More catcalls and whistles. Deborah could sense the group’s embarrassment. Spike put up his hand.
“We—um—tossed for it.” Raucous laughter rang out around the room at this double entendre. “I mean, we flicked a coin to see which of us would have the pleasure of escorting the winner. Josh won.” He pointed to his companion, the one with dark hair and the black leather jacket. The gypsy.
“Congratulations.” Graham beckoned for him to stand up and then joined his hand with Deborah’s, as if it were a wedding ceremony. “Deborah, love, Josh here is yours for the night!”
Deborah’s face was burning as cheers and catcalls filled the air.
“Can we get out of here?” she muttered.
Josh nodded. “Good idea.”
“Just to complete your prize…” Graham dug deep into his trouser pocket. “Here. The keys to my car. Ford Consul Mark Two. It’s a classic.” There was a gasp of astonishment. The locals were well aware that Graham’s old car was his pride and joy. The landlord shrugged. “I know. It’s a risk, but this young man and I were talking cars earlier today, and I think he can appreciate a classic car. And I’ve been keeping an eye on the lad—he’s been drinking orange juice all night, so I’ll trust him.”
“Well, you’re honoured, young man,” put in Alan Thorpe. He glanced at the landlord. “I suppose you are insured for this?”
“Don’t worry, it’s all covered—and Josh here has been driving that old van of theirs, so it’ll do him good to drive a real car.” He beamed at his own generosity.
Deborah swallowed and glanced up at Josh. His face was impassive. He was still holding her hand and silently led her through the noisy crowd.
“Bring her back safely now!” the landlord called after them.
“He’s talking about the car, of course!” Roy Mayflower shouted, bringing on more raucous laughter.
Deborah followed Josh out of the pub and through the beer garden to where Graham’s classic 1970s motor stood gleaming under the streetlights. Josh rattled the keys.
“It’s a fabulous old motor.”
She heard the note of awe in his voice.
“You could always drop me off at home and go for a drive.”
“No, I couldn’t,” he said bluntly. “You won the prize, not me.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“And you were the prize, not the car.” She saw a shadow of unease cross his face, killing the flash of humour she’d felt and battering her already wounded pride. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’m not expecting any great romantic gestures. You’re not my type.”
He’d turned away from her so she couldn’t gauge his reaction to this—he was probably relieved.
“Well, we have to do something.” He unlocked the passenger door and held it open. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
Deborah looked round to see the pub windows crowded with faces. Quickly she scrambled into the car. She shivered slightly as the cold of the seat penetrated her thin cotton skirt.
“Well?” Josh fastened his seat belt. “Do you want to go for a meal or something?”
“I’ve already eaten.”
“So have I.” He looked across at her. “So where do you want to go?”
Common sense told Deborah that she should ask him to drive her home. It was just across the bridge and that was the safest option. But she didn’t want to be safe. The Speckled Trout was beginning to have an effect.
“Let’s go to Hyndon Hill.”
Whenever she’d brought Bernard to Moreton she’d wanted him to drive her up there, to enjoy the sights and sounds of the countryside as she enjoyed them, but it had never happened.
“It’s so dead here, Debs,” he’d told her, softening his words with the rueful, boyish grin that turned her bones to water. “I like the buzz and excitement of the city. It’s where I belong…where we belong.”
And Deborah’s heart had soared when he said that. He wanted her. So it didn’t matter where they were, what sacrifices she had to make, as long as they could be together…
“Hyndon Hill? Where is that?”
Josh’s voice brought her back to the present, sitting in an old car outside the Dog and Sardine with a man who was definitely not Bernard and who didn’t want to be here any more than she did. It was a lowering thought but she refused to give in to it. She had won the raffle prize, and she was going to enjoy herself.
“On the Oxford Road. It’s a famous lookout point. There’s a lay-by at the top of the hill where you can see for miles on a clear day, right over to the Severn. And at night they say you can see ghost ships sailing up the Fleetwater.”
“Hyndon, yeah, we passed it on the way here. It’s a fair few miles. Quite a drive.” He looked down at her and grinned suddenly. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Josh checked over the controls.
“Column change…choke…headlights.” He started the engine.
“Petrol?”
He glanced at the dials again. “Uh-huh. Full tank.”
“Good. So you’ve no excuse for pulling the oldest trick in the book.”
Josh grimaced. “No way. You’ve already said I’m not your type.” He put the car into gear and pulled away through the darkened streets. “So what is your type?”
“Fair hair and blue eyes.”
She felt the tears welling up as the image of Bernard filled her mind.
Josh chuckled. “You drew the short straw tonight, then. Any of the others would have suited you better than me!”
“Ah, but perhaps this is safer,” She was beginning to relax and enjoy herself as they sped through the narrow leafy lanes. “Less temptation this way.”
He shot a swift, enigmatic glance across at her.
“Agreed.”
Deborah turned her head so that she could watch him as he drove. The streetlights threw the lines of his face into strong relief, but it was a nice face, she decided. A kind face. Her eyes travelled to the hands lightly gripping the steering wheel. They looked large and capable, with long tapering fingers that she imagined could be very gentle. She shivered and quickly suppressed her thoughts. No point in going down that road, especially when they’d made it clear they weren’t interested in each other.
They drove on with only Deborah’s occasional directions to break the silence. The village lights gave way to dark country lanes. On a particularly sharp bend Josh mismatched the gears and the car jerked, the engine protesting loudly.
“Sorry, not used to this gear change yet.”
“Look, I’m sorry if this isn’t how you wanted to spend your evening—”
“Forget it. I’m quite enjoying myself, driving this old bus.”
“Really?”
She saw the gleam of his teeth in the darkness.
“Yes, really! You’ve got to drive a car like this. There’s no power steering and it’s drum brakes, pretty primitive by today’s standards, but this was luxury in its day.”
“We expect a bit more from cars now.” Deborah pushed herself upright in her seat. The effect of the Speckled Trout was wearing off, and with it her recklessness. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Perfectly, as long as I take it steady. Ah, look, a parking sign.”
They had reached the brow of the hill and Josh pulled off the road onto the large gravelled viewing area. He parked the car facing the escarpment and they sat in silence, gazing out over the valley that stretched out before them, black save for the occasional house light.
Josh sat back and sighed, sliding one arm along the back of the seat. “I bet this is spectacular in the daylight.”
Deborah was aware that his fingers were playing idly with her hair. It was the lightest touch but she found it oddly disturbing. Suddenly her heart seemed to be hammering against her ribs. Her mouth was dry, and she had to struggle to speak.
“Let’s walk to the edge.” She began to fumble with her seat belt.
“Here, let me, they’re a bit tricky to undo.” Josh
leaned across her, filling her senses with a mixture of tangy aftershave and his own musky maleness.
Deborah sat perfectly still. His face was so close if she moved a few inches, her lips would touch his cheek. She fought down the desire to do so.
“There, you’re free.”
She was almost disappointed when he unclipped her seat belt and sat back, but she stifled her sigh and climbed out into the darkness. The fresh air made her stagger, and she was forced to lean back against the car to steady herself. She was definitely not sober. Making great efforts not to sway, she set off for the edge of the escarpment. After her initial dizziness she began to feel exhilarated by the space and freedom of the hill. Josh came up to stand beside her.
“Pity it’s not clear enough to see the Severn, but look over there—those lights—that’s Moreton. It looks really close, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t think it was so far away. The glow over there on the horizon is the light from Flixton.” She closed her eyes and ordered herself to stop rabbiting—he would think she was a complete idiot. She took a breath. “Look, Josh, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“About what?”
“About me. Why I came with you tonight. I think the drink might have made me a bit…tipsy.”
“It certainly did.”
“But I’m not drunk!” she told him, indignant.
He grinned at her. “Of course not.”
“It’s just that—well, Dad had bought all those tickets, and when Graham called out the winner, and all those people were cheering and making crude jokes, I just wanted to get out of that place.”
“And it didn’t matter who with.”
“Yes—no, not exactly.” She lowered her voice. “I’m glad it was you.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
Deborah pushed her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket and began to walk along the edge of the escarpment. She didn’t know why, except that he looked so different from Bernard. Just the thought of her ex-lover brought back all the anger and pain she had fought so hard to put behind her that evening.
“It’s difficult to explain. Perhaps I thought that you were less likely to try anything. But of course, I needn’t have worried. You weren’t planning to seduce me, were you?”
There was a bitterness to the words that made Josh frown. She had made it plain at the start that she didn’t fancy him, so why should she sound so hurt that he wasn’t trying it on with her? Perhaps she was thinking of her ex. He remembered the way she’d described the type of man she liked. There had been such a wistful note in her voice that he guessed she’d been dumped by some blond, blue-eyed guy. It was sad. He’d had a few rejections of his own but it didn’t do to dwell on them. He said casually, “I hope you’re not going to wallow in self-pity.”
She stopped abruptly. “Who the hell are you to tell me what do to?”
“Your chauffeur, lady. Lighten up, or you’ll be walking home.”
For a moment she glared at him, then the anger left her as quickly as it had come. “Sorry. That wasn’t really directed at you.”
“No,” he said softly, “I knew that.” He straightened his shoulders and looked around. “Is there anything else to see up here?”
“No, but thank you for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, wanting to see her smile again. “Now, if you don’t fancy rampant sex under the stars, I suggest we should be heading back to Moreton. Well, what’s it to be?”
It worked. She laughed, a warm musical sound that cheered him too.
“Home then, James!”
“Josh,” he corrected her, grinning to show he wasn’t offended.
“Josh.” She was smiling back at him and he thought he must be a total idiot, bringing such a pretty girl up here and not making a move on her. And she was pretty, with those huge eyes and the moonlight in her hair. But he’d be leaving Moreton tomorrow, and he’d never been in favour of one-night stands.
Good humour having been restored, they strolled back to the car. Deborah sucked in her breath as she slid onto the cold seat.
“Don’t worry, the heater will soon warm you up once we get going.”
Josh turned the key and was rewarded by a depressing clunk. He tried again. “Shit.”
“What is it?”
“No idea. Something to do with the starting motor, maybe. I wouldn’t have a clue what to look for in this car, even if we had a torch.”
“Oh no.” Guilt swept over Deborah. “I’m so sorry—”
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s not your fault.” He turned to her, and although she couldn’t see his face, Deborah knew he was smiling. “Fancy watching the sun rise up here?”
She chuckled, relieved that he wasn’t irritated. “That would really give them something to talk about back at the pub! I think we’d better phone for help.” She dragged her mobile from her pocket. “I don’t have a signal. What about you?”
“Nothing. I’ll walk up the road a bit, see if the signal’s better up there.”
“Wait for me!” Deborah scrambled out of the car. “I’m not staying here on my own.”
Josh set off at a fast walk and Deborah struggled to keep pace, but at least the exertion kept her warm. At length he stopped and took out his mobile.
“Hmm, that’s better, I’ve got a signal. I should ring Graham Tring. It’s his car, after all. Do you know the number of the Dog and Sardine?”
Deborah strained to listen in as Josh explained the problem to the landlord.
“Sounds like the points.” said Graham.
“Anything I can do to get her started?”
“No, don’t touch her. I’ve got a spare set of points in the garage. I’ll bring ’em up. And a lead lamp. Soon have it fixed.”
“Okay, we’ll get a taxi back—”
“No!” Graham Tring’s voice rose an octave. “You can’t leave the car alone there. She could be stolen, vandalised—anything could happen! You wait there and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“Okay, but make it quick, then.” Josh snapped shut his phone. He looked at Deborah. “You heard that?”
“Most of it. We’d better get back and protect his precious car.”
“I’ll call you a taxi if you like. No reason both of us should wait.”
Deborah shook her head. “It would probably take as long as Graham to reach us, and besides, it’s my fault we’re stuck up here.” She shivered and Josh put an arm around her shoulders.
“Come on, let’s get back. It’ll be a bit warmer in the car.”
It would have been easy to move away, but Deborah found she didn’t want to. She tried to match his pace but it wasn’t easy, his legs were so much longer than hers. She swore under her breath as she stumbled in the darkness
“Steady.”
Josh’s arm tightened about her and Deborah realised that her own arm was crushed awkwardly between them. It seemed logical to put it around Josh as they made their way across the gravel, the crunch of their shoes the only sound to disturb the darkness.
Back in the car, Deborah pulled her jacket closer around her, wishing she’d brought a thicker coat. Josh peered over the seat.
“No car rug or anything. Pity. Here.” He slid across the bench seat and put his arm round her. Deborah froze—what had seemed so natural outside now seemed the prelude to something much more dangerous.
Josh noticed her tension. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I bet even Scott and Captain Oates huddled together in the Antarctic.”
Deborah wondered if they had found the experience quite so enjoyable.
Josh peered at her. “What’s the joke?”
“Scott and Oates, cuddling. Not so easy in layers of furs.”
“Not unless you have really long arms.” He pulled her against him. “So what do you do for entertainment around here?”
“We make our own, mostly. There’s shows at the Westhaven, as you know, or the odd disco at the village hall, but most people go into Flixton if they
want to dance. If it’s a meal then it’s the Towers or the Yew Tree.”
“There’s enough business to keep the two places going?”
“Oh yes. The Towers is expensive, more for special occasions, but Dad has most of the local trade, although there is potential there for us to expand—” She broke off. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear this.”
“Yes, I do. What are you planning?”
“Well, if we were to modernise the place, bring in a few new dishes—”
“Like a wine bar with food?”
“Sort of, but nothing too radical, and keeping the prices keen—I don’t want to frighten off our regular customers, but I think we could draw more people from Flixton. Lots of people like to go out of town for a meal, but I think the Yew Tree’s got a bit…cosy. Of course Dad can’t do it on his own.”
“But you would stay and help him.”
She didn’t answer immediately. There was still the faint, barely acknowledged hope that Bernard would realise how much she meant to him and beg her to go back. “Mmm, maybe.”
“Italian food is pretty popular.”
Deborah shook her head. “I’d like to keep it British, but that doesn’t mean it has to be boring.”
“That is so true. There’s so much great local produce, especially in a place like this where you’re surrounded by farms. Does anyone make their own cheese?”
“Yes, and we have several small organic farms nearby, too, that could supply us with meat and vegetables.”
“What about the refurbishment? Put down a new wooden floor?”
“No need, we can strip back the existing boards, they’re in good condition.”
“Lighting?”
“Modern, but not too dim. I like to see what I’m eating.”
“Me too.” Josh nodded enthusiastically. “If someone’s worked hard to produce meals that not only taste great but look good then I want to be able to appreciate it.”
“Good food, great surroundings, nice price.”
Josh turned to look at her. “It sounds as if you have thought a lot about this.”
“It was one of the things I noticed in London, they make a big deal about fresh stuff. We’ve been using it at the Yew Tree for years but never made a song and dance about it. It’s time we did.”
Casting Samson Page 4
