Читать книгу The Yuletide Child - CHARLOTTE LAMB - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

AND then Ross came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and kissed her softly on the side of her neck. Dylan leaned back against him, sighing with pleasure, pushing away her moment of doubt and uncertainty. She loved him more than she had ever loved anything or anyone else before. Whatever she had had to give up weighed very little in the scales against having Ross.

‘Come and meet my trees,’ he whispered.

He always talked about them as if they were human, had feelings, could hear what he said to them and even answered him in their own way. Dylan smiled, touched by that, by his passionate commitment to his work That was what she wanted from him—that deep, unfaltering love. She wanted to give as much back, too.

‘I’m dying to!’ she assured him.

His smile of pleasure made her heart lift. He wanted her to share his feelings about the forest. Dylan wanted to be part of every aspect of his life. Wasn’t that what marriage meant? Sharing everything, becoming one flesh, one heart, one mind?

The unforgettable scent of pine met them as soon as they walked through the gate in their garden hedge into the forest. Ferns brushed their legs, flies and midges buzzed them, powdery-winged brown and blue butterflies hovered over spring flowers in the long grass at the forest rim. Under their feet was the crunch of pine needles. Sunlight laid out needle-fine paths in front of them under the fir trees until they faded into darkness.

As the shadows around them deepened Dylan couldn’t help shivering. ‘It’s quite cold in here, isn’t it?’

She was wearing jeans and a light pink shirt, over which she wore a denim waistcoat but no jacket because the weather was warm for late March, so long as you were out in the sunlight. Once they were deep into the forest, though, the sun didn’t penetrate the closely set trees and her skin had chilled rapidly.

Ross gave her a quick look, then took off his tweed jacket and put it round her shoulders. ‘Better?’

She snuggled into the warmth from his body which the tweed retained along with his own particular body scent. ‘That’s lovely. But I don’t want you to get cold. Maybe we should go back?’

‘Oh, I’m used to working out here in all weathers; I never feel the cold.’ He took her hand. ‘Come on, I want to show you something.’

She had to move quickly to keep up with his long-legged stride. The tall pines stretched all around them now; they were deep into the forest, with very little light to show them where they were going, and Dylan was oddly afraid of the pressing tree trunks, the shadows, the cool, pine-scented air.

All the forests and woods she had ever known had had broadleaf trees, oak and hornbeam, beech and ash, which shed their leaves in autumn and did not grow too close together, so that open glades stretched in places, full of light and giving space for wild flowers and tussocks of long grass. She had never been nervous in those woods, but she was nervous now.

At last Ross stopped moving and put a finger to his lips, whispering to her, ‘Keep very still. Look...there...’ He pointed to a tree a few feet away.

Obediently not moving, Dylan peered, but at first could not see anything interesting. Then there was a shirr of wings, a flash of gold and cream. A tiny bird flew up to a branch of the conifer and perched on a web of ivy. A second later Dylan spotted a basket-shape hanging there; the little bird disappeared into it.

Looking up at Ross, she silently shaped the word ‘nest’.

He nodded. ‘A goldcrest’s nest,’ he whispered, so softly she could only just hear him.

The bird flew out and vanished among the trees, and Ross said very quietly, ‘The nest is made of moss—isn’t it clever, the way it’s made? She must have fledglings. We often get goldcrests here; they feed on insects which live on conifers, breed in the bark—beetles and flies, for instance—not many birds live among fir trees, but it’s a habitat that agrees with goldcrests.’

‘I’ve never seen a goldcrest before,’ she said wonderingly. ‘It’s such a wonderful colour.’

‘No, you wouldn’t have—they aren’t city birds.’

‘I wish I could see the fledglings. Do you know, I’ve never seen a bird’s nest? If I’d had a brother I might have done, but there was just me and Jenny and we never went bird-nesting.’

‘I’m glad to hear it—these days it’s very frowned on. You’re encouraged to use binoculars and watch a nest, never to interfere with it, and certainly never to remove eggs.’

‘Do people still do that?’

‘Unfortunately, yes. Some collectors have no conscience. Luckily, that tree is far too high to climb. Goldcrests aren’t common birds; we have to protect them.’ Glancing at his watch, he said, ‘Look at the time! We’ve been in here nearly an hour. Doesn’t time fly when you’re enjoying yourself? We’d better start walking back.’

Dylan was relieved to see the sunlit edge of the forest reappearing. There was something disturbing about the deep interior of the forest; it was so silent and full of shadows, making the skin on the back of her neck creep. She couldn’t say why, except that, perhaps, she knew so little about the natural world. She had lived in a great city all her life. She had a lot to learn.

Just before they left the forest something red flashed up a tree, making her jump and stand still, staring upward.

‘What was that?’

‘A red squirrel,’ Ross said casually.

Her eyes widened. ‘Red? I’ve never seen a red one; in London we only have grey squirrels.’ She stood staring up the tree; the squirrel peered down at her, its bushy tail flicking to and fro. ‘Will it come if I feed it some nuts? There were squirrels in the park near where I lived which came right up to you and took nuts from your hand.’

‘They were semi-tame—this is a wild squirrel,’ Ross told her. ‘It might run down and snatch nuts if you threw them and stayed back, but it wouldn’t eat out of your hand.’

As they finally left the forest, coming out into the sunlight, she asked him, ‘Have you got any books I could read? On the forest?’

‘I’ll find one for you,’ Ross promised. ‘And this evening, after supper, we’ll take another walk. I’ll show you the moths; they are really something! The forest is very different at night.’

Dylan hoped he didn’t notice the atavistic shudder running through her at the idea of going into the forest in the dark. Smiling bravely, she said, ‘Wonderful, I’ll look forward to that.’ Somehow she had to learn to love the forest for his sake.

They never got very far among the trees that night, though. Before they had gone more than a few steps Dylan felt something scuttle across her face and screamed, frantically brushing her skin to get rid of whatever it was.

Ross had a torch in one hand; he switched it on and turned it on her, blinding her. ‘Stand still. Oh, it’s just a spider.’ He flicked one finger. ‘There, it’s gone. It was a wolf spider.’

Shuddering, she said, ‘A wolf spider? Why is it called that? Does it bite?’

Ross switched off his torch and put both arms round her, pulling her close to him, kissing her hair. ‘Of course not. Are you scared of spiders? There’s no need to be; there are no poisonous spiders in Britain. Wolf spiders hunt their prey instead of just sitting in a web waiting for it. And they eat other insects, not people!’

‘How was I to know that? I’m not up on spiders.’ She tried to laugh, lifting her face, and saw his eyes gleaming in the shadows. ‘Even you seem strange,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know you out here, in the dark.’

‘Then I’ll have to remind you who I am,’ he murmured thickly, his head coming down.

His mouth blotted out memory. She was lost at once, kissing him back passionately, her knees giving. Sliding her arms around his neck, she held him tightly, pressing closer, her body moulding itself to his.

Ross pulled her down into the long, whispering ferns and grass, the scent of the earth and the pines making her head swim. Without breaking off their kiss, they hurriedly began undressing each other with shaky hands. Dylan buried her flushed, feverish face in his naked chest, groaning with desire, her lips open on his skin.

‘I want you so much.’

‘Not as much as I want you,’ he muttered, sliding on top of her, and her breath exhaled in a strangled gasp as he parted her thighs.

‘Darling...oh, darling...’

Her arms around his back, she caught him between her thighs, arching up to meet that first, deep thrust. The need intensified into a frenzy as they moved together, their bodies totally entwined, riding fiercely towards the same intense pleasure.

Their deep moans of satisfaction floated up between the trees into the dark night sky. Afterwards they lay sleepily on their crushed bed of fern, still closely twined, his arm under her, her leg curled across him, staring up into the shadows where pale moths flitted, glistening with powdered wings.

‘I love your moths,’ she whispered, drowsily wondering how she could ever have felt uncertain about having married him. She had never been so happy in her entire life. It would be wonderful to sleep out here all night, naked in this forest, under the stars and moon, with the scents and sounds of the earth all around them.

Next day he was up at first light while she was still asleep. He woke her with a cup of tea and a slice of buttered toast before he left for work. Drowsily, she blinked up at him, sunlight on her lashes.

He groaned, bending to kiss the warm valley between her breasts. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to work. You’re far too tempting in that nightie. Even sexier without it, of course.’ He pushed the deep lace neckline aside and buried his face against her breasts. ‘Mmm...you smell of honey and flowers.’

She stroked his dark hair, ran her fingertips into it, caressed the nape of his neck.

‘Get back in bed, Ross, I want you.’ She pulled him down closer and he laughed throatily.

‘I wish I could, believe me—but I can’t. We’re back in the real world and I have a job to do.’ Straightening, he sighed. ‘Got to go, darling. I can’t be sure what time I’ll be back, but there’s plenty of food in the freezer and the fridge. You’ve got my mobile number if you need me. I’ll have to take the car—I’ll need it to get from one part of the forest to another, with all my equipment and tools—but if you want to go into the village it’s only a couple of miles to walk, or you can get a lift there with the postman if he comes today. He often gives people lifts. Then you’ll only have the walk back to face.’

The distance didn’t bother her; she would enjoy a walk. ‘The exercise will be good for me. I don’t want to lose muscle tone. I have to keep supple, and walking is a very good way of doing that.’

‘I’ll help you keep supple—I can think of some very enjoyable exercises to do every night.’

She giggled. ‘I bet you can.’

‘When did you say your brother-in-law was going to deliver that object you call a car up here?’

‘Don’t make fun of my flower wagon! I love it. It may not go very fast but it is reliable, and it’s a thing of beauty! A one-off, unique. People always stare when I go by in it.’

‘I bet they do,’ Ross said curtly.

She had bought it secondhand from a car auction two years ago: a Mini car painted a metallic green. Michael had transformed it over a couple of weekends, painting a jungle all over it—palms and huge, exotic tropical flowers in extraordinary colours.

‘Phil hopes to bring it up here next weekend. He can’t get the time off during the week. He’ll have to take the train to London to pick up my car, then drive it up here and take the train back home to Penrith. It’s a long journey; it’s very good of Phil to offer to do it.’

Ross nodded. ‘Nice guy, Phil. I liked him.’

The emphasis reminded her that he did not like Michael, and never would. She suppressed a faint sigh. If only they could be friends. They were the two most important men in her life and she hated knowing that they resented each other.

‘And your sister’s nearly as gorgeous as you are,’ Ross added, smiling, then looked at his watch. ‘Must rush. See you, darling. Oh, and I left a couple of books on the forest for you, on the kitchen table.’

It was her first day alone in the house. She got up after she had finished her toast and tea, showered and dressed in jeans and a loose dark pink shirt, then sat down at the kitchen table and worked out a daily schedule for her housework. She had learned discipline in ballet school; you had to be organised or you got nowhere.

After making their bed and tidying the bedroom and all the rooms downstairs she went out into the garden to gather vegetables for supper. She would make a vegetable casserole, she decided, a layered dish of thick slices of carrots, potatoes, onions, parsnips, turnips and young broad beans. It was a meal she had often cooked before, in London, but there she had used vegetables from a nearby street market. They had not been as fresh as the ones she was picking from Ross’s neat, straight rows.

When it was nearly cooked she would stir in tomatoes and mushrooms and sprinkle the top with mixed fresh breadcrumbs and grated cheese to make a crunchy gold topping. She would serve lamb with it for Ross, but she, herself, would only eat the vegetable casserole. As well as exercising daily she would need to diet. For years she had been working out for hours every day, using up a lot of calories and energy. Now that she had stopped she would put on weight if she didn’t watch it.

Looking at her watch, she was shaken to see that it was only eleven! The day was dragging. What if Ross didn’t get back until six or seven? How was she going to cope with such long days alone, with nothing to do and nobody to talk to?

She left the trug of vegetables on the draining board, to wash later, and made some black coffee. While she drank a cup she sat down at the kitchen table and opened one of the books Ross had left her. It was easier to read than she had been afraid it would be—almost every page had a coloured picture on it and the text was direct and simple. She started with a section on the wildlife of a conifer forest, and read for twenty minutes with deep interest until she suddenly heard Ross’s voice outside.

Dropping the book, she rushed to open the front door, then stopped dead as she realised he was not alone. There was a woman in his arms.

Shocked, Dylan froze, staring—who on earth was she? Someone very sophisticated, with blonde hair the colour of a new-hatched chick and a figure with more curves than a switchback ride. Her high, round breasts were shown off by a tight white sweater which clung to every seductive inch, her slim waist was cinched by a black leather belt, and she had very long legs in tight jeans.

Ross turned to smile, his manner unworried and confident. ‘Dylan, this is Suzy Hale. She’s Alan’s wife—I’ve told you about him, one of my colleagues and a very good friend of mine—they live ten miles off. She’s come along to introduce herself and invite us both over for dinner, next week. Isn’t that nice of her?’

Dylan barely heard half he said. She was too busy noticing the smear of bright red lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Did he always kiss his best friend’s wife on the lips?

Somehow, though, she managed a smile and murmured, ‘That would be lovely.’

The blonde slid out of Ross’s grasp and came towards her, holding out her hand, the fingers tipped with bright red nail varnish that matched her lipstick.

‘Hi, Dylan, welcome to the back of beyond!’ Her fingers were firm and warm and her smile was so friendly Dylan couldn’t help smiling back.

‘That’s a London accent, isn’t it?’

The other woman laughed, her head flung back. ‘Well spotted! I was born in Finchley, lived there for years. Bit of a culture shock, this place, isn’t it, to a Londoner? How is the old place? I bet you’re missing it already! I know I do. I rarely get a chance to go there since my family moved to Wales. My brother got a job in a hospital in Cardiff; he’s a physiotherapist. Our parents decided to go, too. My father came from Cardiff originally, so they were keen to go back there. Now I have to stay in a hotel if I go to London, and, as you know only too well, London hotels cost an arm and a leg. But then everything in London is expensive, and on Alan’s salary we can’t afford to spend money like a drunken sailor.’ Dylan was dazed by the speed at which the other woman talked. Scarcely drawing breath, Suzy went on, ‘Ross says you were a ballet dancer—I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never ever seen ballet. The only dancing I ever did was at a rave. I’m not an intellectual, I’m afraid.’ She turned a laughing face at Ross. ‘And 1 can’t believe Ross went to the ballet! Buy the ticket by mistake, did you, Ross? Thought you’d be seeing something like the Folies Bergère?’

Ross seemed very amused by her—did he enjoy her bubbly personality and headlong chatter? Dylan wished she was an extrovert, could talk as easily, but she found it impossible to shed her inhibitions.

Dancing was a physical art; she never needed to talk. She could express herself eloquently in gesture and movement, so she was never self-conscious on a stage, but faced with other people she felt herself tighten up, unable to relax.

‘Actually, I bought a ticket because I saw a big blown-up photo of Dylan outside the theatre,’ Ross said, and Dylan did a double-take. He had never told her that. He glanced at her, dark grey eyes teasing.

‘I knew it! You didn’t go in to see a ballet, you went to see more of Dylan. Did she look sexy in a tutu?’ Suzy roared with laughter.

‘I’m sure she would—but in the photo it looked as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all,’ Ross drawled. ‘She looked totally naked, but when she appeared on stage I realised she was actually wearing a body-stocking.’

Dylan went pink. Was that really why he had come to the ballet that first night? In the hope of seeing her dance in the nude?

‘I bet that was a disappointment!’ Suzy mocked, and he grinned at her.

‘You’ve got a wicked mind!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, Dylan, I have an hour to spare. I’ve finished all the work I need to do this morning, so I popped home to see how you were getting on. I thought maybe we could have an early lunch? Sandwiches and coffee? That won’t take you long, will it? Suzy, you’ll stay, won’t you?’

Politely Dylan said, ‘Yes, please stay, Suzy. It won’t take me a minute to make some sandwiches, or would you rather have pasta? I could make a quick spaghetti with tomato and basil sauce.’

‘Don’t tempt me!’ Suzy groaned. ‘Could you make me a salad sandwich with no butter in it? I’m dieting.’

‘Me, too,’ Dylan said ruefully. ‘How about you, Ross?’

‘Cheese, onion and tomato sandwich for me, darling.’

‘Okay, I won’t be long.’ She went off to the kitchen while Ross showed Suzy into the sitting room. While she cut bread, made the salad filling, sliced Ross’s favourite Cheddar cheese, she kept thinking about that lipstick on Ross’s mouth.

Had that kiss meant anything? But there had been no trace of self-consciousness or secrecy in their behaviour when she appeared. Suzy was just the type who kissed her friends, male or female.

Dylan hoped so. Jealousy was new to her; she never wanted to feel it again, the stab of agony that had pierced her when she first saw the blonde woman in Ross’s arms.

When she carried the tray of sandwiches and coffee through she found Ross and Suzy sitting close together on a couch. For a second Dylan felt the sting of jealousy again, then she saw that they were glancing through an album of wedding photos which Dylan’s sister had made and sent to them.

‘They’re quite alike, aren’t they, Dylan and her sister? ’ Suzy was saying.

‘There is a resemblance,’ Ross agreed. ‘But Dylan’s beautiful and Jenny is only attractive.’

Dylan’s heart turned over—did he really think she was beautiful? Oh, he had said it to her, when they were making love, but this was the first time she had ever heard him say it to someone else.

Her hands trembled; the china rattled on the tray and he and Suzy looked round. Hurriedly Dylan came forward to put the tray down on a low coffee table.

‘Just looking at your wedding pictures,’ Suzy told her. ‘You made a lovely bride.’ Then she leaned over the album again, staring at one photo, and gave a low, throaty gasp. ‘Who is that? He’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen for years—look at those smouldering eyes! Talk about a turn-on!’

Before she looked down at the photo Dylan knew who it was—who else could it be but Michael, lithe and supple in the dark grey suit he had worn for the wedding? The photo had been taken as the guests arrived for the service. All around him were happy, smiling faces, but the photographer had caught him in grim, bitter mood, glowering at the camera.

Ross glanced at it, scowling. ‘Oh, him! He’s a ballet dancer.’

Suzy groaned. ‘You’re kidding? He oozes machismo! But he’s gay, I suppose? They always are, aren’t they? What a waste!’

Dylan opened her mouth to contradict her, explain that male dancers were no more likely to be gay than the female ones, but Ross talked over her curtly. ‘Is that my sandwich, Dylan? I’d better eat it and go. I’m meeting my boss in half an hour. I’ll take my coffee black, thanks. What about you, Suzy?’

‘Black for me, too, thank you. Are these my sandwiches? They look terrific; I’m starving!’

‘Yes, I hope they’re okay,’ Dylan said, handing her the plate.

Suzy bent her head over them, inhaling. ‘They smell wonderful. I love the smell of fresh salad, don’t you? Did you grow all this, Ross? He’s a great gardener, isn’t he, Dylan? I envy you those rows and rows of vegetables. He plants them the way he plants his saplings—straight as a die! Vegetables taste so much better when they’ve just come out of the garden, don’t you agree?’

It was only later, when Ross had gone off back to work and Suzy had set off for her own home, that Dylan remembered that she had never set Suzy right about Michael’s sexual orientation. Next time she had a chance she must do so, but she would make certain Ross wasn’t in earshot. He hated her to mention Michael, which was typical of a man. He saw nothing wrong in laughing, teasing, almost flirting with Suzy, yet he turned nasty if Michael was mentioned. One law for him, another for her, apparently. Dylan resented that. How would he like it if she started sulking or flying into a rage every time he spoke to Suzy?

The following Friday night there was a bad spring storm in the region; all night long the wind howled around the house. Dylan anxiously watched the trees on the forest edge swaying and bending, and heard on the TV news that houses had suffered serious damage, losing tiles or chimneys, while power lines were brought down and trees toppled. Anxiety kept her awake half the night, but towards dawn the winds died down and she fell into a deep sleep, only to be awoken by the shrilling of the telephone.

Ross moaned something and rolled over to pick up the phone. Sleepily, half believing she was still dreaming, Dylan heard him groan.

‘You’re kidding? Completely blocked? Yes, we’ll have to deal with that at once. Of course. I’ll be there. Okay, Alan. See you in half an hour.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Dylan asked, struggling up in the warm bed as he hung up and started to get out of bed.

‘The storm brought down half a dozen trees in Alan’s section of the forest. A couple of them have blocked a road, and people are having to make a big detour. The police rang Alan, asking him to get the road cleared as soon as possible. He can’t do it on his own; he’ll need help. Sorry, darling. I had hoped we could go out somewhere today, but we’ll have to put that off until tomorrow. I may be busy most of the day.’

She tried to hide her disappointment ‘Oh, well, maybe we could do something special tomorrow! I’ll get up and make your breakfast.’

‘No, don’t bother, darling. I’ll just have a cup of tea and a piece of toast.’ He gathered up his clothes and went off to the bathroom, telling her, ‘You stay in bed. Try to get some more sleep.’

That was impossible, of course! she lay listening to the sound of the shower, then a few moments later his quiet footsteps on the stairs, the muted movements in the kitchen. She was still wide awake when Ross left. Dylan heard the front door close quietly, the engine of his four-wheel drive start up, then the sound of him driving away, fast.

For another half an hour she lay listening to the empty house; clocks ticked, floorboards creaked, electricity hummed, but she was all alone. Gulls pattered on the roof; they must have flown inland to escape the storm. In a line of thornbeams at the back of the garden rooks sat on their rough nest, squawking and arguing.

Further away, she heard the rustling and whispering of the forest; the wind had died down but it was still blowing among the branches.

The house was immaculate. She had nothing to do and all day to do it in, alone. Turning over, sobbing, she longed for London, for streets noisy with traffic and people, for the comfort and reassurance of being surrounded by others.

She would have liked to ring her sister, but Jenny would think she was nagging for Phil to go to London and collect her car, and Dylan didn’t want her to feel pressured. Saturday was a family day—they all did things together, went shopping, went to the library, had lunch out at some favourite country pub, took the kids cycling on safe country roads, went sailing or walking. So Phil would probably be bringing her car tomorrow.

Dylan wished, though, that he was coming today—bringing Jenny and the kids with him. That would have been something to look forward to; it would have brightened the whole weekend.

Sighing, she got out of bed and began the usual dull routine of showering, dressing in jeans and a shirt, tidying the bedroom, collecting the clothes she and Ross had worn yesterday, taking them downstairs to go into the washing machine. Within half an hour she had eaten breakfast and finished tidying the already tidy house, so she went out into the garden to deal with the ravages of the night.

The wind had wreaked havoc—torn flowers off stalks, flung twigs and leaves all over the lawns, ruined young lettuce, broken the stems of sweet peas and runner beans. The garden was a sad sight. She spent part of the morning working out there, staking and pruning and raking up leaves and wrecked plants to put on the compost heap.

When she had finished she went back indoors to wash, flushed, with aching muscles. That was the hardest physical work she had done since she’d left the ballet company and she’d enjoyed it. As always, it had changed her mood; she felt more positive, less weepy. Amazing the chemical changes in you brought about by working your body!

Just as she was going upstairs to shower and change she heard the sound of a car engine slowing, stopping, right outside the garden gate. A door slammed, the gate creaked, there were footsteps on the path. Dylan’s heart leapt—it must be Ross, home earlier than he had feared!

She jumped back down the stairs, ran to open the door, ready to fling her arms round him, but it was not Ross standing there. Her entire body jerked in shock, as if she had touched a live wire.