A Cottage in the Country

by Linn B. Halton

  "Hello?" My voice is uneven as I call out, shattering the silence. Obviously there's no reply, only an eerie silence that feels strangely heavy. I find myself wishing that Lewis was here. As difficult a person as he is to be around, his presence makes me feel safe and protected. I pull the covers up to my chin, my teeth still chattering slightly as my body works hard to dispel the chill. At least I know why the boiler isn't working, but when the supply does come back on it means going outside to try to re-start it again.

  Sleep is now the furthest thing from my mind. I switch on the torch for comfort and it helps a little to dispel the sensation of panic that has begun to rise inside me. I'm here, alone, in the dark and I definitely heard a noise. My fingers lightly brush over the torch, wondering if it's substantial enough to be used for self defence. There's no door to the former dining room, simply because the entrance is narrow and the ceiling in here is lower than the rest of the cottage. This is an extension, added on to what would probably have been a one-up, one-down, worker's cottage. If you carry on down Forge Hill you run into an area called the Lime Kilns and no doubt most of the cottages around here housed workers and their families. A large part of the quirkiness of this type of cottage is down to the differing ages of the extensions, and even the ground floor is on three different levels, each having either a step up or a step down.

  I push the pillows up behind me and pull myself into a sitting position. Hoisting the duvet up around me, I shiver slightly as the warm air escapes, replaced by the cold dampness that feels moisture-laden. The phone rings again, not only breaking the silence, but shattering my nerves. This time I wrap the duvet around me as I vault out of bed. The torch falls to the floor with a loud crash, but I don't stop to pick it up.

  "Yes?" I'm panting, nervous energy sapping my breath.

  "This is an updated service announcement. The estimated time for your electricity supply to be restored is now six hours. We apologise for the inconvenience and the further delay. You will be advised of any further changes should this arise. We thank you for your patience. For more information press one, to hear the message again, press two. To speak to one of our service agents, press three."

  Shivering and in the dark I replace the handset and a feeling of total vulnerability washes over me. I've never really been alone before. The number of nights I've slept alone in my married life I could probably count on one hand. Now here I am in what feels like the middle of nowhere, in a freezing cold, damp cottage. Suddenly a tap on the door makes my heart stop and my throat constrict.

  There's someone outside, trying to peer in. I hobble over to the door, winding the duvet firmly around me in an effort to retain some of my body heat.

  "Hello?" I call out, too fearful to turn the key in the lock.

  "It's Terence Darby, Maddie. I've come to check on you." Terence's face looms up out of the darkness, as he presses his nose up against the glass to reassure me. I turn the key and open the door.

  "Come in, come in." Just the presence of another person suddenly changes everything. In a split second whatever I felt is no longer relevant, there's nothing to fear.

  "I've brought you a storm lantern. I wasn't sure if you had a torch or not. Is everything all right here? Joanna wanted to know if you'd like to come and use our guest room tonight as the power is out. I waited until the rain eased off, in case you wanted to come back with me?"

  Terence turns on the lantern and hands it to me, the light cascades around the conservatory with a hearteningly warm glow.

  "That's so very kind of you. I have a torch but it's not that bright. I'm fine though, really, but I do appreciate the offer. I should have thought about power cuts and prepared myself."

  His smile is warm and his concern is genuine.

  "Is there anything you need? It's early days and you must feel like you're camping out at the moment. We have all the mod cons, so if you have to use the shower or anything, you only need to knock. Here's our number, just in case you think of anything. Feel free to ring and I can pop round."

  I'm really touched to have two neighbours who are so thoughtful and kind.

  "Well, I didn't even know the landline was working until I received a call from the electricity company to say the power was off. It scared me half to death, to be truthful. I've had two calls from them already, which makes me laugh, as most people are asleep and totally unaware the power is out."

  Terence chuckles and I bid him goodnight. His own lantern lights the way in the darkness as he retraces his steps.

  Making my way back to bed, I lay the pillows back down and give into the tiredness that seems to be affecting every muscle in my body. I decide to leave the lantern switched on, figuring that exhaustion will take over and at least that spooky, unsettled feeling seems to have disappeared. My heart nearly stops when suddenly my phone lights up and a series of pings announce incoming text messages. They're all from Ryan, earlier in the day, just checking up on me. I start typing a quick response, but even before I can finish typing it's showing the SOS status again and the signal has gone. Unbelievable!

  How long I slept I have no idea, it's still dark outside when my own voice awakens me; it's a murmur of sheer unadulterated passion. A man's arms are wrapped around me. As he works his way, tantalisingly, across my shoulder and onto my neck with the gentlest of kisses, his face comes into view. I recognise those perfect lips. Sitting bolt upright, suddenly I'm wide awake. As my eyes adjust to the light flooding out from the lantern, the image of Lewis Hart fades away into nothingness.

  What I find most disturbing is that I'm left with this satisfyingly warm after-glow. Am I totally losing my mind? It's one thing to fantasize over a larger-than-life movie star, and who hasn't? But Lewis? To him I represent a pay cheque and it's more than a little humiliating to find myself getting hot at the thought of being in his arms. Most women hate to be viewed as purely sex objects and, in this instance, I think Lewis would feel exactly the same way! But that doesn't stop me smiling at the thought…

  CHAPTER 15

  Tap, tap. Tap, tap. I'm floating up through layers of consciousness, peeling away the covers that seem to be holding me down. Tap, tap.

  My head spins around as it dawns on me that the light in the room is coming from the window. Lewis Hart is peering in at me as I lie sprawled across the bed. My first reaction is to feel my face colouring up, as last night's dream creeps into my head like a guilty confession. The second is to hug the duvet tighter around me as I climb out of bed.

  Opening the door, he seems completely unfazed by the fact that I'm in a baggy old tee-shirt and he's dragged me out of bed.

  "What time is it?" I stifle a yawn as I step back, so he can enter. He has a large toolbox in each hand.

  "Six-thirty." His answer is abrupt and it's clear I'm not going to get a 'good morning'. "You need a blind and I've fired up the boiler for you," he throws at me and disappears into the kitchen. That low, comforting drone is back and soon the worst of the chill will disappear, to be replaced by Lewis' mood-dampener. Any thoughts about last night's little fantasy dream have already dissolved. His attitude is a real turn-off, actually. Maybe he shouldn't talk, just do. I stifle a giggle.

  It's Sunday, I reflect, and how was I to know he was going to turn up today? He really does need to work on those communication skills, but I'm not going to be the one to pass on that little tip.

  I disappear upstairs to shower and dress, wondering how on earth I'm going to be able to make eye contact with him today after last night's little episode. What, if anything, did that dream mean? Should I be concerned? Or am I over-thinking this and it's understandable he was on my mind? He's the sort of man who gets under your skin for all the wrong reasons. That thought is cheering, relief flooding through me as the hot water begins to relax my aching muscles. It was probably Jeff's unexpected visit, and everything became muddled, as dreams often do. But the thought that it might have been about Jeff worries me even more. I know I no longer have those feelings for him, as an image
of him with Eve flashes through my mind.

  What did I do wrong? Even as the question pops into my head, I want to slap myself. I know that I didn't do anything wrong; we fell out of love, that's all. The excitement left our relationship a long time ago, but family ties and friendship created what I regarded as a more meaningful bond. I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, but with hindsight was it really about the comfort that accompanies familiarity? Aren't all long-term relationships the same? Would he have strayed if I was a little thinner, more attentive, less caught up in the boys' lives as they grew up? Was I guilty of complacency: acceptance being more convenient than facing up to the truth of our situation?

  You didn't do anything wrong, Maddie, it happens, my inner voice tries to reassure me. And you can't blame him for everything. You are no longer that vibrant, risk-taking young woman to whom everything is a potential opportunity to be grabbed. Worry, self-doubt, disappointment – all of these things have gradually, over the years, worn you down. Acceptance, I decide, is a soul-destroying word. It stands for the very opposite of what life should be all about. Taking the safe option might limit the amount of hurt you feel, but it means you are missing out on the very extremes that remind you that you are alive and not merely existing. Face it, Maddie, at this time in your life all that excitement is in the past. You've earned the quiet life that is now yours to enjoy.

  Turning off the shower and stepping out, the towel feels snug, wrapped tightly around my body. I savour the glow generated by the hot water on my skin. For the first time in two days I actually feel warm inside and out. As I round the corner to go into the bedroom and retrieve the clothes I left in a neat pile on the window sill, I unexpectedly collide with Lewis Hart's back. It's like hitting a wall, his body is rock-solid. To my horror he turns his head and stands there staring at me for a few moments, holding a spanner aloft by way of explanation for his presence. I'm conscious that the towel probably doesn't leave much to his imagination. As I recoil, the look of shock on his face probably mirrors my own. He makes a noise and my jaw drops as he looks – what? Appalled? The door to the landing cupboard, which houses the hot-water tank is open. I seem to have bumped into him as he's tightening something with that spanner of his.

  "There's a leak…"

  "Sorry, I had no…"

  Our clash of words peter out, I don't know who feels more awkward. Nervous eyes meet and something tangible sparks between us. Surprise is replaced with anger that he didn't have the decency to announce he was there. Surely he could have shouted above the noise of the shower to warn me!

  My legs feel weak and my stomach is doing somersaults. A frisson of excitement kicks my core into touch and I realise that he felt something, too. Was that a groan that escaped his lips? In all of the years I was with Jeff, I can never once recall ever having made him groan.

  That's the trouble with human nature; the one thing that every single one of us longs to feel is desired, whether it's appropriate, or not.

  "A little help here would be good." Suddenly, there's a cracking sound and the dribble of water turns into an arc. It rises high in the air and bounces off the wall opposite.

  "What can I do?" Panic begins to mount in my chest and my personal predicament is pushed to the back of my mind.

  "Find something to catch the water. It has to be narrow enough to wedge in here," he points to a round fitting on the side of the tank and there's only about an eight-inch gap between that and the wall. He's trying to adjust what looks like a metal collar, but water is now spraying out with such force that he can't seem to tighten it.

  Grasping the towel tightly, I run downstairs and forage through some boxes until I find a plastic waste bin, then I race back, taking the stairs two at a time. Water is now running down the wall and pooling at our feet. I have to tread carefully to avoid slipping.

  "Here, will this fit?"

  Lewis has stopped the gush, but there's still water seeping out from below the joint. He wedges the plastic bin in tightly and straightens his back.

  "Another thing that isn't working," he observes, drily. "I need to drain it anyway while I sort out the hot-water supply in the kitchen. Let's hope re-sealing that joint will do it."

  "Um…thanks. Good job."

  We turn and walk off in opposite directions; my heart is pounding so loudly he must have heard it. As I start dressing, I hear the door to the conservatory slam shut. There he goes, off to take shelter in his van to get away from me for a while.

  Avoiding Lewis Hart isn't going to be easy. What was I thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid! At this point in my life I need a builder more than I need a guy who makes me go hot and cold, and weak at the knees. Of course he does all of that, without really having to try. But this is Lewis Hart, not some ordinary guy. He's not in the market for a relationship and neither am I. As tempting as he is, nothing fundamental has changed.

  As a soon-to-be fifty-year-old woman, with a body, which – let's face it – looked a darn sight better at thirty than it does at fifty, I don't want any man to think of me as some sex-starved divorcee. We have to get past that awkward moment with our dignity intact. I saw a side of him that rather surprised me. Far from causing the anticipated sense of acute embarrassment, he is actually quite laid-back about it later when I walk into the kitchen, dressed and with my racing heartbeat firmly under control.

  "Are we cool?" His voice has a warmth to it I haven't heard before.

  "We're cool." I'm surprised to hear myself sounding rather carefree, as I respond.

  I put on the kettle to make a cup of tea. As the morning rolls on, Simon arrives and the reality of living and working in what is effectively a building site, becomes a harsh reality. There's one other thing that is a bit of a revelation, too. Despite my head telling me it's utterly ridiculous, I'm attracted to Lewis on the most dangerous level possible. I'm old enough to know better and, let's face it, these are feelings I'm just not used to handling. Is there a wanton side of me that could throw caution to the wind to enjoy a little unbridled passion with no strings attached? That's the trouble with knowing yourself only too well. My conscience looms up inside me. It's refusing to be ignored and won't allow me to let go of a lifetime spent trying to do the 'right' thing. Sadly, I know I would just end up feeling used and disappointed in myself afterwards. Damn it! I'm vulnerable and now I know that, I'm going to have to be very, very careful. If Lewis is the sort of man to take advantage of a woman, then I'm probably giving off all the right signals without even knowing it. That thought leaves me wondering what the heck is wrong with me, that I'm terrified at the thought of simply 'letting go'. Sometimes facing up to who you are isn't easy. I've become this reserved and cautious woman who is too scared to drop her guard and have some fun. The problem is that there are moments when I'm pretty sure Lewis is feeling that connection, too. If it's just lust, I'd still be flattered, but if it's pity… now that's another thing entirely.

  LEWIS

  CHAPTER 16

  I know I don't spend much time in the company of women these days, other than in a work situation, but this woman is like no one else I have ever met. You don't know where you are with her from one moment to the next. She veers from being friendly and trying to get me to talk, to jumping every time I walk past her. Sometimes she gets under my feet and I just want to tell her to go away and let me get on with the job. Then she disappears and when I do need her input, I sense a kind of standoffish attitude. As if she thinks every problem is something I'm creating on purpose just to annoy her.

  My mobile kicks into life and it's Pete, an old army buddy, who moved here a few years ago.

  "How's it going, mate? I wondered if you were up for a festive night out with the lads?"

  It's so tempting; it's been a while.

  "I can't. I'm on this job and it's a tight turnaround with Christmas looming."

  "Lewis, my man, we were banking on you joining the party. You sound like you need to let off a little steam."

  "Yeah, well, tha
t might be the case, but I have the client from hell. I'm not used to having the home owner around on a job that requires this much demolition and renovation. It shows what a stubborn and foolish woman she is to think she can live here without some of the most basic facilities. It's the middle of winter, for goodness' sake."

  "Then walk away from it for a few hours. All work and no play, you know what they say."

  "It's the morning after that wouldn't work for me, as I have to really motor on this one. I need to get it done and get out of here."

  "Sounds bad. Is there something else you're not telling me? I'm guessing this is a single lady, by the sound of it. Is she coming on to you?"

  "Not intentionally. She's not that sort. But take today, for instance. She boldly walked out of the shower room wearing nothing more than a stupid towel, without checking it was all clear. I had my head in the cupboard, trying to loosen a valve that was refusing to budge and as I straightened up, we collided. She almost jumped out of her skin, as if I was some sort of predator lying in wait. She knew there was a virtual stranger in the house – where's her common sense? It's hardly my fault she won't do the sensible thing and take herself off to a B and B for a week or two."

  "Be careful there, mate. This is getting to you, isn't it?"

  He's right and he knows that usually I'm more than capable of handling any situation, so there has to be a little more to it than I'm willing to share.

  "She's not my type; too intense and difficult to read."

  "I'll leave you to it, then. Maybe we'll catch up in the New Year."

  "Sounds good."

  I catch his laughter moments before the line disconnects. This situation is anything but funny. From what I saw today, Miss Madeleine Brooks has a great body and she's not the sort of woman who calorie-counts. She's cuddly in all of the right places, but seems to have no idea how sexy she is. I can't stand complicated women like her who over-think every little thing. They are hard work to be around and I have to watch out that I don't get caught up in anything.