Shadows (4 page)

Dusty, pollen-laden air carried scents of hay, warm earth, cows and trees, and whipped across the tarmac as Rory shaded his eyes and stared at the plane coming in to land.  Anticipation warmed him.  He'd never known such a strong attraction to a girl before.  She wasn't a beauty and he'd certainly escorted girls who had more confidence than Melissa.

But something drew him to her.  Her charm, her lack of feminine evasions and persuasions, the way she colored at the slightest embarrassment.  She would be far more than another name in the long string of girlfriends that littered his past.

Unless his instincts were totally wrong, she was the girl he would marry.

He paced along the white line painted on the gray tarmac.  The image of her delicate face, wide blue eyes and fluffy brown hair floated across his mind.  He’d liked the elegance of her, and the soft mellowness of her voice.  She’d liked him, her flushed cheeks told him that.

If she turned out to be a wimpish, stereotypical librarian, he might be in for a hellish three weeks.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and his shoulders tightened at the thought.  This could be the biggest mistake of his life.  Blast Jonny for getting him into this.

Rory shook his head.  Jonny was not to blame.  He'd got himself into it, and he was willing to stake everything he had that this holiday was going to work out for him and Melissa.  The brief, chaste kiss she'd allowed after their pizza had hardly registered on the Richter scale of kisses, and their second date on the Saturday had been great fun but progressed no further than holding hands and a goodnight peck on the cheek.  He bought the air ticket in spite of her protests because he couldn't bear the thought of not seeing her for three weeks.  If he bought the ticket, he knew she'd feel obliged to come.  If he left it to her, she'd have wriggled out of it.

He kicked out at a scrap of paper blowing across the tarmac.  Melissa wasn’t a girl who demanded attention.  Her looks were not stunning and she certainly didn’t follow the latest fashions.  Her clothes were classic and simple rather than trendy, but he liked that.  It showed good sense, and emphasized all the things he liked about her.  The attraction had been immediate, very strong and different in that it wasn't simply a physical attraction.  He wanted to know if she liked Beethoven, ever watched cricket, or hated cruelty to animals.  Those things, and everything in between.

He spotted her at once amongst the small group of travelers walking through customs, recognized the pale, delicate face and willowy figure, and something that might be joy leapt inside and surprised him.  The group thinned out.  He noted her dark blue jeans and white trainers, an outfit so different from the linen shift and jacket she’d worn when they’d met.  The jeans totally changed her image.  She looked altogether sportier, much more adventurous and she had surprisingly long legs.

He smiled and strolled forward to take her bag.

She spotted him, and her spontaneous smile enchanted him.

He embraced her with a chaste touch of his lips to both cheeks.  She wasn't ready for the second salutation and ducked aside with a nervous trill of laughter.  “We’re in France now.  Must do things the French way.”  He hefted her bag.  “Thank God you didn’t bring much.  I forgot to tell you I drive a sports car.”

“I didn’t know what to bring, to be honest.”  There was that flush of bright color on her cheeks again as she darted swift, tentative glances at him, probably thinking he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s the kind of holiday where anything goes.  We’ll be totally private and you can wear as much or as little as you like.”

Her smile vanished.  He groaned inwardly.  She’d taken his remark the wrong way.  Wrong move, Rory.  He decided to ignore it, pointed his key fob and a sleek yellow car beeped back at him.

“Is this yours?”

He nodded.  “Surprised?  Do you like her?”

“I sense a rival.”

She spoke with a wry twist to her words, and a smile that won his approval.  She had a sense of humor, and he like that.  He heaved her bag into the boot and settled her in the passenger seat.  “Right.  It’ll take about half an hour to reach the mill, so sit back and relax.”

The warm wind poured into the open car.  Rory glanced at her from the corner of his eye.  She had shut her eyes and tilted her head up to the sun.  Good.  She let the wind blow through her hair, and her faint smile showed pleasure.  He gripped the wheel and pressed the accelerator.  This was going to be all right.

He let her absorb her surroundings as he drove.  The silence was comfortable, and he broke it only when they neared their destination.  “Do you see the spire up ahead?”

“On top of the hill?”

“That’s our marker.  If you drive out alone while you’re here, look for that and then you’ll see the turning for the mill.”

She glanced at him in amazement.  “You mean you’ll let me drive this wonderful car?”

He glanced at her.  He wouldn't have let Tara drive.  In fact, he'd never let any of the girls drive his car.  It hadn't been a conscious decision, but he wanted to see how Melissa handled the powerful engine.  “Why not?  You can drive, can’t you?”  He had a lot to learn about her, and vice versa.

“Yes, but I’ve driven nothing like this.”

“You’ll soon get used to it.  Just take it slow at first.”  Even if she complimented the Honda simply to please him, it was a good sign that she wanted to do so.  He swung the car into the narrow turning.

He waved a hand at the landscape of cornfields and tiny farmhouses.  “What do you think of it?”

“It’s pretty.”

A mile further on, Rory pointed.  “That’s the mill.  See the red roof?  That’s where we’re going.”

Melissa looked with interest across the flat valley bottom toward the gable end of the mill.  He hoped she liked the private tree-lined track, and the trees packing the slope behind the house.  When he finally halted the car beneath the huge walnut tree, he gestured to the sunlit glade ahead of them.  “Well, here we are.”

Melissa gazed around, wide-eyed and smiling.  “It’s gorgeous.  Oh, Rory, it’s lovely.”

Good.  She liked the place.  The last little knot of tension in his gut unraveled and disappeared.  She might have hated the place, but she seemed pleased with it.  He had to admit that the mill looked well in the evening sunlight.  The terracotta-tiled roof sloped down and shaded the verandah where a white plastic table and chairs waited.  A sunny space opened out before the house and luscious green trees formed a half moon shape around it.

“Is that a pool over there?”

He nodded.  “It’s the first thing Jonny had done.”  Rory got out of the car, and retrieved her bag from the boot.  “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.  I was too nervous to eat earlier.”  With a swift, embarrassed grin, she walked onto the verandah and across the flagstones to the rail at the far end.  Did that mean she was over her nervousness?  He hoped so, and admired the long, lean lines of shoulder, hip and legs as she grasped the rail and leant on it.  His gaze lingered on the subtle curves and shadows of her body and he longed to walk over and put his arms around her.  Of course, he couldn't.  Not yet.  It was far too soon.  She'd retreat into her shell at once.

Let her get used to her surroundings and enjoy the wonderful vista of fields, trees and the herd of chunky red cows and calves beyond the east end of the mill.  “According to Jonny, a verandah is called a bolly around here.  Don’t ask me why, I don’t know.  Come inside.”

To his delight, she turned at once with an eager smile.

~~~

Melissa looked at white walls, dark wood floors and a vast stone fireplace and loved it, but shivered at the drop in temperature.  “It is so much cooler in here.”

“Thick walls,” Rory said in explanation.  “Keeps the house about five degrees cooler than outside.  A boon in July and August.”  He strode across a square hall and through a glass door into a bedroom where he dropped her bag on the bare floorboards.

She recognized rag rugs and pine furniture straight from IKEA.  The bedroom faced west, and sunshine flooded in across the green checked duvet cover.  Rory headed back to the kitchen, indicating right and left as he re-crossed the hall.  “The shower is there and the loo there.”

Melissa peeked in and found no fault with either.  When she wandered back to the main room, Rory busied himself with the fridge and cooker.  The tiny kitchen was tucked into a corner of the living room and opposite the kitchen door, with room for only one to work comfortably.  Melissa looked out on the jewel like glow of the trees and grass beyond the open door.  “Do you mind if I look around?”

“Help yourself.  I’ll open some wine and dinner won’t be long.”

Melissa wandered along the verandahthe bollyand peered over the waist-high wooden rail.  A set of steps led down and around the corner of the house to another patio.  There must be a lower level to the mill.  Perhaps there would be other rooms down there.

She ran down the steps, one hand against the side of the mill, the other shielding her face from the trailing strands of Virginia creeper and ivy that hung down.  A pair of smart, newly varnished doors led into the mill, but when she tried them, they were locked.  Disappointed, she turned back to the patio.

The heat bounced off the pale flagstones, and bees and dragonflies buzzed the riot of flowers and weeds surrounding two sides of the patio.  From the third side the patio opened out on to rough meadowland stippled with half a dozen tall trees, and a line of shrubs and bushes told her a stream bordered the property.  Standing in the heat and scent of dust, lavender and geranium, listening to the delicious rustle of leaves in the tall trees, she knew she would like it here.  Closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath of delight. 

Something made her glance up to the higher level.  A tall figure in black stood on the grassy patch beside the bolly, watching her.  Who was he?  Had someone come to visit Rory?  The stranger was young, and handsome, even if he looked like a priest in that long, dark robe.  As she stared, he raised a hand, palm out and strode off into the trees.

Rory’s voice called through the open window.  As she trotted up the steps, she looked for the stranger but he had disappeared along an overgrown grassy track leading away through the trees.  Rory walked out onto the bolly, a glass in each hand.

At the sight of him in slacks and checked shirt, a jolt of pleasure ran through her.  He looked even more handsome out of the elegant suits.  “Who was that man?”  She accepted the glass he offered.

“What man?”

Melissa gestured to the grassy area.  “The man who stood there two minutes ago and waved at me.  He walked away up the old track.”

Rory frowned.  “I didn’t see anyone.  Jonny said the track is still a public bridleway but he’s never known anyone use it.  There’s a monastery at the top of the hill.  Maybe the track is a shortcut.”  He smiled and raised his glass.  “Let’s hope we’re not about to be invaded by holiday-makers tramping by every day.  Especially not the clergy.”  He pulled out a chair for her.  “Dinner’s just about ready.  If you sit down, I’ll bring the food out.”

The white table already held a bowl of salad, a wicker basket of bread and the opened bottle of wine.  He was fast and efficient.  No sooner had she taken her seat than he put a plate of steak before her and offered the salad bowl.

She tilted her head back and smiled at him.  How good to have a man prepared to cook for her.  “This looks delicious.  Does Jonny plan to do a lot of work here?”

He picked up his cutlery and cut into his steak.  “The grand plan is for two bedrooms and a bathroom on the lower level so Jonny can invite friends.  The bathroom’s finished, but the rest is a muddle.”

That meant no bedrooms on the lower floor, and only one on this level.  An ugly suspicion bloomed in her mind.  Melissa heaped salad onto her plate and replaced the steel salad servers carefully in the bowl.  “Then am I right in thinking there is only one bedroom here?”

The chilly edge on her voice brought his head up.

His peacock blue eyes narrowed.  “’fraid so.  That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

Dismay at his deception roared through her, and small flash of fear and timidity followed it.  Yes, one bedroom most certainly would be a problem.  She wasn't ready.  Not yet.  Talk about being taken for granted—the conceited ass expected her to tumble into bed with him without a second thought.  She inhaled sharply.  “It is presumptuous of you to assume I’ll share a bed with you right away.”

He stopped eating and stared at her, surprise etched into the lines of his face.