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THE MONOTONOUS DRONE of the plane’s engines changed pitch, and Hettie opened her eyes at the same moment as the seatbelt alert sounded its singsong chime. She rolled her head to stretch her neck, tugged her earphones out and leant forwards to peer through the window as they broke cloud cover. There was England: a patchwork of farmland and fields, shaded grey in the early light. The plane banked and her stomach lurched.
Maybe going home was a mistake. She pictured her flat in South Africa, and the horses, recalling the easy freedom of her lifestyle. She hadn’t had to answer to anyone for the last six months. Of course, she was looking forward to seeing her mum, and the dogs, and Alexander. But she had no job lined up and no place of her own to go back to, which meant moving in to her mum’s, homeless, jobless – and faithless.
Alexander was down there, waiting for her. Goose pimples prickled her arms.
She dragged her bunched-up sweatshirt from behind her back and pulled it over her head, then flopped back and folded her arms across her body. The pilot spoke over the tannoy: twenty minutes to landing, eleven degrees in London. She put her earphones back in and closed her eyes. Her stomach pitched again.
England would feel chilly for a while.
Alexander leant against a pillar in the arrivals hall: blue sweater, arms folded, the toe of one foot resting over the other. His stance was relaxed but his body impatient. One finger tapped his forearm and he glanced frequently at his watch, his eyes returning to the gateway Hettie would come through.
He mocked himself for feeling so nervous, strung out like a kid who waits for Christmas but fears Santa won’t show. She had forgiven him, she’d said as much, but six months was a long time apart. Too much time for her to think, to remember what a shit he’d been in the time before she left, to brood on his faithlessness. Had he done that to hurt her because she was leaving?
He thrust his hands into his pockets. Damned if he understood why she was coming back to him. Maybe she wasn’t. He hadn’t imagined that their phone calls had become more stilted the closer it got to the date of her return, that there had been less laughter, more awkward silences and dredged-up niceties.
There she was.
He couldn’t miss those rusty curls, and his eyes drank her in. She looked thinner, but so bloody good. Her sweatshirt was crumpled and she was yanking that oversized suitcase with all her usual energy and purpose, even though she hadn’t seen him yet.
Her sharp green eyes slipped over him as she scanned the arrivals hall. He noticed the dusting of sun-freckles across her cheeks and his heart clenched as he waited. He needed to read her face, to believe she was back for good. Her gaze swept around again, and this time their eyes connected. For a suspended moment it felt as if his heart stopped beating, and the pit of his stomach fell.
Then she grinned at him.
The suitcase swung into her legs at her sudden change of direction. He waved, and she abandoned the case and ran at him. He lifted her off the ground and pressed his eyes shut, not trusting himself to speak. He felt her breath warm on his neck.
‘God, I missed you too much, Melton,’ she said.
‘Good. I missed you too.’ He smoothed her hair away from her face, his thumb brushing her cheek below the shadow of her lashes. His lips touched her forehead. ‘Welcome back to England, Hettie Redfern. Let’s get you home.’
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THE SOFT DAWN LIGHT gave promise of a gentle day. Hettie watched Alexander as he steered through sparse motorway traffic, grinning back at him when he turned his head to meet her stare. She took his hand from the steering wheel, kissed his palm and wound her fingers through his. Pleased by the slow curl of his lips, she leant against his shoulder.
Alexander squeezed her hand. ‘So, what have you been up to since we last spoke?’
She moved from his side, her thumb tracing hesitant circles on the back of his hand. She hadn’t spoken to him properly since the day of her leaving party, deliberately missing his calls and replying with texts to tell him what flight she was on and when she’d be landing. She’d convinced herself that the conversation they needed to have would be easier face to face. ‘Mostly I’ve been packing, and then on a plane.’
‘I’m amazed Cynthia didn’t pull one of her stunts to stop you coming home.’
She looked away from the hunch of his shoulders and out of the passenger window. Was that judgement already? Did he still believe she’d gone because Cynthia had won some sort of battle for her loyalties? She made her own decisions. And she was here, wasn’t she? ‘Cynthia isn’t as bad as you make her out to be.’
The comment felt mean as she said it. Defensive and uncommitted. Shouldn’t she have said nothing would have stopped her, or something gushy like that? But she couldn’t, not yet.
The flat, urban views opened to fields of ripening corn. He took his hand away as they neared a roundabout and Hettie shifted in her seat. Tree-shadow dappled the tarmac when they swung off the main road.
Alexander’s strong hand remained closed around the gearstick, his focus straight ahead. In profile she saw his dark hair curled against the collar of his shirt, the familiar, set line of his jaw. She took her bottle of water out of her bag and nursed it on her lap. She had to tell him now. Speak.
She lifted her hand, as if to touch him. ‘Alexander...’
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he turned his head too slowly, as if expecting the blow she was about to deliver. She recognised the steeliness that glazed his eyes. She’d seen that look too often.
She looked away, her throat closing on the truth. That look was his way of shutting her out, so she couldn’t hurt him. ‘I did really miss you, you know.’
He laughed, his face relaxing. The timbre of his voice thickened with affection. ‘God, I’m glad you’re back. Love you, Hettie Redfern.’
They had bandied the word about, ended phone calls with a playful ‘love-ya’ to bridge the miles between them, but now she paused for too long, missed that moment.
She prodded his rib with her elbow and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘You too.’
His arm curled around her, hugging her tighter. ‘Back to mine? Or to your mum’s?’
The sway of the car and his scent lulled her. Washing powder and wool, the worn leather seats, the soap on his skin. Hettie pressed her eyes closed. The sensation of honesty creeping away made her hesitate. She was getting this all wrong, spoiling their reunion. She hadn’t told him she loved him, hadn’t told him she’d kissed someone else. She sensed he could feel it too, the unspoken hovering between them, blocking their words and stalling the emotion that was heavy in the car.
He hugged her briefly before taking his arm away. ‘Sorry, gear change. You know, I don’t mind either way. We’ve got plenty of time ahead of us now. At least, I hope we have—’
‘Back to yours.’ Her voice sounded over-bright to her own ears. ‘I must see my dogs, and Mum probably won’t even be up yet.’ Stingy, again, to qualify her words with a post-note.
He didn’t look at her. ‘Are you glad to be back?’
‘Yes, I think so. I know I’m glad to see you.’
This time he did turn his head. His eyes searched her face. ‘Well, that’s as good a place as any to start, isn’t it?’
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THE RURAL LANES WERE familiar now, white painted signposts to places she knew, remembered landmarks. They crested the hill, the scenic approach, and their journey took them onto the Cotswolds Romantic Road, the route that didn’t pass the industrial estate or the council houses to the east of the village. Driving it after an absence, Hettie could see what the tourists saw, the contrast of chocolate-box houses and lush, picturesque landscape. She was lucky to call this place home.
Ahead to her right, the village still slept in a leafy green hollow of clotted cream cottages and pantile roofs, with punchy chimney pots rising above their ridges. And off to the left, Draymere Estate, its drystone wall curving alongside the road, softened by the years and the tall grasses clustered at its base. The Hall wasn’t visible yet, as it would be if they drove on through the village. Alexander swung the car off the road at a break in the wall, the back entrance to the estate.
They passed her old cottage and the stable block. Hettie looked at the clock on the dashboard. It would be another hour before early stables and horses wanting their breakfasts. The thought made her smile, a reminder of snuggling down in her bed in that cottage, with time in hand before she had to get up.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking it’s good to be back.’
At the end of the curling driveway they came in sight of the Gatehouse standing sentry with its back to the Hall. Built square and solid, its uncompromising lines and the Gothic arched lintels above the windows made Hettie think of an old guardsman raising his eyebrows in stern disapproval. But for the chaotic flowerbeds and the expansive lawns of the Hall around it, the Gatehouse could have looked hard and forbidding. That had once been its job, she imagined now, to guard against unwelcome callers.
The terriers barked as soon as the car pulled up, a racket of sharp yaps that rattled the morning peace. Doris, Digger, Dora and Pig met them at the door, frenzied and perky, hopping on their short front legs and jostling for attention. Hettie knelt on the floor and Doris corkscrewed into her lap, but Pig stayed beside Alexander.
‘The puppies have forgotten me!’
Alexander slipped off his shoes. ‘They’ll remember you soon enough. Come here, I want to look at you.’
She laughed and stood up, hugging Doris close, suddenly self-conscious of the contrast between her rumpled clothes and the ordered, austere tidiness of Alexander’s home. What did that say about the two them?
She took in the neutral greys and muted blues of the room, the gleam of the polished floor, the solid lines of his furniture, and she saw herself as he must, standing there in frayed denim jeans and a creased purple sweatshirt that clashed with her hair. The wire-haired dogs looked out of place too, scruffy among the sleek. She ran her hand through her curls, her fingers snagging.
She wished she’d changed on the plane, maybe put on some lipstick, made some sort of effort. ‘Eleven hours on the plane, and I slept for all of ten minutes. Are you sure you want to look at that?’ But she crossed the floor in her flip-flops and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
‘You look bloody gorgeous to me.’
Warmth buttered through Hettie, and the speed of her body’s reaction surprised her. Stone-cold sober, weary and unwashed from a long-haul flight, yet Alexander still had this effect on her. She tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in her throat. She dropped her eyes so he couldn’t see the guilt or the craving.
He took hold of her chin, gently lifting her face, his smile apologetic. ‘How can it be that I’m jealous you’re still hugging the dog?’
She put Doris back on the floor and turned to him again. He held out his hand and she took it. The clock that ticked in the corner of the room seemed to lengthen the pause between them.
They exchanged awkward grins as he steered her towards the sofa, and the leather cushions sighed when they stretched out together. She rested her head on his chest. She could hear the soft thud of his heart, and she tightened her arms around him. She didn’t want to hurt him. She felt protective of that heart of his. She knew what he’d been through. Six months ago, when she’d promised to come back, she had truly believed that they were good, that together they could mend each other.
Did she still believe that, or had he been right all along? Was it her he needed protecting from?
She felt suddenly weary, worn out by the flight and worn down by the dilemma churning through her mind. She relaxed into the firm comfort of his body. Just to be here, lying with Alexander, was enough for the moment.
His hand slipped under her sweatshirt. The heat of his palm moving over her back made her stretch against him. ‘I thought you only wanted to look?’
‘Oh, I want to do so much more than that.’
His voice made her tingle.
‘Or not, of course. Cuddling is good.’
She smiled, and without being able to see his face, she knew he was smiling too. It twisted her heart that he was trying so hard.
During the flight she’d allowed herself to remember the worst of him, replayed all the times when he’d been angry or awful. Maybe she’d done that to ease her own conscience, because it made her feel better to picture him as the villain. The sofa eased around them as he shifted beneath her. ‘Who are you? And what have you done with Alexander? I’m grubby and knackered and—’
‘Sober?’
She tensed. ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say it...’
He tightened his arm around her. ‘But I did. You can say it. You can say anything.’
She blinked back the sting in her eyes, pulled his hand close to her lips and held it there. ‘Thank you. For being so lovely. I thought you might still be mad that I’d gone away in the first place.’
He didn’t answer straight away. His hand moved to her cheek and he cradled her head against him. His voice was hoarse with the weight of admission. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I behaved. I’m ashamed. I’m trying to be a better man.’
She lifted her head and looked at him. The blue of his eyes had darkened with emotion. ‘It’s okay. I know.’ She stilled his words with a kiss, brushed her lips across the skin at the base of his throat and pressed her eyes shut. ‘Shall we find out if I can have sex with you sober? Because, right now, I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.’
She felt the chuckle that rumbled through his chest, and the sound of his laughter lifted her. It stirred the dogs too. Doris jumped onto the sofa and Pig followed, squirming his way to Alexander. Dora scrabbled to find a foothold.
‘Bloody dogs. Upstairs?’
Hettie nodded, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He lifted her and carried her up the stairs.
There was no need for words when a touch said so much, no need to think when a body knew what it wanted.
She saw his control slip as he pulled her clothes off, and the heat in his eyes scorched her. She arched against his hands and welcomed him, her mouth hungry for his. No question or thought in her mind when his fingers slid inside her. The pleasure was honest and basic.
There was an urgency to their reunion that took them both by surprise. Doubts fled the tangle of limbs as he moved above her.
‘Yes?’ His question was low and hoarse, her consent instant and mindless.
All she could hear was her body’s need for him to take her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clasped his torso with her legs and held him there. Breathless and damp from the sweat of their efforts, they clung on to each other as they rode the peak together.
Afterwards, his head dropped to her shoulder. She felt the beat of her heart and of his, their rhythm confused on her ribs. He pressed his lips to her collarbone. Three soft kisses travelled towards her shoulder as he rolled onto his side. She circled his hand with her own, trapping it close to her heart.
Her limbs felt heavy, her mind slow in the float-down from orgasm. Too much to think about, and yet nothing at all she needed to think about now. She stretched her arms above her head and smiled to herself. ‘Wow.’
He propped his head on one elbow, his eyes still smoky with lust. An answering smile quirked the corner of his mouth in satisfied amusement.
She grinned, and nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Yeah, alright. Seems I can do sex sober.’
‘I didn’t say a word.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Not even a mention of how keen you were—’
‘Oi!’
She nudged him again. ‘I ought to go home.’ But she didn’t make any effort to climb out of the disarray of sheets, or to move away from the warmth of Alexander beside her. Outside, a lone mistle thrush courted the sunrise, and the sky was water-blue through the window.
‘I’m glad you came back. Will I see you later?’
‘Later, tomorrow, every day. I’ve nothing else to do, and this bed is very comfy.’
He caught her hand. ‘I can think of ways to keep you amused.’
‘Now there’s the Alexander I know and love. But I really ought to go home.’
‘You could stay on here.’
‘No, I couldn’t. That sounds like running before we can walk.’ She kissed the tip of his nose and climbed out of the bed.
‘Okay, but think about it. The dogs are settled here, and...’
‘You old romantic!’ He tried to catch her again, but she twisted away with a laugh.
‘When you’re ready. Love you, Hettie Redfern.’
She turned her back and stepped into her jeans. ‘Love you too, Melton.’
She meant it, but she felt a twinge of dishonesty as she said the words out loud.