancied having a go. Got all the books. Think I can do it.”
“Good for you.”
He went with her to the stables where she loaded up a wheelbarrow with a roll of bright orange electric fencing, yellow, plastic-covered posts, and a power unit on a spike. She thrust a hefty car battery into his arms, flashed him a grin, and then said, “Follow me.”
It took them the best part of two hours to rig up the fencing, by which time Kit had discovered more about Jess’s early life. How her mother had run out on her father, who had beaten her regularly when he’d had a skinful. How she’d taken the two younger children with her, but left behind Jess, who was already too much of a handful. By the age of fourteen Jess had been up in court twice for shoplifting, been put into care and done soft drugs. She’d survived all this and finally fallen in with a group of dropouts who ran a commune in Wiltshire, but left when she found her life going nowhere. Her encounter with Rupert Lavery at the Lynchampton Hunt meeting had changed her life.
“I still don’t understand how you met Dad at the hunt.”
“He was talking to the huntsman.”
“Titus?”
“Yeh. I was listening. Heard him speaking about the reserve. Went up and asked if I could have a look round. He was a bit wary at first. I mean, it’s not surprising, is it?” She pointed at her hair and the studs in her ears and nose. “Don’t look serious about conservation and that, do I? I’m everybody’s idea of a hunt saboteur. Townie who knows nothing about the country, just going out for some fun and a bit of bother.”
“And were you?”
“Suppose I was, really. Then I thought it was about time I got to know what it was about. I’d had enough with the lot in the commune. Too pissed out of their heads most of the time to know what was going on. I was with Dave, the leader, but he got a bit – you know – possessive. I saw things going the way they had with my mum and dad. So after your dad had shown me round I asked him for a job.”
“And he said yes?” Kit asked incredulously.
“Not at first. Said he had no money to pay for more staff. I kept pestering him – nicely, of course – and said I’d work for nothing. In the end he agreed. Said I could live over the stables next door to Elizabeth.”
“How did she take to all this?”
“She didn’t. She had rows with him. Not that your dad ever argued. I just thought I’d better keep me head down and do a good job and that in the end she’d come round.”
“What happened?”
“She came round.” She chuckled. “I learned it from your dad – stay calm, be single-minded, go about your business quietly, and there’s every chance you’ll succeed in what you want to do. Make a fuss and a noise and you get noticed, but it doesn’t mean you’ll achieve what you want to achieve.”
Kit stopped hammering in the stake for the fencing. “You really believe that?”
“I know it. Just look at me.”
The estate agent in Totnes had been insistent that Kit call in as soon as possible, so he appeared at the office that afternoon. The fresh-faced young man who was too eager to please, explained, “I wouldn’t normally be so precipitate.”
Kit thought what a pompous word it was. Why didn’t he just say ‘quick’?
“Only we have had interest expressed from a certain quarter.”
“There he goes again,” thought Kit. “Why does he have to be so mysterious?”
“The party concerned . . .”
This is getting ridiculous . . .
“ . . . has expressed a wish to make an offer for the entire estate.”
Kit was taken aback. “But we haven’t put it on the market yet. You haven’t even seen it.”
The estate agent motored on. “This party is willing to wait, provided that they have an assurance that their offer will be accepted.”
“What sort of offer?”
“I’m not in a position to say exactly, but it is likely that it would be in the region of one and a half million pounds.”
Kit was stunned. That was around three million Australian dollars. After inheritance tax it would be more than enough to set up his own stud farm. Myriad thoughts flashed through his mind. He saw Jinty riding his string of horses. He saw a square stable block with a gilded clock on a cupola above the tackroom, neatly fenced paddocks and a sand-filled manège. The options seemed limitless. Here was a chance to go it alone, to achieve what he had always wanted to achieve: to run a stud founded on the best bloodstock available. To make a mark.
Then the cold hand of reason gripped him, and he asked, “What does the buyer intend to do with the land?”
“He is happy to keep it as it is.” The estate agent smiled.
“The woodland – everything?”
“Yes. The surrounding land would still be farmed, and the woodland would probably be increased.”
“Wow. It’s just that I didn’t expect–”
“Well, I did think it might be possible to sell it as a whole, and it only took a few enquiries to confirm my suspicions.”
Kit stood up. “I shall need to think about this. I can’t give you a decision now. And I shall need guarantees that the reserve will continue to be managed on existing lines.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be in touch, but I just thought you ought to know this as soon as possible.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Kit left the agent’s office in a daze. Finding the car in the car park took him a good fifteen minutes, in spite of the fact that it was bright yellow.
“He has asked to be given time to make his decision, but I think we can safely say that your offer will have priority, Mr Bickerstaffe.”
It did not take the agent long to work out the extent of his commission on such a deal. And there would be no need to print out so much as a brief description of the property.
Buoyant. The market was definitely buoyant.
The drive back to West Yarmouth passed in a blur as he mused on the likely outcome of events and the options ahead of him. He could sell up and go back to Australia. But what about Jinty? Would she come with him? His imagination went into overdrive as he steered the car down country lanes, the tall Devon hedges blinkering his view even more than usual until, on the outskirts of Lynchampton, he saw two horses in front of him. He recognised them immediately, and their riders – Jinty and Sally.
He overtook slowly, then pulled up some yards further on and got out of the car. Eventually the horses drew alongside, Jinty in a tweed hacking jacket, and Sally in her uniform of black and white Fair Isle.
“Hi!” he greeted them.
“Hi! Still in bright yellow, then?” teased Jinty, pointing at the car with her riding crop.
“ ’Fraid so.” He nodded at Sally.
The two riders fought to control their powerful mounts.
“Could have changed it today, only in all the excitement I forgot,” Kit went on.
“What sort of excitement?”
“Might have found a buyer.”
“For the reserve?”
“Yup.”
Sally looked across at Jinty, who was reining in an impatient Allardyce.
Kit saw the look she gave Sally. “Confidential, though. Not a word, please.”
“Course not.”
“You fancy celebrating? Tell you all about it.”
“Love to.” She flashed him a smile that had a hint of unease about it – was this the beginning of the end? “Come round at about eight?”
“OK.”
“I’ll cook you some supper.”
At this point Allardyce had had enough and started turning in his own circle, pulling at the bit and unnerving Seltzer.
“Steady, steady!” Jinty kicked him back into line.
Kit grasped the situation. “I’ll get out of your way. See you later.”
He ran ahead of them to the car, jumped in and took off down the lane.
At the turning into the field, Jinty and Sally let the impatient animals have their heads and galloped off. At the top of the hill the pace slowed, as the riders had known it would. They pulled up by a clump of beeches.
Fighting for breath, Sally looked across at Jinty and grinned. “Almost as good as sex!”
It took Jinty a few moments to catch her breath. “Almost!” she agreed.
Roly and Charlotte were out for the night – staying with Roly’s brother in Dorset. Jinty greeted Kit at the door, clad in her red cashmere sweater and black trousers. Again, the sight of her made his heart beat faster. He could see the contours of her body clearly through the soft wool of the sweater and the tailored cut of the trousers.
She cooked supper in the kitchen while they chatted and drank a bottle of chilled Frascati. Then she loaded trays and they took the lemon chicken and stir-fried vegetables into the library. Kit filled her in on the estate agent’s offer.
“So will you accept it?”
“It’ll be hard not to.”
She picked up her wine. “I hope you don’t.”
He looked surprised and stopped eating. “Why?”
“What happens if you sell? What will you do?”
“I’ll have enough money to start my own stud.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. It all depends.”
She gazed at him and said, quite calmly, “On what?”
“On what happens.”
She put down her glass and took his tray, bending down to place it on the floor. Then she sat up and fixed him with her gaze. “So what do you want to happen?”
He looked at her for what seemed like an age. It was as if every sense in his body was heightened, as though he was looking at life though a magnifying-glass. He reached out with both hands and pulled her towards him, firmly but gently. She wrapped her arms around him and they kissed with a passion he had neither known nor felt before.
The closeness of her was overwhelming him with a longing to be a part of her. She rolled on top of him and kissed his cheek, his neck, his forehead. Then she eased away, looking intently at him with her sea-green eyes, before bending down to him once more and slipping her soft, sweet tongue into his mouth. He felt himself stir as they fell from the sofa to the floor. He stroked her hair, kissing her brow, her temple, her chin, then moved his hand down over her shoulder to her breast. She sighed.
She moved her own hands from his back to his waist, then reached down and stroked him between his legs. He let out a brief moan and arched his back before pulling away from her slightly and staring at her as though on the brink of a precipice. For several seconds they lay transfixed by each other’s proximity, their breathing deep and rapid, their eyes searching for some mutual signal, until they fell upon each other once more. He pulled the scarlet sweater over her head to reveal full, pale breasts restrained by white lace, and she struggled with his belt.
Never had he felt so overcome with longing. He kissed her breasts, then her soft, flat stomach while she stroked him and arched her back with pleasure, moaning softly.
He reached down for her and she let out the smallest of screams, writhing and murmuring with ecstasy.
Time after time they came to the edge of delirium, until finally in an unstoppable torrent of passion they gave themselves to each other completely. Kit felt as though all life and breath had been squeezed from him. In one massive surge of emotion he threw back his head and cried out, only to turn back to her and see the look of pure pleasure on her face. He held her as the firelight played on their entwined bodies, until their pounding heartbeats subsided and the burning logs were no more than ruby ashes.
Chapter 13: Bread and Cheese and Cider
(Anemone nemorosa)
Jinty woke first, to find herself entangled with Kit. She lay quite still, looking at his head, half submerged in the soft, white pillow. The sun, slanting through a chink in the curtains, caught his fair curls and turned them to gold. The same colour as her own hair. She lay gazing at him, listening to his slow, regular breathing.
He stirred. His eyes flickered open and for a moment he looked confused. Then his mouth curled into a gentle smile and he lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. For fully ten minutes they lay there, breathing softly, in perfect harmony.
Then she slipped out of bed and walked over to the window, pulled back the curtains and let the brilliant sunlight flood the room. The rays of early-morning light dazzled him and shone around her tall, curvaceous figure. She stretched her arms upwards and the bright, white shafts of sunshine gleamed and danced around her.
He watched, transfixed, as she turned towards him. Then he got up, went to her, and took her in his arms.
It was another hour before he left Baddesley Court and made his way back to West Yarmouth. His feet did not once touch the ground.
By the time Roly and Charlotte returned from their awayday, Jinty was mucking out the horses, and Kit was away with the fairies.
The weather matched his mood. March is not noted for its clemency, but as he sat on a fallen tree on the edge of the Wilderness and gazed out over Tallacombe Bay he might have been on the Côte d’Azur. The sunlight glinted on the crests of wavelets far below, and a pair of oyster-catchers wheeled over his head, their plaintive ‘kleep-kleep’ echoing over the water.
He watched them, buffeted by the wind, until they alighted on the smooth, biscuit-coloured shore and began prodding the sand with their rosy bills. How
different it all was from the dry, grassy plains of Balnunga Valley. How green the fields. How cold and fresh the sea. How . . . homelike. The feeling caught him unawares. He turned his head abruptly to the left, and the beauty of the landscape struck him like a hammer-blow.
Behind him, the purple twigs of the Wilderness, relieved by the snow-white blossom of blackthorn and the pale lemon of hazel catkins, rose like a plump cushion on the cliff-top. The dense, fine grasses that made up the sward beneath his feet were now speckled with primroses. The scent of an early spring drifted up the Spinney, and the tumbling waters of the tiny Yar whispered through the Combe far below.
Suddenly he ran forward and began to climb down the cliff-path towards the beach, the sound of waves crashing on to the shore growing louder as he descended. As the path zigzagged down, the wind dropped and the tang of salt spray caught his nostrils and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. On reaching the soft, honey-coloured sand he began to walk towards the water, but stopped suddenly at the sight of a figure emerging from behind the sea-washed rocks ahead of him. They jutted up from the sand like some massive shark’s fin, gnarled and black, and hung with glistening bladderwrack.
It was Jess. She had her back to him and was naked, her clothes tossed over the rocks. She walked towards the waves, slowly at first, then began to run. Kit, torn between leaving her to her morning swim and embarrassing her by being seen, slipped into a tall but narrow fissure at the foot of the cliff. He watched, aware of the voyeuristic conclusions that could be drawn from his actions, and yet powerless to come up with an alternative solution.
Jess dived into the first breaker that tumbled on to the shore. Kit watched as her shapely legs disappeared into the foaming water. It seemed an age before her head emerged from the surf and she shook it to clear the salt water from her eyes. He pulled back into the safety of his hiding place as much as the narrow aperture would allow, and felt guilty at being a party to her private bathing. She did not see him.
For several minutes her head bobbed on the water as she floated among the waves. He could see the rapt expression on her face, the pure pleasure of relaxation among the elements, in spite of the icy chill of the sea. Eventually she neared the shore. He wanted to look away, but could not. He watched, mesmerised, as she walked out of the sea – first her strong shoulders, then the small, rounded breasts, smooth stomach and slender legs. She looked completely at home as droplets of water trickled down her. He watched as she towelled herself dry, pulled on her clothes, then began to walk across the sand towards the cliff-path. Finally, certain that she had gone and ashamed of his curiosity, he walked back up the slope towards the farmhouse and thought about where his future might lie. With Heather or with Jinty? The vision of Jess punctuated his thoughts. Did he want to be in England or Australia? He saw her rising from the waves again and felt a tightening of his stomach muscles. He fought, consciously, to get the image out of his mind, but it was too powerful to erase and, he had to admit, too enjoyable. For the first time since his arrival, the place of his birth seemed to be exerting a pull – sentiment? Or a true sense of belonging? And Jinty – infatuation or the real thing?