It was after the third mug of Jack Daniels that it all went weird. A moment of sheer madness, the sort when you’re thinking, Oh no, what am I doing? I need to stop right now, but are unable to stop, driven by an almost ghoulish compulsion to see it through to the bitter end, despite the background awareness of the potential consequences.
Ralph was just there, kneeling in front of her in his office. Pissed as a fart, but still a very sexy man – tall and broad and reassuring. More than that, he was sympathetic and – unexpectedly – so flattering and comforting that, in that moment, her body completely disobeyed her brain and conscience, and she was overcome with a great wave of pheromones and whisky-fuelled lust and emotion.
Ralph, her friend and boss. Worse: Ralph, her friend’s husband.
For the first hour everything had been on solid ground. She would have laughed derisively if someone had told her what was about to happen. At work, she was just Meredith From the Shop – solid, reliable Meredith.
At first they had discussed work stuff, albeit in slightly slurred voices. Ralph was rambling on about a newly hired gardener who had apparently lied at interview and therefore got the job under false pretences. Meredith wasn’t really paying attention. She still felt horribly disturbed by the break-in at the shop the day before, and by having to talk to the police.
If only Ralph hadn’t changed the subject and asked what was bothering her. If they hadn’t veered into personal problems territory, it would never have happened.
It wasn’t unusual for Ralph to take an interest in her private life, although they had previously only discussed it when Paula was there too. Meredith’s hapless love life was a well-worn topic that, both Ralph and Paula laughed, they enjoyed vicariously. So she pretended this was what was bothering her now. She couldn’t risk articulating her fears; it would have made her sound paranoid.
‘That bloke Gary dumped me at the weekend, after three weeks. I just have no luck with men at all,’ she pronounced weakly. She’d gone on a few dates with Gary off Tinder, and yes, as dates went, she thought he had potentially been someone she could possibly stand to look at in the morning, maybe even more than once; but Gary had clearly thought otherwise. Perhaps her ambivalence about the whole mating business had slowly leached through her carefully cultivated persona, like armpit sweat through silk.
‘Gary’s an idiot, then. You’re a huge catch,’ Ralph had said staunchly, propelling himself across the room on his office chair and grabbing the bottle of Jack from the top of the filing cabinet. He scooted back with it and replenished his mug. It smelled so good as he poured.
‘Yeah, right.’ She drained her own mug – her second, at that point; she remembered wondering how many he’d had – and Ralph immediately topped her up.
‘Do you know what he said to me? He said, “I’m just not attracted to you enough.”’ She gave a hollow laugh. When she thought about it, though, she had already forgotten what Gary’s face looked like.
‘Then he tried to make it better by saying “It’s not that I don’t fancy you at all, because I kind of do. Just not enough. I’m sorry.”’
‘What a bastard.’ Ralph’s words were slurring a lot more than Meredith’s.
It had stung a bit, if she was honest, that particular rejection. Perhaps it was because she had felt that Gary and she actually did have the chance at a connection. Once or twice, in more optimistic moments, she had let herself think that he might even be ‘the one’. He’d seemed OK – kind, funny, solvent, age-appropriate, sensible, liberal. Nice house, cute dog, matching socks. Four dates, lots of laughs and kisses that started off enthusiastically but – and she hadn’t noticed it at the time – lost commitment as time went on, like a hurricane that gradually blows itself out. Then, finally, his sad words of realisation.
‘He’s not a bastard. That was the problem,’ she said. ‘I’m obviously a terrible kisser. Or I’m just too old and ugly.’
Ralph had laughed, thinking she was joking. ‘Obviously!’ he chuckled drunkenly. ‘I mean, look at you!’
‘I’m serious, Ralph.’ Unexpectedly, she got the tingling in her nostrils that preceded tears and inwardly berated herself. It was almost certainly Jack Daniels-induced. She really didn’t give a shit about Gary, only what he had briefly represented: the chance of a partner, someone to cuddle up on the sofa with, plan holidays with.
Always look at what you have, she reminded herself, not what you’re missing. Although that was more difficult after three mugs of whisky.
Two decades ago, when her band won a BRIT Award for their third million-selling single, she’d have been as horrified as Iain had sounded in that phone call last year to know that this was where she would end up. And now she had talked herself into teariness over a rejection, after four dates, by a guy in his fifties who wore bicycle clips and played bridge.
But she knew that Gary wasn’t the real reason for her distress.
‘You aren’t remotely ugly,’ Ralph finally said, about two minutes past appropriate.
‘I mean, I think I’ve lost my looks since I was younger, but I’d never have said I was ugly.’ Meredith forgot that Gary actually hadn’t ever used that word. ‘My eyes are too close together, I’m too old and I have too many crow’s feet, but really?’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing to do with that. You’re a stunner, even for a woman your age. Especially for a woman your age. Maybe you’ve got bad breath? Paula’s always telling me that I have.’
‘That’s not particularly helpful,’ she said grumpily.
‘Come here, I’ll check. I’m your friend. I’m allowed to tell you these things.’
She started to laugh as Ralph hauled himself out of his chair and lumbered towards her, steadying himself on the edge of his desk on the way.
‘No! Go away!’
He crouched down with difficulty and gently took her chin in his hand, laughing too. ‘Breathe!’ he commanded.
‘Stop it!’ She wriggled away, feeling that moment of euphoric drunkenness where life seems suspended in happiness, like an insect in amber.
Ralph always cheered her up. When the three of them got together on the wine, horseplay and a lot of giggling weren’t unusual. Ralph and Paula’s son, Jackson, now twenty, had witnessed this a couple of times, much to his disgust and opprobrium. This, however, was the first time it had happened without Paula there to be the third corner of the triangle.
Ralph was still squatting at her feet. She had always thought what nice eyes he had – kind, green, and surprisingly clear for a man of his age and prodigious alcohol intake. And despite the undertone of JD, he smelled amazing.
He stopped chuckling and put his palm heavily on her knee as if to haul himself back up. Then he paused. ‘For what it’s worth, Meredith, I think you’re gorgeous. Honestly. I always have.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling. It was the tender affection in Ralph’s voice that made her lean slowly towards him and rest her cheek on the side of his striped shirt. His shoulder felt reassuringly meaty and warm, and she felt his arms encircle her, his chin digging gently into her neck. At that moment he felt like a dad, and her instant response wasn’t remotely sexual.
‘You smell fantastic,’ she muttered, just stating a fact, but he must have construed it in a different way because he pulled away and kissed her on the lips, so lightly at first that she saw it only as a gesture of affection. She responded…
… And that was the point of no return.
There was always a point of no return.
A minute later they were kissing, properly, and it was lovely. He no longer remotely felt like her dad. He was a really good kisser, just the right amount of pressure and tongue action, and his hands began to roam around her body, rubbing her back at first, then along her thighs, and up over her breasts, where they stayed, squeezing gently until she felt a corresponding thrill between her legs. She wanted to stop but found herself pressing closer to him, sliding out of the chair and onto her knees so that their torsos were pressed tightly together.
‘I want you,’ he murmured, and in the heat of the moment it didn’t seem ridiculous or at all inappropriate. She just nodded, kissing him again. ‘I always have. Can we go back to the cottage?’
Meredith hesitated, reality creeping in for a moment. She didn’t want to sleep with Ralph in her bed or on her sofa. Somehow that felt worse than anything that happened here. Like calories in food not counting when it was eaten from someone else’s plate.
‘I can’t wait that long. And someone might see us walking over there,’ she said. ‘One of the gardeners might be working late.’
‘Do you want to?’ His hand was inside her bra, rolling her nipple between his fingers.
She nodded again.
‘You know what else I’ve always wanted to do,’ he whispered.
‘What?’
‘Have sex in the Gilt Room.’
‘Ralph! You dirty bugger. With me, or just anybody?’ She couldn’t help laughing. The Gilt Room was as it sounded – the house’s formal drawing room on the ground floor, a chandelier the size of a baby elephant in the centre and the walls and ceilings entirely covered in ornate gold leaf. ‘There’s CCTV in there; we can’t.’
‘Let’s go and have a look,’ he said, dragging her to her feet and handing her the bottle of Jack. ‘With you, of course, in answer to your question,’ he added, as Meredith took a swig, grinning at his answer. They had dispensed with the formality of mugs.
‘Surely you know where all the CCTV is? You’re estates manager!’ she reminded him, feeling naughty and rebellious. ‘And if there is a camera in there, deal’s off.’
Meredith was fairly sure there would be a camera. The room was stuffed with valuable vases, oil paintings and objets d’art. But as Ralph said, they didn’t have CCTV in every room. She started visualising where they might do it. On the rug? Best not on the rickety old brocade sofa; that was an original piece from when Lady Wilmington lived here. That would be hard to explain, if they broke it.
They adjusted their clothing and Ralph finished the bottle, putting it back in his desk drawer, and then they walked down the back stairs together from the converted servants quarters. He squeezed Meredith’s arse on the way. ‘No cameras down here,’ he said cheerfully.
She thought later that it was strange she hadn’t come to her senses in the brief hiatus, while they tried, like teenagers, to find somewhere exciting and forbidden to shag. But, she supposed, she was so aroused by then that not doing it didn’t feel like an option anymore.
They reached the ground floor and cautiously emerged through the Staff Only door into the public areas of the house. It was still and quiet.
‘Where’s Leonard?’ she whispered.
‘His shift doesn’t start till nine-thirty,’ Ralph whispered back. ‘And George is over at the stables this evening. He told me earlier he was going to go and change all the lightbulbs in there because Fred’s on holiday. I think we’re alone.’
Had he planned this? Meredith doubted it. He was too pissed. But he was right about Fred the handyman being on holiday.
He did seem very aware of the timings … but she soon stopped thinking about it. They were in the long, dark corridor leading to the Gilt Room, four vast six-foot-tall Chinese vases acting as sentries as they passed by.
‘Dammit, look,’ Ralph said, jerking his head up towards the doorway. The small shiny black dome was affixed to the ornate ceiling just inside the room; a CCTV camera. ‘Kind of spoils it, doesn’t it?’
Meredith didn’t know if he was talking about the architecture or the moment.
‘Follow me,’ he added. ‘I have a plan B.’ She laughed and did as he said. This was crazy, but it was fun.
Why had she not been thinking of Paula? she later thought. It wouldn’t have seemed so much like fun then. But she felt possessed, overtaken, wild with abandon.
She followed him through the public areas of the house towards the back entrance. At the last moment he dragged her in through a wide door.
‘Ralph, oh no, not the disabled loo!’ she protested, but he pushed her up against the mirror and kissed her again as he reached over and flipped up the handle to lock them in.
Her fingers went to his zip as if they were obeying someone else’s command.