Master of the House

Chapter Three (#ulink_d73442b2-cd58-50c3-94a2-29f24be79b25)

‘I’ll tell you what, I didn’t realise how dirty posh boys are.’

Minna was full of her escapade at the Hall that next morning after we’d bumped into Joss at the Feathers.

‘Really?’ I said with a yawn, frowning at the wall my hairdrier was plugged into. The electricity kept cutting out and I had an idea that the way the socket was coming away from its moorings might not be helping.

‘God, yeah. Filthy, they are.’

I didn’t want to hear it. If she’d kissed Joss, or gone further with him, I didn’t want to know.

‘It’s all that repression, shut away at Eton. They go wild when they get a sniff of a woman, probably.’

‘Do you think so? Mmm, what a night. Three sexy boys and me in a four-poster bed.’ She was lying full-length on the sofa and she arched her back like a cat.

I had to know. I spat it out.

‘Was Joss one of them?’

‘No, Joss was boring. He went to bed, left us to it with a crate of beer and a multipack of condoms.’

‘And they say romance is dead.’ But my heart leaped up. Joss hadn’t touched Minna. Perhaps gangbanging just wasn’t his scene.

Or perhaps he was gay.

I shouldn’t care, either way.

‘Fuck this piece of shit,’ I fumed, throwing the hairdrier down and wrenching out the plug. ‘I’m going to see your aunt, get her to send the handyman over to fix this socket.’

It was going to be a hot day, the sun already high and so bright that I was a little dazzled as I climbed down the steps from the van.

It seemed like a holy vision, consequently, when Joss pitched up in front of me, illuminated from behind.

‘Am I hallucinating?’ I muttered, a little dismayed to be caught like this, barefoot in towelling shorts and a halter-neck top with my half-dried hair like wild rats’ tails down my back.

‘Lucy. I was just coming to see you,’ he said.

God, he looked like sex on a plate. Snake-hipped in blue jeans and a check shirt, unbuttoned far enough to give a glimpse of dark chest hair.

‘Why?’

He was carrying a small antique-looking book with a tooled leather cover, and he held this out to me.

‘I wanted to give you this. As a token of apology and … perhaps friendship?’

His eyes would put a doe’s to shame and his perfect lips were wet and a little pouty. He was stupidly beautiful. It was ridiculous. Why the hell would he care what I thought of him?

I took the book – Wordsworth’s Lucy poems.

Fuck it. I was doomed.

‘Will you come for a walk with me?’ he asked.

‘You aren’t hung over then?’

‘No, I left them to it. Wanted to keep a clear head so I could come down here and see you …’ He smiled, a little self-consciously, his eyes peering out from lowered lids.

‘Right. That’s … weird.’

‘Is it?’

I nodded.

‘Well, perhaps I’m weird. Will you? Come for a walk with me?’

The spell was cast and I couldn’t resist him.

‘You won’t tie me to a tree or anything like that, will you?’

He let out a quick burst of a laugh and his eyes flashed in a way that made my stomach turn over.

‘Not unless you want me to,’ he said, then he held out his hand and I took it.

* * *

On the way to Willingham Hall, I parked at the caravan site and took a walk along the river first, wanting to remember that day and the enchantment that lay upon it. If I could keep the memory alive, it might protect me against getting too close to Joss again. I didn’t know what he had in mind – he had made it sound strictly business, nothing social at all – but it was always wise to guard against the unexpected with Joss.

The same weeping willows and anglers were there along the towpath, like props in our drama. We had wandered past them all, talking about literature and schooldays and music, snatching at the little things we had in common as if they were treasures to be stored away.

Before half a mile had been covered, I was deeply lost. When we sat on the bank and he made his move to kiss me, I could no more have denied him than I could have called up a river god from the shining depths before us.

I kicked the grass at that place, then turned towards Willingham and the Hall.

The gatekeeper was surprised to see me come in on foot, but he let me pass and I walked on under the canopy of trees, enjoying the shade they afforded on this hot summer day.

The estate office, I recalled, was first left once you were through the door. I rang the bell, looking at the relevant window and wondered if Joss was waiting in there for me.

At a corner of the east wing I could see scaffolding and men on it, working to restore the somewhat neglected exterior of the Hall. This must be what the millionaire’s money was paying for. I watched them filling the peeling plasterwork, until the door opened and Joss stood in front of me.

‘Come in,’ he said, ushering me to his office. ‘Can I get you anything? A drink?’

‘Coffee, I guess.’

‘Coffee it is.’ He went over to a percolator in the corner and poured me a cup. ‘You won’t mind if I indulge in something a little stronger?’

He turned around, brandishing a half-bottle of whisky.

‘Joss,’ I exclaimed. ‘It’s nine o’clock in the morning.’