Molly expected to sleep well; the room was almost eerily quiet, the bed extremely comfortable, the pillows perfect, everything designed for a peaceful, relaxing night apart from churning thoughts in her head that kept her tossing and turning. Wide awake before the first light of dawn chased the shadows from the room, she lay still, concentrating on her breathing, hoping to get another hour’s sleep. It didn’t come, but she lay there anyway, uneasy about wandering around the hotel so early. The distant but distinct sound of a cockerel’s cock-a-doodle-doo followed by the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside her open window made her throw back the duvet and swing her feet to the floor.
Checking her phone, she was surprised and pleased to see a message from Jack. It had been sent at four, she guessed the long drinking session with his friends had had its inevitable consequences and he’d used the toilet break wakefulness to text her before going back to sleep. Be careful running on the canal, I worry about you. His concern made her smile. Whatever was wrong, they’d get through it. She sent a quick reply. Heading off soon, wish you were here.
Padding over to the window, she peered around drapes she hadn’t bothered to pull shut and looked out. It was a beautiful day with that just awake fresh greenness that made her open the window wide and take a deep breath. There was no one to be seen, but the murmur of voices drifting from somewhere below indicated the hotel staff, at least, were up and about. She took her running gear from the drawer and pulled it on, tied her hair back with a scrunchie and a minute later, was quietly opening her bedroom door. She stood a moment, listening, then stepped out into the corridor and shut the door behind her.
Downstairs, she was surprised to see quite a few guests were up and about and she had to wait until the one receptionist on duty was free before she could ask her about access to the canal.
‘There’s a path that cuts through the hedge on the right,’ Molly was told, the receptionist pointing towards the hotel gardens. ‘Follow it to the bridge, cross it, and you’ll be on the towpath. You can run for miles in either direction. Keep your eyes open for herons, and if you’re really lucky you might see a kingfisher.’
Molly’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve never seen either.’
‘You should see a heron, they’re fairly common; a kingfisher is harder.’ The receptionist smiled as she admitted, ‘I’ve never seen one, to be honest.’
‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ Molly said. ‘What time does breakfast finish?’
‘It’s served seven thirty to ten thirty, you’ve plenty of time.’
With a nod of thanks, Molly headed across the reception to a door leading out onto the patio. It was a perfect morning for running, cool but with the hint of a warmer day ahead. Following the directions, she easily found the path through the high hedge, stepping carefully over slimy, slippery leaves in its deep shade.
A short while later, she was walking over an old, stone humpbacked bridge. On the other side, the towpath stretched each way. Both directions looked tempting, each having enticing bends to lure her on. She’d go one way today, the other tomorrow. And with that easy decision made, she ran, slowly at first, getting a feel for the rough path underneath, then increasing her speed until she was moving at a steady pace. She ran in London, despite the fumes, but this was sheer pleasure.
The path was separated from the farmland beyond by lush hedgerows filled with life; birds twittered, butterflies fluttered, bees buzzed. Molly wanted to laugh aloud at how perfect it was. She would have missed the heron, if her eyes hadn’t been scanning the canal on the lookout. It was standing on the edge of the path ahead, staring into the water, waiting for a sign of prey. She stopped and stood watching it, mesmerised at how still it was before edging closer to get a better look. The heron moved its head slowly, beady eyes focusing on her, then with a slight bend of its long legs, it launched into the air, wide wings flapping gracefully as it skimmed over the water. It didn’t go far, coming to a halt on the other side several feet ahead.
It ignored her as she ran past a moment later. She guessed a kingfisher would be harder to see, especially as she needed to keep her eye on the towpath as she ran; it was far more uneven than she’d expected, with potholes and raised stones underfoot and the odd arching bramble extending from the hedgerow.
Almost thirty minutes after leaving the humpbacked bridge, she saw a wooden bench ahead in the shade of a large tree. Maybe she’d sit a moment and see if she could spot a kingfisher before starting back, but when she got closer she saw she’d been deceived by a shadow… the bench was already occupied.
She slowed to a walk, her eyes scanning the canal, peering into the branches of the trees on the far side, searching for a splash of colour. There was nothing and it was time to turn back. She’d seen a heron; she’d have to settle for that.
‘Hi.’
One husky word. It brought her attention to the man sitting on the seat. He’d turned to look at her, his arms lying casually along the back of the bench, legs stretched out in front, ankles crossed. There was a curious stillness about him as he waited for her response.
It would have been rude to ignore him. In London, she’d have done so, would probably have turned back as soon as she’d seen him, but in the country, it was more appropriate to acknowledge him before moving away. She never understood why, there were surely as many criminal types in the country as in the city. Nevertheless, she nodded, said, ‘Hi,’ and trying to be casual, stopped and stared at the water for a moment.
‘Do you have the time?’ the man asked, bringing her focus back to him. She was close enough to see that the eyes fixed on her were an unusual shade of blue, almost turquoise. A striking shade in a handsome face.
She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s five past eight.’
‘Early to be jogging,’ he commented casually, holding her attention.
‘Early to be sitting there too.’ Despite a natural distrust of strangers, she took a step toward him. ‘Are you hoping to see a kingfisher?’
The man’s smile was slow, beguiling. Molly was drawn by it.
‘I saw one,’ he said, lifting his hand and pointing toward the far side of the canal. ‘A minute before you arrived. Wait, and you might see it.’ He took one arm from the back of the seat and patted the space beside him. ‘You can sit, I don’t bite.’
She laughed, the sound a nervous titter she didn’t recognise. With a shake of her head, she walked over and sat. The wooden seat was small, there was room for two, but there was the merest whisper between them. Molly caught the scent of his aftershave and a slight hint of… body odour… no, she corrected herself, it wasn’t the right word… it was the groin-tingling smell of virile masculinity. And it sent a shiver down her spine.
She should have got up and left then and she would have done, she wasn’t Amelia, wasn’t given to fancying or flirting with strange men. Molly would have stood and carried on back to the hotel if she hadn’t felt his eyes on her… those amazing turquoise eyes.
He spoke about seeing the kingfisher, how beautiful it had been, his voice low and melodic, almost hypnotic. And all the time, his eyes stayed on her. She could have turned and met them, but she was afraid to – afraid of the sudden dart of lust that swept through her. She felt the man beside her move closer and turned slightly to see the perfectly-sculpted cheekbones, the delicious curve of his lips – didn’t she deserve such excitement?
She jumped to her feet, the movement startling him as much as it did her. ‘Have to go,’ she said, and without another look in his direction, she ran as fast as she could, to put as much space as possible between her and the utterly gorgeous, fabulously-tempting young man. She resisted the temptation to look back to see if he were watching her or, God forbid, following.
A minute later, a frisson of anxiety made her stop and glance behind, but she’d come around a bend and all there was to be seen were fields and trees. No heron, sadly no kingfisher or young man.
She ran on. Young man. Maybe only a few years older than Remi. He was younger than she by twenty years, maybe more. Movie star good looks, a lean athletic body. And those eyes! Amelia, she knew, wouldn’t have hesitated to have taken advantage of the situation. She’d probably have dragged the poor man into the fields and had her wicked way with him.
Molly laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. The brief encounter was beginning to take on a dreamlike quality. They hadn’t even really touched, only a brushing of arms and yet it had been the most erotic experience she’d had in a long time.
Crossing back over the bridge, she slowed to a walk as she approached the hotel. She’d been gone over an hour and in that time, it had completely woken up. Already, with the day warming, there were people sitting on the patio. Gardeners were tidying flower beds, waiting staff were darting about with trays held high. Conscious of her dirty running shoes, she slipped them off and walked barefooted across to the stairway. The silence of early morning had been filled with sound. Voices drifted from the restaurant; she imagined she heard Amelia’s amongst them.
Back in her room, Molly quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, a smile playing over her lips. She remembered the stranger’s intense stare – and felt a shiver of desire. Would it have been so wrong to have given in to that moment’s madness? Who was it that had said that the only thing they’d regretted were things they’d not done? She couldn’t remember but they were wise words – or words of justification. She couldn’t decide. The shiver of desire was replaced by a pang of regret for what might have been.
It had only been Jack since their marriage. And before that, a few college fumbles, and quick sex with forgettable men. She pushed a hand through her hair in frustration. What was she trying to prove? That she was still attractive? No, she was glad she’d not stayed. But that innocent meeting, that feeling that she was still desirable, still fanciable, had made her feel good about herself. That she should need such validation from a stranger worried her, then she brushed that aside. Sometimes she was guilty of overthinking. It had been a moment; no harm had been done and it had made her feel good. And that was all that mattered.