The Real Fantasy

by Caroline Anderson

  Matthew sighed and ran his hands through his hair, rumpling it yet again. ‘No, she won’t come back. She made that clear, and he made it equally clear that he wouldn’t have her. That does, of course, have implications for his job until he can set up some child-care arrangements.’

  He smiled wearily at her. ‘It seems, young lady, that you arrived in the nick of time. If you really coped all right with that surgery, then if you’re happy to take it I’d like to hand some of Rhys’s workload over to you now. Tim and Rosie and I will take the follow-up cases if you could see the one-offs and temporary residents, and we won’t expect you to cover his out-of-hours work, but if you could simply do his routine surgeries and daytime visits it would help enormously.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she agreed instantly. ‘I imagine I’ll start first thing in the morning. I could do with a street map if I’m to do his visits.’

  ‘Suzanne will give you one. The other problem is your tutorials, but we’ll just have to fit them in—in the evening, if necessary—after work. It won’t be for long, but I’m unhappy about flinging you in at the deep end without support in your first practice appointment.’

  She smiled reassuringly. ‘Matthew, don’t worry; I can cope.’

  ‘Timing is difficult—keeping the appointments running smoothly without getting behind. It’s so easy to get twenty minutes behind—one phone call, a slightly longer consultation, and it screws up the whole day.’

  ‘I’m used to timing. I’ve done clinic work.’

  ‘Any patients you’re worried about, just come and see me.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Anything you’re worried about—’

  ‘Matthew?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t stress.’

  His mouth closed with a snap. Shutting his eyes, he tipped his head back and sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s just that being the senior partner has its responsibilities, and I take my responsibilities seriously.’

  ‘So do I, so you can relax. Are you going to eat tonight? I could fling something together for us both, if you like.’

  ‘Me?’ He sat up and shrugged. ‘I was going to eat, but rather than you feeding us again, why don’t I take you out for a quick bite at the pub up the road? We can eat in the garden and if we’re really lucky the New Forest ponies won’t come and steal it all.’

  A date? Well, there’s a thing, she thought. She answered his smile with one of her own. ‘Sounds good. Can you give me ten minutes to shower and change?’

  ‘Sure.’ He leapt to his feet and strode across the landing. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs. I’ve got a few things to do.’

  She watched his head disappear down the stairs, and grinned. Clearly the thought of her and her toiletries terrified the life out of him. Perhaps he thought she’d spray him with tampons and toothpaste again.

  With a chuckle, she went into the bathroom, stripped into the laundry basket and turned the shower on full. She washed her hair as well. It had been too hot and sticky a day to leave it, and she could always brush it out and leave it to dry.

  She dressed in light cotton leggings and a matching T-shirt, soft slip-on cotton shoes and a stroke of mascara. She didn’t bother with lipstick as they were going to be eating, and she never wore eye-shadow anyway. Her hair was tangled, of course, and took ages to comb out, so she left it damp over her shoulders. It was still muggy, she decided, so she would hardly catch a chill, even if such a thing were possible.

  She ran downstairs, only five minutes late, and tapped on his consulting-room door.

  ‘Come in,’ he grunted, and she opened the door and found him submerged in a sea of notes.

  ‘Just sorting out tomorrow’s surgery,’ she was told. ‘I’m almost done. Grab a pew.’

  ‘I’ll dry my hair. Come and get me when you’re ready,’ she said, and ran upstairs again. Lord, the stairs would get her fit, she thought with a smile. Up, down, up, down.

  She was on the landing, bent over double, waving the hair-dryer at her hair, when she saw his feet behind her through her legs. She straightened up, throwing her hair over her head and turning. ‘Ready?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Um—yes. Got everything? Keys?’

  She nodded, and he turned on his heel and went back down the stairs as if the hounds of hell were after him. Linsey chewed her lip and followed him at a more dignified pace. Either he was having difficulty keeping his hands off her, she decided, or he was scared of her. Since she couldn’t imagine Matthew being scared of anyone, that left only one, rather intriguing possibility...

  He was going to disgrace himself. She was glorious, her hair gleaming gold in the evening sun, her face innocent of make-up, her body sleek and slender yet softly curving. And that laugh!

  It curled round his insides and turned him to mush. Well, perhaps not mush. In fact, the opposite. He longed for his tight, concealing jeans that were so good at disguising his reaction.

  They turned into the pub car park and saw a crowd of people standing round, cameras clicking busily as they stared at something in the middle of the road in front of the pub.

  Linsey was immediately curious, to Matthew’s relief. It took her attention away from him and might give him time to control his libido.

  ‘What are they photographing?’ she asked in amazement.

  ‘I’ll lay you odds it’s a pony,’ he said drily. They crossed to the crowd and peered into the centre.

  ‘Oh, Matthew, a foal! It can only be minutes old!’

  Matthew snorted. ‘Typical woman—having her baby right in the middle of the road.’ But he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and when she turned, eyes shining, his gut clenched and he had an almost overwhelming urge to drag her into his arms and hug her.

  And that was just for starters! He turned away from the crowd, and with a last lingering look at the still-wet foal Linsey followed him through the gate into the pub’s garden. There were several picnic tables scattered about under birch trees, and because of all the interest in the foal’s arrival they were able to find a table at the side of the garden, overlooking the open forest.

  At least, Linsey was overlooking the forest. Matthew was overlooking Linsey, and his hormones were giving him hell...

  It was a lovely meal. Matthew was a little preoccupied, Linsey thought, but put it down to worry over Rhys. Nevertheless, he was attentive. He told her about the practice, and how the work pattern had changed and shifted over the years, how a group of GPs had got together and installed a gastroenterology screening unit in the cottage hospital and how ulcers, bowel cancers and other related problems were now detected and sorted out much quicker.

  He told her about the increase in the number of temporary residents they treated, and how the Forest was reaching saturation point with visitors, although the numbers in campsites were heavily restricted and well controlled, how the ancient paths and tracks were being destroyed because of the endless pony-trekking, and how the heathland in between the paths was steadily eroding due to the mass invasion that happened every year.

  There were too many animals grazing too little grass, the recent droughts had caused even more problems, and she learned that the delightful ponies all belonged to someone and weren’t truly wild at all.

  ‘The Commoners, as the forest people are called, have the right to graze their animals on the common land. Each year in the autumn the stock are rounded up, the foals are counted and freezemarked with the owner’s brand and young stock are sold on.’

  ‘They must get killed on the road,’ Linsey said, her eyes still on the little foal who was struggling to stand with his mother’s help.

  ‘A lot of them do. The mothers cross the road, a car comes and the foals panic and try and rush across. A staggering number don’t make it. I can’t remember how many of the ponies are lost each year to road-traffic accidents, but it’s a lot, and of course quite often, in high-speed night collisions, for instance, the occupants of the cars are hurt too.’

  ‘But
there are speed limits—I’ve seen yellow signs painted on the roads.’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘Only forty miles an hour—and that’s too fast at night. Anyway, people break the limit all the time. No, the ponies are an attraction, of course, but they’re also a hazard, both to themselves and to the visitors. People will feed them, and so they bite and kick and visitors get injured and blame the ponies, which is silly.’

  Linsey looked at the fence around the garden. ‘Do they get into people’s gardens and damage the plants?’

  Matthew grinned. ‘Only if people leave the gates open. Nearly everyone has gates or a cattle-grid—sometimes both.’

  ‘Do you?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve got a gate, and a stockproof hedge all round the garden—I need it. The ponies graze right up to the boundary all round.’

  ‘Don’t you have any neighbours?’ Linsey asked in surprise.

  He shook his head. ‘No immediate neighbours, no. It’s down a little wooded track and it’s very much on its own. It was chosen for its isolation by the previous owner.’

  ‘And why did you choose it?’ Linsey asked, insatiably curious as ever.

  His face twisted slightly. ‘I didn’t. He left it to me.’

  Linsey felt her eyes widen. ‘He left it to you? Why? Was he a relative?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘No, not a relative. Not even a friend, really, until the end. He was a patient—a homosexual with AIDS-related complex. When he found out, he cut himself off from all his London friends, retreated to his little cottage and waited to die. He was here three years altogether, and he left me the cottage because he said I was the only person who understood how he felt, who didn’t patronise or pass judgement or overdramatise. We used to play chess and shred up the current politics and tell awful jokes and generally pass the time.’

  ‘Was he rich?’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘So-so, I suppose. He was a playwright. He was still working right up to the end. He had a brilliant mind—tortuous. And he was a very lonely man. The loneliest person I’ve ever met.’

  ‘And you became his only friend.’ Linsey swallowed. ‘How sad.’

  ‘I like to think I made a bit of difference.’

  Linsey thought of the unknown man’s situation, and how Matthew’s company and acceptance must have eased his pain. ‘I’m sure you did,’ she murmured.

  She took a big breath. ‘So—tell me about it. Is it big? Small?’

  ‘Quite small. One big sitting room, kitchen just large enough to eat in, two bedrooms and a bathroom.’

  ‘Is it brick?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. Wattle and daub over a timber frame, and thatch.’

  ‘Oh, it sounds lovely! Can I see it?’

  ‘Now?’ he said, looking a bit taken aback.

  ‘Yes—why not?’

  He chuckled ruefully. ‘Because I didn’t make the bed this morning, I probably haven’t washed up from last night and my cleaning lady comes on Wednesday.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So it’s Tuesday. That’s bad news.’

  She laughed. ‘Tricia, my flatmate, calls me a pack-rat. She says I’m the dirtiest, untidiest, least domesticated person she’s ever lived with, so please don’t worry on my account!’

  ‘Your flat looked fine,’ he said in surprise.

  ‘So, she’s trained me! And anyway, I haven’t been here long enough to get a real mess under way.’

  He chuckled, and she let her smile blossom. It was good to see him relax. Maybe he was going to let her see the cottage, after all.

  He tipped his head at her plate. ‘Have you finished?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Right, I’ll settle up and see you at the car. I expect you’re going to talk to the Forest’s latest arrival, are you?’

  She laughed and agreed. Was she so easy to read?

  ‘Be careful,’ he warned her. ‘The mother might kick if you get too close. She’ll be very protective.’

  So Linsey went and stood a few yards away and watched the little chap struggle to his feet, his mother nudging him with her nose to assist his unskilled efforts, and she went gooey inside when he started to suckle, his little tail wiggling furiously like a lamb’s.

  She heard footsteps behind her, and the mare turned her head curiously and watched as Matthew approached.

  ‘It’s a late foal,’ he told her. ‘It’s missed the spring grass, so it’ll find the winter hard unless they keep it in. More and more people are doing that.’

  ‘It’s gorgeous.’

  Matthew smiled. ‘Softy,’ he said gently.

  ‘I am.’ She turned away and smiled up at him, her eyes misty. She felt silly, but the little scrap had got to her. Obstetrics had always been her weakness, she thought with a little laugh. ‘Come on, then. Show me your Hansel and Gretel cottage in the woods.’

  It was a short drive away, less than a mile, and when they turned down the narrow, unmade track she could see what Matthew meant about isolation.

  The cottage was totally invisible from the main road, and it was only as they approached that she caught her first glimpse of it.

  White-painted, the thatch low down over the eaves, with little dormers like raised eyebrows interrupting the line of the roof, it was enchanting. Roses scrambled over the walls and up the thatch, and the beds around the walls were a blaze of colour.

  She hopped out to open the gate and closed it again behind the car, mindful of the small group of ponies that they had passed, standing idly swishing their tails just yards away on the track. No doubt they would sell their souls to get their teeth into Matthew’s garden!

  He pulled up in front of the cottage and stood waiting for her as she crossed the lawn. ‘Well?’ he said expectantly.

  She didn’t disappoint him. ‘It’s gorgeous. Absolutely fairy-tale. I want to see inside.’

  ‘God, what a demanding woman,’ he said mildly, but he unlocked the door and ushered her in.

  It was white-painted, the carpet a soft old gold, almost honey-coloured, and everything was either very pale, or dark, like the beams. An ancient oak chest stood against one wall, a grandfather clock against another. Grouped around the inglenook was a pair of sofas in pale cream, and between them was a lovely old Persian rug in soft, faded blues and golds.

  ‘Everything is exactly as Joe left it,’ Matthew told her. ‘I didn’t have any money to do anything, and it wasn’t necessary.’

  ‘Did he leave everything in the cottage to you as well?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I gave his personal effects to his parents, and I gather they burned them. I wish I’d kept them now, but I thought they’d want them.’

  ‘They must have been hurt, perhaps by his unconventional lifestyle.’

  ‘His sexuality, you mean. They never forgave him. His mother accused him of getting AIDS just to torture her.’

  ‘How sad.’ Linsey ran her fingers over the top of the oak chest, feeling the lovely mellow patina of age.

  ‘Checking for dust?’ Matthew teased.

  She smiled wistfully. ‘No. I just love old things.’

  ‘I’m an old thing.’

  She turned to him, her heart suddenly thudding in her chest. ‘So you are,’ she said lightly.

  His eyes were burning up again, and without hesitation she went into his arms.

  That first touch of his lips was magic.

  They were soft, and yet firm, warm and generous, tentative for a moment, then suddenly more urgent. A low growl rumbled in his throat and she leant into him and parted her lips, giving him her mouth.

  He took it mercilessly and without hesitation, and she felt her heart slam against her ribs as his tongue plundered the soft, dark depths. He slanted his mouth, his hands coming up to steady her face, and she could feel the uneven thud of his heart and the solid, fascinating pressure of his arousal against her softer thigh.

  He shifted one leg between hers and she moaned and arched against him, desperate to eradicate the gap and be even closer—
as close as she could be. She felt his hands leave her face and circle her waist, then slide up beneath her T-shirt.

  He gave a ragged groan and broke away as he discovered that her breasts were bare, then he lifted her T-shirt and bent his head to suckle her breast.

  Her legs nearly collapsed, and at her little cry he lifted his head and his eyes blazed into hers. ‘Dear God, Linsey, you’re beautiful,’ he groaned, and his mouth came down on hers again, ravenous with need.

  Time lost all meaning. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down harder against her mouth, arching into him, her body pleading with his.

  And then suddenly, shatteringly, someone cried out his name and he leapt away.

  Linsey caught a glimpse of the woman’s face, ravaged with shock and pain, and then the woman was turning and running back to her car.

  Matthew followed her, calling after her, but she drove away in a scrabble of gravel, leaving the gate hanging open. He stood in the driveway for an age, staring after her, and then slowly, heavily, he closed the gate and came back to Linsey.

  Desire had left her now, draining away to leave her cold and sick and shaken.

  ‘Who is she, Matthew?’ she asked flatly. ‘What is she to you?’

  He lifted his shoulders. ‘A friend—’

  ‘She’s more than a friend! Don’t lie to me! I won’t be lied to, Matthew! She looked at me as if she owned you and I had taken you away from her. She looked at me as if I had killed her inside. I want to know, Matthew. I want to know who she is, and what you’ve said or done that gives her the right to look at me like that.’

  ‘What the hell makes you think you’ve got the right to ask?’ he snapped.

  ‘That kiss,’ she said bluntly.

  After a moment his shoulders dropped. ‘I’m sorry; you’re right. I had no business kissing you like that.’

  ‘Obviously not. Your mystery visitor would certainly agree.’

  He sighed and rammed his hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘Her name’s Jan. We’ve been going out together off and on over the summer.’

  ‘Are you sleeping with her?’