Lying on her side, her head resting on one arm, she watched him as he gathered up his clothes and her own, throwing the scanty items at her with a cheeky grin. In no hurry to dress herself she continued to admire his body, allowing herself the often missed luxury of watching a man dress. It was strange but sometimes this simple act seemed almost more erotic than watching the same person remove their clothes. Perhaps it was because by this point she usually felt sated and therefore not in a desperate hurry to get to the next stage of the proceedings.
‘Can I drop you somewhere?’ Michael was jangling a set of car keys in front of her, bringing her back to reality with a jolt. She felt a little let down, having hoped that they could go on somewhere, perhaps to the pub, followed by a meal, and then – who knows?
‘It’s okay. I’m in my own car.’ She hesitated for a moment then took the bull by the horns. ‘Do you have anything special planned? I thought we might go to the pub for an end-of-term drink.’
To her dismay he shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m going home to pack, then I’m out of the country on the next available flight. My, er, fiancée and I are planning to do Europe this summer.’
The shock of his casual statement hit her squarely in the solar plexus. So, he had a fiancée tucked away at home, the bastard! She wasn’t surprised that a gorgeous guy like him should have a ‘significant other’ but she did think he could have at least mentioned the fact a little earlier. Not that it would have made any difference to the outcome, Hillary thought to herself ruefully. She had wanted him badly enough and at last she’d managed to have him, at least for a little while. With feigned stoicism she sat up, reached for her T-shirt and smiled.
‘Well, I hope you have a good time,’ she said, looking around. ‘By the way, have you seen my knickers anywhere?’
He looked about vaguely and shrugged. Hillary jumped down from the pile of mats and after a few seconds hunting found the missing underwear hanging from a netball hoop. Michael reached up for them, pressed the flimsy garment to his face and inhaled deeply before handing them to her.
‘Just a little something to remember you by until next term,’ he said, grinning but actually sounding quite wistful, Hillary thought.
She pulled them on then reached for her skirt. Glancing towards the still oscillating fan she said, ‘We won’t be needing that any more if you want to take it back.’
As if to underline her statement she unplugged it and, gathering up the flex, handed it to him. Still he seemed strangely reluctant to leave and hovered by the doorway until she made it clear that she had no intention of staying there any longer. After making sure the whole building was secure, they made their way across the playground together towards the car park; each paused beside their respective cars waiting for the other to say something.
‘Well, bye then!’ Michael gave her a feeble wave over the roof of his brightly painted Volkswagen Beetle.
Hillary waved back more cheerily than she felt.
‘See you in six weeks,’ she called softly but she could see that in his mind he had already left her and was no doubt on a plane headed for exotic climes.
She shrugged. There was nothing left to be said. Michael folded his tall frame neatly into the tight confines of his car and in no time at all he was gone, leaving her to stare after him as he shot away in a cloud of dust. Riding off into the sunset on his wild stallion – she laughed to herself, her over-active imagination was getting the better of her as usual.
All she could do now was get in her car, go home and concentrate on getting the most out of the summer break. Just today she had achieved two major goals: completing her first term as a teacher and seducing Michael, something she had wanted to do for weeks. Now it was time to look forward, to move onwards and upwards to the next exciting phase of her life and enjoy whatever delights that might bring.
As luck would have it, fate intervened less than two hours later in the form of a telephone call from her older sister, Alicia.
‘Hi, Hilly, it’s me, Alix.’ Alicia liked to shorten everyone’s name if possible.
Hillary tucked her legs under her, making herself more comfortable in preparation for one of her sister’s marathon calls which usually comprised the latest gossip on everyone Hillary knew, and even some people she didn’t, plus all Alicia’s personal news. Bearing in mind that she hadn’t spoken to her sister for a few weeks, there was every possibility that this conversation could go on into the small hours; perhaps she should make a snack to keep herself going?
‘Alix, lovely to hear from you!’ Hillary sucked in her breath before asking the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. ‘How are things?’
‘Wonderful, but I can’t talk for long. I’m really calling to find out what you plan to do for a holiday this summer.’
Hillary was taken aback, Alicia didn’t usually concern herself with other people’s plans. ‘I haven’t really given it much thought, to be honest,’ she admitted. ‘There’s not much in my piggy bank but if I’m lucky funds might stretch to a cheapo standby deal from the local travel agent.’
Alicia’s tone was firm. ‘Don’t bother with all that and don’t worry about money, just pack a bag and get yourself down to the station. Chloe and I have rented ourselves a wonderful old house for the summer. It’s in Norfolk, almost next door to Sandringham.’
Hillary could just imagine Alicia smirking at her end of the line. Although entirely likeable, her sister was nevertheless an inveterate snob and would love nothing better than to be able to rub shoulders with the royal family. Quickly she returned her attention to the voice on the other end of the telephone.
‘Anyway, darling, put quite simply the place is mega. Chloe and I are just rattling around here like a couple of dice in a wellington boot. She’s asked another friend of hers to join us and I immediately thought of you to make up a foursome. What do you think? Can you come?’
Hillary pondered the invitation for a moment. Alicia and her friend Chloe were okay in small doses but she wondered if sharing a house with them might be more like purgatory than a holiday. Also they had husbands, the last thing she felt like doing with her holiday was to play gooseberry.
‘What about Clive and Gus?’ she asked.
Alicia was quick to answer. ‘My dear hubby and Gus only come here at weekends, they’re still in the city all week, poor loves. They hardly interfere with our fun at all, do they, Chlo’ darling?’
Obviously Chloe had just entered the room because Hillary could hear the sound of a creaking door being closed loudly in the background. She jumped back as Chloe’s strident tones ricocheted against her eardrum.
‘Oh! Do come, Hilly, it’s a positive mansion, we’ve got heaps of room and the weather’s gorgeous.’
Under such a barrage of entreaties Hillary didn’t feel she could refuse. Excitedly she noted down the address and telephone number, then checked the train times before calling Alicia back to confirm her estimated time of arrival.
The journey was uneventful, broken only by a handful of new faces joining her half-empty carriage. She had bought a magazine to read but, as often happened to her on such journeys, she found herself unable to concentrate long enough to read a complete article. From time to time snippets of information caught her eye as she flicked aimlessly through the pages: an easy-to-make facepack recipe using summer fruits, how each subsequent generation of women conform to a larger average dress size, and how to lose half a stone in a week. Finally she came across an intriguing article, ‘Fifty ways to please your lover’.
This last item sparked her interest the most. Hillary prided herself on being sexually adept but perhaps it would contain some handy sexual hints and tips, a few things even she didn’t know about. She was out of luck. As she cast her eyes down the pages she discovered the content was disappointingly bland, only offering up such pearls of wisdom as ‘massage his feet as he watches his favourite TV programme’ and ‘act out one of your favourite fantasies together’.
Sighing with a m
ixture of boredom and disgust she threw the magazine on to the empty seat next to her and stared out of the window. It was still light outside and from her vantage point she could see family after family barbecuing in their back gardens. Dads, proudly sporting chefs hats and striped aprons, wielded what looked like instruments of torture from a bygone era, whilst harassed-looking mums ferried trays of food and drinks from the kitchen to the patio, or chased their children, presumably to wash their hands and faces before they ate. If one-parent families were becoming the norm it certainly wasn’t in this part of the world, she mused.
She checked her watch and sighed again as there was still over an hour to go before she reached her destination. All of a sudden she wondered if she would regret accepting Alicia’s invitation. There couldn’t be much to do in such a place, no nightclubs worth mentioning, and, although the house her sister had rented sounded grand, it might turn out to be a draughty old mausoleum stranded in the middle of nowhere.
With yet another sigh she went back to staring out of the window. Whatever the outcome it was too late to turn back. Idly she found herself wondering where Michael might be by now, certainly on a plane if not already ensconced in a hotel in one of Europe’s cultural centres. No, on second thoughts, culture was not really Michael’s style, probably he had headed straight for the Mediterranean. Sun, sea and sex, three words that just about summed up the handsome Australian. She felt her stomach contract at the thought of him, their encounter would certainly fuel her dreams and fantasies for a few weeks to come unless she found someone else to take his place. Again she pondered her chances of meeting even one fabulous man in the wilds of Norfolk, an endeavour that was possible but not probable.
She allowed her freewheeling mind to take flight, perhaps she would bump into a real prince while out walking in the grounds and they would make mad passionate love under the shade of an oak tree where Queen Victoria sat. Of course, they would never be able to expect anything more from their relationship than fabulous, mind-blowing sex. Sometimes he might even keep his naval uniform on, she giggled to herself.
She must have laughed out loud without realising it because a voice spoke from directly behind her. ‘Excuse me, are you okay?’
She turned around to find herself staring into a pair of soft hazel eyes. They belonged to a young man, probably a student, she thought to herself, judging from the way he was dressed and the fact that there was a plastic carrier bag full of text books on the seat next to him.
She smiled. ‘I’m fine, I was just daydreaming that’s all and I made myself laugh.’
He grinned. ‘I do that all the time, and talk to myself,’ he added.
She stared at him for a few seconds, taking in the long, straggly brown hair and the few days’ growth on his chin. She obviously embarrassed him because he blushed and rubbed his face in a nervous gesture. ‘I thought I might go back to university in the autumn sporting a beard.’
So she was right about him being a student. ‘What are you studying? Art?’ Hillary didn’t know why she said this, although to her he did look slightly arty but then most students did.
He laughed. ‘No, geography. Why did you say art? Do I look like Van Gogh or something?’
‘No, of course not, besides you’ve still got both your ears.’
They both laughed and then pretty soon fell into an easy camaraderie, their conversation taking them all the way into King’s Lynn station, and making the hour seem to pass in a matter of minutes.
As she alighted from the train alone Hillary looked around; the platform was deserted, although Alicia had promised that someone would come and collect her. Slinging her bulging bag over her shoulder, she stooped to pick up her cases. She never had managed the knack of packing light and, besides, she didn’t know how long she was likely to stay. Despite the fact that it was late evening the air was still warm and she soon began to perspire under the weight of her cases. Stopping to remove her jacket, she stared around her once again – this time she noticed the tall dark figure of a man standing at the entrance to the station. He was obviously watching her but made no move in her direction.
As she approached him, he stepped forwards. ‘Miss Hillary Fordham, I presume?’
Her breath caught in her throat; he was devastatingly good-looking with thick, dark, almost raven-black hair, quite short and glossy. His face was strong, tanned and slightly weathered as though he spent a lot of time in the open air, his deep-brown eyes framed by perfectly shaped eyebrows and long lustrous lashes. He extended a perfectly manicured hand towards her and she grasped it, holding on to it as she nodded fervently in reply to his question, not trusting herself to speak. He cleared his throat.
‘Pleasant though it is to stand here holding hands like long-lost lovers, I was actually reaching for your suitcase.’ His voice was steady and deep, as dark as his appearance and tinged with sarcasm.
Blushing furiously she dropped his hand and stared at her feet. ‘I, I thought . . .’ When she looked up she saw that he was smiling, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘It doesn’t matter. Shall we go?’ he said.
Without waiting for her answer he picked up her cases and, after turning smartly on his heel, strode out of the station. Hillary had no option but to follow him outside and into the car park. Now, as day turned slowly into late evening, the air temperature was cooling rapidly. He stopped at the rear of a dark-green Range Rover and deposited her cases on the ground before unlocking the tail-gate. Hillary dropped her tote bag next to the cases and pulled on her jacket once more.
‘It’s become quite cool now, hasn’t it?’ she said.
It was a throwaway question but she was determined to regain some semblance of control over the situation. She had been momentarily stunned by him but had now regained her composure. After all, she reasoned, he was only the hired help, probably a groundsman or something, there was no reason on earth why she should let him make her feel inferior. She turned to look at him again, her active imagination equipping him with a gun under one arm and a golden retriever at his side, striding across open fields in search of rabbits and pheasants and whatever else country folk might choose to shoot at. Being a city girl born and bred, she wasn’t overly familiar with the finer details of such matters but definitely felt overcome by shades of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
Having stowed her cases away in the back of the Range Rover and unlocked the passenger door, he turned to face her once again. ‘I do apologise, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Darius Harwood. I own Harwood Hall where you will be staying.’
Bang went her theory of him being the hired help. Nevertheless, she was determined that from now on she would keep her cool. In carefully measured tones she spoke. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ Then she added, ‘Do we have far to go?’
His voice was low as he replied. ‘Oh yes, I think there’s every possibility of that.’ He paused as his eyes swept her body insolently. ‘But for now we’ll just take it one step at a time.’
She didn’t understand what he meant by that reply and was going to make a comment when she found he was just staring at her, his expression inscrutable. Despite her exhaustion she felt herself growing warm under his gaze and, intending to stare back boldly, she was surprised to find her eyes were the first to look away. Suddenly she pictured him as the Lord of the Manor and she the innocent country virgin.
Despite the tension in the air she laughed wryly to herself, she, Hillary Fordham, an innocent virgin – now that was taking fantasy a bit too far!
2
From Alicia’s description, Hillary had already formulated an impression of Harwood Hall in her mind but nothing could have prepared her for the reality. The sight that met her eyes was that of a sprawling mansion of grey-white stone, approached by a mile-long private road lined with trees and shrubs of all descriptions. Bounded on all sides by lush green lawns, the Hall seemed more like a small palace with its ornate porticoed entrance reached by a wide flight of stone steps
.
As her eyes feasted on its beauty, Hillary let out her breath in a rush. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’
Darius’s face softened into a genuine smile as he replied. ‘I’m pleased you think so. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.’ He caught her surprised expression and added quickly, ‘I don’t live in either of the wings, they’ve been converted for paying guests. My quarters are in the main part of the Hall. Most of the time it’s out of bounds but sometimes I open it up to visitors, or for charity functions.’
Suddenly Alicia and Chloe appeared, not from the entrance but from around the left-hand corner of the house. They were both dressed, totally inappropriately Hillary thought, in tight little satin and velvet cocktail dresses.
Alicia waved a champagne bottle. ‘Yoo hoo, Hilly darling, did you have a good journey?’
Without waiting for an answer she tottered around the Range Rover and contrived to bump into Darius as he lifted Hillary’s suitcases from the rear of the vehicle. He put out a hand to steady her. ‘Whoa there, Mrs Carruthers,’ he said.
Hillary couldn’t help wondering why he spoke to Alicia as though she were a horse.
‘I had a very good journey actually, Alicia. Alicia!’
Her sister obviously had no interest in hearing her reply, draped as she now was around Darius in an overly familiar fashion. Patiently he removed Alicia’s arms from around his neck, speaking to her slowly and carefully as though she were a young child.
‘I think perhaps your sister would like to go inside and freshen up. She also looks as though she could do with a drink.’ The words ‘and you look as though you’ve had enough’ hung in the air unspoken.
Hillary glanced down at herself, embarrassed to realise that she must look like a crumpled wreck to him. Damn – that certainly wasn’t the sort of impression she hoped she was making. In her imagination she was cool and mysterious, uncharted territory so to speak.
Totally ignoring Hillary’s luggage, Alicia took her by one arm and Chloe took the other. ‘Of course, come on, Hills, we’ve got heaps to tell you,’ Alicia said.
The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Page 2
