And there were still twenty-four hours to go.
Her furniture arrived on the dot of twelve, just moments after she got to the cottage, and she spent the next two hours trying to remember what was in each box and getting them put somewhere suitable.
She didn’t have any carpets yet, of course, and the local firm hadn’t been able to arrange it until the following week, so in the end she had them stack all the downstairs stuff in the dining-room and all the upstairs stuff in the spare bedroom.
Only the furniture was put into the right rooms, and it looked sparse and barely adequate. Still, once the pictures were up it would be different.
The men left, and she wandered round her house, hugging herself and trying to imagine what it would be like once the curtains were up, the carpets were down and pictures were on the walls.
Wonderful. She could hardly wait, but it didn’t make sense to unpack anything properly until the carpets were down. In any case, she knew she’d be spending most of the weekend with Nick.
She found some sheets and made her bed, unpacked the curtains and held them up at the window. They were very creased, a little bit short and too wide, but they would do for now. She hooked them up onto the old rail, stood back and looked at them. Well, they’d give her a little privacy until they could be replaced, and that was the best that could be said for them.
‘Kitchen,’ she said firmly, and went downstairs and unpacked all the pots and pans, her kettle, the washing-up bowl, her plates and mugs and cutlery—all her familiar bits and pieces that she needed to hand so that she could actually cook proper meals at home, instead of going to the pub or all the take-aways in the village. It was going to be bliss. Much healthier, much cheaper, and a much wider choice. And because she was only working part time, she’d have the energy and enthusiasm to be a little inventive.
She looked at her watch, and her pulse speeded up. It was seven o’clock. Nick would be at Cambridge by now, and in two hours he would be back with her. And there was no way she’d be ready!
She shut the windows, locked up the cottage and drove down to the surgery, throwing all her things into the car higgledy-piggledy and driving quickly back to the cottage. She brought all her things into the house, hung up the clothes in her wardrobe, opened a large suitcase that had been in store and rummaged through it for her favourite dress.
She’d hardly worn it before because she hadn’t really had any occasion to do so, but she was going to wear it tonight. She hung it up on the front of the wardrobe for the creases to fall out, and went and ran her first bath in her new bathroom.
She washed her hair, then piled it up on her head and squirted a dollop of bubble bath into the water, swishing it round with her fingers until it made a thick foam. Then she slid down in the water and sighing with relish, she relaxed for the next half-hour.
The following thirty minutes were spent on all the exclusively female preparations that a woman makes when she knows her body is going to be the subject of intimate attention. By the time she’d finished, her skin was smooth and silky and she felt pampered and beautiful. She’d even put nail varnish on her toenails.
She found her best underwear, pulled on her dressing-gown over it and took the dress down to the kitchen. It was wonderful to have her iron and ironing-board back, and she ran the iron quickly over the dress to refresh it before slipping it on.
She looked in the mirror on the front of her wardrobe, and smiled with satisfaction. She looked good, she knew she did. She’d deliberately kept her makeup simple, her hair was shining with health, swinging loose around her shoulders, and the soft, sandwashed silk dress clung gently to her every curve.
It was a beautiful colour, a soft greenish gold, not a colour everyone could wear but wonderful with her ash blonde hair and her muddy green eyes. She put a simple gold chain around her neck, a matching one on her wrist, and slipped her feet into a pair of plain low court shoes.
All she needed now was Nick.
The drive back was filled with nail-biting tension. Nick felt ridiculously nervous, racked with stage fright and obsessed with a fear of failure. As he turned into the village, his heart started to pound.
What if he couldn’t please Helen? What if, after all this time, he’d forgotten how a woman’s body worked?
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ he told himself. ‘Of course you haven’t forgotten. The worst that’s going to happen is that you’ll blow it.’
He pulled up outside the house, ran in and showered, threw his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and ran a hasty eye over his bedroom. The bed was made up with clean sheets, the curtains were closed, the lamps were lit.
The scene was set.
God, he was nervous. He closed his eyes and drew a few steadying breaths, then slowly, calmly, he walked out of the house, locked the door behind him and drove round to Helen’s cottage. The lights were on, and for the first time he rang the front doorbell and stood back, his hands rammed into his pockets, waiting for her to open the door.
He didn’t have long to wait. It swung open, and she stood there, backlit by the harsh, bare bulb, her hair like a halo around her head. She stepped back a little and smiled, and his heart missed a beat. She looked stunning.
‘Do you want to come in? I’m ready, I just have to pick up my bag and a cardigan in case I get cold later.’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ll wait for you.’
She was gone only a couple of seconds, and then she was there, an uncertain smile playing around her lips.
She’s nervous, he thought in amazement, and suddenly he felt better. He opened the car door for her and settled her in, then went round and slid behind the wheel. It took less than a minute to drive to his house, and finally he was ushering her in. The door closed behind them and she turned to him with a shy smile. He cupped her shoulders in his hands and drew her against him, lowering his mouth to feather a kiss against her lips.
That was all it took. Like a spark on tinder, the fire caught hold and within moments it was raging.
With a ragged groan he took her mouth, plundering it hungrily, and she whimpered and pressed herself against him. He’d meant to take it slowly, to woo her, to be gentle with her, but there was nothing gentle about this. With almost savage thoroughness, he took her mouth again and again, and it was no longer enough.
He scooped her up in his arms, their mouths still locked together, and carried her down the corridor to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Then he lowered her to her feet, sliding her down his body so that she felt every intimate inch of it against her own.
Reluctantly he released her, standing back just far enough to turn her in front of him and unzip the dress. He eased it off her shoulders and it puddled to the floor at her feet, leaving her standing there in nothing but a few scraps of underwear.
He had a vague realisation that it was quite pretty underwear, but all he could think of was that he wanted to get rid of it, because it was in his way. His fingers shook as he unfastened the bra, but then the catch gave and her breasts spilled into his hands. He closed his eyes and groaned, then he slid his hands down and caught the top edge of the gossamer triangle of lace that passed for knickers, stripping them away.
He stepped back, raking his eyes over her, and he thought he must have died and gone to heaven.
‘Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?’ he said roughly.
Her smile was a little unsteady, and he could see a soft wash of colour over her cheeks.
My God, she’s shy, he thought, and it amazed him.
‘Your turn,’ she whispered, and he tried to unbutton his shirt, but his fingers were shaking so badly he could hardly do it. In the end he ripped it off, buttons pinging across the room, and kicked his shoes off one after the other. Unzipping his trousers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, catching his underpants as well and stripping them off in one.
Then they stood there face to face, eyes locked on each other’s, and the tension was unbearable. S
he cracked first, her eyes closing, a tiny pulse jumping in her throat.
‘Nick?’
‘What is it, sweetheart?’ he asked unsteadily. ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘Hold me,’ she begged.
With a harsh cry he gathered her up against his chest, and then his mouth found hers and meshed with it, and it was like coming home.
He lifted her onto the bed, laying her down in the middle of it and coming down beside her. A tremor ran through her, and she looked up at him and smiled shakily.
‘Make love to me, Nick,’ she whispered, and he closed his eyes for a moment and counted to ten.
He was going to lose it. He knew he was, just the moment he touched her. He reached out a trembling hand, running it lightly over her breast. So soft, so ripe, so unbelievably beautiful. The nipple puckered, peaking to his touch, and he bent his head and took it in his mouth. She arched up with a little cry, and he slid his hand down over her hip and pulled her against him, against the unimaginable ache. Her hands threaded through his hair, and she trapped his head against her, holding him. He turned his head and bit her wrist, just gently, and she cried out.
Strange, how he knew exactly how to touch her, where to touch her. His hand slid down and round, stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh, teasing the soft nest of curls, testing them. She cried out again, and he lifted his head and looked down at her.
‘Please, Nick,’ she begged in a ragged whisper.
He was unable to resist her any longer. Pausing only long enough to protect her from pregnancy, he entered her with one swift thrust. She cried out, arching up to meet him, her body strung taut like a bow. As he drove into her he felt the first ripples of her release, and with a broken cry he joined her, hurling himself over the precipice to freefall gently back to earth with her in his arms.
Hot tears scalded his eyes. Dear God, he’d forgotten, if he’d ever known, just how wonderful it felt. He swallowed hard, cradling her against his chest, and he felt a shudder run through her.
‘Nick?’
‘It’s all right, my darling, I’ve got you.’ His hands soothed her, stroking rhythmically over the soft skin of her back, tracing the hollow of her spine and the smooth curve of her hip. He could feel her tears against his shoulder, feel the shock waves still echoing through her, and he knew that she was just as stunned as he was.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, and saw the twin tracks of the tears down her cheeks. ‘Oh, my love,’ he sighed. ‘Are you all right?’
She met his eyes, her own still sparkling with tears, and lifting a hand she laid it gently against his cheek.
‘I didn’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘I had no idea.’
He bent his head and kissed her, a gentle, reverent kiss, utterly different from the wild meshing of their mouths such a short time ago, and then he smiled down at her a little crookedly. ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?’
Unbelievably, Helen blushed, and he laughed softly at her. ‘You really have no idea just how lovely you are, do you?’ he murmured.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t talk, Nick. Just hold me.’
He did. He moved them both under the covers, wrapped her in his arms and held her all night. They made love again and again, and in the middle of the night he made a sortie to the kitchen and returned with a tray full of nibbles and a bottle of sparkling wine.
The bubbles made her giggle, tickling her nose, and he took the glass away from her and fed her tasty little morsels, all carefully chosen aphrodisiacs—not that either of them needed them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and every time she smiled at him, it was as if the sun had come out.
Finally, replete at last, they fell asleep a little before dawn, still wrapped in each other’s arms.
Helen woke when a stray sunbeam found its way through a chink in the curtains and crept across the pillow to her face. Nick was still sleeping, one arm thrown up above his head, sprawled on his back in an attitude of total relaxation.
She smiled contentedly and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees and looking around her. They must be in the base of the old post mill, she realised, because the room was circular. She hadn’t noticed it before, because she’d had better things to think about, but as she looked around her now she thought what a wonderful room it was.
The walls were bare brick, the ceiling vaulted and high, arching up into the roof, and beams spanned it at ceiling height. The furniture was simple, typical of Nick, an old country pine chest, a heavy wooden blanket box, a beautiful wardrobe with carved panels, made of satinwood. The windows in the room were small and spaced out, breaking the walls up into short sections that were difficult to furnish, and the sparseness gave it a simple, monastic quality.
She leant her head back against the heavy wooden headboard and looked down at him. There was nothing monastic about him. She didn’t know how a man with his appetites had survived the last five years, but he had spent most of the last night making up for it.
And as for her, she’d learned things about her body she hadn’t even dreamed of.
She hugged her knees, smiling as she remembered, blushing a little at the memories. She bent over and brushed her lips lightly over his forehead, and his eyes fluttered open.
A smile crinkled his eyes, and he rolled towards her and pulled her into his arms.
‘Morning, gorgeous,’ he said, his voice gruff with sleep. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Mmm, wonderful. You?’
‘Bliss.’ He pulled her closer, tangling his legs with hers, his body eager for her yet again. However, he did nothing, just lay there and held her, and she snuggled closer and wondered how it was possible to feel any happier.
‘Have I told you just how much I love you?’ he said quietly.
She lay very still, her breath caught in her throat. Don’t spoil it, she thought, don’t make it complicated, please.
But he didn’t hear her.
He lifted a hand and brushed the hair from her face, then stared deep into her eyes. ‘Marry me, Helen,’ he said softly. ‘Share your life with me, help me bring up Sam, have babies with me. We’d make a wonderful family, you and me and Sam and all our babies.’
He was still watching her, his eyes, so full of love and tenderness, searching her face for her response.
For one almost believable moment, she was tempted to say yes, to agree to being a part of his life, to being a mother to Sam—beautiful, motherless Sam who needed a loving woman in his life—and a wife to Nick, who needed a woman, too, the woman he made her feel. She hovered, and then with sickening clarity she remembered all the reasons why she couldn’t do this, why it was all just a dream. She felt frozen, her world tumbling down around her.
He wasn’t supposed to feel like this, wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her and want to marry her. She couldn’t compete with Sue, couldn’t fight with a ghost, and he was crazy to imagine that she would try. Besides, she had her own ghosts, and they were taunting her now, torturing her.
‘I can’t.’
Her voice was quiet, but in the breathless silence it sounded like the clash of cymbals.
A fleeting frown crossed his face, his eyes puzzled. ‘What do you mean, you can’t? Why not?’
‘You know why not, Nick. I’ve told you. I’m never getting married, never getting involved in a long-term relationship. You knew that. I’ve told you my plans, and this doesn’t change them. Just because you love me isn’t enough. It can never be enough. I can’t do it, I’m too afraid, there’s too much to lose.’
He rolled to his back, staring up at the ceiling with sightless eyes, and when he turned back to her they were raw with pain.
‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ he said in a voice harsh with emotion. ‘Well, I’m not your bloody Tony. You know that. This is me—Nick—and I love you.’
She closed her eyes, unable to bear the pain she could see on his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered unevenly.
‘Sorr
y? I don’t want you to be sorry, for God’s sake! You love me, I know you do, but you can’t marry me, because it’s not enough? What the hell does it take? What more is there? What more can there be?’
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, but they leaked past, scalding her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again brokenly, her voice clogged with emotion.
She heard him get up, heard him moving around, opening drawers, shutting them, then the harsh click of the door closing behind him.
The sound nearly broke her heart. It would have done, if it hadn’t been broken already. Instead, the cracks just opened up again, revealing the torn and damaged core, the unhealed wounds, the fear.
Tony had hurt her, promised her the world, and it had all been a lie. Was this a lie, too? She didn’t think so, but what if it was? What if Nick realised after a while that he didn’t really love her at all? What if it was just lust, and the memory of Sue got in the way and killed his feelings for her?
She hugged her arms around her shoulders and rocked herself gently in the middle of Nick’s bed.
If only she could let herself love him—because he was right, of course, she did love him, but it wasn’t enough, because she couldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust any man.
Not now, not again, not after Tony.
He’s different, an inner voice echoed, but he wasn’t. He was still a man, and if he met another woman a few years down the line, she could be another Jan, another woman like her own mother, another cheated wife.
She couldn’t stand that.
Stiffly, her body shocked and exhausted by emotion, she climbed off the bed and dragged on her clothes. She’d go home. That was it. She’d go home, to her cottage, and lick her wounds. With any luck she could slip out past Nick without seeing him, and she wouldn’t have to drag it all out and talk it through until her emotions were under control.
It might only take about four more years.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS the worst weekend of Helen’s life. She’d thought she’d known unhappiness in the past, but it had been nothing like this.
A Very Single Woman Page 13
