Lots of Love (54 page)

‘I always knew you’d hurt me.’ He retreated behind his dark glasses.

Without thinking, she reached up to take them off, but he grabbed her arm to stop her. ‘We need to talk,’ he muttered, stepping away.

‘Miss Jamieson?’ A window shot open and Poppy’s eager face shot out. ‘Would you mind explaining exactly how the wood-burning stove works?’

Ellen watched Spurs worriedly, but his eyes were still hidden by the shades and he shrugged. ‘Later.’

Reluctantly leaving him stretched out on his favourite garden bench with a bottle of beer, Ellen trailed around with the Brakespears, who wanted to know every last detail about the house, what was included in the sale and how her parents were getting on in Spain. In turn, Anke told her companionably all about her eccentric father who so rarely opened his shop, her worries about his health and their decision to move to the area to keep an eye on him. Ahead of them, the children squabbled about who would get which room and complained about the lack of telephone and TV aerial points upstairs.

Ellen looked out of every front window as she passed it to check that Spurs was still there, spotting the top of his camouflage hat and the long, tanned legs sprawling out in front of him. She was feeling hotter and hotter.

‘Is this something to do with the alarm?’ Anke pointed out a little socket hole by the skirting.

Ellen bent down to look. ‘No, I think it’s a vent.’

When she straightened up, Graham, Magnus and Chad Brakespear were all gaping at her adoringly because she’d just flashed her butterfly G-string and her silver surfer.

Back outside, she delivered another beer to Spurs as the Brakespears took a turn round the garden and outbuildings. ‘Not much longer,’ she promised.

He glanced up over his glasses, silver eyes troubled. ‘Get rid of them.’

‘I can’t. They seem really keen. We’ve got all night – I mean all evening.’ She flushed.

‘No, we haven’t,’ he muttered, but before she had a chance to ask what he meant he added, ‘What’s in hell’s got into you?’

Too much wine, heat and sexual frustration made Ellen feel reckless. ‘Nothing yet,’ she murmured, ‘but I’m hoping you will later.’

A smile twitched on his lips but didn’t break cover. Then he grabbed her wrist and she thought he was going to pull her on to his lap and kiss her, but he was just looking at her watch. As he did so, his fingers curled through hers. ‘We really have to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘And there’s something I need to tell you.’ She bent over and spoke in his ear. ‘I think we should fuck each other’s brains out.’

His fingers tightened in hers and he pressed his lips to her collarbone, making the skin leap and burn. Then his other hand strayed momentarily up her thigh and between her legs, and she had to grip the back of the bench tightly to stay upright. Her whole body drummed and buzzed like an apiary in an earthquake, cleaving towards his.

‘Miss Jamieson!’ Poppy rattled past with another tray of drinks and Spurs’ hand was swiftly removed. ‘Sorry to drag you away, but can you tell the Brakespears about the barn conversion? I understand there are some old plans from when it was done.’

During a lengthy inspection of the bunkhouse and a worried discussion about the practicality of steep stone steps for an eighty-year-old man, Ellen looked out of one of the knee-height windows to see Spurs heading into the main cottage. Her heart leaped around like a squeezebox on elastic, hoping that he would head straight to her room and strip off.

The Brakespears stayed a further half-hour, chatting, laughing and hanging around in the garden in the lowering sunlight to admire everything. Every time Ellen tried to creep inside in search of Spurs, she was called back to answer a question or hear more tales of Magnus’s band, Faith’s pony and Chad’s desire to be a fighter pilot. The wine was polished off, along with all the beer and every soft drink in the house, plus three bags of crisps and an apple. Only Poppy’s fresh coffee bubbled untouched when they finally made moves.

‘We’ll be in touch,’ Anke promised Poppy and Ellen, as they headed towards their car. ‘Thank you so much!’

‘My wife loves the place.’ Graham winked. ‘I’m sure I’ll be calling you tomorrow, Poppy. Great to meet you.’ He gave Ellen a hot look.

‘Have a safe journey home!’ Poppy called then whispered to Ellen, ‘Lovely family. I must say, I thought he wasn’t going to be keen, but he seemed
very
switched on. I think they’ll offer, but we’ll still have to watch out for him. He likes a bargain, I feel. Do you want to set negotiating perimeters over coffee?’

‘Not right now – that’s up to my parents. Call me when you know anything.’ Ellen ushered her hurriedly towards the gate and bolted inside.

But Spurs wasn’t in the house. On Ellen’s bed, he had left a note. ‘Wish Two expires in 24 hours. So will I without you. S.’

Ellen left the house unlocked and ran across the closed footpath, ducking out of sight of Hunter Gardner until she’d clambered over the gate to the manor’s courtyards, hurried through the arches and around the yews. She hammered on the big black door, all set to rip off her clothes in an instant.

‘What d’you want?’ demanded a furious voice behind her, and she swung round to see Hell’s Bells clutching a pair of secateurs and glaring at her. One look at the panting, flush-cheeked blonde in the half-undone clothes had clearly told Spurs’ mother that she wasn’t out collecting for Christian Aid.

‘Lady Belling, I’m sorry to interrupt but I need to see Spurs.’

The big jaw lifted away from its cushioning chins and she fingered the secateurs menacingly. ‘I’ve sent him on an errand this evening. He won’t return until
very
late. How did you get on to the grounds?’

‘I – er – know the way in,’ Ellen said vaguely.

‘Then you’ll know the way out again,’ she snapped.

Remembering that Hell’s Bells was very ill – and that she was technically trespassing – Ellen apologised again. ‘You see, I was supposed to honour the promise he bought at the auction, but I got held up and he left without rearranging a time.’

‘Yes, well, he’s gawn out. And I doubt he’ll find the time again. No doubt he can gift the lot to someone else. What was it?’

‘A sports massage,’ Ellen muttered. And a night of hot loving, she thought silently, the goosebumps stealing away to be replaced by twitching anger.

‘I’ll mention it to his father,’ Hell’s Bells was saying. ‘St John gets rather troublesome backache, which might benefit from a rub-down.’

‘Why won’t Spurs have the time?’ Ellen asked.

‘I don’t see that that is any business of yours.’

‘I still have to claim my lot from him. We have lots in common,’ she joked, nervously because Hell’s Bells was advancing at speed now, her rolling stride alarmingly like that of a Sumo wrestler heading for his first grip. Her G-string certainly wasn’t up to a power hold.

Thankfully she stopped a yard short of Ellen and thrust the secateurs under one arm like a sergeant major’s swagger stick, then pulled off her gloves. ‘I think it best if you forget about that little bit of nonsense. In fact, I suggest that you forget about my son altogether.’

‘But we’re friends.’

‘I rather think you’re not.’

Ellen was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. ‘I appreciate that I don’t know him very well,’ she said quickly, ‘but I still think that we count ourselves friends.’

‘Assuming that you can count at all after what has doubtless been a pitiful education at the state’s expense,’ Hell’s Bells rose up to her full five feet three in sensible gardening shoes, ‘then I suggest you count your blessings that we are having this little chat. You are
not
friends with my son, nor will you be. You are not welcome on our land or in his life. The sooner you leave this village the better. Do I make myself clear?’

Ellen wondered why she was being so cantankerous. ‘I hear what you’re saying,’ she said carefully.

‘Well, I suppose one should be grateful that you’re not deaf as
well
as dumb,’ Hell’s Bells tutted. ‘Now, would you kindly leave this garden?’

Ellen thrust her hands into her pockets to stop herself taking a swing at the old bat. ‘Will you at least tell him I was here?’

‘Very well.’ The familiar silver eyes were like steel traps.

She trailed back to the cottage despondently and took her third shower of the day. This time it was a cold one.

First thing the following morning Poppy was on the telephone to tell Ellen the good news that the Brakespears had made an offer just a few thousand below the new asking price, which had already been fifty thousand higher than the one put forward by Seaton’s. Having already called Theo and Jennifer in Spain, Poppy reported that they were thrilled and had decided to accept. She thought that it would be a straightforward sale: ‘The Brakespears already have an asking-price offer on their property, and they’re not seeking a new mortgage, so there’s no reason why we can’t exchange within the month.’

‘Thanks,’ Ellen said hollowly, wondering why she wasn’t more relieved. ‘You’ve done a fantastic job.’

‘You can book your flight to Nirvana now.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. The Foreign Office is warning against travelling there. I think I’ll start somewhere a bit less remote.’

When Ellen carefully replaced the handset, she caught sight of the massage oils still waiting on the sill in the kitchen, and felt a heavy bolt of regret slide across her head, heart and libido. It was over. It had to be over. It had never really started.

She fired up her laptop and set about confirming her flights – starting with the one from Heathrow that left in a fortnight’s time, on the day of Ely Gates’s garden party.

Snorkel watched her worriedly from a corner of the kitchen, black ears flicking backwards and forwards, blue eyes blinking.

‘I’ll find you a lovely home,’ Ellen promised her. ‘And we’ll bloody well track down that antisocial mog too.’

On the table in front of her was the nail from the horseshoe and Spurs’ note. Ellen turned them over and over in her hands as she waited for her online credit-card transaction to be confirmed.

‘You’ve got to solve the riddle before you dissolve,’ Spurs had said.

But Ellen couldn’t take the heat. She’d always stood a snowball’s chance in hell with someone so loaded with X-factor. He had warned her off more than once, knowing that she was flying too close to the prodigal sun. Melting his heart was like being burned at the stake. And now she was dissolving the partnership instead.

At her parents’ instruction, Ellen started boxing up many of their more personal possessions on the same morning that the Brakespears’ offer was accepted.

‘Don’t you think I should hang fire until it’s all more definite?’ she’d asked her mother, during their early-morning call. ‘After all, if this falls through you won’t want it full of packing cases for more viewings.’

‘Don’t be so lazy,’ Jennifer snapped. ‘You’ve already told us you’re swanning off in a matter of days, and while I’m sure the removal company are very capable, there are certain items that your father and I would prefer to be handled by you.’

‘I thought you might change your mind and come here for the final move?’

‘You know how much your father hates travelling these days, and now he has the wretched animals as an excuse. It might be better just to leave it to the experts.’ Her voice was tight with emotion, which Ellen at first read to be ongoing anger about Theo’s poultry and goat purchases. It was only when she’d rung off that it occurred to her how upset her mother must be that the dream cottage would soon no longer be hers.

And at least packing things away took Ellen’s mind off Spurs. Ever efficient, Jennifer had already sent her a copy of the detailed itinerary listing what was to go to Spain with the removers, and what was to be taken away by the house-clearance company – both of whom were poised to descend the moment contracts were exchanged.

She was stashing another box of trinkets in the cellar when she heard footsteps in the kitchen above her. Hoping blindly that it was Spurs she raced up the narrow stone stairs so quickly that she cracked her kneecaps.

But it was just Dilly, returning Ellen’s clothes and in desperate need of advice. ‘Oh, God, I made
such
a fool of myself on Saturday night, Ellen. Was I completely and totally uncool?’

‘No.’ She made them both a cup of tea. ‘You were just a bit caned. Nobody could blame you for being upset that your mother and I gatecrashed. I’d have reacted in exactly the same way.’

‘But I told everyone that Mum fakes her orgasms, then started banging on about Rory and Spurs both fancying me in front of them. Mum says that I behaved like a big kid and it’s no wonder Rory walked out.’ Dilly sat on the kitchen table and swung her legs, looking every inch a big kid. ‘She’s being so bitchy. She says you probably hate me because I told everybody that you set Spurs and me up. She says that you’re
her
friend, not mine, and that I should leave you alone, but I told her she should too. It was her fault you got dragged along on Saturday, wasn’t it?’