Red Skye at Night

by Ashe Barker

  And I’m starting to think I fully intend to let him. But not straight away. He can work for it.

  I follow the satnav instructions religiously, and swear under my breath when I pass through an imposing gateway into the grounds of what I think must have once been a stately home. This is definitely much more upmarket than my usual watering holes, on the odd occasions that I’ve had need of a hotel. In the more distant past I traveled a fair bit on the athletics circuit, but not in recent years. I follow the wide, curving driveway for about a half mile or so, rounding the final bend. I stop, and I swear out loud. My exclamation of “Holy fuck” wakes Harry.

  “You have a dirty mouth, Hope. Are you sure I can’t convince you to put it to better use?” He lowers his feet from my dashboard and sits up.

  Undaunted by his latest remark, I round on him. He must have known what sort of a place he was directing me to. “That’s a castle. It’s a fucking castle.”

  Harry peers with interest at the large stone building looming ahead of us. “Yeah, it does look to be. I texted Jill and asked her to find us somewhere nice, somewhere traditional. I think this’ll do.”

  “Nice? This is… This is…” Words fail me. I turn to him in despair. “I can’t afford anything like this.”

  “You’re not paying. All expenses are on me, remember?”

  “This isn’t expenses, this is…excessive.” Not especially good but the best description I can come up with on the spur of the moment.

  “Honey, if you think this is excessive, you should see me with a tawse in my hand.”

  “What’s a tawse?” I’m still staring at the imposing, solid entrance, wondering what this place will make of me in my Topshop cerise vest and Primark jeans.

  “Ah, honey, don’t ask unless you really want to know the answer.” He reaches for his iPad while I just stare at him.

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Shit! Is that a golf course? This place has its own golf course?” My attention is diverted by the sight of the sprawling greens carpeting the landscape on either side of the drive.

  “It does. Do you play, Hope?”

  “Do I look like I play fucking golf?” I’m continuing up the long driveway toward the entrance at a slow crawl, my head swiveling from side to side as I take in my surroundings. I muttered my response under my breath, but it seems that Harry misses nothing.

  “I’m sure we could find a game you’d like. They have pony trekking, too, according to the brochure. Shall we give that a try tomorrow?”

  I choose to ignore his cryptic comment. “I don’t ride either. And what about the pandas?”

  “I’m sure you could, given the right encouragement. So, another day then for the riding. I’ll get the bags.”

  Not at all certain how to answer that, and even less convinced that I want to try, I pull up in a parking bay close to the hotel entrance. Harry hops out and round to the boot. He pops the lid and heaves his own case out, then mine. He waves me away when I try to grab the handle of my battered holdall.

  “It’s fine. I’ve got this. Let’s go see what this place is like.”

  I find myself trotting after him like an obedient little spaniel, straight through the heavy oak doors and across what was, I imagine, once the great hall in the domain of some medieval lord. At the far end a gray-haired woman in a tartan jacket smiles at us as a young man in a kilt—yes, a proper kilt in bold shades of red and dark green—leaps forward to take the luggage from Harry. This time he relinquishes the bags without protest and turns to complete the formalities at the desk. Harry’s company credit card is all that’s required to gain us admittance into this new world of luxury, where it seems everyone’s sole aim in life is to lavish attention on our every need.

  The kilted youth leads us to the lift, does all the button pressing, then leads us along a thickly carpeted corridor right to the doors of our adjoining rooms, carrying both our bags the whole way. I’m impressed. He opens my door first and gestures me inside before handing me the key card. He leaves Harry’s case in the corridor and marches past me to set my bag on the floor beside the bed.

  “Breakfast is from seven in the morning, madam. If you need anything, please just dial one from the hotel phone.” He turns to rejoin Harry on the landing. “You’re next door, sir.”

  Harry nods to me as the porter closes my door. I hear the sound of the door to the next room opening and shutting, then silence. Alone, I turn in a complete circle to take in my surroundings.

  The room is huge, and quite beautiful. In what I take to be Scottish tradition, the carpet is a lavender and green pattern, the pile knee-deep it seems. I kick off my trainers in deference to it. The furniture is large, dark and solid, made of carved wood. There’s the bed, at least six feet in width, two huge wardrobes, a dressing table, and a seating area in an alcove by the window. This offers two small settees, both upholstered in a purple and green tartan fabric to match the carpet. A low table nestles between them. It’s decidedly cozy.

  The bathroom is equally impressive, designed for space and personal pampering. Two washbasins are set into a marble countertop, waterfall taps arching over them. There’s a semi-sunken bath and a separate shower. The whole place is tiled in a soft dove gray. A pile of fluffy, thick towels the color of wet slate is perched on a stand beside the shower. The complementary toiletries are extensive, the small bottles lined up along the counter top. What would Harry make of it if I was to keep a few as souvenirs, I wonder? I think I’d prefer not to know.

  I decide to try out the shower straight away. It’s been a long day. I strip quickly and step into the cubicle. There’s a chrome button that looks promising. I hit it, and jets of warm water fly at me from all directions. It feels heavenly. I stretch under the hot spray and take a few moments to simply luxuriate in the wet freshness.

  I knew we wouldn’t be roughing it—Harry made that clear from the start. I suppose I also knew, sort of assumed, that he’d offer me the same standard of accommodation he would choose for himself. But I never anticipated anything on this scale. As well as being good company and drop-dead gorgeous, he’s generous too. If I’m thinking about breaking my stint at celibacy—it’s been eight months this time—I could do a lot worse than Harry McLeod. Harry might say some strangely unnerving things, but he’s really very nice as well. I’ll forgive him a lot if he’s nice.

  I wash and condition my hair then reach for a towel from the stack. I dig my toothbrush from my bag and clean my teeth before padding back through the bedroom and clambering onto the bed. The television is mounted on the wall opposite and I decide to try it out. I channel hop for a few minutes, find nothing I feel like watching so I turn it off again. In the silence of my own room I can hear the low hum of Harry’s television next door. I wonder what he’s watching, and whether he might like company. I stifle that notion. I’d look ridiculous insisting on separate rooms, then sidling round to his at the first opportunity. No, it’s an early night for me.

  I start to rifle through my bag for something to sleep in, only to realize I didn’t pack anything. I was in such a rush to throw my stuff together this morning I never thought about sleepwear, not that my collection is extensive. I usually make do with leggings and an old T-shirt, but for the duration of this trip it looks like I’ll be sleeping in the nude.

  * * * *

  I wake up to bright sunlight streaming through the window. I forgot to close the curtains last night, and now the glorious Scottish morning is asserting itself. Given my lack of sleeping attire it’s just as well I’m on the fourth floor and there are no other buildings for at least two miles. I sit up feeling more refreshed than I have in as long as I can remember. I was tucked up in bed by just after ten but fell asleep straight away and slept like a top. I turn on the television again, this time to find out what time it is.

  Seven-twenty-three. The porter said breakfast was from seven so I could go down and find something to eat. Harry didn’t stipulate what time we’re to be away this morning, but
if he wants to visit the pandas and the castle, we need to make a start. I wonder if he’s up yet. I turn the volume of the television down low and listen for sounds from next door. Nothing. I could get dressed and go and knock, I suppose. I decide that seems a reasonable plan and start to investigate my modest collection of clothes.

  Since Harry outlawed my sweatshirts, I’m short on options. Two vests, a spare pair of jeans and a denim waistcoat. I feel a shopping trip coming on. At least now I have funds to buy some new clothes, though I’d intended a more pragmatic investment strategy for my new-found wealth. I wonder if we’ll have time to hit the shops in Edinburgh too.

  I decide on a plain black vest and gray jeans. I only have one pair of shoes with me, my faithful trainers, so I slip those back on and head out into the hallway, remembering to pocket the key card as I go. I knock on Harry’s door and listen carefully. There is no sound from inside, no footsteps padding across, no call for me to come in. I try the door, but already know it will be locked. It is. He’s either still asleep, though I somehow consider that unlikely, or he’s already gone down. He might have waited for me.

  I make my way back down to reception and follow signs for the dining room. I’m greeted by a head waiter in a smart suit, a white tea towel draped across his arm. He greets me politely and asks for my room number. I pull out my key card, only to find that the room number isn’t on it. Shit! Why didn’t I check? I might not even be able to find the right room to get back in.

  “Oh, sorry, I don’t remember…”

  Harry’s voice behind me saves my bacon. “Hi, honey, sleep well?”

  I turn. He looks splendid as always, this morning dressed in comfortable slacks and a sports shirt. His hair is wet and freshly combed. He has a small rucksack looped over one shoulder.

  “Yes, like a baby. I knocked for you…” I try not to let a peevish note creep in, but can’t be certain.

  “I got up early and hit the gym.” He gestures to his bag, where his kit is obviously stowed.

  Yet another wardrobe malfunction of mine. Mentally I add to my shopping list. I may not be the athlete I once was, but I do enjoy a workout when I get the chance. I’ll need the gear and perhaps a swimsuit too.

  “I worked up an appetite. Are you just going in?” Harry nods to the head waiter who is poised with his clipboard.

  “Yes. I forgot my room number, though.”

  “Four-seventeen. I’m four-nineteen.” Harry beams at the head waiter.

  He ticks us off his list and gestures across his domain. “Please, sit anywhere. We have plenty of space this morning.”

  Our breakfast is delicious. Even without the haggis—that Scottish delicacy that neither of us seems minded to try—I eat far too much. Yes, I will definitely need the gym clothes.

  Harry has consulted the hotel reception who advise going into the city center on the hotel minibus, as parking in Edinburgh is so difficult. Apparently we can get a bus from Waverley Station in the city center right to the zoo. I feel uncomfortable about this and say so.

  “You paid me to drive you. You paid me a fortune to be your own private driver, and now you’re talking about using buses.”

  “You do drive me, and you do it beautifully. But even the best chauffeurs can take a day off. Today’s your day off.”

  “But…”

  “Stop fretting, Hope. Just let yourself enjoy.”

  I can’t find a suitable retort to that so ask him to pass the marmalade instead.

  * * * *

  The hotel minibus drops us right at the gates to Edinburgh Castle as they open the doors. We pick up our pre-booked tickets and we’re in. We abandon the guidebook, preferring to just wander around. The view over the city from the castle walls is breathtaking, though Harry seems particularly interested in the dungeon. He takes my hand to help me down some steep stone steps and just sort of holds on. By lunchtime my feet are aching and we’re ready to move on to the zoo.

  The pandas are quite enchanting. Well, panda. There’s only one on show, lumbering around the huge glass-fronted enclosure oblivious to the hordes of curious visitors who surround the place every day, noses pressed up against the windows. It occurs to me that the pandas probably think we are the exhibits rather than they.

  I love being a tourist, just out for the day and having a good time. But I’m also loving Harry’s company. He’s funny, and interesting, and very attentive. We spend most of the day with our fingers interlocked. I can’t recall ever holding anyone’s hand before, except my mother’s when I was small.

  By mid-afternoon we’re leaning on the wall surrounding the penguin enclosure, watching the little creatures waddling around like gossipy old women.

  “Time to be moving on.” Harry loops an arm across my shoulders.

  I stiffen, but decide it’s okay. Better than okay. He waits a few moments before pulling me in a little closer, then leans over to drop a light kiss on the top of my head.

  “Thanks for doing this. I’ve had a good time today. I’m glad you agreed to come with me.” He nuzzles my hair. I find that’s okay too.

  “What, to the zoo? Or to Scotland?” I tilt my face up to him and wonder if he might be contemplating kissing me. Surely not…

  “Both. All of it. I’d have come to Scotland anyway, but it wouldn’t have been so much fun.”

  I can’t recall anyone ever telling me I’m good fun either. Harry certainly brings out my finer qualities. Which brings me to my current self-inflicted dilemma. I’d very much like to reopen the question of our sleeping arrangements.

  “Did I hear you tell your secretary we’d be staying in Perth tonight?”

  “Yeah, I thought that would be about right. Just an hour’s driving or so.”

  I nod. “Has she booked us into another hotel then?”

  “Yes. She emailed me the details. This one’s a converted manor house. No golf or ponies but they do have ospreys, apparently.”

  “Ah, right. Ospreys.”

  “Fine creatures. Will you share my room tonight, Hope?”

  My mind was traversing pretty much the same ground, but even so, Harry’s blunt question comes as a surprise. I stare up at him, turning over in my head all the reasons why agreeing to share a hotel room with a man I hardly know is a bad idea. Sadly the best I can come up with is a whispered, “Yes, please.”

  He smiles and dips his head, brushes his lips across mine. His palms are framing my face, holding my head still as he trails light, almost-kisses across my forehead, my eyes, my nose and finally arrives back at my mouth. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding between my parted lips. I suck on it and lace my fingers together at the back of his neck, wondering why I took so long to let it get to this. I should have jumped him the first moment he got into my taxi at the airport. Still, I determine to make up for lost time.

  Harry breaks the kiss to bury his face in my neck. “Christ, Hope, you’re so gorgeous. How quickly can you get us to Perth?” It seems he has the same idea.

  “My car’s at the hotel. We need to get the bus back into the city center, and…”

  “Fuck that. We’ll take a cab.”

  Chapter Five

  It takes a little over two hours to reach the elegant country house hotel in Scone, just outside Perth. I cover most of the journey with my knickers moistening disgracefully. Harry doesn’t help by continually observing that I could perhaps put my foot down a little. However much we might both wish it were otherwise, I do still have British speed limits and the Edinburgh rush hour to contend with.

  The hotel is every bit as lovely as described and there is indeed a hide for observing ospreys, but we can drum up little interest in birds of prey. Harry drags our bags from the boot again, muttering about sharing cases from here on. It’ll be easier. He checks us in at the front desk, orders breakfast in bed for eight o’clock the following morning, politely takes both room keys, then we head for the stairs.

  Harry opens up the first of our allotted rooms and peers inside.

 
“How do you like this one?”

  I lean around him, survey the pleasant décor, the chintzy yellow and pale blue bedspread, the bright and cheerful white furniture. It’s a very feminine room, even down to the lace-edged trim on the curtains.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Yeah. Let’s check out the other.”

  Our other room is not adjoining. It’s a little farther along the landing on the opposite side. Harry unlocks the door and we both poke our heads inside.

  “Shit, yes!” Harry’s delighted exclamation is in response to the massive four-poster bed dominating the room.

  “You like this one better?” I step inside, turning through three hundred and sixty degrees to take in the oak furnishings and deep red carpet. This room is definitely not feminine.

  “Hell, don’t you?”

  “Well, the other had prettier curtains…” I can’t help teasing him, just a little.

  “Hope…” His voice has taken on a distinct warning tone. I find it oddly disturbing. And powerfully exciting. My knickers are becoming wet again.

  Again? They never dried out.

  “Well, I suppose it’ll do. If you like it. We’ll use this one then.” I turn to him, offering my sweetest smile.

  He glares at me under lowered eyebrows. “How accommodating you are. I do like that in a woman. I suppose it’s a little too early in our relationship for me to insist that you strip and kneel at my feet…?”

  “Do you like that in a woman too?” I’m not sure where that question came from, but it sort of pops out.

  “Oh yes.” His face has lost its previous teasing expression, and this conversation is not banter anymore. It’s not even the playful prelude to first sex. This is—heavy. And heady. And it’s utterly terrifying.

  “What then, after I’ve knelt?” Am I really going to do that?

  “Then, honey, if you’ll let me, I’ll tie you to this rather splendid bed and show you a seriously good time.”