22

‘Unhand me!’ demanded Charlotte.

Ned’s scowl eased, and the corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Ye make it sound as if I’m about t’ tie tha t’ railway tracks.’

He let go her arm, and Charlotte rubbed it, gazing at him with resentment. Amazingly, he was not in overalls, but Charlotte would almost have preferred it if he was. His lower half was clad in a pair of ancient jeans, ends short and frayed like Huckleberry Finn’s, but his upper half was entirely bare. Charlotte could see that his torso was a fitting tribute to years of physical labour, and felt a heat in her face that was not all due to adrenaline and exertion.

‘What’s tha doing here?’ he said. ‘How’d tha know where I lived?

‘I didn’t!’ said Charlotte. ‘I’ve been taking a walk! It’s pure coincidence that I was—’

‘Snooping,’ finished Ned.

‘I was curious,’ said Charlotte. ‘What are these cottages?’

‘Holiday homes now, mostly,’ said Ned. ‘Summer rentals, but as ’tis end August, most folk have gone now. They used t’ be homes, for workers, fishermen. Nowhere else they could afford t’ live. The lake’s allus been for t’ rich.’

‘Do you own this one?’

Ned shook his head. ‘Too dear for likes o’ me,’ he said. ‘I pay peppercorn rent in exchange for keeping eye on t’ other places. Scare off squatters and burglars.’ He gave his half-smile. ‘Oh, t’ irony of it all.’

Then he said, ‘Why are tha walking? It’s a weekday. Or are you no longer Charlotte t’ nanny? Did tha boss fire you for fraternising wi’ the enemy?’

That cut close to the bone, and Charlotte felt a cold clutch of dread. But if Patrick had wanted to fire her, he would have. Charlotte had no doubt about that.

‘Day off,’ she said.

‘And tha chose to walk up mountain instead of shopping or sightseeing?’ Ned was sceptical.

‘This is sightseeing!’ Charlotte spread her arms out to the trees. ‘This is beautiful!’

Ned’s forehead creased, as if he had been suddenly posed a riddle. Charlotte decided to use the hiatus to her advantage.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

Ned’s mouth tightened with reluctance. ‘’Tis my day off, too,’ he said. ‘I look forward t’ a bit o’ peace an’ quiet.’

‘I’ll be quiet as a mouse,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’ll refill my water bottle, rest my feet for a spell, and be on my way. You’ll barely know I was here.’

Inside the cottage, Charlotte knew exactly why Ned was wearing no shirt. She peered into the mug on the table.

‘Why in God’s name are you drinking tea in this heat?’

‘I like it.’ Ned was hovering in the doorway. ‘Ye can fill your water bottle from there. Water’s good.’

He gestured to the back of the cottage. On the wall adjacent to the front door, Charlotte saw a basic wooden bench with an old ceramic butler-style sink, under which were two shelves filled sparsely with pots and dish-wash supplies, and an aged, squat fridge. Next to the bench sat an even older electric stove — circa 1973, Charlotte guessed — with a battered whistling kettle on one element. A small amount of crockery was neatly stacked on a triangular corner shelf.

Everything may have been old, but it was impeccably clean. There were no dishes in the sink at all, not even a teaspoon. A blue-and-white tea towel hung from the oven door handle. It, too, was clean.

‘Is that your bedroom?’ Charlotte indicated the closed door.

Ned did not reply. He’d stopped hovering in the doorway, and was now hovering in the middle of the room. He’d switched off the radio, and the room was now extremely quiet. Charlotte filled her water bottle — the tap squeaked and the pipes rattled but the water did run clear — walked to the small wooden table and pulled out a chair. When it became obvious Ned would rather hover than join her, she lifted the paperback to see what it was.

‘Far from the Madding Crowd?’ Charlotte smiled. ‘How astonishingly appropriate. Are you enjoying it? I’d imagine Hardy would be right up your street: all tortured solitary men and fickle women.’

‘’Tis all right.’ Ned had decided to sit on the couch, but right on the edge, back taut, elbows propped rigidly on his knees. ‘Prefer Lawrence.’

‘Closer to home?’

‘Not my home no more,’ said Ned. ‘Don’t belong there.’

‘Then why is your accent so strong? Surely a few “thees” and “thas” should have worn off by now?’

Ned twined his fingers for a moment before answering. ‘Happen I’ve not been ready to lose everything.’

He stood up again at speed, as if projected by a wayward spring. ‘Feet all rested now?’ he said.

Charlotte’s good spirits had finally met their match in Ned’s disinclination to put up with her presence for even a minute more.

No one wants me, she thought, and loathed how pathetic it sounded. Like that juvenile refrain: nobody likes me, everybody hates me, going to the garden to eat worms. But dismissing it as childish did not lessen the emotion behind it one whit.

‘Fine.’ Charlotte rose from the chair. ‘I’ll leave you to your book, and your tea, and your solitary confinement.’

‘I’ve offended thee.’ Ned was pulling on the fingers of one hand with the other. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ Charlotte was annoyed with herself. ‘I’m feeling rejected and wallowing in self-pity. Not your fault at all.’

She made an effort to smile. ‘Enjoy your peace and quiet. I envy you, having such a wonderful place to enjoy it in.’

Charlotte checked her watch. ‘I should probably head back now. Unless the top of the path is close?’

Ned was at her side now. ‘Nowhere near,’ he said.

Then, in a rush, he said, ‘Charlotte, will y’ come t’ bed wi’ us?’

Charlotte was convinced she’d misheard. Her hesitation caused Ned’s face to wall up.

‘Forget it,’ he said, and began to walk away.

‘Ned!’ Charlotte grabbed his arm. ‘Are you offering because you feel sorry for me?’

Ned stared at her. ‘Why would I be that daft?’

‘Because you’re a good man.’ Charlotte found she was blushing, and felt compelled to make a quip. ‘Cantankerous. But good.’

‘Patrick King thinks I’m a bad man,’ he said. ‘Too bad t’ be around his children.’

‘Patrick,’ said Charlotte firmly, ‘is currently finding his life somewhat exigent, and you are what is commonly referred to as the last straw. If you forgave him and moved on, he would do the same. In a heartbeat.’

‘And what exactly is so “exigent” about his life?’

‘I don’t betray confidences,’ said Charlotte. ‘Not wittingly, at least.’

Ned was silent, and Charlotte, uneasy, said, ‘Do you still want to go to bed with me? Or have you changed your mind?’

It was a moment before Ned replied.

‘No,’ he said, and Charlotte’s heart sank until he added, ‘I’ve not changed my mind.’

He stepped up to her and laid both hands lightly on her arms. ‘But don’t expect too much, Charlotte t’ nanny. I’m no Casanova. I’ll do my best, but it may not be up t’ standard you’re used to.’

Charlotte very gently placed her palm on his stomach. She felt his abdominal muscles flinch and his diaphragm rise and fall. She could smell his sweat, induced by nervousness and heat, and a faint green woodiness, as if the gardens he tended had been somehow infused into his body. She could see, through the faded, thinning fabric of his jeans, that he had the beginnings of an erection, but she kept her hands above his belt. It would not pay to rush it, she sensed. He was skittish enough as it was.

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him lightly, briefly, on the mouth. Then she took his hand.

‘Come on.’ She began to lead him to the closed door, but paused. ‘Unless this is the bathroom,’ she said, ‘and you sleep outside in a tree?’

‘In this heat, I’d be tempted,’ he said, ‘’tweren’t for t’ bats and snakes.’

‘The perilous vipers,’ said Charlotte, leading him once more by the hand. ‘If I’m ever bitten, I give you permission to suck any part of my body you want.’

 

Ned had gone to the bathroom, which was not, as Charlotte had feared, in a rusting lean-to around the back, but off the bedroom. In it were an old lavatory and basin, originally white but now covered in crazing that gave them the grizzled appearance of an eighty-year-old chain smoker, and a shower unit, again, by Charlotte’s guess, circa 1973. The bathroom, like the kitchen, was faultlessly clean. The taps and shower nozzle had not a trace of lime. Even the tiny grooves and corners in the window frame were sparkling.

The fitting and furnishings in the cottage might be straddling the poverty line, thought Charlotte, but their caretaker would never be brought low.

The bedroom was tiny, just large enough for the single bed, a bedside table and a chest of drawers, but comfortable, homey. The bed covers, before they’d ended up in a heap on the floor, consisted of crisp white sheets and a colourful woollen blanket, the kind your grandmother might insist on making you out of — what were they called? Charlotte thought. Oh, yes, peggy squares. The sight now of the blanket on the floor made Charlotte terribly cheerful, although, she had to admit, there may have been other reasons for her upbeat mood.

Sex is such a great distraction when it’s good, she thought. And despite my doubts, this has been very good indeed. It could well have been otherwise; he might have been too anxious, too tense, which would inevitably have made him too quick. As it was, his only moment of panic was when he rummaged through the drawers for condoms.

‘Shit,’ he’d said. ‘Where the fuck are they? Don’t tell us I fucking threw ’em out.’

He’d slammed shut one drawer and yanked open another. Charlotte, sitting on the bed in bra and panties, wondered whether this was an opportune time to tell him that she had some in her wallet, but decided that piece of information was best revealed only if absolutely necessary.

‘Thank fuck.’ Ned had stood up, waving the foil strips in his hand.

‘Only four?’ Charlotte’s expression had been innocent.

‘Don’t tease.’ Ned had slipped his arm under hers and pulled her up off the bed.

‘Tha can mess wi’ us later,’ he’d said, and kissed her with an intensity that made Charlotte glad he was holding her up. ‘But for now,’ Ned had murmured against her mouth, ‘be kind.’

I didn’t need to be kind, thought Charlotte. The first time was an exploration, a delicious discovery, our lips, fingers and tongues all over each other’s bodies. I practically had to order him to enter me, and when I came, he was surprised and then triumphant, though I could see he was doing his best not to let it show. The second time, it was as if he felt he now had permission to loosen the reins. I hesitate to labour the equestrian metaphor, she thought, but by God, we rode each other like we were at Aintree, and at one stage, we were so slick with sweat that Ned had to grab a towel and rub us down. We were vocal with it, too. Anyone else walking up the track would have been in no doubt about what was going on in the last stone cottage on the left. Really, I don’t know what he was worried about.

Ned came out of the bathroom.

‘Water?’ he said.

‘Yes, please,’ said Charlotte happily. ‘I’m parched, but far too lazy to get up.’

When he returned, he handed her a glass, and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. As Charlotte drank, she once again admired his physical form. Patrick’s in not bad shape, she thought, but Ned is like a Michelangelo sculpture, all distinct solid musculature and heroic sinews. Though he is most certainly better endowed than the statue of David, she mentally noted. It must have been chilly in the Florentine studio that day.

Charlotte placed the empty glass on the bedside table and scooched back down so she could lay her head on the pillow again. She stretched out a leg and hooked up the one closest to Ned, who, as she’d hoped, trailed his fingers lightly from her knee all the way up her inner thigh. Then he bent and placed a kiss right where his fingers had come to a stop. Charlotte made a small sound of pleasure, and closed her eyes, ready for him to kiss her onwards and upwards.

Instead, she felt him sit up, and opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

‘Not keen?’ she said.

‘Keen enough,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t mind just talking for a bit. We’ve not done much talking.’

‘That’s very true,’ said Charlotte. ‘Did you want to talk about anything in particular? I warn you, I’m not the greatest fan of deep and meaningful conversation.’

The corner of Ned’s mouth lifted. ‘Afraid, are thee?’

‘Certainly not!’ said Charlotte. ‘I simply don’t find most people terribly interesting.’

Ned laughed. ‘That’s honest, I suppose. Unless,’ he added with a knowing grin, ‘tha’s just saying it t’ hide fact tha’s afraid?’

‘What did you want to talk about, Ned?’ said Charlotte. ‘Or was your plan to bait me and see how long I take to rise to it? Because — warning number two — I never rise. So I’d give up that idea right now.’

Ned said, ‘I’ll start with summat easy then, shall I?’

‘Depends,’ said Charlotte. ‘What do you classify as easy?’

‘I thought it about time I asked your last name,’ said Ned. ‘Can’t call you Charlotte t’ nanny forever.’

‘It’s Fforbes,’ said Charlotte. ‘With two fs. And if you ask me if I’m related to the Fforbes of North Yorkshire, I may strike you.’

‘The Fforbes of North Yorkshire have no female issue,’ said Ned. ‘And I imagine them lads aren’t long for this world, neither.’

‘You sound straight out of a Catherine Cookson novel,’ said Charlotte. ‘Which I have to say I find rather disturbing, so please don’t do it again.’ Then she added, ‘Is that it? Have we finished talking?’

‘Why don’t ye do boyfriends, Charlotte Fforbes, with two fs?’ asked Ned.

‘Why don’t you do girlfriends?’ Charlotte retorted.

‘Oh, I do girlfriends,’ said Ned. ‘Just not at t’ moment.’

Charlotte was perturbed to feel a twinge of jealousy. Up until now, she’d pictured Ned as a resolute loner, keeping women at bay as self-protection against heartbreak. She’d also made an assumption that, despite the condoms in the drawer, she was the first to share the cottage’s single bed, and it irked her to have to question it.

It’s only because he paid you attention when you were feeling neglected, she scolded herself. It’s a sense of mild attachment born out of gratitude. Nothing more.

‘Why haven’t you got married then?’ she said snappishly.

‘How’n hell could I support a family?’ he said with a scowl.

‘There isn’t actually a clause in the marriage contract stipulating that you must breed,’ said Charlotte. ‘And I sincerely hope you don’t hold some hidebound, antediluvian notion that you need to keep your wife?’

Ned’s scowl did not abate. ‘What kind o’ man can’t support his wife and children?’

‘As you have neither,’ said Charlotte, ‘I’d suggest it’s a moot point!’

‘Tha didn’t answer my question,’ said Ned belligerently. ‘It were about boyfriends, in case it’s slipped your mind.’

‘It hasn’t,’ said Charlotte. ‘I didn’t answer because it’s none of your business.’

She folded her arms and they glared at each other, until Charlotte said, ‘Well, this conversation’s going swimmingly, isn’t it? I can see I’ve really missed out on this talking lark.’

Ned looked away, but when he turned back to face her, he was smiling, albeit somewhat ruefully. He dropped a kiss on her still-bent knee, and began to caress her inner thigh again.

‘When’s your next day off?’ he said. ‘Or will you be under cosh from now on?’

‘Sunday.’

Charlotte did her best not to sound subdued, but the lack of certainty around Patrick’s intentions prompted a churning queasiness every time she thought of it. Maybe he’ll be waiting when I get back to the villa, she thought. Waiting to sack me. What on Earth will I do then?

‘Got plans?’ she heard Ned say. ‘If tha haven’t,’ he went on, ‘d’you want to go out on t’ lake?’

Charlotte perked up a little. ‘On a yacht?’

Ned pursed his mouth. ‘More a rowing boat.’

‘Oh, God.’ Charlotte shuddered. ‘No, I’m sorry. I cannot bear rowing boats.’

‘Why not?’ Ned said, put out. ‘Forced t’ read Wind in t’ Willows one too many times as a lass?’

‘No …’ Charlotte hesitated. ‘I had — a bad experience in a rowing boat once.’

‘But tha won’t tell us,’ said Ned, though his tone was gentle, ‘because it’s none o’ my business?’

He’d paused in his caressing and his warm calloused hand was resting on her thigh. Charlotte was surprised to find it extraordinarily comforting.

‘This is going to sound very stupid,’ she said. ‘Childish and stupid.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Ned. ‘Go on.’

‘I tried to run away from home once,’ she said. ‘Our house backed onto the Thames, and one day I packed a little bag, and got into the neighbour’s rowing boat, and managed to row myself all the way down to the next village.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Oh, ten,’ said Charlotte. ‘Old enough to know better, really. When I got to the village, I realised I’d forgotten about the lock. I had this vague idea that there was a man who operated it, but if there was indeed a man at this lock, he must have been off at the pub. I had no idea what to do. I waited to see if anyone else sailed up, who would have more of a clue. But I think the Henley regatta was on, and everyone with a boat was there instead. I waited for what felt like ages, but was probably only an hour, and then I gave up, tucked the boat into the bushes, scrambled up the bank and walked home. I’d been gone over five hours, but no one noticed. I took my bag back up to my room, and that was that.’

She blushed. ‘I told you it was stupid.’

‘Most kids want t’ run away at some stage,’ Ned said softly. ‘Did tha have particular reason?’

‘None,’ said Charlotte. ‘Other than my family home was an arid wasteland, full of bitterness and bile, and without a shred of love. At ten, I decided I deserved better. But clearly, that was my lot.’

‘Bit harsh on t’ rowing boat,’ said Ned. ‘If you don’t mind us saying so.’

‘It failed me,’ said Charlotte. ‘It promised to take me away, and it didn’t. It sat there and bobbed aimlessly while I despaired.’

She gave him a look of embarrassed defiance. ‘I never said I had a sensible reason to hate rowing boats.’

‘Nay.’ Ned propped his hands on either side of her and bent forward to kiss her on the mouth. He smiled down. ‘And you don’t need un, neither.’

‘Are you going to kiss me again?’ said Charlotte. ‘Or are you averse to breaking your rule a third time?’

‘Rule?’

‘You told me you don’t like to sleep with women you hardly know.’

‘Very true.’ Ned nodded. ‘But can I tell thee summat, Charlotte Fforbes? Sometimes I feel I’ve known thee all my life.’

And in the ensuing, sweaty, vocal entanglement, Charlotte forgot that she’d had any qualms at all about that comment.