“That’s what I love about it,” she said, leading him toward the dining room. “All those manly men. If you want to sit next to Lou— Oh, too late. Paint Boys got there first—and Peter’s opposite.” Her voice lowered to a sultry growl. “Hi, Rob. I could take those breeches in for you if you like. They look a bit loose.”
Rob, holding the door open for them, cast a mute appeal, man to man, to Mac.
“Leave the kid alone,” he said to Viv, and pulled her away.
“He’s adorable,” Viv said, running her fan over her lips. A few days ago, that would have driven him mad with lust. “I think he’s a virgin, don’t you?”
“I have no idea.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I defer to your greater experience.”
“But most of the footmen are very yummy.” She peeled her gloves off, watching Mac under lowered lashes.
“Give it a rest, Viv.”
“Okay,” she said with her usual good humor.At that moment, Chris rang the bell and the footmen came in with the first remove, salmon surrounded by shrimps and strewn with fresh herbs, pies and tarts with elaborate golden crusts and bowls of salad that sparkled in the candlelight like green and red jewels.
He tried not to look at Lou, but he couldn’t help himself. She was deep in conversation with the Paint Boys, laughing and flirting and working her way through a large plate of food. As he watched, Jon—or was it Simon?—refilled her wineglass. Easy, Lou. Remember you’re a cheap date.
None of his business, he reminded himself.
She looked down the table, her gaze polite and disinterested, skimming over him as though he was of little more interest than the candelabra.
He’d blown it.
* * *
Lou
CHRIS STOOD TO RING THE BELL for the footmen to clear the table, and Lou noticed how Peter gazed at him adoringly. Chris gave him a smile and a wink. So they’d made up. But when Rob came to take away platters from their end of the table, Peter looked away, his mouth tight. Chris, however, made a great show of laying his hand on Rob’s sleeve, and engaging him in conversation about something on the table.
What was going on there? She told herself sternly not to get involved. They’d sort it out, and if either of them asked for help she’d do her best. Meanwhile, Alan and Cathy, oblivious to everyone else at the table, sitting next to Peter, giggled and fed each other bits of food. So sweet, Lou thought, and wondered if she’d overdone the wine already. But the footmen were bringing another remove: an oyster stew, platters of vegetables arranged in overlapping layers like works of art, sprinkled with herbs, and small roast fowl.
More wine circulated, and the talk turned to the ball that was to take place in a few days. It was Paradise’s first public event, inviting locals, a group of historical reenactors and history and Austen enthusiasts to dance, dine and tour the house. The event would attract media, to give Paradise the buzz Chris and Peter needed. Unfortunately, the current guests at the house had still not mastered many of the dances. “But it doesn’t matter,” Peter said. “We want everyone to have a good time. Lou, may I request the first two dances with you?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked down the table briefly to where Mac was deep in conversation with Viv.
“I’d be honored,” Lou said, tearing her own gaze from Mac. So what if he was flirting with Viv? At least he wasn’t glowering at her.
“Excellent.” Peter began to talk of the media coverage they expected for the event and Simon and Jon joined in the discussion with their decorating scheme for the evening.
“Do you think we should be masked?” Peter asked. “Chris and I think it would add a lovely touch of glamour. What do you think, Lou?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “Although, I think we’ll all know who everyone is.”
“We can always pretend.” Peter winked. “Handsome masked strangers—think of the possibilities. And we do have visitors from the local historical reenactment group attending.”
“More women than men, though. Nothing much has changed since Austen’s time.” Chris spooned oyster stew onto Peter’s plate. “And you need to keep your strength up.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mac
Lou left the dining room arm in arm with the Paint Boys, all three of them deep in conversation. Did she know what she was doing? Surely she wasn’t planning a threesome with them? Mac felt a pang of alarm that she was the victim of a pair of sexual predators (because to think she might be a willing participant was unthinkable).
Mac rushed after them and tapped Lou on the shoulder. “Mind if I have a word?”
She turned, eyebrows raised, and the Paint Boys continued forward.
“Well?” she said.
Not good. Downright frosty, in fact.
“I know it’s probably none of my business, but I wanted to warn you about those two. They’re sort of kinky.”
“And?”
“And I wouldn’t want to see you get into anything you couldn’t handle.”
It seemed a perfectly reasonable thing for him to say, but it didn’t improve her attitude. She drew her shawl around herself and glared.
“Anything I couldn’t handle?”
“Yes.”
“What a hypocrite you are,” she said, her voice cold and clear.
Uh-oh.
“You assume, with no justification whatsoever, that I’m thinking about screwing two guys, and you advise me against it. Does that seem like a double standard to you, or did you literally screw your brains out this afternoon?”
His heart sank. “That was you, opening the door.”
“Yeah, that was me. Doesn’t it strike you, Mac, that you’re a little possessive for someone who turned me down this afternoon for two of the dumbest women I’ve ever met?”
“I wasn’t interested in their brains.” As a joke, it fell flat. “But you dumped me—”
“Yes, I did.” She continued to glare at him. “But I found your note and I thought you deserved some sort of explanation. I came looking for you, and you weren’t in the bathhouse, so I asked after you at the spa reception desk. Funny how much the woman there giggled. She must have thought you were a real stud. And guess what I found—you healing your broken heart in the way you know best.”
“It wasn’t like that.” He wanted to explain the note—that he’d left it there before she dumped him—but she didn’t give him a chance.
“Is it so hard to believe that I might be attracted to guys who are, although you may find it hard to believe, actually good at something and with whom you can hold an interesting conversation? And whether we were intending to screw each other’s brains out or talk about Georgian interior design, you know what, Mac? It’s got nothing to do with you. Not anymore, not ever.”
“Lou, I—”
“Did it ever occur to you that I may have been interested in a threesome?”
“Well, no, I…” He could only stare at her. “I didn’t think… I mean, we don’t—didn’t—really know each other that well. You didn’t seem the type. I thought…”
“That I’m not that sort of girl?” She laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, Mac. Let’s get it quite clear, shall we? What I do is none of your business. I liked you for a time, but now, it’s too late. Got it?”
God, what a ballbuster. To think he’d felt sorry for her, or, dumb jerk that he was, that she needed his protection. “I get it, Lou. See you around.”
* * *
Lou
SHE CAUGHT UP WITH JON AND Simon and linked her arms into theirs.
“Everything okay, dear?”
“Fine.”
“Ooh, Mac does have a lovely glower,” Simon said.
The two of them exchanged a meaningful glance.
“We’ve never done a couple, have we?” Simon said. “Do you think Mac would…?”
“I wouldn’t want him to. And better not count me in, either,” Lou said.
“Oh, dear,” Jon said.
Simon clucked his tongue. “Has Mac been a naughty boy?”
She shrugged, proud of her coolness. “There was never much there, I’m afraid.”
“And you’re absolutely sure we can’t help out?”
Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was admiration for their professional skills and the enjoyment she found in their company, but at that moment she felt an enormous affection for them both. But sex with them? No way. For all their naughty perversity, she didn’t find them attractive, and the idea of the three of them in bed together made her cringe. “No, thank you, but you’re so sweet to offer.”
“I understand. It’s so difficult to find good help these days,” Simon said. She really, really hoped their giggles would give Mac entirely the wrong impression.
* * *
BUT LATER, ALONE IN HER ROOM, she wondered why she felt so disappointed and lonely. Maybe Chris and Peter were still up and would tolerate her company, but when she crossed to the door and peered into the gloom of the passage, she changed her mind. She didn’t like the feel of that dark, cavernous space—it was altogether a bit too much like a bad Gothic novel. Besides, she had plenty of dark, cavernous feelings at the moment, a huge emptiness that she could attribute only a little of to Julian. It was Mac she’d lost this time, and it hurt, hell, it hurt. But she’d made the right decision, she was sure of it.
She brushed her teeth and retreated into bed, listening to the gentle hiss of rain outside. To hell with him. He was dishonest, greedy, unpredictable, selfish. He was everything she didn’t and shouldn’t want.
She remembered his hands, his touch. I’m good at you, Lou. Good in you.
And today, her shock at opening the door and seeing him rapt, astonished, a participant in some holy rite receiving absolution as the two naked women twined themselves around and over him. Had she ever given him that sort of ecstatic pleasure? Could she? Or, equally important, could she lose herself enough to receive it?
Now she’d never know.
She wanted to persuade herself that she was angry. Maybe she was, but her predominant emotions were abandonment, sorrow, just when she thought she was emerging from that dark tunnel. If that was what he wanted, why hadn’t he asked her?
“Really, Mac, your excuses were pathetic,” she said as though he was next to her. She turned her face to the pillow to see if any of his scent remained from the previous night.
Nothing.
Good, she tried to convince herself. She didn’t need him.
She ran her hand over her breasts and then down her belly. She didn’t need anyone but herself. Mac had been a mistake, an aberration—her entry back into the world of relationships and sexuality and some of it she’d enjoyed a lot. But hadn’t she known all along he wasn’t right for her? It didn’t explain why she now felt lonely and abandoned.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rob
Rob snatched the remote from his dad and clicked off the TV.
“What the fuck—” Mike Temple made a grab for the remote and sank back into his squalid nest of blankets on the sofa. A beer can fell out and rolled onto the floor.
“Can’t you get off your arse? Look at you!” Rob gestured at the sofa, the coffee table littered with beer cans, an overflowing ashtray and the crumpled, stained copy of the local paper, open to the jobs page. A few, but only a few, jobs were circled in red pen. “Don’t bother with the paper, Dad. All the jobs are online and you need to get out and talk to people.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” his dad said. He reached for his cigarettes and lit one.
“You shouldn’t smoke in here. It’s bad for the baby, right, Sylvia?”
His sister, carrying a tray with mugs of tea and biscuits, shrugged as she made her way across the living room littered with plastic toys. “I tell him all the time.”
“See?” Rob took a mug of tea. “Thanks. Getting bigger every day, Syl.”
“Okay, okay.” His dad lurched up from the couch and took the few steps over to the sliding-glass door that opened onto the patio.
“Don’t nag him,” Sylvia said. She sank onto the sofa and rubbed her pregnant stomach. “It doesn’t do any good.”
“Hell with that. Graham!” he shouted. “Graham, get your arse down here and pick up your toys.”
A thundering on the stairs announced Graham’s arrival. He edged into the living room, clutching something in his hand.
“What’s that?” Rob asked, giving him a hug.
“My binky.”
“Your—” But before he could say anything, his sister shook her head, warning him not to pursue the matter any further.
“Come on, let’s get this stuff picked up and we’ll go out and play,” Rob said, alarmed that his little brother was reverting to toddlerhood even more. He thought the binky, Graham’s tattered scrap of baby blanket, had been safely put to rest a couple of years ago.
As Graham gathered his toys into a plastic crate, Rob cleared off the table. “Want me to hoover, Syl?”
She smiled at him. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll go and talk to Dad, then.”
“Don’t nag him,” she said again. “Have you heard from Mum?”
He shook his head, stepped past Graham and his toys and joined his father on the patio. His dad had finished his cigarette and was pulling weeds from between the flagstones.
“Dad, I thought you’d like to see this.” He handed his father a piece of paper. “I expect you’ve seen it already. It went up on the Paradise website yesterday.”
His dad took the sheet of paper, glanced at it and handed it back, leaving a grubby thumbprint. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Why not? Look, it’s gardening, repairs and security duties, and you could do that. You like gardening. And it comes with a cottage. It’s small but big enough for you and Graham.”
His dad grunted and took the paper again. “What about you?”
“What about me? I’m going to Cambridge in a couple of months.”
“I don’t know if we can afford that.”
“Look, I’ve got an exhibition. It’s a full scholarship. You don’t have to pay a thing. I’ll work in a pub or something for living money.”
“Oh, yeah, and leave Graham behind?”
“We’ll Skype. It’s not like I’m going to another planet.”
“Think where your loyalties lie. It’s bad enough for Graham that his mum’s gone, and now you’re leaving us, too? We could use the money if you stay on at Paradise.”
“That’s your fatherly advice, is it? Then you’d better start acting like a dad. Act like a man. All you do is lie around on that fucking sofa and get drunk. You let Mum take your balls when she left?” He turned away without waiting for an answer and went back into the house. “Graham, let’s go. Leave the binky with Syl. Binkies don’t like football.”
“Yes, they do.” Graham clutched the grubby bit of fabric to his chest.
“No, they don’t,” Rob said. “Give it to Syl and she and the baby will look after it for you. Get a move on. It’s going to rain again soon.”
“I’ll give it a bit of a wash,” Sylvia said. “Make it all nice and clean. It’ll like that.”
“Okay.” Graham uncurled his fingers from the binky. “Don’t let him get it.”
“I won’t, love. Get your jacket on.” Sylvia whispered as Graham went out to the hall, “Dad tried to throw it out. Graham screamed the place down. Look, Gerry’s back in two weeks and the baby will be here in another six. I don’t know what we’re going to do. There isn’t enough room.”
“I know.” He looked to make sure his dad wasn’t watching and handed her an envelope full of money. “Tips for the week. Don’t let him know and don’t buy him fags.”
She giggled. “Thanks, love. Don’t they pay you in gold coins, then?”
Graham, wearing his jacket and clutching a football, came back into the room. He cast a longing glance at the binky in his sister’s hands. “I’m ready. Come on, Rob.”
* * *
BUGGER, HE WAS LATE BACK AND soaked to the skin—Graham had thrown a massive tantrum at the sight of the binky swirling around in the washer when they’d got back to his sister’s—and after that bit of excitement, Rob’s bike had got a flat on the way back and he’d had to walk the last mile in the rain.
Hoping he was out of sight of the office, he hauled his bike across the cobbled yard and opened the door of what had once been the carriage house.
“Rob!”
Too late. Chris stood at the office door, beckoning imperiously.
“Come on in, Rob. No, stay on the doormat please. I don’t want the carpet ruined. We need you upstairs.”
“I’m on my way,” Rob said, and because by now it was automatic, he added, “sir.”
“It’s raining again, so the ladies can’t go out,” Chris said. He regarded Rob with a slightly malicious air, or it might have been good-natured teasing. With him, you never really knew. “They need a model for a drawing lesson with Viv.”
Hidden Paradise Page 15
