Chapter Eight
I woke up with a start. Something was wrong – in fact, everything was wrong. Strange room, strange bed; and – worst of all – the feeling that I wasn’t alone.
Then I remembered: this was the motorhome, and I was in bed with Jack Smith. But of course it’s not that sort of ‘in bed with’ – is it? I risked a look to my right. Thank God, the barrier of cushions was still intact; I’d constructed it last night, as soon as I’d been to the bathroom and changed into my pyjamas. I’d struggled to get to sleep, expecting him to walk through the door at any moment. But it hadn’t happened and, in the end, I must have drifted off.
Everything was warm and peaceful and morning-light. I lifted the edge of the curtain and found the sun already climbing the sky. Above me, unseen, a wood pigeon chuntered a good-natured greeting. I groped for my watch on the shelf behind my head. Six fifty-five. If it hadn’t been for the man beyond the cushions, I’d have enjoyed a lie-in. But I’d slept surprisingly well; and, anyway, it was safer to be somewhere else when he awoke.
Slowly, stealthily, I peeled back my half of the duvet and sat up. The bed was enclosed on three sides by walls, two of them external and one a partition to divide the sleeping quarters from the galley kitchen. Last night I’d got in at the only accessible side and settled myself next to the window, so that he wouldn’t have to climb over me when he came to bed. But that was when he wasn’t there; this morning was an entirely different matter.
I knelt on the duvet and started at the bottom of the wall of cushions, carefully dismantling them one by one. When I reached the middle, I gave him a furtive look. His face wore the mask of sleep, but I didn’t want to push my luck – and there was now enough room for me to get off the bed. I took a deep breath and clambered silently over his legs, watching him closely in case he stirred. Mid-straddle was not a good look.
It was as if he’d read my mind. His eyes flicked open and taunted mine, briefly, before travelling casually downwards; here and there they lingered, making me painfully aware of my too-skimpy pyjamas. And, throughout it all, I was incapable of moving – a real ‘rabbit in the headlights’ moment.
At last he looked up, his grin wide and wicked. ‘So dreams can come true.’
I almost vaulted off the bed and scurried to the door, snatching up my sponge bag and a handful of clothes to cover my semi-nakedness. I realised I was trembling – with anger at myself and at him, of course; and with something else, something that I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge. But all I could say was a feeble, ‘Do you mind?’
He propped himself on his elbows, and I noted his bare shoulders and chest. In fact, I found myself wondering whether he was wearing anything at all … Once again, as if in tune with my thoughts, his grin broadened. ‘I don’t mind in the least, I’m just sorry that we can’t take advantage of the situation. Unless we change the rules, of course.’
An image of limbs entwined, his and mine, mouths chasing kisses; I felt my face burn. ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’
I dropped the clothes as if they were hot coals, grabbed what I needed from my suitcase and fled.
Up in the bathroom, a period of reflection and a hot shower eased some of my mortification. After all, things could have been a lot worse. Apart from that embarrassing encounter as I climbed over him, my first night with Jack Smith had been uneventful; and, strangely, the prospect of a day on the hills with him and his friends rather appealed.
When I returned to the motorhome, he was nowhere to be seen. I hesitated, then arranged the cushions along the headboard and straightened the duvet, so that Midge wouldn’t suspect anything if she looked in.
Let the role play recommence.
I found everyone busy in the kitchen: Bill frying bacon and eggs, Midge making a tower of sandwiches and Jack – well, I couldn’t say what he was doing because, as soon as he saw me, he came straight over and took me in his arms.
‘Mmm, you smell good,’ he said, loud enough for the others to hear.
I forced myself to cling to him, briefly, before wriggling free. ‘So does breakfast.’
‘How do you like your eggs, Alicia?’ Bill said.
‘Turned over, please. Can I do anything?’
Midge looked up and grinned. ‘Help Jack with the tea and toast – he seems to have lost the plot now that you’re here. Or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Tea’s fine, thank you.’ I followed Jack across the kitchen and got to grips with the toaster while he filled the kettle. We worked side by side, in what must have looked like an amicable silence; in reality, I was all too aware of his nearness. The natural scent of him – unwashed male in yesterday’s clothes – wasn’t off-putting; quite the opposite. Yet another problem for me to deal with.
After breakfast, while Jack went off to get ready, Bill brought out some maps and showed me our route. First, we were going up a small hill called Latrigg, as a warm-up exercise for its neighbour, Skiddaw. He warned me that Skiddaw itself would be a tougher walk, except that perseverance would be rewarded: the views from the summit should be spectacular.
The map, of course, was not the territory – but the map looked terrifying enough. I bit my lip; it looked as though my ‘slave to the gym’ fitness levels would be well and truly put to the test.
‘I checked the forecast in Keswick earlier, and we’re in for a warm day,’ Bill went on. ‘Unfortunately, that means carrying extra water.’
‘As well as one of Midge’s special packed lunches?’ This from Jack, strolling into the room in khaki combat shorts and a maroon T-shirt. ‘God help us, we’ll be like a pair of packhorses.’
Bill chuckled. ‘I’ve got a couple of framed rucksacks we can use – then at least we’ll be well equipped packhorses.’
Packhorses? Although I joined in the laughter, I was privately reflecting that Jack looked more like a prize stallion. As before, seeing him in casual clothes made me feel hot and formal. For a moment, I debated whether to switch my cropped navy trousers for the pair of shorts I’d brought with me; then decided I’d had enough of Jack ogling my legs for one day. Except that now, I realised uncomfortably, it was more a case of me ogling his.
We set off from the cottage around quarter to ten – heading westwards along a narrow lane. The sun was already beating down and I was grateful for the floppy hat Midge had lent me. She and I walked together, maintaining a steady pace and an equally well-judged conversation. She asked me about my family, a subject I found I could handle without any subterfuge whatsoever. I talked to her about my parents carving out a new life for themselves in Spain, and my sister relocating to Canada with her husband.
‘And soon you’ll be settling down with Jack, by the sound of it,’ she put in.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Maybe I sounded too horrified, because she turned her head and gave me a penetrating look. ‘It’s early days,’ I added, lamely.
‘Not necessarily. I can tell he’s serious.’
Huh, more like a bloody good actor!
She continued, ‘You make a great couple. I haven’t seen him like this for years – so at ease with himself.’
Oh, please. At this rate she’ll have us engaged before the weekend’s over …
‘It’s probably the merger with Sphinx,’ I said, quickly. ‘Being Chief Exec of a bigger company seems to motivate him.’
‘Alicia, believe me, it’s nothing to do with work – he’s always been good at keeping his personal life separate. This weekend, with you, he seems … happy.’ The implication was that this was something unusual.
‘Wasn’t he happy with Karina?’ The question was out before I could determine the pros and cons of hearing the reply.
A pause. ‘What’s he told you about her?’
‘Nothing specific – but I’ve seen the impact she still has on him. She came over to us at Corleone’s on Thursday night, and – and he took her home.’ That much was accurate, as was the disapproval in my voice.
‘Was she drunk?’
‘A little, I suppose.’
‘Well then, there’s your answer.’
But it wasn’t quite the answer I wanted. And I couldn’t pursue it any further because Jack came up behind us and said, ‘My turn now, Midge. In any case, your husband needs you for moral support – I’ve just been giving him an earbashing about Lauren.’
‘Och, just when we were getting to the interesting bits about you.’ A stage whisper in my direction – ‘See what I mean? He just can’t stay away!’ – before she drew to one side of the lane to wait for Bill.
Jack grabbed my hand and stepped up the pace. When we were at a safe distance from the others, he said, ‘I thought you needed rescuing.’
‘Thanks, but I didn’t. Who’s Lauren?’
‘Their daughter. She’s at university, but Bill’s still very protective.’ A pause. ‘Don’t you want to know the real reason for interrupting your conversation with Midge?’
‘No, although I have a feeling you’re going to tell me all the same.’
‘I couldn’t handle the view for much longer.’
I frowned. ‘The view?’
‘You in those trousers.’
A sidelong glance, in case he was joking; but his expression was enigmatic. When I tried to wrench my hand away, he held it tight – and I didn’t want to make a scene in front of our distant witnesses.
Instead, I said sharply, ‘You’re overdoing the role play, aren’t you, with that sort of comment? Especially as nobody can hear.’
He stopped dead, startling me into doing the same. I looked straight at him, trying in vain to detect the tiniest gleam of malice in his eyes; strange how the habit of self-preservation plays out.
Then he said softly, ‘Where does the role play end and the real play begin?’
His question gave me goosebumps, in spite of the heat. It summed up my dilemma completely: by agreeing to this charade of a relationship, I was subjecting myself to a form of behavioural therapy. The flooding process, to be exact: putting myself into the very situation I feared and forcing myself to confront it head on. Of course, the flooding process would end with the visit to Bill and Midge – but what about everything else? I wasn’t even certain what ‘everything else’ entailed; I just hoped that it was the revival of old memories and not the creation of new ones.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘before the others catch us up.’
We walked on, still – bizarrely – holding hands, deep in our own thoughts. From time to time he broke the silence with some observation or other, but I kept my responses brief and unencouraging. As the surrounding fields and woods gave way to a grassy hillside, I focused on where I was placing my feet; no way was I going to trip into his arms like the night before. Only when we reached the cairn on Latrigg’s summit did I lift my head and take a proper look at the world around me.
My God. Now I could see why they’d brought me here.
Far below us, like the discarded plaything of a child-giant, sparkled a miniature land – an oasis in a rock-strewn desert. Two shimmering sapphire lakes, studded with tiny boats; along their edges, dense woods and roads jewelled with cars; between them, a jumble of gunmetal roofs and emerald lawns. And rising above all of this, on a scale that took my breath away, the hills.
Involuntarily, as if I needed to register this intense feeling of awe, my hand tightened round Jack’s. I sensed him glance at me, then look away. Silence welled between us, different from before, almost companionable; at least on my part.
In the end Jack released my hand, rummaged in his rucksack and handed me a bottle of water. I held it to my chest, enjoying the sudden chill, but didn’t drink immediately; the view slaked a thirst I didn’t know I had.
‘Derwentwater on the left, Bassenthwaite Lake on the right.’ His voice, too close. ‘Keswick in the middle, a tourist trap all year round. Whereas up here …’
In one sweeping gesture his arm embraced the summit, marking the contrast. I could see no more than a scattering of people, including Bill and Midge some distance away, with their backs to us. Their joined hands spoke of being there for each other, year after year – unlike Jack’s and mine.
But I miss his touch, however fake.
A deep breath to steady my thoughts. I let my eyes feast on the hills, huge crested grey-brown waves rolling to meet the blue-domed sky. The last time I’d seen nature at its most majestic with a man at my side was California; and majesty had soon turned to misery … I gave the bottle cap a frantic twist and took a long gulp of water.
Beside me, Jack was unpacking a couple of sandwiches. When he offered me one, I took it, surprised that I could be hungry so soon after breakfast. As we ate, his hand came to rest on my shoulder, too firm to shrug off.
When we’d finished, he said, ‘Let me introduce you to some of the northern fells.’ His voice softened with pride. ‘If you look straight up from that furthermost island on Derwentwater,’ – he stooped until his head was level with mine; and pointed, so that there was no mistaking – ‘you’ll see Maiden Moor and Dale Head, then Hindscarth and Pillar. And in front, the one like a cat crouching – that’s Catbells. Beyond it is the Newlands Valley, home of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.’
His last words were so incongruous that I burst out laughing.
‘So my mother always told me.’ He grinned, and gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze – for Bill and Midge’s benefit, of course.
‘That was one of my favourite books.’ I let slip a nostalgic sigh. ‘I used to walk round the garden pretending to be Lucie with my pocket handkin.’
‘You’re a Beatrix Potter fan, but you’ve never visited the Lakes before?’
His astonishment put me instantly on the defensive. ‘I grew up on the south coast, and my parents wanted to spend as little of their leisure time as possible in the car. Our UK holidays tended to be in the New Forest, or Devon and Cornwall.’
‘I suppose I should be grateful that most southerners do the same, otherwise the Lakes would be even busier.’ He paused to scan the land around us. ‘The best of my childhood was spent here. My parents used to bring us every year, until I was thirteen or fourteen.’
‘Us’ implied he had a sibling; brother or sister, one or more? Not that I needed to know anything about his family, or his childhood, unless it was relevant to his work. But, just when I was about to ask, his hand slid effortlessly from my shoulder to my hip, and under my T-shirt.
‘Get off!’ I said, through gritted teeth.
The hand didn’t move. ‘I’m just behaving in character. You could at least pretend to respond, like you did last night in the garden.’
‘I did no such thing! I just—’
‘Come on, Alicia, don’t you remember what it’s like?’
‘What what’s like?’
‘To be at this stage of a relationship.’ Somehow I was in his arms, hands flat against his chest but making no attempt to push him away. My eyes locked unwillingly with his; blue depths, green flecks – a natural harmony with the scene below. He went on, his voice low and compelling, ‘You want to touch each other all the time and you can’t help showing it … Each touch builds a memory, each memory builds a need … And when you’re standing here, in one of the most perfect places on earth, on a perfect day – doesn’t it remind you of our other perfect moments? Such as this morning, when we made love – because we would have done, if this was real play not role play … And we link the moments, and the memories, like this.’
His fingertips feathered the skin at the small of my back. Traitorous skin, trembling as if in recollection of an earlier, more intimate touch. Traitorous hands, stealing round his neck, bringing his mouth close enough to—
I pulled away just in time, and stumbled out of his reach. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘It looked a pretty good performance from where I was standing.’ His tone was flat, the words matter-of-fact, the spell broken.
‘But an unnecessary one. I don’t do public displays of affection, I’m not that type. And another thing, I need to start a discussion with Bill soon – otherwise I’m just wasting my time this weekend.’
‘Thanks.’ He turned his back on me, picked up the rucksack.
‘I meant professionally speaking.’
‘I’m sure you did.’ The rucksack swung heavily onto his shoulders. ‘Trust me, you’ll need all your concentration for climbing Skiddaw. Leave Bill until tonight, or tomorrow.’
I stared unseeingly in the direction of the hill shaped like a crouching cat. Didn’t he realise that my job was the only reason I was here? Otherwise I’d be safe at home, enjoying my own space and my own life—
‘Are you ready to go on, Alicia?’ Midge’s voice behind me, edged with concern.
I fixed a bright smile in place and spun around. ‘Of course.’
Little did she know that her question was open to an entirely different interpretation.