The Glass Knot-mmf (9 page)

“Yeah,
of course.”

There
was a long pause.

“How
is Nick?” I asked.

“Did
you get home from Marbella, okay?”

We
both spoke at the same time, and then laughed nervously, as if we were
strangers and not lovers. Or had-been lovers.

“Nick’s
fine,” Josh said. “Working hard as usual, he’s been traveling to Yorkshire a
lot, fine tuning the details of an old monastery renovation.”

“Sounds
interesting.”

“Yeah,
it is, if you like that sort of thing.”

“And
what about you, busy on the engines?”

“Yeah,
there are always fires to put out.” He gave a grim laugh.

“You
said you had a, er, business proposal, in the note, with the flowers.”

“Are
the flowers okay? I haven’t sent flowers before. Not a very guy to guy thing to
do in my world.”

“They’re
beautiful, very extravagant, and from such a posh place.”

“Only
the best for the only woman in my life.”

A
silence extended between us. The words not spoken a thousand times louder than
if they had been.

I
had
been the woman in his life once, for one night, but not any more, no
longer.

Just
once.

“Your,
er, business proposal,” I prompted eventually.

“Yes,
yes of course. I was wondering if you fancied doing some portrait work. It’s
Nick’s birthday soon, and he was complaining, just the other day, that he had
no photographs of me in his office. Well, I thought I only know one
photographer, and that’s you, so how do you fancy it?”

Take
pictures of Josh. Hell yes. That would hardly be work. Well, it would be, I
needed the money, but work with the benefit of seeing the most drool-worthy
body ever. “Well, I guess that could be arranged. What were you thinking? A
trip to London?”

“No.
Actually, I wondered if you fancied coming up here for the weekend. We could do
the pictures, have dinner, drink wine, catch up. What do you think?”

For
a moment I was spellbound and all I could do
was
think.

Me
go and stay with Josh and Nick, at their cottage? Take pictures of Josh, drink
wine, catch up? Really?

I
glanced around my flat. The smell of damp lived permanently in my nostrils, and
the mold creeping up the corners of the rooms was the most disgusting thing I’d
ever shared living space with.

“It
sounds like the perfect working weekend,” I said, picking my words carefully.
“I could do your shots, and also I’ve been working on a city life series. It
would be good to compliment it with some village pictures.”

“Perfect,
that’s all set then. We’ll see you on Friday.”

“This
Friday?”

“Yes,
it must be this Friday. Nick’s birthday is next week. I’ll need the picture by
then so I can get it in a frame.”

“Oh,
okay then.” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. Two more days and I
would be with Josh. Only half an hour ago I’d resigned myself to never seeing
the sexiest gay fireman to have ever walked the planet again, and now, here he
was, giving me directions to his house.

I
scribbled down his instructions and hoped my old VW would cope with the two-hour
journey. The suspension had been particularly dodgy lately.

* * * * *

The
Kendal’s sandstone cottage stood before me. It had a fresh, butter-yellow
thatched roof that was neatly trimmed and rose over five upstairs windows like
sleepy eyebrows. The front door was bright red with a brass letter box and fox
head knocker. The ancient garden wall, constructed of the same pale ginger
stone as the cottage, was pock marked with green lichen.

Picking
up my battered case, I pushed open the wrought iron gate and stepped onto the
brick path. The heady scent of lupins filled my nose as I walked to the front
door; a hot and heady smell, almost like incense.

Beating
down a wave of nerves, I announced my arrival using the fox’s head. As I waited
for an answer I glanced at the front garden. The striped lawn was immaculate,
every border manicured and not a weed in sight, just endless vibrant flowers
stretching upward.

The
door remained shut. My stomach tightened and worry gripped me. I was sure this
was the right house. Barn View, Josh had said, the last house in the village on
Ridgeway Road. I turned and looked back across the street. The sun was
beginning to drop and shadows stretched their long dark fingers over the
rolling green hills that surrounded Little Mickleton.

I
couldn’t see any barns.

Stepping
back from the door, I spotted writing etched palely into the brickwork; Barn
View.

I’m
at the right cottage.

I
reached for the fox again, but just as my fingers wrapped around its long nose
the door pulled in on itself.

Nick
stood before me.

“Er,
hi,” I said, taken aback. I’d spent the whole journey imagining Josh greeting
me.

He
swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed low. His neck and chin was now coated in
heavy stubble, which, if anything, made him look even more darkly handsome. And,
I had to admit, just a little bit intimidating.

“Laura,”
he said with a tight smile. “You made it.”

I
pulled in a breath and gestured over my shoulder with my thumb. “Yep, thankfully
Dumbo didn’t give out on me.”

He
frowned. “Dumbo?”

“Yeah,
my VW, he’s getting on a bit, but he put in a gallant effort on the motorway,
hardly rattled at all.” I gave a nervous laugh and wondered what the hell I was
on about.

“Ah,
I see. Good. Well, you’d better come in then.” He stepped aside.

I
hesitated. There was something different about him. It was as if he’d undergone
a metamorphosis. The warmth that had been in his dark eyes in Spain had gone
out like a candle. Now they were hard chips of slate.

“Laura?”

“Yes,
of course,” I said and lifted my case into the hallway of the cottage. “Wow. This
is one seriously nice place.” The hall was much larger than I’d expected. My
limited experience of cottages was that they were low ceilinged and pokey. But
this ceiling was high and criss-crossed with dense black beams. A huge fireplace
holding a potted plant of triphid dimensions was sunk into the wall, and beside
a wide staircase, two deep burgundy chairs were angled toward one another with
a small table between them. The table held a pile of glossy books, the top one
titled
The Inca Trail
.

“Thanks,”
Nick said. “We’ve spent years getting everything just how we want it.”

“Well,
it’s lovely, and it must be worth a fortune.”

Oh,
why did I say that? Mum always told me it was rude to bring up money in polite
conversation.

“I
guess, but it makes no difference, we intend to get old and gray here, so the
value doesn’t matter. Barn View is home and you can’t put a price on that
lovely feeling of belonging and sharing your life with someone.”

“Yes,
of course, you’re right,” I gabbled. “I just meant, I mean, property in London
is so expensive that it’s practically impossible to buy a place, unless you’re
rich that is.”

“Mmm,
yes.” His gaze harnessed mine, and a small muscle flexed and un-flexed in his
cheek. “Why don’t you leave your case there for now and come into the kitchen?
You must be thirsty after driving all the way from London in this heat.”

“Yes,
it seems summer has finally arrived.”

Nick
said nothing. Instead he led the way toward a large oak door with iron hinges
and a long thin latch.

I
followed, wishing Josh had been there when I’d arrived. Seeing Nick with
brooding eyes and tight lips had germinated a seed of guilt in my stomach.

Why
do I feel guilty? Nick gave us permission.

I
thought back to that wonderful evening in Marbella, and remembered his words as
he’d left us in the restaurant. “Stay and have a nice time with, Laura,” he’d
told Josh. “I’ll see you when you are done and whatever you do, don’t feel you
have to rush.”

I
quashed my guilt-ridden emotions. Before going to his room Nick had even said
how glad he was I was in Marbella, and when I thought back to the undercurrents
of the two men’s conversation and the looks they’d shared, it was clear they
were assessing my suitableness for Josh. No, I wouldn’t feel guilty, not for one
minute. It had been their idea. They were lucky I’d gone along with it. Many
women wouldn’t have. I tilted my chin and set down my shoulders, gathered
positive thoughts and refused to let that seed breach the surface.

Stepping
into the most lavish kitchen I’d ever seen, I widened my eyes. An enormous sparkling
black granite island stood at the center of the room and held a sink with a
tall, chrome tap that curved high and sleek. The units around the kitchen were
a warm creamy color with long handles. A bottle green, giant-sized, new
electric-style Aga was set into the wall. A huge lead-paned window looked out
onto a garden, and below the windowpane was yet another sink. Bottles of oils,
plain and some stuffed with chili peppers and glossy round fruit I couldn’t
name, stood on the counter along with the usual kettle and toaster and three
large ceramic pots printed with, Tea, Coffee, Sugar.

“What
would you like to drink?” Nick asked, reaching for the kettle and filling it
from the tap beneath the windowsill.

A
big glass of something very alcoholic would have suited me, but since that
didn’t seem to be on the cards I said, “Tea would be lovely, white, no sugar.”

I
stared openly at him as he waited for the kettle to fill, glad of the moment of
loud running water and not needing conversation. He’d had his hair cut since I’d
seen him last. It was much shorter and the dark hair between skull and neck
tapered, in two neat parallel rows either side of his nape. I liked the style,
it was innately masculine. The few licks of gray just behind his temple and
above his ears were, I discovered, quite appealing. They kind of said, to my
vivid mind at least, “I’ve lived, I’ve experienced. I’ve had years and years of
sex”.

My
gaze floated down farther. He wore a black t-shirt that stretched over his wide
shoulders then hugged his lean back before settling over the waistband of dark
denim jeans. His butt, as when I’d perused its outline last time, was high and
small, making his legs look all the longer.

He
stepped to the side and flicked the switch on the kettle.

I
locked my fingers together and shifted from one foot to the other. “Is, er,
Josh here?”

He
turned, folded his arms over his chest and rested his butt against the counter.
“He was expecting to be. But he just called and said they’d been sent out to a
large field fire ten minutes before the end of shift. He’ll be another hour or
so. They’ll have to wait to be relieved as I doubt they’ll have it tackled
before dark.”

“Oh
dear.” An image of Josh kitted up in his work gear popped into my head; helmet
and visor, thick gloves, big clumping boots. That delicious body protected from
the heat by strong material as he aimed his hose at the roaring flames. I could
imagine him calling out orders, being brave and in control, his face a picture
of concentration, sweat collecting between his shoulder blades.

Get
a grip, Laura.

“I
have dinner in the slow-oven,” Nick said, reaching two mugs from a cupboard.
“But if it’s okay with you we’ll wait until he gets in. I hate to eat dinner
without him.”

“Of
course, yes, that’s fine. I’m not that hungry right now.” Not to mention I
couldn’t think of anything more excruciatingly uncomfortable than sitting
eating a meal with just Nick. He seemed to be buzzing with tension, his
movements stiff and deliberate. Not like when I’d seen him in Spain. He’d been
much more relaxed then, despite the way the evening was planned to go.

What
has made him so uptight, so fractious, here, in his lovely home?

Me?

“There
you go,” he said, handing me a mug of steaming tea.

“Thanks.”

He
took a sip of his own and set it on the counter. I racked my brain for
something intelligent to say. I wanted to speak about Josh but couldn’t think
of anything that wouldn’t relate back to the night of passion we’d shared. I
had no clue what Josh had told Nick the next day. It could be all or nothing.

A
large wall clock ticked, and a blackbird outside cried a warning, a passing cat
perhaps. I placed my mug down on the island and wondered where a black hole was
when I needed one to swallow me up.

“Would
you like a tour of the house?” Nick asked.

I
grinned, overwhelmingly relieved there’d been a break in the hard silence. “Oh,
yes please, as long as I’m not interrupting you from anything.”

“No,
I made sure I was up to date with work. Josh wanted you to come and stay so it
seemed polite to be available.”