Hitched! (11 page)

‘He hurt you.’ George’s voice was flat, implacable, and when I
glanced at him I saw that the good-humoured face was set so sternly that for a
moment I didn’t recognise him.

‘Everybody gets hurt sooner or later,’ I said. ‘Even you,’ I
reminded him, thinking about Annabel. ‘Maybe even Charles.’

SIX

George looked unconvinced, and I was sorry that I’d
spoiled the atmosphere.

‘Enough of my pathetic story,’ I said, trying to lighten the
atmosphere. ‘I want to hear about your first time now. Fair’s fair.’

‘If you must know, it was over so quickly I can hardly remember
it,’ said George, but the grimness had gone from his face and he was clearly
following my lead.

‘You said we never forgot our first time,’ I reminded him.

‘All right, her name was Julie.’

‘And I bet she was tiny and blonde and wore pretty
dresses?’

‘Now you come to mention it, I think she
was
blonde,’ said George, playing along.

‘And pretty, I suppose?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

I tsked. ‘Why can’t you guys ever fall for prickly brunettes
who don’t know how to talk to boys?’ I demanded.

George smiled. ‘Who says we don’t?’

Outside, the wind shook the windows in frustration and threw
rain at the windows in bad-tempered spurts. Inside, a log collapsed into the
embers with a soft whump, but otherwise there was just a charged silence.

All at once, the room felt very close, and my skin was
prickling with awareness. My eyes flickered to George’s, then away. I picked up
the foil container by my knee and put it down again, horribly conscious that I
was wearing a ghastly half-smile.

Because I didn’t know if he was joking or not. I
thought
he was joking, I was almost sure he was
joking, but with George you could never tell. And what would it mean if he
wasn’t
joking?

‘I’ve got a plan,’ said George.

He had shifted until he was sitting right beside me, his voice
so deep that it reverberated along the armchair and into me. I could feel the
heat of it quivering deep inside me

‘Oh, yes?’ I managed. I thought about moving away but that
would have made me look cowardly, wouldn’t it?

‘It’s a really good one. I think you’ll approve.’

I cleared my throat. ‘I like a plan.’

‘I hope you’ll like this one.’

Very slowly I turned my head until my eyes met his, and my
breath snared at his expression.

‘What is it?’

‘I think we should get into character,’ said George. ‘If we’re
going to be really convincing when Saffron comes up next, we’d better rehearse.’
He lifted a hand to smooth a stray hair away from my face and my skin burned at
his touch. ‘What do you think?’

My heart was thudding, my mouth so dry I could hardly speak,
and I couldn’t have looked away from his eyes if I had tried, but I clung
desperately to the shreds of the sensible Frith I knew I really was inside.

‘I’m, er, not sure that’s really necessary, is it?’ I managed
somehow.

‘I’ve got a very challenging role,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m
besotted by you, remember? I’m going to have to look as if I know what it’s like
to slide my hand under your hair, like this,’ he said, suiting the action to the
words. His palm was warm and persuasive against the nape of my neck. ‘I should
look as if I know what it’s like to nibble your ear lobe and kiss my way down
your throat...’

His lips were warm too, so warm, so sure. A great, fluttery
rush of heat engulfed me and I sucked in a trembling breath.

‘I don’t know...’

‘As for you,’ said George, cupping my cheek to hold my face
still, not that I was capable of going anywhere. ‘It’s going to be even harder
for you.’

‘It is?’

It was just as well I was sitting down, because I felt boneless
with desire. Only the armchair behind me was keeping me upright at all.

‘Talk about tough,’ he said as he shook his head solemnly.
‘You’re going to have to look as if you’re used to me kissing you. I think
you’ll need to practise that a lot.’

I was hazy with anticipation. ‘I suppose it
might
be an idea to practise a bit,’ I heard myself
say.

Where was my sensible side when I needed it? It should have
been up there on the barricades, repelling all advances, reminding me of all the
reasons why kissing George Challoner would be a very bad idea. Instead, it had
given up on the fight with barely a murmur of protest and a reckless Frith I
hadn’t even known existed up to that point was cheering me on.

Go on! Why
not
kiss him? You know you want to! Be honest now. You know you’ve been thinking
about this ever since you laid eyes on him
.
He’s
right, it is quite a good idea. And if he kisses you, it would be rude not
to kiss him back, wouldn’t it?

And so on.

George smiled. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said, and then my
lashes were sweeping down as he leant towards me, or maybe I leant towards him,
and then his lips pressed against mine. They were warm and firm and oh-so-sure,
and the feel of them sent a bolt of intense sensation right through to my toes.
I could have sworn the room rocked around me, and I had to put up a hand to
George’s shoulder to steady myself.

His mouth felt so right that all sensible thought evaporated,
and somehow my hand slid round to tangle in his hair to pull him closer and
deepen the kiss.

It wasn’t a frenzied tonsil-tennis kind of kiss. It was lazier
and lovelier than that, almost languorous, at least at first. We leaned into
each other and kissed and it was as if we’d kissed a thousand times before. It
was like coming home.

I’m not quite sure when it changed. Somehow the lazy pleasure
deepened into something more urgent, and, without me meaning it to, my hand came
up to his shoulder and then his cheek. I laid my palm against his jaw and felt
the graze of his stubble and he smiled against my mouth.

‘Pretty good,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure we got it
quite
right. We’d better try again.’

So we did, sliding down onto the carpet as I abandoned myself
to the sheer pleasure of kissing and being kissed while the excitement raced
between us, ratcheting up a notch with each touch, each kiss, each press of our
bodies.

Our hands grew hungrier, our kisses more demanding. My arms
came up so that I could tug George’s shirt from his trousers, so I could slide
my palms over his broad, strong back. He felt wonderful. His skin was warm and
smooth, and I could feel the powerful muscles flex under my touch.

His hands were everywhere, hot and wickedly persuasive,
discovering me, unlocking me, undoing me, and I arched beneath him, incoherent
words tumbling from my lips.

‘Frith,’ he murmured, rolling over me.

That was when he knocked over the beer bottle.

The splash brought me to my senses. I froze as the pool of
liquid spread beneath me, and then I struggled up, pushing George away. ‘What
are we
doing
?’ I said, flustered.

‘We’re kissing,’ he said and reached for me again, but I
scooted out of his way.

‘I think we should stop,’ I said with difficulty. ‘Maybe it
wasn’t such a good idea after all.’

‘What do you mean? It was a brilliant idea. The best I’ve ever
had.’

It was typical of George that he wasn’t in the least
self-conscious, unlike me. I was acutely aware of my tousled hair and swollen
lips, of the imprint of George’s hands on my thigh, his lips on my throat. I
fumbled with my buttons. How had
they
come
undone?

‘Maybe that’s enough practice,’ I said. ‘We don’t want to get
carried away.’

‘Don’t we?’

‘All right,
I
don’t,’ I said. ‘I
don’t want to forget this is just a pretence.’

George leant back on his elbow and regarded me thoughtfully.
‘This is about Charles, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ I said instinctively, then honesty made me consider the
question. ‘Well, maybe it’s a bit about him.’

‘You don’t trust me,’ said George.

‘I do! That is...I think I do. It’s not about you, or me,’ I
tried to explain. I was trying to mop up the beer and fasten my blouse at the
same time, with a spectacular lack of success in both cases. ‘I just don’t think
we should...get serious,’ I said.

There was a silence. I could feel George’s blue gaze on my
face, but I couldn’t look at him. ‘It was only a kiss,’ he said eventually.

Only a kiss. Only a kiss that had rocked me off my axis, that
had left my skin twitching and my blood roaring and my heart slamming in my
chest.

‘We both know we wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t knocked
over that beer,’ I said.

‘I’ll be more careful next time,’ said George.

‘There won’t be a next time,’ I said firmly. I had managed to
do up my blouse by then and was feeling more under control.

‘What about Saffron’s party?’ he said after a moment. ‘Don’t I
get to kiss you then? After all, you were the one who told Saffron I can’t keep
my hands off you,’ he reminded me. ‘And it would be a shame to put all this
practice to waste!’

What had ever made me think I could get away with pretending to
be sleeping with George? I wondered, smoothing my hair back and eyeing him in
frustration. He just wasn’t taking this seriously, but then, why was I
surprised? George didn’t take anything seriously.

The whole idea was mad, I could see that now, but it was too
late to back out. I could just imagine the hard time George would give me if I
tried! Somehow, though, I had to wrestle things back under control.

‘We can kiss if necessary,’ I said stiffly, ‘but not like...you
know...the way we just did. It’s not as if Saffron or your grandmother will
expect us to get it on in front of everybody else, is it? That’s not how people
behave.’

George linked his hands behind his head and leant back into the
chair. ‘Frith Taylor, I do believe you’re embarrassed!’

‘Of course I’m embarrassed!’ I snapped. ‘I don’t usually let
things get out of hand like that.’

‘It’s not so bad letting go, is it?’

‘Yes,’ I said, still reeling with how close I had come to
throwing myself back into that abyss where I flailed out of control. ‘I don’t
like it. I know you’re going to tell me I’m repressed, but that’s just the way I
am.’

‘You weren’t repressed when you were kissing me just now.’

I was glad of the dim light that hid the colour that swept up
my throat at the mere memory of that kiss.

‘No, well, that was out of character,’ I mumbled.

‘Not getting carried away can’t make your relationships much
fun,’ said George.

Why couldn’t he just let the subject drop? I eyed him crossly.
‘My relationships have been fine,’ I said. ‘My boyfriends were like me. They
didn’t want an intense relationship either.’ It was true enough. All three had
had a prosaic approach that I found reassuring. That was why we’d got together
in the first place. ‘None of them wanted to get too involved,’ I told George,
‘and I didn’t either.’

George dropped his hands. He wasn’t smiling any more. ‘Because
if you were too involved, you might feel something? And if you felt something,
he might hurt you, the way Charles did? The way your father did?’

‘This isn’t about my father,’ I said coldly. ‘I don’t need to
be psychoanalysed, George. I’m just explaining that I’m a woman who knows what
she wants, and what I want is to be in control of my life. Frankly, I don’t see
anything wrong with that.’

My lips tightened when George just shook his head.

‘Look, the fact is that we’re completely different,’ I told
him. ‘It’s not as if a relationship between us could go anywhere even if we
wanted one. You’re committed to your life here, and I’ll be leaving as soon as
Hugh is better.’

‘You know, not every good relationship has to last for ever,’
said George. ‘Neither of us is involved with anyone else. We could have a good
time until you go, but you won’t even consider that because being spontaneous
and having a good time isn’t in your plan!’

‘Maybe I won’t consider it because I don’t
want
it,’ I snapped back. ‘You’re not nearly as irresistible as you
think you are. I’m not saying what just happened wasn’t pleasant, and I’m just
as responsible as you are for letting it go too far, but I don’t want to do it
again.’

I certainly wasn’t going to tell George that I was afraid that
if we kissed again I wouldn’t be able to stop myself getting involved. I might
have told him that my previous relationships had been fine, but of course they
hadn’t. I deliberately chose men who wouldn’t push me for commitment, men I
could hold at arm’s length.

Men with whom there was never, frankly, much danger of getting
carried away.

There was more than a smidgeon of truth in George’s analysis,
which was why it had stung. Not that I was going to tell him that either.

‘I just don’t think it would be a good idea for us to get any
more involved than we are already,’ I told George. ‘I’m happy for us to be
friends, and to help each other out as we agreed, but that’s it.’

‘No more practising?’ said George. He had put on a downcast
expression, but in the firelight I could see that his eyes were dancing, and it
strengthened my resolve. What was it about me that he found so damn funny
anyway?

‘No,’ I said. ‘No practising. I can’t answer for your
grandmother, but it’s not as if it’s going to take any great acting to convince
Saffron that we’re a couple anyway,’ I added. ‘She’ll see what she wants to
see.’

* * *

The truth of this was borne out a couple of weeks later
when Saffron came up to see how preparations for the party were progressing.

I cooked supper for her in my cottage, and invited George and
Roly. It wasn’t what Saffron was used to, of course, but she entered gamely into
the spirit of the occasion.

I’m not much of a cook, as I think I’ve mentioned before, but I
made spaghetti bolognese, which wasn’t too bad, even though I says it as
shouldn’t. George and Roly certainly seemed to appreciate it. Saffron was
horrified at the idea of pasta, of course, but seemed happy to pick at the
salad, and, having got her own way over the wine, had clearly set out to be
charming.