“She may have said, can’t remember. I wanted her to—hey, perhaps you can help instead.”
“As long as you didn’t require her to do anything gyratory in very small trousers, I shall do my best to replace her,” I said solemnly. Piers did the thing where he combed his hair back off his face. It drew his tight T-shirt close around his body and Jacinta nearly poked her eye out with Ted Hughes.
“I’ve found this flat, need a female perspective kinda thing. It’s very central, very open. But I dunno if it’s really, like, me, you know?”
“I’m not sure I’d be any use, Piers. I know nothing about property buying and anyway, you’ve seen my place. Would you trust the opinion of anyone who lives in a shoebox?”
“Yeah. I would.” Piers noticed Jacinta. It wasn’t difficult since she was hanging from the far edge of Biography like a cross-dressing mountaineer. “You reckon I can trust Alys’s sense?”
Jace realised he was talking to her and quit her pretence of tidying, dropping neatly to the floor alongside us. “I think she has much sense. In some things.” She threw me a glance which was probably meant to be meaningful. “Anyway, if she cannot help you, I am very good indoors.”
I gave in and introduced them, and to Jace’s great gratification, Piers did the slow look up and down that men reserve for women whose charms have not totally passed them by. But then, Jace’s charms took quite a long time to travel past anyone. “Hi, Jacinta. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
You liar, I thought, but it was nice of him to make the effort.
Jace almost broke into a purr. “But you. Alys is not telling us of you.”
“Yeah, well, Alys likes to keep me under wraps, you know?” Piers dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “I don’t think she wants people to know that she’s got this crazy young guy who can do real amazing things to women with a tub of ice cream and a feather.”
Jacinta’s eyes went very round and she stared at both of us for a second, until I gave her a poke on the arm. “Jace, he’s winding you up. He has a very peculiar sense of humour.” In explanation, “He’s American, he can’t help it.”
“So, meet you back here at, what, five o’clock? You finished by five, Alys?” Piers consulted his watch which caused the T-shirt-stretching thing to happen again, pulling the fabric close to his rib cage until even I could see that Piers had the makings of a very nice six-pack. Jace could probably have described his underwear.
“Yes, of course, but—Piers, don’t you have any girlfriends you could take to look at this place? Or your mother? I mean Florrie would be next door to useless unless you wanted an opinion on the coolness of the location.”
“It’ll be good that you’re coming instead then, won’t it?”
“Does no one do any work around here except me?” Simon’s slightly cantankerous tones broke in. “There’s a lady here who would like to buy a book and I can’t get the till open because someone has got the key.”
I went to his rescue, leaving Piers to wink goodbye to Jace, who had to sit down rather heavily on the library steps as soon as he’d gone.
“Why can I not find a man like that?” She fanned herself with Mary Astor, her chest heaving with the exertion.
“You could always make a play for him,” I said. “I don’t think Piers would be averse to an experienced woman.”
She seemed for a second to consider it, the fanning stopped anyway. “No, I think he is interested elsewhere. But I would like to be seen with such a man. It will make other men curious to be knowing what I can be doing so good.”
I went back to sorting shelves. About half an hour later, I was summoned to the cubbyhole by Simon who stood holding a bouquet of deep red carnations like a man holding an unaccustomed small child. “These just arrived for you. I’m beginning to feel more like a dating agency than a bookshop.”
I flipped the card open. Incredibly sorry about yesterday, it read. Can’t believe how much I was looking forward to it. Can we try again on Friday? Leo and three x’s. By now Simon was tutting so hard he sounded like an unexploded bomb. “Sorry, Simon. These are a one-off. And it was only Piers again.”
“Still wanting your help with a ‘family matter’?” Simon sounded sarcastic, which was not like him at all. I spent the rest of the day incarcerated in the back room, which was Simon’s equivalent of the Punishment Cell, sorting a heap of dusty old volumes that he’d bought in from another sale. At five o’clock, Jace had to beat me clean with a damp rag before I could meet up with Piers, who’d been hovering outside in the Porsche since four thirty.
The flat turned out to be the whole top floor of a Bonded Warehouse right on the river. Huge metal pillars supported the roof, but apart from that it was one long, empty space with the bathroom a very visible corner behind stylish glass bricks.
“Well?” Piers stood in the middle of the room, hands in pockets. “What do you think?”
“I think it would make a great rollerblading rink. But a flat? I don’t know. It is very you though, Piers.”
“How, me?” He rocked back on his heels watching me intently. I wasn’t quite sure why.
“Very cool, very trendy. Very exhibitionist. I mean, if there was anyone here with you, you wouldn’t even be able to scratch yourself without them seeing.”
“So, you reckon I’m a cool, trendy exhibitionist?” His eyes were glittering.
“No, you’re—” But I stopped myself.
“What do you think of me, Alys?” He came a little closer. “I mean, am I a nice guy or a psycho, or what? Y’see, you never say what you think, you keep it all locked away, up here—” He reached out to touch my forehead but, disturbed for no reason I could think of, I shied away and waved a hand to indicate the bare brick walls.
“Can you imagine curling up in here with a video and a pizza and listening to the rain outside?”
“Er…Alys…” Piers held his hands out in front of him. “Twenty-one. Male. Too fucking cool to live. I do not sit in with pizza.”
I had a sudden flashback to last night, my birthday night, sitting in front of the TV, cheese stringily dripping onto my lap whilst Mr. Depp strutted his sizeable funky thing for my delectation. My sole conversation had been with Mrs. Treadgold who’d rung to make sure I’d enjoyed the cake. “If all you want is a sexy address, this will do you fine. But if you want a home—this will never be a home, Piers.”
“That was straight from the heart anyway.” Piers looked the place over, with a sigh. “But I guess you’re right. It’s a little municipal.”
I instantly felt contrite. “But the view, the view is lovely.” Bobbing away down the Ouse were the houseboats and the tourist craft. On the far bank were the riverside pubs and clubs. “Very urban.”
“Noisy, at night.”
“Yes, but lively. And handy for the station and the shops.”
Piers just looked at me, steadily. “You hate it.”
“Well, yes, but it’s not for me, is it? Do you like it, that’s the question. What about your girlfriend, does she like it?”
Piers turned away abruptly and leaned on one of the windowsills, gazing out across the rooftops of York. “I’m—kinda between women at the moment.” There was a peculiar tone in his voice and I wondered if I’d put my foot in a monumental great hole.
“Are you gay?” The question came out rather faster, and more breathlessly, than I’d meant. I’d heard all about his penchant for young girl model-types who left not one inch of him uncovered with lipstick praise, mostly in scathing terms from Florence. But maybe they’d been symptomatic of a struggle with sexuality.
Piers seemed unoffended. I suppose, looking the way he did, all hair and rings and androgynously sexy, it must be something he got asked a lot. “No. I’m not. There is someone, but it’s all kinda difficult at the moment, you know?”
I stood beside him and together we looked out of the window. “Life, eh?” But I had to admit that he made me feel a tiny bit better; he might be beautiful and well connected, bu
t he still wasn’t happy. I could manage to be miserable without any of those advantages. “Better get home. Grainger’s been a bit off-colour lately and he’s not too hot with the litter tray, so I don’t like to be late.”
“You won’t come for a drink, then? Maybe some food, say thanks for coming to look at this place?”
“Wellll, all right, Grainger can cross his little furry legs for a bit longer. But you are absolutely not to order any wine, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Piers executed a very smart salute. His mood seemed to have switched from forlorn to cheerful in nanoseconds.
“And we can only go somewhere that won’t mind my jeans, I haven’t got anything to change into. Oh, and Piers, have you got anything to put on over that T-shirt?”
“Yes, ma’am, sure thing, ma’am. Why?”
“Oh, nothing, it’s just that every time you move it’s distracting.”
“Yeah?” Slowly and deliberately Piers stretched his arms upwards, straightening out his spine and rolling his shoulders backwards, until his T-shirt moved up his torso, over the waistband of his jeans revealing, inch by inch, bare flesh studded with dark hair.
“Piers, you are such a poser.” I turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see that I was enjoying the show. “Come on, stop flaunting yourself and let’s go.”
“Sure thing.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Piers led the way out of the flat. We ate in an Italian restaurant and chatted until they closed the place around us. I was surprised by just how much I enjoyed myself.
Next morning I woke up with the feeling that I’d done something I ought to regret. I padded out of the bedroom with my towel, heading for the bathroom. At least it was early enough that I could have a shower before work.
As I passed Florrie’s bedroom door, I heard Grainger give one of his plaintive murp’s on the far side of it. Somehow, and I could be almost positive I’d left the door open, Grainger had become shut in.
I flicked the door and Grainger ran through my legs. To check that he hadn’t already downloaded last night’s Whiskas onto Florrie’s duvet, I put my head around the door, only to pull it back so fast that I nearly got friction burns from the air molecules.
Piers. His T-shirt and jeans were neatly folded on the floor, the boots he’d worn were propped up near the door. He was sprawled face down, and very obviously naked, across Florence’s bed.
Oh bloody hell. Now I remembered what I’d done. Piers and I had been laughing hysterically coming up the stairs, recreating a scene from an old TV sketch show that we’d both treasured. He’d asked if he could stay over to save himself the drive home, and I, desperate for the loo and the comfort of my duvet, had agreed.
I peered cautiously into the bedroom again. I was so used to seeing Florrie, duvet tucked up to her chin, that seeing Piers angled, arms above his head, one leg bent and the duvet—well, it certainly wasn’t covering much of his body, put it that way—was very strange. As I watched he stirred, one hand twitched and he made to roll over, at which I withdrew very smartly and went and had a very noisy shower. With singing. There was going to be absolutely no chance of him still being spread-eagled nude when I came out of that bathroom.
Chapter Fourteen
I sat on the Exeter train opposite a man who was clearly very fond of cheese and onion crisps, and next to a woman who seemed to be going for the world record in marathon mobile conversations. I really hoped that both of them were only going as far as Bristol, because I’d rather be left alone to imagine Leo with his shirt off. But my mind was being squeezed into far more workaday lines. Such as—Jacinta’s face when Piers had dropped me off at work that morning, and her comical outrage when I insisted there was absolutely nothing going on between us, other than his staying over so as not to have to drive all the way to Thirsk very late and ever-so-slightly over the limit.
“He stay in your home and you are not even kissing?” Jace had shaken her head. “Alys, you are disgracing women.”
“Look, for the last time, it’s Piers, he’s so much too young for me that he might as well be in playgroup, he is not interested in me nor I in him. And anyway, how come you’re always in so early? If you came in at the proper time, you wouldn’t even have seen him drop me off.”
“I am aroused at six by my alarm.”
I’d gone “hur hur” in a childish way. Jacinta had given me a very arch look and I’d been quite glad when five o’clock came and I had been able to head home and pack far too many clothes for my weekend away.
It had been quite nice though, I had to admit, having Piers over. When I’d finished my entire repertoire of shower songs and emerged fully dressed, he’d been sitting at the table drinking tea, eating toast and reading Florence’s Cosmo Girl. We’d indulged in a brief exchange on not taking Agony Aunt’s advice too seriously, I’d pinched a piece of his toast and he’d given me a lift to work. All in all it had been a lot nicer start to the day than my accustomed grunt from Florrie. No wonder I’d arrived at Webbe’s with a grin on my face and, I suppose, no wonder Jacinta had misinterpreted said grin.
Exeter station was sweltering under a copper-gold sky when I disembarked. This came as a shock to the system. In York the weather had broken, grey rain was tipping out of bleak chilly skies, and I was dressed accordingly in a sweater and long skirt. Once I’d steamed onto the platform, it was obvious I was as ridiculously overdressed as a pantomime horse at a lap-dancing club. I was wondering if I’d have time to sneak into the Ladies and change, when Leo came charging onto Platform One, leaving assorted stunned-looking women staring over their shoulders, as though the Milk Tray Man had gone Express Delivery. “Alys! God, I was afraid I’d missed you.”
He looked both better, and worse, than last time I’d seen him. Better in that he’d had a haircut and a decent shave. Worse in that he was wearing a T-shirt stained with what looked like creosote, the most horrific pair of shorts outside an Eric Morecambe tribute show and a pair of rubber ankle boots which made him look a bit like a kinky pixie. “Sorry about the get-up. I was down on the yard, completely lost track of time—had to come blasting over without changing.”
“It’s good to see you again.” Inadequate maybe, but what else can you say when you’re only on your second meeting? So much hung on this.
“And you, Alys.” I found myself enfolded in a tentative hug which gave me the maximum opportunity to ascertain that, yes, the substance on his T-shirt was creosote. “Gosh. You’ve certainly come well wrapped-up.”
“Well, it’s grim up north.” It was a bit tricky to balance in the top-only hug, and my legs were beginning to give out. I performed a little shuffle and Leo took this as a hint to let go and step back.
“Let’s go, shall we?” He picked up my bag, gave a tiny grimace at the weight, and we went outside to where the Land Rover was triple-parked on a taxi rank. “If you like you can come and take a look at the new arrivals. Would you like to?”
As opposed to, say, shagging you senseless round the back of the feed bins? “Mmmmm,” I said, with what I hoped was the right note of enthusiasm.
He started the engine, shot me a look over his glasses and gave a little half-grin. “I didn’t tell Isabelle that you were coming down again.” He hauled the big vehicle out into the traffic. “I wanted to keep you a secret, just for now. Since Sabine died, there hasn’t been anyone, because I couldn’t let there be anyone, if you understand. And now, well, I’m not sure that I know how it all works any more, the whole relationship thing. I’m terribly out of practice, Alys, and really rather scared you see.” He was keeping his eyes on the road.
I looked at him. A sudden line of poetry came into my head and I muttered it, without realising. “All my life, a wrapping round the gift.”
Green, green eyes met mine. Unblinking. “That is so like something I wrote once. I don’t remember exactly how it went, but it was along those lines.”
I was proud of myself, I didn’t flinch or look away, just looked into those jaded pools. “Spooky.”<
br />
“Yes. Uncanny. Perhaps that’s why I feel this—attraction to you, because we have a similar outlook on things.”
Damn, and I was hoping it was my sexy smile and my delicious bottom that had won the day. “Maybe.”
He focussed on the road with a fierce kind of expression, his thoughts clearly a million miles away from the automatic act of driving. I found it strangely attractive to watch. He was here and yet not here—physically present but his soul was sunk somewhere in the poetic depths which held him. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but that seemed a little presumptuous. After all we really didn’t know each other that well.
“Better get some Stud Nuts.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh. Sorry, Alys, I forgot it was you there for a minute. Usually the only person I’m driving is Jay.”
“Your stud manager, yes?”
He beamed a brilliant smile at me. “Yes. Jay is, well, she’s my right-hand man.”
She? This I’ve been on my own and unsullied since my wife died, and all the time he’d been knocking around on a day-to-day basis with a woman?
“Couldn’t get by without her, she’s a wonder with the ponies.”
We drove towards Charlton Hawsell, down the narrow, banked lanes. The air smelled of singed dust, but the heat had lifted as darkness sank over us. A pleasant stroke of anticipation passed down my spine as I looked at the man driving next to me. In this half-light, he was even more attractive. Blurred edges made him a silhouette of perfection, with his glasses gleaming now and then in the headlights of passing cars. I wanted to reach out and touch him but didn’t dare.
“Here we go.” The Land Rover bucked and rolled as we turned up the driveway and I saw the chiselled angles of Charlton Hawsell House in front of us. Its chiselled owner swung the wheel to the right and we passed by the house proper and down the gravelled pathway which led to the stable yard. My heart sank somewhat. I was tired, grubby and hungry after my journey, sweat was still trickling down my back under the jumper and I was developing the bumps of prickly heat. If Leo decided to take the plunge and sweep me off to bed tonight, it would be like sleeping with a newly plucked turkey. One which smelled of grimly hard-working twenty-four-hour deodorant at that. But I remembered from Florrie’s days of pony owning, horses seemingly required more care and attention than your average newborn.
Slightly Foxed Page 8
