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THE DAY OF THE WEDDING dawned bright. Silky wisps of cirrus clouds floated in the sky, as if even the weather was optimistic. Hettie did early stables and drove over to Draymere.
Nat and Simon were staying at Bert’s cottage, and Nat was frying bacon on the old Rayburn when Hettie turned up. Anna and Bert kept grinning at each other as if they shared a secret. They all ate bacon butties at the kitchen table, washed down with Buck’s Fizz (half a glass for Hettie, who had to get back to Hardacre to dress up before she went to the ceremony). James was going to deliver the bride and groom in his Range Rover, which had been valeted and beribboned for the occasion. Hettie planned to leave her Landy at the Swan and get a taxi home after the party. The Buck’s Fizz was making Anna giggly.
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WHEN HETTIE GOT BACK to the bungalow Zoe rushed up, breathless with explanation. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s your day off, but Paula’s doing her nut because the builders are mixing concrete right next to the arena, and she can’t get Ebony past them. I told her to ride him in the field but she just screamed at me. Reckons her livery charges should be dropped, what with all this disruption.’
Hettie glanced at her watch, and then towards the arena. She could see Paula, one of their liveries, still astride the immovable Ebony, gesticulating, whip in hand, at a random builder. She sighed. ‘Alright, Zo, I’ve got it.’
Over-horsed, nervous and quick to flap, Paula had wound herself into a state. It took Hettie quite a long time to talk her down. She finally placated her with an offer of a free riding lesson. She steered Ebony and Paula away from the builder, but then, when she’d left Paula, she had to unruffle the builder’s feathers too. She listened while he aired his affront at being attacked by a woman on a bloody great horse, who had waved her whip at him. Hettie compensated him with a triple-sugared tea before hurrying her dogs out for a very short walk.
The two hours she’d planned to devote to dressing up had shrunk to a tight forty minutes now. Easy, she reassured herself as she ran into the shower. Her curls looked better when she left them to dry on their own anyway, and she could drive with the Landy windows open. The plunging cleavage of the dress dipped lower than the front of her bra, which cost her more time to hunt for a safety pin. Her make-up didn’t take long: mascara, pale-rose lipstick, a dusting of blusher. The gold sandals were buried at the back of the wardrobe. She scrabbled on her hands and knees to find them.
The cantankerous clutch on the Landy would be impossible in stilettos, so the sandals went into a carrier bag, ready to change in to. She fastened faux-emerald drops to her ears, and squirted a spray of scent as she shoved her feet into her trainers. She looked at the clock and congratulated herself. Ready with time to spare.
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THE LANDY CRUNCHED to a halt on the gravel, scruffy among its sleek modern neighbours. Alexander opened the door of the Aston to let Celia out, but watched Hettie climb out of her car. She looked amazing: copper curls falling over her shoulders, that slinky green dress clinging to her curves. But what was she wearing on her—
‘Oh, it’s Hettie! Elle est adorable!’ Celia had followed Alexander’s gaze.
He turned back to his mother. ‘Not sure about the trainers.’
‘No!’ Hettie stood beside the Landy in battered, fluorescent Nikes, her cry was loud enough to call their attention.
‘Hettie, ma chérie, is something wrong?’
‘I’ve forgotten my sandals! I can’t go in wearing these!’ Hettie lifted a dayglow foot to demonstrate the scale of the problem.
‘Non! Can’t you go back for them?’
The conversation, across the wide car park, had drawn the attention of others. Alexander struggled to hide his amusement as he guided his mother closer to Hettie. ‘I think they look quite original.’
She ignored him. ‘Ten minutes there, ten minutes back and the ceremony starts in twenty!’
‘I could get you there and back in time.’
Celia spun to face him. ‘Of course! In your sporty car! Go quickly, the pair of you, and bring back the glass slipper.’ She chuckled to herself before adding quickly, ‘But do drive carefully!’
Hettie was still fumbling with her seatbelt as they swung out of the car park. ‘Thanks for doing this. I had them all ready and didn’t pick the bag up. Bloody stupid.’
They covered the miles easily without speaking again. Alexander glanced at the clock on the dash as they pulled up in front of the bungalow. ‘Seven minutes, door to door.’
‘Luckily I’ve got my running shoes on.’
He breathed in the lingering musky vanilla scent of her perfume as Hettie sprinted for the door. She was back out in seconds with a carrier bag. Her cheeks were flushed, and as they pulled away again she kicked off her trainers and lifted a leg to buckle on the first sandal.
Alexander gripped the steering wheel, and they cornered sharply. ‘That view is rather distracting.’
Hettie lowered her leg. ‘Sorry, I’ll do it when I get there.’
‘I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying the distraction.’
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THEY REACHED THEIR seats with seconds to spare and were the last to sit down. Nat glared at them. Grace grinned and changed seats so he could slip in beside her. James Galway’s flute carried out from the speakers, and they all stood again.
Bert’s grin and jaunty step were infectious, as were the smiles on the faces of the congregation as they followed the couple’s progress. Grace got her handkerchief out of her bag as Anna and Bert recited their vows. Alexander was bemused by the swell in his own chest, but decided that on this occasion he could forgive himself a little sentimentality.
The wedding breakfast table was set in the orangery at the Swan. The windows overlooked the river, where budding willow trees framed the glisten of sunlight on water. The room and table had been dressed to celebrate the occasion. Streams of silver ribbons fell from the beams among fronds of willow and ivy, and white calla lilies arched from vases in centrepieces along the length of the table.
‘Bert wanted silver,’ Anna told them as they took their seats, ‘because we met twenty-five years ago.’
Bert finished the sentence for her. ‘And we’ve got twenty-five years of catching up to do!’
There was an abundance of goodwill and good food. Glasses were refilled to toast the newlyweds. Alexander and Hettie were seated at the children’s end of the table with Georgia between them. Alexander rescued Gog from mischief several times during dinner. Celia stepped in when the coffee came around.
He relaxed back in his chair. ‘You’ll be an auntie yourself soon.’
Hettie turned her head and smiled at him.
‘It’s the best thing in the world.’
She tilted her chin. ‘Is that so, Auntie Alexander?’ Her gaze travelled around the table. ‘A wedding, a baby and a new business. It’s been quite a year for the Redferns.’
‘A funeral and infidelity. Business as usual for the Meltons.’
Her eyes snapped back to him, but he smiled. ‘I wasn’t talking about you.’ He nodded towards Ted and Anju.
‘Two infidelities and a funeral then. I’m not sure the film would sell.’
A sharp laugh burst out of him, and he lifted his glass in an ironic toast.
She raised her own back at him. ‘Ted and Anju are working it out though.’
The smile left his face.
She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t talking about us. I’m just rooting for them.’
‘I think they are. I’m rooting for them too.’
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THEY TALKED ABOUT THE stables and the practice. He was easy to be with when he was like this – chilled, funny, good company. Handsome.
She found herself looking at the curve of his forearm when he pushed his shirtsleeve up, admiring the resting curl of his fingers on the linen tablecloth. She reached for the cafetière, and when he took it from her their fingers touched. He poured her coffee and stood to reach for the cream. She turned her head to stop herself from staring at his thighs as they tightened beneath his trousers.
She asked him about his trip, and he told her about the beauty of the Anglesey coastline and the simple charm of the cottage he had stayed in. He planned to go back soon, he said, and, with a bemused smile, he recounted the coincidence of the card she’d sent him. He poured himself a coffee, and his grip on the silver cafetière seemed almost sensuous. She looked down at the table and heard rather than saw him stand up.
‘Think I’ll take mine outside with a cigarette, if you want to join me.’
She smiled up at him. ‘No thanks. I’m off them at the moment.’ Just the thought made her feel queasy.
He smiled back, and her heart shifted at the devilment in his crooked grin. ‘Before I go, I ought to tell you that your dress has come undone.’
She glanced down and pulled the silk back across her chest. She whispered as he turned away, ‘I’m home alone tonight, by the way.’
Alexander called the children as he moved across the room. ‘Gog! Boys! Come and look at the river.’
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IT WAS COOLER OUTSIDE than the sun on the glass of the orangery had suggested, and the ground by the river was soft under his shoes. He set his cup down on a bench and picked Georgia up. The water was running high, the river coursing. They threw twigs onto its steely surface and watched the current take them. Gog sat on his arm, her lacy dress scrunched, bare legs swinging against him, until her lips turned pale and she started to shiver.
He ushered the children back in, and took out his cigarettes. That had been an invitation. And he’d already called at the bungalow once this week. Twice smacked of evolution. So did conversation. Dangerous territory; foolhardy, given that he had no intention of resuming their relationship. So what was he playing at, and where was this leading?
He dragged on his cigarette.
The glimpse of her stilettoed foot, the horseshoe tattoo on her ankle. Silk shaping her curves, and that reveal of bosom spilling above her bra. Dammit, he needed to get a grip. This wasn’t helping either of them.
He ground the cigarette out and headed back to the party. He sought James for conversation, chatted to Bert, and watched Hettie laughing with Natalie and stroking her sister’s pregnancy bump.
At dusk, they waved off the bride and groom. James donned a chauffeur’s cap. The Range Rover was strung with balloons and ribbons, Just Married scrawled in foam across its rear window. It clattered from the car park, dragging a string of tin cans, cheered on by the Melton boys who had tied them there.
Hettie and Alexander stood beside each other. He leant close, his lips almost touching her hair. ‘Keep the dress on. And the sandals.’
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SHE LEFT THE DOOR OF the bungalow unlocked, and he arrived not long after she had.
He reached for her as soon as he walked in. He spoke into her neck, his lips touching her skin. ‘We can lose that safety pin now.’
‘It’s already gone.’
The dress fell open. His voice was hoarse as he traced the curve of lace on her breast with his finger. ‘You’re spilling out of this bra.’
He pulled the cup low, exposing her nipple, and Hettie drew a sharp breath. When he did the same to her left breast, she trembled and closed her eyes. His hands dropped to the narrow gold belt, undoing the buckle. Her dress parted, revealing her to his view. He pulled the fabric away from her shoulder and kissed her there, his mouth moving along her collarbone.
She clasped his head, stretching her neck to welcome his lips. ‘The bedroom.’
She circled her arms around his neck, and he picked her up in an easy movement and carried her through to the bed. She lay in a pool of emerald silk and watched him as he undressed. She lifted her knees and sunk her gold stilettos into the duvet.
‘Dear God.’ Alexander dropped to his knees at the end of the bed, held her foot and kissed the horseshoe tattoo.
The first flick of his tongue between her legs catapulted Hettie over the edge. His arms pinned her legs apart as she bucked and moaned against his tongue. ‘All of you, Alexander, I need all of you.’ Her hands clenched in his hair, and he moved above her, the weight of his body pressing her down into the mattress. His hand on her chin turned her face so that she looked at him. ‘All of me?’ His eyes seared hers.
She answered against his mouth. ‘Yes, all of you.’ Her teeth were on his bottom lip. Her body arched to meet him.
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HE GROANED AND TURNED his head away, sinking his face against her neck. He felt her breath on his shoulder, felt her legs wrap around him, and his arms trembled with the tremor that rocked him.
They broke apart breathless. His heart crashed in his chest. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since he had got out of the car. He felt the bed quiver.
Hettie was laughing. ‘Christ, what’s wrong with us?’ She curled against his side.
Alexander stiffened at the affectionate movement. He tried to shut out the sound of her laughter and fought the urge to put his arms around her. What the fuck was he doing? All his control, all his emotions, shot to fuck in a moment of passion. It was too much, way too much. This was what she did to him, why he had to stop. He was feeding an addiction by being here, the craving was growing, and still, she had to the power to bring him to this.
His heart thumped in his chest. Her hand was on his arm, she was speaking. What had she said? He sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. ‘What?’
She laughed again, running her fingers across his back. ‘Have I finished you off, Melton? I asked if you wanted a drink. Arse-about manners, I know. I don’t usually greet visitors quite so—’
‘Hettie, stop talking.’ He felt the loss of her touch when she took her hand away. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’
‘What can’t you do, Alexander?’
He shook his head, ‘I can’t do this. I can’t sleep with you, talk with you, laugh with you, act like—’
‘Like I didn’t snog someone else?’
‘It isn’t about that. I was going to say, act like there’s something more.’ The silence was painful. He felt the mattress move as she got off the bed, and he reached for his clothes.
‘You’re a liar, Alexander, and an arsehole.’
She had refastened the dress when he looked at her. He’d expected to see anger, or sadness, but she was sneering at him. ‘No, I’m not. It’s because I’m trying to be honest that I’m telling you—’
‘Then you’re lying to yourself.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened the duvet. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You weren’t acting, Alexander. That’s the lie. There is... or there was, something more.’ She nodded towards the door. ‘Piss off. And don’t come back this time. I don’t want you here again.’
He hesitated, then picked up his jacket. Her parting shot followed him out of the room.
‘Alexander Melton, the big man, who’s petrified of his own emotions.’