Chapter Twenty-five

HE LED HER to one of the side barns and switched on the light. His car gleamed beneath it.

‘You’ve restored it! It looks wonderful!’ She turned to him. ‘I’m so glad. I felt so dreadful wrecking it when all I meant to do was stop you selling it.’

He took hold of her hands. ‘I know. And restoring it was sort of symbolic. I thought, if I got my car back, I could get you back.’ He looked down at her hands, to avoid looking at her directly. ‘If I ever had you in the first place.’

Hetty wished he’d just shout at her. At least then she usually managed to understand him. ‘Did you do the work yourself?’

He released her hands. ‘No. That would have taken far too long. It took long enough as it was.’

‘Oh?’

‘I made myself wait until it was finished before coming to see you.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought you needed time to forgive me. I behaved so abominably. I thought if I gave you time to forget, I’d have a better chance of . . .’

‘Of what? You accuse me of not saying what I mean, but you’re worse.’

‘Am I? Well, I told you communicating isn’t my strong point. I’m far better at cooking.’

Hetty despaired. Twice he’d nearly declared himself, told her that he cared about her. But until he actually came out with it, she couldn’t take it on trust. She’d been hurt before.

‘You’d better get on and cook, then. Having forced me to agree to eat it!’

Connor’s eyes narrowed unnervingly. He took hold of her shoulders, turned her round and marched her out. ‘Come on then.’

He opened the doors of the stove and restacked it with logs. Hetty drew the curtains and lit the table lamps, which gave the huge room a more intimate feel.

‘You need a few screens, to make it more cosy.’

‘You can do anything you like, of course. Now, will you be all right here while I cook? Would you like to use the bathroom or anything?’

‘Actually, I don’t know where the bathroom is.’

‘Don’t you? Didn’t I show it to you?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s up that little flight of stairs, through the bedroom. Help yourself. I must get on with supper.’

When Hetty saw the bedroom she knew why Connor hadn’t shown it to her. It had honeymoon written all over it. The bed, which took up almost the entire space, was a four-poster, lightly draped with muslin curtains. On either side of it, table lamps, which had come on when she flicked on the wall switch, glowed invitingly. On a chest at the end of the bed, which was almost the only piece of furniture, was a huge vase of lilies. Their scent filled the room with delicate eroticism. On the floor by one side of the bed was a tray with a couple of glasses and a bottle of champagne. There was probably a concealed sound system somewhere set to play the right kind of romantic music. And, no doubt at all, Connor would be well provided with condoms.

But did Connor intend to seduce her or didn’t he? Surely if he had, he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to show her the bedroom. But if he didn’t, why buy lilies and champagne?

One thing was certain – her body yearned for his. More than anything she wanted his arms around her, his naked skin against hers, the slight roughness of his hands against her flesh. She closed her eyes, supporting herself by one of the bedposts, inhaled the lilies and indulged in a moment’s dreaming. She could almost feel his hands on her breasts, her waist, her hips. Then she straightened up and made her way to the bathroom.

This too had been prepared. Expensive bath oils, candles, soap, and huge, fluffy towels made their function clear. The bath was on the small side for sharing, but there was a very large, comfortable-looking bath mat.

But Hetty was by no means sure she would let Connor have his evil way with her, even if it was her evil way too. She’d been badly hurt before. Even without sleeping with him, Connor was taking a long time to get over. If she let him make love to her properly, his mark would be on her, possibly for life. No, the next time she let a man make love to her, she would be absolutely certain that he loved her. And this time, she would recognize a false promise made only to get her clothes off a mile away.

She made her decision and washed her hands, marring the gleaming porcelain of the sink and rufffling the towels. Did Connor know, she wondered, that new towels never dry you properly? If not, it was her duty to tell him.

She marched downstairs to the kitchen determined that nothing would persuade her to let Connor even suggest they should sleep together. She would sleep on the sofa-bed, in front of the fire, and she would sleep alone.

Connor was doing something to two little rounds of meat. He was concentrating, and a lock of hair had fallen down over his face. When he heard Hetty and glanced up, he looked flushed.

‘You can see why I didn’t show it to you, can’t you?’

‘What?’

‘The bedroom. I knew it was a bad idea. But Caroline convinced me . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘That I should make everywhere as attractive as possible.’ He looked Hetty directly in the eyes. He was ashamed. ‘The bedroom is way over the top. But you’re not to feel pressured.’

Hetty, who had been, and had been buoyed up by her indignation, felt the metaphorical steam hiss from under her, leaving her weak and vulnerable. ‘No.’

‘Anyway, I hope your appetite’s in good form?’

‘It will be when it sees what it’s getting to eat. That looks delicious. Can I help?’

He opened his mouth to say no, but thought better of it. ‘You could chop some parsley. It’s already washed, over there.’

‘I always use frozen parsley.’ Hetty found a knife.

‘I know you do. I don’t.’ He busied himself with some carrots and an orange before he looked up again. ‘No, not that knife!’ He took it out of her hand. ‘And not like that!’ With a different knife he made a few cross cuts into the parsley, which got the bunch under control, and then started chopping up and down at an amazing speed, pulverizing it.

Hetty giggled. ‘You take food far too seriously, you know. It’s only food.’

Connor growled. ‘This isn’t food. It’s filet mignon cooked to a turn with red wine and herbs. So if you’re just going to make frivolous remarks you can go away.’ His glance took the sting from his words. ‘I need to concentrate, and I can’t with you here.’

‘You never minded me in the kitchen before.’

‘Much bigger kitchen. And this is different.’

She didn’t ask him why it was different. ‘If you’re turning away a good galley-slave . . .’

‘I am. There’s a television in the little cupboard in the corner, by the fire. If you just open the doors, you can watch it.’

‘Can I have another drink?’ She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to watch him work his magic on the vegetables, see knives disappear into a blur of activity.

‘No. It’ll spoil your wine. I don’t want you drunk.’

‘You’ve changed your tune! A while ago you were pressing strong drink on me.’

He looked at her, his eyes full of a scary combination of lust, disapproval and promise. ‘Go on. Shoo.’

Hetty made her way upstairs and slouched on the sofa, coming to the conclusion that she was very contrary. She was offended by his preparations for her seduction, and yet when he chased her away, she didn’t want to go. She wanted to provoke the very thing that she should be fleeing from. It would definitely have been safer to have had dinner with Caroline. She found the television, but couldn’t interest herself in either a game show, a gritty northern soap, or a documentary about koala bears who had syphilis.

She went back down to the kitchen. ‘There’s absolutely nothing on television. Are you sure I can’t help?’

He was slicing carrots into hair-fine sticks with terrifying dexterity. ‘Not if you want to be sure of keeping your fingers.’ He gathered the carrots into a colander and rinsed them under the tap.

‘Well, can I just stay in the corner and talk to you?’

‘No.’

‘Honestly! For someone who’s set their bedroom up like a brothel’ – it was a slander on the tastefulness of the room, but never mind – ‘you might be a bit more conciliatory!’

‘I told you, the bedroom was all Caroline’s idea.’

‘I think if Caroline wanted to seduce me she would have mentioned it before now.’

Connor laughed. ‘I think you’ll find that Caroline is fairly hooked on testosterone and all its tiresome side effects.’

‘Speaking from personal experience, are you?’

‘What sort of a question is that?’ His eyes glittered alarmingly. ‘Now, do you want to eat tonight or don’t you? If you can’t find anything on television there are some books under one of the windows.’

‘Improving, are they?’

‘I can’t speak for the books, but the dinner won’t be unless you get out of here!’

Hetty departed slowly. Having been thrown out of his kitchen for a second time didn’t oblige her to hurry.

They ate on a small folding table in front of the fire. Connor said he would have preferred them to eat at a proper table, but that he hadn’t organized one yet. Peter was going to build one when he had time. ‘And the kitchen is no place for a romantic dinner.’

‘I don’t suppose the guests will mind not having a dining room.’ Hetty broke off a bit of bread. ‘This is delicious. I could eat the sauce with a spoon.’

‘But do you mind not having a dining room?’

‘Why should it matter if I mind or not?’

He put down his knife and fork. ‘Because I want you to like it!’

‘But why? I’m not involved with Courtbridge House any more. Does it matter what I think?’

‘Of course! It was your idea to convert the coach-house in the first place.’

‘For holiday lets, not as a home.’

‘But do you like it as a home?’

‘I love it. It’s beautiful . . .’

‘But? You prefer the main house?’

‘No – yes. I don’t know. It’s like comparing oranges with apples.’

‘And which do you prefer? Oranges or apples?’

Hetty felt helpless to say the right thing. ‘Fruit salad?’

He gave her a smile that she hoped was lecherous. It might have been irritated. ‘I haven’t got fruit salad. How’s your steak?’

‘If I fished for compliments, I’d get told off. It’s delicious,’ she added.

Connor looked down. Instead of his usual bland acceptance of praise, he seemed pleased. ‘Good. I . . .’

‘You?’

‘I chose it very carefully,’ he finished.

‘That wasn’t what you were going to say.’

Connor took a breath. ‘I was going to say that I really wanted this meal to be good.’

‘You always do. You care about everything you cook. What’s so special about this meal?’

‘If I told you that, you might run away.’

Hetty’s stomach dipped and lurched, and she wondered if she ought to run away while she still could.

‘What about Caroline’s mousse?’ Connor took her plate and stacked it on his own.

Hetty shook her head, glad to be able to give a straightforward answer. ‘Connor, I’m stuffed. I couldn’t eat another thing.’

‘Nor could I. What about coffee and brandy?’

She shook her head again. ‘No thank you. But don’t let me stop you.’

‘Oh, don’t go all polite on me, I can’t bear it.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Hetty!’ She bit her lip, feeling sheepish. ‘Tell you what. Let’s get this table out of the way and finish our wine in comfort. These chairs may be aesthetic, but they’re not very comfortable.’

Somehow, Hetty found herself sitting next to Connor on the sofa in front of the fire, a glass of wine in her hand.

‘All right?’ he asked.

‘Actually, I’m awfully hot.’

‘Take off your jacket, then.’

She had meant him to move the sofa a little further away from the fire, but she found herself leaning forward so he could help her out of her jacket.

‘And your boots.’ These came off before she realized he intended to remove them. ‘That’s better. Now you can curl up properly.’ He took her feet on to his lap. ‘Lie back and relax, Hetty. You don’t have to go anywhere.’ He took her feet between his hands and gently began to stroke them.

Hetty closed her eyes. She didn’t have to go anywhere. There were seven bedrooms and a sofa-bed to protect her virtue, and it was hard to stay tense with her feet being massaged, but a corner of her brain tried to stay on top of the situation.

Connor placed her feet tenderly on the floor and moved closer to her. He put his arm round her shoulder. His hand felt hot through the thin silk of her blouse. His closeness reminded her that she was wearing a vest, of the most passion-killing type. Should she make an excuse and go and take it off?

‘I need to talk to you, Hetty.’

‘Talk away, I’m not stopping you.’ Although if he’d given her a choice, she’d have gone for a bit of kissing.

‘Are you sure you like this house?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? I love it.’

‘Because I did it for you. I tried to make this place into a home you’d like.’

‘Did you? Why?’

‘Don’t be so dense. This is very hard for me. I’m not used to expressing my feelings.’

Hetty closed her mouth, but her whole body was tense with uncertainty.

‘I want you to know how much you mean to me.’

‘I thought I was a thorn in your side who interfered with your life and wrecked your car.’

His lips narrowed with irritation. ‘Are you being deliberately stupid? Surely you knew I only said those things because you could have been killed? Finding you alive when I’d been waiting all day to hear you’d had a fatal accident was such a relief, it came out as anger, surely you realized that?’

‘As you said, Connor, communication isn’t your best thing.’

‘Oh, hell! I love you, Hetty. I love you with my heart and soul and body. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, nothing that you could do that would make me stop loving you. You could take my car and crash it into a wall if you wanted.’ He frowned. ‘As long as you weren’t hurt.’

‘And as long as the car could be repaired?’

‘No. No caveats.’ He suddenly looked very serious. ‘But I realize I don’t have much to offer you – or anyone. I’m saddled with Courtbridge for ever. At the moment my job takes me out of the country for quite long periods. And, having spent all I earned on my last contract and the profit from my flat on this place, I don’t have much money.’

Hetty moistened her lips. She’d heard the most beautiful words in the world. It was a situation of the utmost delicacy. It was imperative that she say the right thing back. The wrong thing said now could ruin her life for ever. She gave a little sigh. ‘In that case, don’t say another word. I won’t have anything to do with you unless you can prove to me you’re a millionaire.’

He gave her a horrified glance and then descended, flinging his body on to hers, pressing her mercilessly into the softness of the sofa. ‘You bitch,’ he muttered before silencing her protests in the time-honoured way.

A little while and a thermal vest later, Connor sat up. He was naked to the waist and was just about to tackle Hetty’s bra when he paused.

‘I haven’t rushed you, have I? Caroline said that if I just swept you off to bed everything would be all right, but I wasn’t so sure.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve been hurt before, and I’m not just after a one-night stand here. I love you and I want to marry you. You may need to think about it.’

‘I’ll think about it, I promise.’

‘Then could you hurry up and get on with it? I’m quietly dying here! I know living together first would seem a more sensible idea, but I feel living where we – I – do, we should perhaps obey the conventions.’

Hetty struggled upright. ‘Run that by me again?’

‘Which bit? Me quietly dying, or getting married?’

‘The bit about you obeying the conventions. I mean, those aren’t words I expected to hear from the Connor I know . . .’ a tiny pause, ‘and love.’

‘Did you say what I think you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I think we should go upstairs. There are clean, line-dried sheets on the bed and the pillows are pure down. And I know how you hate waste.’

Hetty was a little anxious that moving would make her want to change her mind. But she needn’t have worried. The sheets were initially cool on her skin, but Connor was warm, providing all the heat she needed. She wallowed in his body, his deep, hairy chest, the hardness of his muscles and his intense masculine odour. She could have lain in his arms for ever, except that lying was not what he had in mind.

He stripped off her bra and pants in great haste, but Hetty forgot to feel shy, the look in his eyes as he scanned her body told her she was beautiful. He was more restrained than she would have been. Her instinct would have been to fling herself on him and make love without further ado. But Connor had other ideas, he wanted to make love to each part of her individually. First it was her chest, tantalizingly close to, but not touching, her breasts. He circled where the veins showed blue, he brushed his face against where flesh covered bone in a thin layer, his emergent beard making its presence felt. It was only when she pushed her fingers into his hair and forced him that he turned his attention to her breasts.

No longer able to stay passive under his onslaught, Hetty rolled him on to his back and used her breasts to tantalize him. She grazed his chest with her nipples, she sat astride him and kept herself almost out of reach.

It was his turn to be assertive. He rolled her on to her back so he could run his hands up and down her sides, which he did vigorously, making her laugh. And then changed his tactics and paid delicate, particular attention to the inside of her thighs.

Hetty forgot about being proactive, she just let her body follow its instincts, and Connor’s instructive hands. He taught her a lot, and she loved every little lesson.

When they lay satiated in each other’s arms, Connor said, ‘What about some chocolate mousse? Caroline will be so offended if we don’t eat it.’

Hetty giggled. ‘I wouldn’t eat it to spare Caroline’s feelings, but I would like some.’

‘And there’s another bottle in the fridge. I’ll get it.’

He did have a marvellous back view, Hetty decided. His spine was a delicious valley between hills of muscle, which tapered down to his waist, and from there to his buttocks, firm, well-shaped and powerful.

She took the opportunity to go to the bathroom and tidy the bed while he was gone. While she was plumping the pillows she found a packet of condoms. She was holding them anxiously when he returned with the tray.

‘We forgot something,’ she said, half expecting him to be angry. He’d been so insistent about taking precautions before.

Connor got into bed beside her. ‘That’s all right. It just means you’ll have to marry me, in case you’re pregnant.’ He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek with his hand. ‘I didn’t know how much I loved you before. I didn’t know that worrying about someone, thinking about them all the time, combined with wanting to make passionate love to them on top of the piano, meant you loved them. Now,’ he took a spoonful of mousse and cream and carried it to Hetty’s mouth, ‘open wide.’

She ate the mousse and licked her lips. ‘More, please.’

‘Not until you say yes.’

‘What to?’

‘What do you think? You stupid woman.’

‘I may be a stupid woman, but not so stupid that I’ll say yes to something I haven’t actually been asked.’

‘What do you mean? Oh, did I forget to ask you? Will you marry me, Hetty?’

‘If you give me another spoonful of mousse.’

‘If you marry me, I’ll give you all my worldly goods and the moon and stars as well.’

‘The mousse will do to be going on with.’ It would do to let Connor know how romantic she thought he was. ‘After all, if you’re going to keep me for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t do to let me go hungry now.’

‘Close your eyes and open wide again then.’

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s something hard. What is it?’ She took it out of her mouth and looked at it.

It was a ring, garnets and pearls set in pink-coloured gold. ‘Here, let me wash it for you.’

He took the ring and rinsed it in his champagne glass. ‘It’s a family piece. Antique.’ He slipped it on to her finger and it fitted perfectly. ‘You don’t have to have it if you don’t like it, of course. I may have promised you the moon and stars, but if you want a socking great diamond you’ll have to wait until I’ve been away again.’

She looked at the ring sparkling in the candlelight. ‘It’s perfect. Will you have to go away a lot?’

‘A bit, to start with. But with luck, I may be able to get consultancy work without going abroad so often. Will you mind being on your own?’

‘I’ll cope. As long as you always come back to me?’

‘No fear of that not happening. You’ve got me now, you’re stuck with me. Are you sure you like your ring?’

‘It’s the prettiest ring I’ve ever seen. I love it almost as much as you. Does Samuel know you took it?’

He squeezed her shoulder tightly. ‘Of course. He dug out a box of jewellery from some cupboard and said, ‘Here, if you’re going to ask the girl to marry you, you’d better have a ring to put on her finger.’

He sounded so like Samuel. ‘I think we should have some more champagne. To celebrate.’

Connor took away the bowl of mousse.

‘Later.’