by Grace Lowrie
Taking the note back I added another line: Just friends is fine if that’s what you want.
As he read it I tried to bury my regret beneath a genuine sense of gratitude, after all he had saved my life, probably more than once, and was without doubt the greatest friend I’d ever had.
But he lifted his head and looked straight at me, his big brown eyes seeming to see right inside me. ‘You don’t leave here much do you? Not to go to the shops or into town...?’
I slowly shook my head, knowing what was coming next.
‘Why?’
It was a fair question, but heat automatically rose to my face at the directness of it and the toast scraped my throat as I swallowed. I wrote: People think I’m weird. And anyway I have everything I need right here.
‘You don’t feel you’re missing out on anything?’
I shook my head again, underlining my last seven words for extra emphasis.
‘So you wouldn’t want to go out to a restaurant for dinner... with me?’
I gaped at him, momentarily floored by this idea. What about the woman you’re seeing?
‘That’s nothing. We’ve been on a few dates, that’s all. She’s been working abroad recently so I haven’t seen her or had a chance to officially break things off. But I’m going to – it’s already over – I’d just prefer to tell her in person.’ He cautiously took my hand in his. ‘You were right the other day – I... I do want you. I’m just not sure it’s a good idea. Maybe if we got to know each other better... took things slowly? I’d like to take you out for dinner, once you’re well again of course, what do you think...?’
It wasn’t the most romantic of suggestions – I’d read better ones in books – but it was real and honest and more than a person like me could have hoped for. And yet my instinctive delight was evenly matched by a deeply-rooted reluctance to hang out in a publicly populated place. In my (admittedly limited) experience, most people were loud and rude and would stare, laugh and jeer at me, and then this lovely man would think me a freak and never speak to me again. Why was he asking this of me? Why couldn’t we simply eat here, in private? The backs of my eyes prickled with tears.
‘You don’t have to give me an answer now,’ he said, opening his arms and drawing me into a hug. Climbing into his lap like a child, I buried my face in his neck and revelled in his comforting scent as he held me close. ‘Just think about it OK...?’
Chapter Twenty-nine
At the bar I bought drinks and carried them out to the beer garden on a tray. The round consisted of several pints of larger, a few glasses of wine, and a vodka-lemonade for James’s girlfriend, Kat. Maire and I were on orange juice as usual. As I retook my seat at the picnic table opposite where Kat was perched on James’s knee she blushed and smiled her thanks. Earlier I’d caught the two of them having sex in the rugby club changing rooms, though James was oblivious. I didn’t begrudge them their post-match celebration – on the contrary I was glad James had finally found a woman to make him happy, and a smart, sensitive woman at that, but deep down I was envious of the relationship they shared.
Cally and I had never been overly passionate with each other, not even in the early days when we first started dating. Missionary position in bed with the lights off, that was us, and perfectly satisfactory it was too. Public displays of affection and sex in communal places had never been on the cards, and it had never occurred to me to question any of that until now.
Since meeting Melody my sexual imagination had kicked into overdrive. She’d hooked me with those stormy grey eyes of hers – all innocence one minute and openly devouring the next. The way she carried herself was utterly disarming – whether half-naked or dressed in crazy clothes, she was entirely comfortable in her own skin and artlessly appealing. And nobody had ever wanted me the way she seemed to – how could I not be turned on?
Of course Bridget seemed to like me too, and she might be an absolute animal in the bedroom for all I knew – I hadn’t taken the opportunity to find out – hadn’t wanted to. Now she was abroad and too preoccupied with work to contact me, there was no urgency to end things. But as soon as she was back, I would. As much as I liked Bridget, I didn’t miss her. Whereas I missed Melody whenever I wasn’t with her, particularly when alone at night in my bed.
Despite the anxiety her illness had caused me, I’d enjoyed looking after her all weekend. Those nights I’d stayed awake watching her sleep, wrapped in her scent and listening to her breathing, lingered in my mind; taunting my imagination with possibilities. I dreamed of waking up beside her every morning. I wanted her to be mine.
As I glanced around the table at my friends and fellow team mates, I tried to picture Melody there with me. I doubted she’d ever been to a rugby match, or even a pub for that matter. But my mates would like her, I was certain, regardless of her mutism or the style of her clothes. She was innately loveable.
And yet, public places filled Melody with dread – it was clear in her face. What if she point blank refused to ever leave the estate? What then? Once my landscaping contract ended, how would I see her? Would Sinclair give me permission to visit her, or would I have to sneak onto the premises whenever he was away? The idea was ludicrous, but the thought of never seeing her was worse.
‘Alright, Liam?’ Maire said, breaking off from her conversation with Kat and distracting me from my fears. ‘You’re a million miles away.’
‘Yeah, sorry,’ I shook my head in an attempt to clear it and picked up my juice. ‘Just work, y’know.’
‘Yeah, yeah, like I believe that,’ she said with a knowing wink. I avoided replying by having a drink, and as she returned her attention to Kat I made an effort to tune into Lester and James’s conversation about the latest Bond film, and forget about Melody Sinclair altogether.
Chapter Thirty
The White Bear was only a half-hour walk away; I’d looked it up. Liam had mentioned it was where they went after their rugby matches and practise sessions, so I knew that’s where he’d be this evening. With his friends.
All week he’d been busy relaying the gravel driveway; starting at the gates and steadily working his way back towards the house one section at a time – first scraping away the old, mossy, weed-infested surface, then restoring, compacting, and rolling the sub-layer before finally re-surfacing with fresh, clean, finely-raked gravel. It was not the sort of work I could easily help with, so aside from bringing him an occasional cup of tea we’d barely spent any time together.
I’d been recuperating for most of the week; sleeping a lot, gradually re-building my strength and catching up on a mountain of proofreading while I considered Liam’s proposition. He hadn’t repeated his offer to take me out for dinner, but it hovered, unanswered, in the space between us. I liked Liam and I did want to get to know him better, but the plethora of dating sites, blogs, articles, tips and rules I’d found online only made me nervous, not to mention the conflicting advice on etiquette.
So here I was on a Sunday evening, lurking behind the trees in a pub garden. It had been a while since I’d left the grounds of Wildham Hall, and tonight was a test for me of sorts – a chance to get a feel for being out in public, in daylight, without the safety of my bicycle; an opportunity to try out the idea of dating in my head before committing to anything.
I’d worn my green velvet dress with the sensible neckline and the buttoned capped sleeves to give myself an air of grown-up sophistication and confidence. But a lifetime of Gregory’s warnings about how cruel people could be still echoed in my mind. At the last minute I’d slipped on my comfortable pink ballet shoes and grabbed a large pair of sixties sunglasses to hide behind.
My dress turned out to be too warm in the sunshine, and it was tricky to walk normally while trying to avoid all the cracks in the pavement at the same time, but I’d managed to maintain a brisk pace with my head down and fists clenched, and no-one I passed had said anything to me.
Of course the idea of waltzing into a building full of strangers was inconc
eivable; I had no idea what to expect inside, so my intention was simply to observe from the tree line in the hope of catching sight of Liam as he left the pub. Consequently I was prepared for a long, boring wait, but to my surprise I spotted Liam immediately because he and his friends were sitting outside in the glimmering sunshine.
There were far more women in his social group than I’d anticipated. Most of the men were well-built and stocky, as you might expect for rugby players, though Liam was still the tallest. They sat, crammed shoulder to shoulder, around picnic benches with some of the girls sat on the laps of their guys to save on space. Together they formed a cheerful but rowdy and intimidating bunch, of which Liam was by far the quietest and most sober.
But it was the women who really intrigued me; so stylish, modern and refined, with their sleek hairstyles, tight denim, branded cotton and over-abundance of handbags, sunglasses and mobile phones. From where I stood I could be viewing an entirely different species to my own.
A pretty woman with hair almost as red as my own had been sociably working her way around the group, and now squeezed herself into a narrow space right next to Liam, making my fingers curl and my stomach tighten. Was this the other woman he’d been dating, or was she still away?
This woman was attractive, with a happy-go-lucky way about her and immediately began chatting as if it was nothing; as if she were free to say anything and everything to him; talk to him forever. I was too far away to hear what was being said, but my mind ran riot with possibilities. Was she regaling him with tales of her adventures in far flung places? Impressing him with her business acumen and superior intelligence? Dazzling him with witty jokes and feminine charm?
In all fairness Liam didn’t look especially dazzled – he looked tired. He had a large bruise developing across one cheekbone and sat there as nonchalantly as he usually did. But that did not temper the hot jealousy that pulsed through my veins as I witnessed every flick of her hair, flutter of her eyelashes and pout of her lips. Was she flirting with him?
I’d never felt possessive of a man before and it was an oddly fierce sensation, far stronger than I could have imagined. Suddenly it didn’t matter how many men there were in the world, or how suitable for me they might be, I only wanted this one. With all the time we’d spent together and the closeness we shared, Liam was now vitally important to me – my link to the outside world, a real friend, my own personal hero. Seeing him talking to another woman brought the reality home. If he wanted me to go on a lousy date with him, I’d do it; I’d do just about anything to keep him in my life.
But I still couldn’t make myself go over there.
As it grew dark it became harder to discern all the interaction between Liam and his friends, even after I’d pushed my sunglasses up into my hair. But as various members of the group dispersed for the night, I was relieved to see the redhead leave with another man entirely.
Eventually, at about ten thirty, as I was starting to shiver with cold, Liam got up and said his goodbyes to the remaining few drinkers, turning down the offer of a lift in favour of walking home alone. As he shrugged into his jacket and set off towards the front of the pub, an impulsive rush of adrenalin spiked in my blood. Stumbling out from under the trees with stiff muscles, I ran across the grass chasing after his long strides. As I caught up with him at the side of the building, he paused and turned, presumably alerted by my frenzied breathing. But before he had a chance to register what was happening, I was throwing myself into the comfort of his big body, as if I was home.
‘What the...? Melody...?’
Damn he smelled good; reassuringly warm and familiar and strong and safe. He lifted me right up off my feet in a hug so that he could see my face, his eyes sparkling in the light of a nearby street-lamp, bright with surprise.
‘You’re here...’
I smiled at him while he searched my face with an open look of wonder.
‘How long have you been here? You should have come and said hello, I could have introduced you...’
I pursed my lips at the thought.
‘Next time. I can’t believe you’re here!’ Two men walked past us making me tense up self-consciously, but Liam held my gaze with clear, warm reassurance until they’d gone and I was able to breathe again. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he muttered, pecking me on the lips.
With exhilaration zinging through my veins and a savage sense of possessiveness still alive in my mind, a peck was not nearly enough. Ruthlessly grabbing his face in my hands I kissed him hard, assaulting his soft lips with mine and plunging my tongue inside. He tasted of tangy, sweet orange juice and groaned as he kissed me back. His hands shifted down to my behind to better support me, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his hips, reluctant to ever let him go.
Even while I was focused on the delicious feel of his mouth on mine, I was aware of his arousal growing between my legs, a corresponding heat spreading through me; a yearning ache for more.
‘Oh God,’ he muttered, moving his mouth along my jaw as I tried to press my body closer to his. His hot breath at my neck made me shiver with pleasure as I tangled my fingers in his hair. ‘What are you doing to me?’
Unable to answer I took his earlobe between my teeth and bit down on the tender flesh. He seemed to throb against me in response and softly moaned, giving voice to my own hunger. When he returned his gaze to mine, it was dark with desire, and I held it as I ran my tongue along the inside of his lower lip, addicted to the taste of him. Closing his eyes he tipped his head back out of reach and took a deep breath.
‘Jesus. Slow down, baby; you’re killing me.’
Once again Liam was squeezing the brakes, but my immediate frustration was assuaged by the endearment he’d used. The way he spoke to me, as if I was precious to him, made me want to burst with happiness. With a last drawn-out kiss I let him lower me to the ground.
‘Does this mean you’ll let me take you out to dinner?’
I nodded and his face stretched into a huge grin.
‘Next weekend? I’ll look after you and you won’t regret it I promise...’
I shrugged and he took my hand and kissed it.
‘It’s late, let me walk you home, OK?’
It was a clear evening, the stars a scatter of glitter against an indigo sky. Liam draped his jacket around my shoulders and we walked in silence. I wished I’d brought my notepad with me, but the lack of communication didn’t feel awkward. He held my hand all the way back to Wildham Hall, his thumb lightly skimming across my knuckles, and the sensation was so pleasurable and distracting that even when I trod on cracks in the pavement by mistake it didn’t bother me.
We passed a group of five teenage girls, who probably should have been tucked up at home in their beds instead of loitering on a street corner. I was careful to avoid looking at them, but they sniggered and giggled, and without even identifying what had been said, I knew in my gut that their amusement was at my expense.
Thankfully Liam seemed oblivious to the girls and their pointed looks, but a wave of embarrassment and frustration still swept over me, making my skin prickle with unease. Gregory had always said I wouldn’t like life beyond Wildham Hall; that people would laugh at me; and I hated it when Gregory was right.
As the iron gates to my home slowly swung open Liam glanced up the long driveway, which, thanks to his hard work, no longer looked as dark and foreboding as before.
‘Shall I walk you to the door?’
I shook my head and kissed him on the cheek.
‘You don’t get scared, living here on your own night after night?’
I shook my head again. Once upon a time I’d been frightened, but I’d long since grown used to the solitude, and the estate was the only home I’d ever known. I was safe within its walls. I wasn’t sure how much of this Liam could read in my expression, but he chose not to argue, told me to keep his jacket, leaned down and kissed me softly goodbye.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’
I nodded and he smiled.<
br />
‘Sweet dreams, Melody,’ he whispered after me, making me shiver. Once I’d rounded the bend, out of sight, I broke into a sprint; racing back to the safety of the mansion with a heady mix of exhilaration and fear chasing at my heels.
Chapter Thirty-one
My dinner date looked as though she was off to work in an office when I collected her from Wildham Hall on Saturday evening. Autumn had arrived in the form of a north-easterly wind, stripping the leaves from the trees before they’d barely had a chance to turn. In deference to the weather Melody wore a belted overcoat and a sturdy pair of heels, but, curiously, she also wore a pair of spectacles perched on her nose.
I’d never seen her wear glasses before and wondered whether they we prescription or merely for effect, but I refrained from asking. Instead I offered to drive us to the restaurant, so that she wouldn’t get cold, but this idea was met with repeated shakes of her head. She was determined to walk and I couldn’t really argue as that would involve a furious amount of writing on her part.
Melody clung to my arm as we walked, listening while I described the carpentry repairs I’d been carrying out on the old timber-framed glasshouse. She had seen most of the restoration work for herself, but hearing about it seemed to calm her, so I was happy to oblige. She had an amusing habit of avoiding the cracks and drains on the pavement as we walked; a superstitious task which required her to watch her feet in concentration, but by the time we’d reached the French bistro, she seemed to have given it up in favour of gazing about.
The wind had dishevelled her fine hair, her cheeks were flushed and her hands were trembling, but as she slipped off her coat the look of shocked admiration on the waiter’s face said it all. Melody wore a slinky, knee-length evening gown; the soft, dove-grey satin hanging seamlessly from her delicately-boned shoulders, skimming her modest curves and perfectly complementing her eyes. She took my breath away.
