A Man For All Seasons (10 page)

“I'll come with you,” he said, almost before the thoughts had formed in his head.

A soft, tentative hand brushed his. “That'd be great,” she said.

Carefully he followed behind. He could barely distinguish her in the gloom, but he could hear the whisper of her breath, and her soft scent filled his senses. He breathed in deeply. In his mind's eye he could see her, but strangely it was the girl in the painting he could visualise, not the living breathing woman before him. Vaguely he felt as if he'd missed something, somewhere along the way. But the thoughts drifted away as light flooded out of the kitchen door as Seraphim entered the kitchen.

He blinked in the sudden glare of light. Seraphim, half in and half out of the pantry presented a strange sight. She'd put on a heavy, navy blue coat over her nightie, which hung just below her knees. Her long legs and feet were bare. Emerging from the pantry, she smiled triumphantly, a half sack of what must have been carrots held in one gloved hand. Wrapped in a black scarf, her face looked pale, and the eyes huge and luminous. Strangely exotic. Strangely beautiful.

“Found them,” she pronounced. “Come on.”

He followed her to the cloak room and took the sack from her while she slipped her feet into black wellington boots.

She must have sensed his eyes upon her for she glanced at him and made a small grimace of dismay. “Not exactly designer wear, is it?”

“You look just fine,” he said. To his ears the words seemed as flat as day old beer. But to his surprise the generous mouth turned up in a smile.

She bobbed a funny, mock curtsey. “Why, thank you kind sir.”

Silently he took the coat she offered to him, and slipped it on. Together they moved outside. The cold bit like a dingo trap. They both stopped as if by silent command. Around them, beneath its sprinkle of silver fairy dust, the world twinkled and glimmered under the moonlit sky. It occurred to him then that it was the perfect setting for his companion. It seemed as if she could magically fade into the white of the night, like a snow sprite.

She looked at him. “Hell it's cold!”

He laughed, as her words cleared away his strangely fanciful notions. Her breath frosted before her and one hand clutched the scarf around her face. She was, of course, just flesh and blood. There were no words in his vocabulary to describe his emotions when she reached out and took his cold hand into her own soft, woolly one and led him down the silvery path.

Eleven

A snowy white owl glided over the empty yard, its broad wings making no sound. They paused and watched until it disappeared beneath the cover of a large cedar tree behind the walled garden.

At the sound of their footsteps the horses began to stir, and soon twenty faces peered at them curiously over the half doors of their stables.

Seraphim led Chad to the first door and patted the grey face. She turned but he'd anticipated her request and she took the carrot he offered and fed it to the horse. “This is Shadowfax. He's six now. I named him when Dad bought him as a yearling. I was in a
Lord of the Rings
phase at the time.”

Slowly they made their way around the rows of eager faces. At each door they stopped and Seraphim introduced each resident and fed a carrot. She was not surprised to find that he knew a number of the horses by name.

At Pollyanna's door she felt a tug of sadness and regret. The big mare sniffed her head gently and blew a warm stream of air into her face. Seraphim gave her several large carrots and hugged her around the neck to say goodbye.

Chad finally broke the silence. “She's a nice mare.”

Seraphim nodded and patted her neck before reluctantly moving on. “She is very kind and very generous. Really, she doesn't have a bad bone in her body.”

“Good horse.”

She felt ridiculously pleased by his words. Not so much by what he said, for his words were few, but more so by the underlying approval in his tone. Approval for Pollyanna, of course, but also, she felt sure, for herself.

When she'd bumped into him at the house (and gotten over the fright) she'd been secretly delighted by the unplanned reunion. A wave of guilt flooded through her as she recalled the muddy mess he'd been in following their ride. But she'd been upset and confused.

She regretted her earlier snubbing, and had wanted a chance to try to straighten things out before they flew out. Whilst she could cope with her mother's disapproval - just - she found herself more concerned with the cooling of her relationship with Chad.

Intuition told her that he was upset with her. She'd racked her brains, but for the life of her she couldn't work it out. She went over and over the short periods of time they'd spent together. After he'd been so kind the other evening, and gone along with her somewhat embroidered tales, she'd really thought he liked her. But try as she could, she could find no good reason for the growing distance that seemed to be separating them.

At Trick's box they paused again. She lingered longer than she should, for she didn't want to break the spell of the moment. Between them they dug the last of the carrots out of the bag, then she gained several more precious moments as the big stallion and Chad played tug of war with the empty bag. She watched, entranced and touched by the pair's youthful exuberance.

For a moment she could imagine that it was her playfully fighting with the tall, handsome man. She could just see it. For a while he'd tease, let her think she was winning. Then he'd pull her down and pin her gently to the ground. He'd laugh down into her face and then…

“Penny for them?”

She startled, and then blushed when she realised his remarkable amber eyes were fixed upon her. What must he think?

He'd relinquished the bag and Trick had retreated into his stable with his prize.

Forcing a small smile, she lied. “I was just wondering how Trick would enjoy his flight.”

“He'll be fine. Flying doesn't seem to faze them much.” Then two crease marks formed between his eyes.

She jumped a little as he reached out one brown hand and ran his thumb softly down her cheek. She could barely breathe.

“You're absolutely frozen,” he said.

She stared at him blankly for a minute until she realised he was quite right. Her toes were numb and the marrow in her leg bones seemed to throb in protest. Small spasms coursed through her body and she shivered like a sapling in the wind. But how could he know that it was nothing to do with the cold? How could he know that desire fizzed through her like a Catherine wheel? How could he know that her lips wanted to part to ask for a kiss? How could he know? The answer of course, was that she had to tell him.

She caught his wrist in her hand and looked at him. Her breath came in jagged bursts and she felt as if she would implode with need. “Warm me,” she whispered.

For an agonising eternity he remained frozen, his eyes locked in hers. And then his hand slid over the fall of her jaw and slowly encircled her throat. “I can feel your pulse,” he whispered. “It feels like a butterfly in a net.” Then he dropped his head and his mouth met hers, softly catching up her lower lip.

She tipped back her head, a small moan of ecstasy filtering through their union. Instinctively she moved into the unfamiliar realms of his body and her mouth began to explore. Heat flared in her core as his hands slid around her and pulled her close. Tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence, she began to explore the iron hard muscles of his shoulders and back. Her legs felt so hollow that she believed she would fall without his hold upon her. Surrender beckoned with her mysterious smile.

When he released her she felt strangely disorientated and yet gloriously, shamelessly, wildly exhilarated, and oddly abandoned all at the same time. His white teeth flashed through the dark beard. “I think that's enough kissing for one night, don't you?”

She thoroughly disagreed but refrained from saying so. They left the yard and trekked back to the house. Inside, the heat wrapped around her like a blanket, as they stopped together at the base of the stairs. Seraphim searched for something to say, suddenly shy and awkward. Already the incident had taken on a dream-like quality. She wanted some kind of reassurance that it had really happened.

His face was as still as a frozen lake. Partially it was the beard, but his eyes held an expression of intent wariness she had noticed before. She wondered why, but didn't have the nerve to ask.

“So… ” she began hesitantly.

“So.” Was his firm reply.

She waited, hoping for something, but as the silence of the night spread around them, hope faded. “I guess I'll see you in the morning then,” she said finally.

He nodded. “Night then.”

A lump formed in her throat. Was that it? Where had the passionate, eager man gone? What had happened? Why had he retreated from her again? A horrible thought confronted her. Was she a really bad kisser? Worse still, was Shelley much better? All her happiness turned to dust. Of course she was a disappointment.

Without another word she travelled up the stairs. With each step she became increasingly aware of his grey, blurry form receding from her.

“Seraphim.”

She froze, unsure at first if she had heard anything at all. Perhaps it was just her ears, trying to please. But she heard it again. A soft whisper of breath.

“Seraphim.”

With a mighty effort she slowly turned, trying to disguise her eagerness. She leant against the banister, eyes searching in the dark. “Yes?”

“When we get back home, do you want to go on a muster?”

She smiled then, even though she knew it was unlikely he could see. It was a spontaneous expression of the joy bouncing back into her heart. Did she want to go on a muster? Well, she didn't know what the hell a muster was, but she sure as hell wanted to go on one. “I'd love to.”

“Night then.”

“Night.” Her legs sped her up the rest of the steps, down the corridor and into her room. She plunged into bed and pulled the quilt around her, snuggling down into the soft security of their folds.

And then it hit her. The enormity of it all. Her break up with Bloody Barry (she must stop calling him that), her flight to Australia and, of course, her burgeoning feelings for Chad. For a moment she wondered if she was out of control. But that made her giggle. She was the most controlled individual she'd ever met. 'Uptight cow,' had been an unkind, but sadly accurate, expression used by one of the wealthy, pushy and unattractive dates her mother had once organised. Well, here was one in the eye for him. By the time this little lot got out, high society would be calling her many things, but 'uptight' would not be one of them!

It was a very satisfactory situation.

Her mind drifted languorously back to the kiss. She recalled the feel of his young hard, body. She relived the urgent unspoken communication between them. And she hungered for more. All her past relationships withered into insignificance. She realised that she'd never really known passion before, other than second hand within the confines of books and movies. Something had awoken inside her. And she knew she would never be the same again.

She wanted Chad. It was that pure and simple. She wanted him in the same way that she wanted food to eat and air to breathe. As the hours ticked by she tossed and turned, planning and rejecting several possible seduction scenarios on the plane.

Twenty-four lovely long hours of pure Chad stretched before her like a delicious banquet. Surely that would be long enough even for someone with her limited experience? Anything seemed possible.

At some level she felt a tremor of uncertainty. Her father's words trouble her. Throughout her life he'd rarely refused her anything. His reticence on the subject of Chad was odd, to say the least. She rolled it over in her mind. What was her mother's problem? What was it about the young Australian that provoked such an adamant disapproval? Was it political? But her grasp of politics was so hazy that she abandoned the idea almost immediately.

Perhaps Chad was some sort of mafia boss. Maybe he grew secret crops of marijuana. But somehow she couldn't quite see it. And besides, her dad would never knowingly be involved with someone crooked.

Eventually she slipped into sleep. Dreams flickered and died, an unsettling hotchpotch of faces and places.

When she awoke, she pushed aside her worries. Oh my God! This was it. The day. She leapt out of bed and dressed in designer jeans, her favourite purple shirt and a long black boots. With her hair pulled into a ponytail she hastened down stairs, excited but anxious.

Thus far she had avoided a confrontation with her mother, but at the same time she didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. It was six am. To get to the airport at Heathrow in time for check in, they'd need to leave by half past at the latest. All her bags, except for her small case and handbag, were already stowed in the boot of the car. The sight of her smart leather cases cosying up to Chad's had given her a small thrill of satisfaction. Logically she deducted that first it would be her bags and then her. It was a singularly happy thought.

When she entered the room hers eyes instinctively searched for Chad. He smiled up at her, a coffee cup in hand, and nodded. His wavy brown hair curled softly upon his forehead and she longed to reach out and smooth it with a hand. Just his presence left her strangely reassured, and she met her mother's eye calmly and managed a general round of greetings.