I know I’m babbling, revealing my nerves. Leo grins, he knows it too.
“That doesn’t need doing until morning. We just need to fill the water trough, give them some feed and hay and I need to check Yorrick.”
“Is he the one who head butted Angeline?”
“Yes, that one over there, but don’t worry, you don’t need to touch him.” Leo clears his throat. “I think maybe Angeline is trying to throw us together. You and me I mean, not me and Yorrick. She doesn’t know about us by the way.”
Us.
So, there is an us? I finger the strap of my satchel, playing with a loose thread.
“Oh, I see, well just show me what to do and I’ll, er, do it.” I can’t stop my mouth from quirking into an awkward grin.
“Will you now?” Leo grins back, eyes gleaming. He leans in towards me, lips brushing my ear softly as he whispers. “Do you promise to do exactly what I tell you?”
“Uh, yes.” There are darts of sharp, exquisite pleasure shooting through me, just at his words, at the slightest brush of his lips. The sensible corner of my mind says I should introduce a caveat excluding anything too kinky or weird but thankfully my inner flirt is in charge right now. She hasn’t had much practice over the years, but she knows the basics and doesn’t want me to screw this up.
I stare at Leo’s full lips and the dark, end of day stubble peppering his jaw. I can’t help fantasising about how it would feel if Leo did more than kiss me. If those lips travelled to my breasts or maybe even lower down…
My face flames. Is it possible for Leo to know what I’m thinking?
“Where is your little entourage?” He asks.
“Oh, you mean the dogs? Joanna’s looking after them.” I say, looking into Leo’s darkening eyes, swept up by the inevitability that something is going to happen between us tonight.
“Would you like a tour of the chateau when we’re finished?”
“Er, okay, that would be great,” I reply, confused, sure he’d wanted me alone for something else. Does he mean when we’re finished with the donkeys or …?
“And then, after the tour, we will go back to my home and I will make love to you,” he murmurs, as casually as though he’s suggesting us going on somewhere for a cup of tea.
“Oh?” I reply shakily. I wish I had Sophie’s élan, that I could reply in a cool, casual way. Maybe with a French shrug thrown in for good measure. But it’s me he wants to sleep with and the good thing is he’s already seen me at my worst in a tatty T-Shirt, leaking tears and God knows what else what. And he still wants me. That thought is pretty damned amazing.
“If you’d like me to, that is,” Leo adds casually, rolling up his sleeves to reveal tanned, toned forearms. Then he sets about seeing to the donkeys with a swift efficiency that makes me think Angeline knew he wouldn’t need my help at all.
Hmm, maybe I’ll get my own back by matchmaking for her one day.
While I’m hanging around waiting I make sure to keep my distance from Yorrick, the mischief making donkey who keeps making a beeline for me. I’m about to whip out my sketchpad to capture his expression when I notice he has an absolutely, um, huge appendage. It definitely wasn’t that big when I was drawing him earlier. I stare at it and try to stifle my giggles.
Leo notices me looking and raises an eyebrow.
“Well now I know where the phrase comes from.” I shrug, embarrassed.
“What phrase?” Leo asks, and I can’t tell if he honestly doesn’t know the English expression or just wants to make me say it out loud.
“You know,” I mutter, looking down at the water trough, the feed buckets. Anywhere but Yorrick. Or Leo. “Hung like a…”
“Vet?” Leo grins.
“Donkey,” I reply primly. “Well, that’s certainly not going in my children’s book.”
Leo laughs again and when he’s finished with the feed we walk up to the chateau.
“Are you sure this is okay? You’re not too tired to…”
“No, I’m not too tired to…” Leo’s lips twitch.
“Have you had anything to eat yet?” I ask as the ornate gates of the chateau and the vineyard beyond come into view.
“I had lunch brought in from the café. I thought we could eat later at my place if you like. We can get a take away pizza.”
“You can get take away pizza in the village?” I ask incredulously. “Where on earth from?”
“There’s a van goes round the villages. It’s St Quentin’s turn tonight. The pizza is very good.”
“Okay that sounds nice, I haven’t had pizza in a while.”
It feels bizarre, talking about the mundane when my body is practically trembling with anticipation. The words “I’m going to take you to my home and make love to you” pulse through me, anticipation building as Leo shows me around the chateau. I’m sure he knows it, that it was his intention. I’m extremely glad that his parents are off visiting his aunt. I’m not sure I’m capable of behaving in a way that even vaguely resembles normal at the moment.
Having a vivid imagination means I’ve always loved history, particularly history I can touch and make a connection with. History of art was one of my favourite modules for my art degree. I find it easy to visualise the images of the past. Leo’s clearly proud of the research he’s done into the history of the chateau. I did look up the webpage his mother told me Leo had made but struggled to understand much of the French. But as Leo talks his words make the stories come alive, as though they were lying dormant in the chateau’s stone walls and are now conjured into life, a part of the flickering flames in the fireplace. It amazes me to think the grand fireplace in the main hall looks the same today as it would have in the thirteenth century.
This is a side of Leo I’ve not seen before, a creative, passionate streak that makes me fancy him all the more. I can’t help wondering if he planned this all along, to impress me. Not that I’m not impressed by tonight, but the moments Leo really impressed me were when he treated Treacle with such tenderness and also when he finished the fence for me without any expectation of gratitude or even recognition. I’ve also thought that true heroism is revealed not in ostentatious displays but in small acts of kindness, carried out with no expectation of reward.
Which I suppose … makes Leo my hero.
I turn away and touch the ancient stone lintel above the fireplace hearth, warmed by countless fires over the centuries.
“It must’ve been quite an amazing place to grow up,” I say, my mind conjuring pictures of who else might’ve touched the very same stone in previous eras.
“It was my home, I took it for granted. Then I wanted to go off and see the world as soon as I was old enough. Yet now something has led me home again,” Leo looks at me quizzically. “It is strange how these things happen. That we think we are free agents, yet life pulls us to a certain place at a certain time. And pulls people together too.”
He takes me by the hand and circles my palm with his thumb again. It amazes me that this simple touch can trigger an ache that radiates through my whole body and renders me almost senseless with longing. I don’t want to read too much into his “right place, right time” speech in case it’s just a line but somehow it doesn’t feel like one. I feel the same, that we’ve been drawn together.
But then, I used to believe I had a happy future ahead with Pete, so I clearly possess the capacity for self-delusion. How can I believe in this?
Maybe knowing for sure that Leo means what he says and his feelings are an echo of my own will do it. I’ll only know that, and that this isn’t a well rehearsed seduction routine if Leo is still here for me in a month’s time. His actions will convince me, not his words.
“So.” I exhale shakily and try to regain my composure. “Is that why your English is so good, because you’ve travelled a lot?”
“I’ve spent some time in the States and I also worked for a year in England before veterinary college. I wanted to pay my own way but working abroad was about more than that
, I wanted to fully experience life and see more of the world.”
“I see, so did you meet any nice English girls?” I ask, my stomach executing tiny back flips as he increases the pressure in the centre of my palm.
“None worth mentioning.” He shrugs, his smile morphing into a lazy, sexy grin. “Until now that is. Odd how I didn’t find anyone special in England and then I come home and find a very special English girl right on my doorstep.”
I grin back and melt a little inside.
Special.
I store the word away to be brought out later, when I’m alone.
“Shall I show you where the treasure was found?” He asks.
“Okay.” I nod and add “very special” to my own personal treasure trove of Leo words and memories.
Joanna was right. I’ve got it very bad.
The gleam in Leo’s eyes as he leads me around the twisty corridors tells me that basically he knows it.
“Did you realise that we basically invented romance?”
“Oh really? What, you personally or just your ancestors?” I laugh.
“Laugh if you like but Occitan was the language of the Troubadours who travelled around Europe with the very first tales of courtly love and romance.”
“Really?” I ask. Okay, so that is kind of interesting. I trail the hand not holding Leo’s over the solid stone walls that must be at least a metre thick and try to see my own story and connection with Leo as part of the rich tapestry of woven lives linked through time to St-Quentin-surAude and the chateau.
Leo shows me the spot where a sack of gold coins was found in one of the walls when the time came to install modern plumbing. Touching the spot gives me a thrill, I know there’s no actual treasure there now but I’m touching the memory of it, of the people so desperate to hide it. I wonder why? What drove them to such a drastic measure? Marauding forces? Tax evasion? I suppose we won’t ever know for sure but the physical touch links me to another time and to other souls. That’s how it feels anyway.
I turn around to see if Leo thinks I’m nuts, but I can see from his wide smile that he gets it and is glad that I get it too. It’s great to find someone willing to encourage my imagination instead of crushing it by telling me to grow up and stop being so daft. With a jolt I realise I’ve put that happy smile on Leo’s face. I want to make him smile more. I want to make him happy.
I think of Angeline comforting me when I first arrived and the kindness of the villagers and then about how I’m touching Joanna’s life and of course, Leo’s. In my mind’s eye I see ripples of love and kindness, spreading out in concentric circles throughout history. One kindness leading to another. An act of love inspiring courage. I wonder when the circles started and when they’ll end, if ever.
“Do you have any Occitan writings here in the chateau?” I ask. “I suppose it was mostly an oral tradition but are there any surviving records? I’d love to see some.”
“I think we have a few rare volumes in the library and some modern translations too,” he says. “I can show you the library next anyway, if you like. Actually, if I can find it I think there’s a translation you’d find interesting.”
“Okay,” I say happily, glad that I’m discovering more about Leo. And that he’s discovering more about me and my quirkiness and isn’t running a mile.
Also, I’ve not forgotten the promise he made me. No going home frustrated tonight.
Entering the library, I inhale the musty smell of old books and sigh happily. I might think in pictures, but I’ve always loved books too. I like to think that by illustrating books I might be inspiring another generation of children to not only read stories but make up their own one day.
It’s my own small way of spreading ripples.
“Ooh, you have one of those old library ladders.” I touch the sliding wooden ladder that reaches up to the highest shelves. “Can I have a look round?”
“Go ahead, I’ll see if I can find that book of Occitan poetry with modern translation.” Leo heads off to another corner where there are more modern books with brightly coloured spines. “I know I’ve seen it recently.”
I head up the ladder, the musty odour of older calfskin bound books tickling my nostrils. I run my eyes over mostly incomprehensible titles and history books I’d struggle to understand in English, never mind French. I go back to a large section containing art books and begin to leaf through, noticing some volumes are inscribed on the title page by the author. When I open one large volume I find some prints at the back, contained in a loose card portfolio. The dust on the outside suggests it hasn’t been opened in a while. I gently draw them out and reel with shock. These are … but surely they can’t be really … can they? They’d be in a safe or an art gallery.
“Leo,” I call out as I hurry down the ladder. “Come and look at these.”
He stares at the prints and shrugs. “Are they anything special?”
“I’m fairly sure they’re Goya. They match his style exactly, he produced a lot of prints on the theme of warfare, these really have his feel about them. Does your father know he owns the prints? Are they not on display for a reason?”
“I have no idea. Do you really think they’re original Goya prints?” Leo’s eyes sharpen as he looks at them and he handles them with more reverence.
“From what I remember from my art history studies I’d say there’s a good chance. There’s a Goya museum in Castres that’s not too far from here. You’d probably find an expert there to verify if they’re authentic. It’s worth a try. What’s the worst that can happen?”
If they are what I think they are this could be huge. Almost as amazing as the plumbers finding the sack of gold coins, but I don’t want to raise Leo’s hopes too much.
“I’ll tell my father.” Leo replaces prints in their cardboard folio and places it on a side table. “In the meantime, would you like to have a quick look at this Occitan poetry book? There’s one in particular I think you’d like. Then we could go back down to the fire if you like?”
“Okay,” I agree readily, seeing fire of a different kind in Leo’s eyes.
The intensity in his expression makes me shiver, and not with cold. He tugs me downstairs not just by my hand but by his look. He’s got me well and truly hooked and is reeling me in. He’s tugging and I’m flying, tumbling towards him. I’m caught and claimed as his.
And I’m not complaining.
Back in the main hall Leo pulls me down on top of him into a large armchair. I land on his lap sideways on and he rests a proprietorial hand on my thigh. Then he hands me a book, already open at a page that displays both the original Occitan and the modern translation.
“This is the one you were talking about? That you think I’d like?” I ask.
“Yes, it was written by a woman, the Countess of Die. She was a troubairitz around the year 1200.”
“Really? I didn’t know there were women troubadours.”
Leo remains quiet as I read the poem’s translation.
I was plunged into deep distress
I was plunged into deep distress / by a knight who wooed me,
and I wish to confess for all time / how passionately I loved him;
Now I feel myself betrayed, / for I did not tell him of my love.
therefore I suffer great distress / in bed and when I am fully dressed.
Would that my knight might one night / lie naked in my arms
and find myself in ecstasy / with me as his pillow.
For I am more in love with him / than Floris was with Blanchfleur.
to him I give my heart and love, / my reason, eyes and life.
Handsome friend, tender and good, / when will you be mine?
Oh, to spend with you but one night / to impart the kiss of love!
Know that with passion I cherish / the hope of you in my husband’s place,
as soon as you have sworn to me / that you will fulfil my every wish.
The idea of my body being a naked pillow for Leo is a very entici
ng one. That aside it’s both humbling and astounding to discover that while so many things have changed outwardly, nine hundred years ago women struggled with the same issues as today. They too fell in love and experienced a desire for sex that felt more like a need than a want. They too understood the compulsion for a connection that transcended the everyday, a compulsion that became a song, the poetry of the soul.
I turn to Leo. He’s watching me closely, intently, as though drinking in and memorising my every feature. I know my cheeks are flushed and I must be showing other signs of arousal. The intensity of his scrutiny only increases awareness of that arousal.
Breathe Poppy.
I break eye contact and look back down at the book while simultaneously taking a lungful of air that doesn’t quite make it down to my diaphragm but is an improvement on the previously shallow breaths that were dangerously close to panting.
“You know this is possibly the most unusual seduction technique I’ve come across. But then I’m not really that experienced.” I lean closer into Leo, breathing him in as I rest against his chest.
He tugs my legs up onto the chair and I lose my ballet flats in the process. My denim skirt rises up my thigh and I leave it where it is, enjoying the gleam in Leo’s eye as he takes advantage of the view.
“You were the one who asked to see the Occitan poetry book.” Leo takes further advantage of my skirt hitching up to slide a hand up my bare thigh, making me inhale sharply. “And you, Poppy Kirkbride, are one of the most unusual women I’ve ever wanted to seduce.”
Leo hand keeps going higher up my thigh until his fingers reach and lightly brush the cotton barrier of my knickers between my legs.
My legs part for him and I squirm as he strokes me languidly through the fabric and then dances away, teasing me. On his next foray he playfully lifts the edge of the knicker elastic, letting me think he’s finally going to slide his fingers inside my wet sex but then he lets it snap back into place again and resumes stroking up and down my thighs. Basically, he caresses everywhere except where I want him to until my knickers are soaking with my arousal because I’m so wet for him. I’m definitely on the verge of begging him to put me out of my misery, to practically rip my knickers off me.
Poppy's Place in the Sun Page 22
