by Fiona Walker
‘I found out today that Seth’s used his IT business base – and all that gaming development expertise – to move into flight simulators, most specifically military ones.’ He drew Kat to one side. ‘Now it makes sense why a vegetarian Sikh philanthropist – a self-confessed petrol-head and city boy who gives millions to educate slum kids – has bought a very private sporting estate.’ He lowered his voice to little more than a breath, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Dougie was still under siege by girls in bonnets. ‘Arms deals. Yanks and Russkies chasing military franchises like killing things for fun before signing deals.’
Kat felt clammy-faced with shock and fear. ‘Are you saying they’ll be trading arms here?’
‘We’re not going to see crates of Kalashnikovs and ground-to-air missiles heading along the lime avenues.’ He polished off the last of her julep with a shudder. ‘The principle’s the same as business deals made on a golf course or squash court. Seth brings his associates here to hunt, shows them the best sport, and they give him the business. It’s Dougie’s job to provide that sport, and it’s a pretty safe bet that no redneck magnate is going to want to come here and gallop around after a few hounds on a false scent trail. You must keep probing him for details while he’s still so hot on you.’ He glanced across at Dougie, whose cool blue eyes tracked Kat wherever she went.
‘He’s hot on all women,’ she scoffed.
‘That’s very true.’ His dimples deepened. ‘It’s good you’ve figured him out, Kat. All those animal-behaviour lessons are sinking in, which is useful because that man is an animal.’
A small, round Scarlett O’Hara in an outrageously vampish, corseted red dress with red feather plumes in her hair handed Kat her mask as everybody found their seats, her own exquisite mask lifting briefly to bestow a warm kiss on her cheeks.
‘You look delightful.’ Cyn squeezed her hand, watery eyes admiring the ballgown with an indulgent sigh. ‘Such a pretty dress, and a perfect length now we’ve unpicked the hem. I received my last proposal wearing it. This is so much fun that we’re going to make it a regular event. Pru wants us to show Lawrence of Arabia next.’ She nodded towards a tall, waspish figure in a long-tailed suit and waistcoat selling raffle tickets, dark grey hair slicked back, by far the best Rhett of the evening. ‘No doubt that means we’ll be the camel, but I’m planning my revenge with Dr Zhivago.’ She replaced her mask, rejoining the cloned faces all around them. ‘It’s about to begin!’
The capacity audience meant that Kat’s skirts had to be confined to just one plastic-backed chair in her row. She was crammed next to Tireless Tina, who was still wearing her yard clothes and whose husband was babysitting for once so that she could enjoy a ‘girly night out’ and who complained that Cyn had refused to give her a mask because she hadn’t dressed up.
‘Here, have mine.’ Kat handed it across gratefully.
As soon as the lights dimmed and the opening titles came on, Tina fell asleep with her head tipped back and Vivien Leigh’s black-eyed face staring at the ceiling.
On Kat’s other side Dougie was watching her as much as he was watching the action on screen. It was impossibly stuffy in the hall, the scent of damp wardrobe overwhelming as her dress warmed up. Sweat was soon trickling between her breasts and beading on her forehead. She was paranoid her hair tint might start dripping out with it, like Dirk Bogarde’s in Death in Venice. She was equally worried that her hand was undergoing an almost out-of-body urge to creep towards Dougie’s, lying relaxed and long-fingered on his thigh.
Kat was acutely aware of him beside her, his every tiny movement, his breathing, the delicious scent of his aftershave that occasionally drifted across and over her mildewy dress. She almost jumped through the roof when she felt a firm pressure on her shoulder, thinking he was putting his arm around her, but it was just Tireless Tina’s head lolling sideways as she snuggled against one puffy velvet-capped sleeve.
Kat tried to concentrate on what was happening on screen, but it was impossible to take in much. How could Scarlett’s crushes and tantrums and Rhett’s amused, passionate despair compare to Dougie reaching up to rake back his mop of hair, or to his long, muscular thigh shifting closer to hers, or his deep sighs and occasional fidgets, or to his gaze, warm and exploring, constantly moving around her face and body? Her own eyes stayed facing front, but she saw almost nothing, acutely aware of him at all times.
Rhett and Scarlett were on screen together, tension simmering. ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you,’ Rhett drawled, ‘although you need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed often and by someone who knows how…’
Kat closed her eyes briefly and imagined being kissed by Dougie, those wise-cracking, curling lips so sensual and expert against hers. He certainly knew how: she’d seen the evidence on screen in this very hall. The way he kissed was the stuff of blogs and fan sites, those strong fingers so gentle on her neck, drawing her up and into his mouth, tasting it like it was the sweetest delicacy on earth. But within moments of her fantasy starting, the warm, explorative mouth in her imagination was drawn away as the ritual began: the thick-breathed excitement of selecting the viewing. And it definitely wasn’t Gone With the Wind or even High Noon. Her eyes snapped open and she glanced sideways in a panic to reassure herself that he wasn’t Nick. But he was definitely Dougie, blond hair swept back off his forehead, a familiar half-smile on his face, which dropped away as he saw the frightened expression on Kat’s.
In the half-dark those dark-lashed blue eyes gazed back at her and she felt the jolt right through her, the unmistakable quickening of breath, heart and hope that seemed to flip her solar plexus over, desire kicking in. Now she couldn’t look at the screen at all. She was staring straight into Dougie Everett’s eyes in the half-dark and thinking about kissing him.
When the lights went up, she looked away, her face flaming.
‘That was shorter than I remember,’ Dougie murmured, gazing around as though the walls of their private tent had just been ripped from around them.
‘It’s only halfway through,’ yawned Tina, stretching indulgently and pushing her Scarlett mask on top of her head like a coolie hat. ‘There’s an old-fashioned intermission now for refreshments, the raffle draw and the fancy-dress prize. How’s Sri going, Kat? Have you tried that new bit I lent you?’
While Kat talked to Tina about horses, she was aware of Dougie being besieged again, called away to judge the fancy dress. His eyes kept finding hers. Now they’d started looking at one another so much, it seemed they couldn’t stop.
‘The heat coming off you two could raze Twelve Oaks,’ whispered Tina, pulling off her mask and fanning herself with it.
‘There’s really nothing going on,’ Kat insisted.
‘Oh, come on, you’re clearly crackers about one another,’ Tina giggled, ‘and I can’t say anyone was surprised to hear that you and Russ have split.’
The gossip at the julep bar was clearly in full flow tonight. ‘We’re still friends,’ Kat said carefully. ‘We just came off benefits.’
They both watched Miriam sweep up the aisle as she carried her raffle-ticket box to the front in a gale of flapping crinoline, cornering Dougie to get his fancy-dress winner. His eyes were on Kat again. She hoped he didn’t fix it so that she won: there were far better Scarletts in the room. And even though he was dressed as Ashley Wilkes, there was only one man who came close to Rhett in her mind.
‘He’s Ever-Rhett,’ she breathed, in Scarlett’s petulant drawl.
‘Fiddle-de-dee,’ came an equally arrogant drawl as a mint julep was thrust at her and Dougie landed back in his seat, maintaining the Yankee accent as he handed a second glass to Tina. ‘Your good health, ladies. May I see you home tonight, Miss Mason?’ He looked at her in a way that left her in no doubt what that meant.
If you walk home with him, you’ll kiss, Kat thought, the delicious flip turning in her stomach again. But already she was planning a way to avoid it. If they kissed, she’d be l
ost, the old wounds ready to open. They could end up in bed and her demons would be waiting there to spoil everything. This time it would be far, far worse than with Russ, to whom she had never been as attracted as she was to Dougie and who had later so nobly tried and failed to help her. She couldn’t go through it again, and certainly not with Dougie.
‘I have a lift,’ she said quickly. ‘Tina’s taking me back.’
‘I am? I am!’ Stifling another yawn, Tina looked mildly confused, but good-naturedly assumed she must have agreed to it somewhere along the line. ‘I’ll take you both back. My pleasure.’
Miriam had clambered on stage now, removing her mask, which hampered her ability to project her voice above the crowd’s hubbub. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the fancy dress – kindly chosen by our local acting star Dougie Everett – are Babs and Bill Hedges!’
There was a unanimous cheer as the portly, chortling duo who had raided the am-dram costume store swept up to collect a brace of claret bottles, Babs resplendent in Maid Marion’s green velvet gown from last year’s panto embellished with curtain ties, and Bill in a white tux, ribbon tie and Panama.
‘Good choice,’ congratulated Kat.
‘I was supposed to fix it for you to win,’ he admitted in an undertone, checking that Tina couldn’t hear. ‘Cyn asked me at the fete; she thought it would cheer you up.’
Kat burned with indignation. ‘I don’t need favouritism like that!’
‘That’s what I said. Besides, I couldn’t possibly award a fancy-dress prize to someone I’d far rather see naked.’
The raffle draw was now in full swing, but Kat didn’t take in a word because she’d fallen into Dougie’s eyes again and they were both treading water, a blue oasis that made the room disappear.
‘For the last time, yellow THREE SIX TWO!’ Miriam shrieked, so loudly that the oasis was momentarily as crowded as a Club Med swimming-pool. Still holding Kat’s gaze, Dougie groped in his pocket and found a wad of tickets, handing them to Tina.
‘It’s yours!’ Tina announced cheerfully then, realizing that nobody was listening, leaped up to claim the prize.
Watching the second half of the film, Kat barely followed a thing. The mint julep she’d drunk in the intermission had made her light-headed. She tried and failed not to look at Dougie through the darkness, but his eyes were always waiting there, watchful, amused, reassuring and dangerously carnal. She only realized that her hand had slipped into his when his thumb drew a line on her palm from the soft dip of her wrist to the valley between middle and ring fingers. Back and forth it danced, then drew spirals in and out of the centre of her heart line. Kat was getting ever hotter, ridiculously aroused. Any minute now, she’d be throwing her head back and easing her thighs apart. Still his eyes stayed on hers.
‘Get a room,’ somebody behind them muttered, and Kat dragged herself back to reality, remembering this was the village hall where she taught the women to power-punch, Pilates stretch and pump the burn, where they held flower and produce shows, harvest suppers and parish council meetings. Here was not the place to fall in lust and love with Dougie Everett.
She forced herself to look at the screen and realized that the voice behind her had been referring to Babs and Bill canoodling noisily in the row in front, already well into the claret. Beyond them, Scarlett and Rhett were taking a tour of their Atlanta mansion. The warm hand was still in hers. It tightened its grip. She tightened hers back but then, worried that she was misleading him, snatched it away. No touching was safe, she remembered. With Nick, the merest passing stroke of his hair could lead to the hand flying up to clamp her wrist. He’d taken possession from affection and cauterized desire.
Tugging up her dress front, which had plunged again, she determinedly didn’t look at Dougie as she watched the figures moving about on screen, the sumptuous sets, the dresses, the passions and tragedies that made up the death throes of a truly epic love story. She was determined not to think back to her little Hertfordshire new build with its Next Interiors finish, its immaculate tidiness, the mini gym in the spare bedroom, the trashy novel her side of the bed, spy thriller his, and the smart TV on which they could have watched big, beautiful films like this while holding hands, but never had. It had served a very different purpose. Their relationship’s death throes had been so small and suburban compared to this, yet she’d found her way to a Tara eventually. Tomorrow she would ride faster and further than she ever had before. If Rhett frankly didn’t give a damn then she wasn’t about to hold his hand.
Tina’s car smelt strongly of horse, crisps and Sudocrem. Kat found herself sitting on a grooming kit, an empty Red Bull can and several rosettes, but at least she could justifiably commandeer the whole of the back seat for her skirt, and Tina put the radio on so loudly that there was no need to talk. Better still, they dropped off Dougie first, the driveway to the mill being far easier to navigate from the estate’s newly tarmacked parkland drive than the wooded Lake Farm track.
Engine still running, Tina thrust a big fake-fur kitten at Dougie. ‘Don’t forget your raffle prize. It’s a bed buddy. You heat it up in the microwave.’
‘Keep it as a thank-you for the lift,’ said Dougie, stepping out to open the back door. The radio was so loud that Tina didn’t hear him add, ‘There’s only one cat I want in my bed tonight.’ He offered his hand. ‘Let me walk you home from here.’
Kat gripped the seat. ‘I really need to get straight back to the dogs. It’s just two minutes further in the car. And I promised to give Tina back some tack she lent me.’
‘No worries,’ Tina shouted, over the radio, putting the stuffed kitten on the seat beside her and patting it. ‘The kids’ll love this. Thanks.’
Illuminated by the car light as he held open the door, epaulettes gleaming, Dougie gave a formal bow. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then,’ he said.
‘Indeed!’ she said brightly, just stopping herself from adding ‘Great balls of fire’ which was exactly what it felt as though she had burning in her chest right now.
Chapter 44
Beside the big chestnut tree in the meadow, Dougie had lit a campfire that was smoking merrily, a billy-can bubbling on a hook. Worcester grazed nearby, bit jangling, and Quiver dived in and out of the long grass trying to catch bees. He knew it was a cliché cowboy pose, and that such showmanship could easily backfire, but he needed to hide his quandary behind self-mockery. Setting the scene for seduction had cheered him up enormously, although the dark mood he’d been carrying around all day still lingered. The simmering resentment he’d built at being side-stepped by Kat the previous night sat heavily alongside the fact that he was deceiving her. He half expected her not to come, but at seven o’clock on the dot, he heard hoof-falls. His heart was stampeding.
She rode up cautiously, colour spotting her cheeks, clearly reluctant to dismount.
‘This evening, we’re both facing our demons.’ He held up some inflatable armbands and a snorkel, which, to his relief, made her laugh.
‘Are you planning to walk over hot coals?’ She indicated the fire.
‘No – I just want a cup of tea and a chat. Hop off.’
Her green eyes flashed and for a moment he thought she would turn around and gallop away. Dougie could hardly blame her: he usually reacted to people saying they wanted to talk with exactly the same urge, but telling her he wanted to press her up against the chestnut trunk and pull her legs up around him would send her off even faster.
Jumping down, she watched him unhook the billy-can and pour hot water into two enamel cups. ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to bring a Thermos?’ She pulled Sri’s reins over her head and perched on one of the logs Dougie had set up around the fire.
‘Where’s your sense of outdoor adventure?’ He couldn’t get her to look at him at all. Last night’s connection felt like another lifetime. He wanted to bring dusk forward, dim the sun and put on an epic movie.
She was looking into the fire. ‘I’m not sure I can swim the lake on one cu
p of tea. I’ll probably need vodka.’
‘We’ve got to get you and the mare into the drink somehow, but I’d rather you weren’t drunk.’ He handed her a steaming mug before settling on a log on the opposite side of the flames. ‘I have a trainer mate who has a horse swimming-pool. We could start there?’ He found the idea of her ducking and diving around racehorses in a bikini highly appealing.
‘It’s only open water that frightens me. Or anywhere I can’t see the bottom.’ She grimaced at the effort of explaining, tin cup clutched in her hands. Behind her the two terriers that had come with her joined Quiver diving for insects in the undergrowth, all yapping eagerly. ‘I know it’s just a mental block, but however many times I tell myself it’s different this time and it’s safe, I literally can’t breathe for fear. I can feel myself go through all the motions, but it’s all too frantic, too desperate, and I don’t have time to think or relax, yet at the same time I’m shutting down like a crocodile, sinking to the bottom of a river, imagining I can fill my lungs with air, slow my heartbeat and survive until it’s over.’
