Читать книгу One Thing Leads to Another - Jamie Holland - Страница 8

Leaving Geordie drilling rawl-plugs into the wall, Flin vowed to do his ‘bit’ towards decorating the house in the evenings the following week, and headed off towards Victoria and the train that would take him to Sussex and his destiny. He’d not been sure what to wear, and so had taken Jessica’s advice and decided on very dark brown jeans and a white cotton shirt. Simple and understated. And he was pleased that she had approved of his new haircut.

‘I’ve never seen it so short – very George Clooney and rather sexy, actually,’ she told him soothingly.

‘I think you look a complete prat – trying to be trendy just isn’t you,’ was Geordie’s contribution, although Flin ignored the remark. After all, Geordie had the worst dress sense of anyone he knew, whilst Jessica always appeared the epitome of style and elegance. He didn’t think he was particularly vain, but when Jessica approved of something, he took note. He wondered what Poppy would be wearing, and what her house would be like. It was bound to be stunning. And was this the start of something big? He had a good feeling, he really did.

Standing on deep and sumptuous gravel, Flin was paying the taxi when the front door opened.

‘Flin! You made it! It’s so good to see you!’ said Poppy, skipping over to welcome him with a delicate kiss on the cheek. With chestnut locks now loose and slightly dishevelled about her shoulders, and bits of grass on her bare feet, Poppy appeared a vision of simple loveliness. Leading Flin through the house to the garden, she eagerly told him who else was coming, who was here already, and what fun they were going to have. At this, Flin felt a wave of apprehension sweep over him. He had thought of nothing but seeing Poppy again, but now he was here, he felt suddenly shy. Just what was he doing here amongst all these strangers? Could he really expect to end up in the arms of someone like Poppy? He was beginning to think that he’d made a colossal mistake accepting the invitation. But it was too late for that: in the garden, a few people were milling about by the stream and Poppy gleefully led him over. A Pimm’s was thrust into his hands and introductions made. Flin had never been very good with names. Someone had once taught him a fool-proof method of how to remember who was who, but he’d forgotten that as well. On this occasion he logged a Sally and a Duncan but forgot who everyone else was. But if he worried about being left to fend for himself, he needn’t have done. Poppy suddenly looped her arm through his and asked him to tell her everything that was going on in his life, much to his delight. He started jabbering away enthusiastically, whilst she laughed and clung onto him as though he was quite the most important person in the whole world. Resisting the urge to continue talking about nothing but himself, he then asked her about her last sixteen years. They were now facing the back of the house.

‘OK, but you must let me show you round Pepperfield. After all, we left Salisbury to come here,’ she said, confirming his belief that large houses with one word for a name develop distinct personalities. And, of course, the house was stunning. It seemed to Flin, as Poppy led him from the flagstoned hall, through rooms and along creaking corridors, that every aspect of Pepperfield exemplified wonderful taste. Modern art vied for wall space along with contented-looking family portraits.

‘It’s wonderful, Poppy,’ he told her as they paused to look at some murals, apparently painted by a famous artist who had been friends with her grandmother.

She rested an arm on his shoulder. ‘I love it. I’m so glad we moved all those years ago. Can’t imagine us not living here now.’ She smiled at him, and Flin felt increasingly lustful for the girl who had years before made his life a misery. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s go back outside.’

At half past midnight, Poppy and Flin lay against the gazebo at the end of the garden. The brilliant almost-full moon was reflected in the stream; surrounding them were the chalk downs, dark, gently curving and ancient. Between long drags on their cigarettes and lingering sips of their wine, they gazed up at the stars trying to spot constellations that neither of them knew anything about. ‘Doesn’t the Plough look amazing tonight?’ Flin said without really having the faintest idea what the Plough looked like.

‘Wow, look at that shooting star!’ Poppy said.

‘Where?’

‘Missed it.’

The setting was perfect and Flin watched his cigarette smoke drift up into the windless night air. Already seduced by the house and setting, Flin looked down at Poppy, her head in his lap. She looked lovely. It seemed to Flin as though they were held there in a glow of poetic beauty.

‘It’s a good job Mark can’t see us now,’ she suddenly said.

‘Mark?’ asked Flin, alarms ringing.

‘My boyfriend,’ she replied flatly, taking another drag on her cigarette. Flin’s heart sank. By her behaviour towards him, Flin had assumed she was single. He should have known things were going too well.

‘Oh,’ he said, not knowing quite what to say.

‘He’s on a cricket tour,’ she said by way of explanation, and then added, with barely concealed contempt, ‘with all his mates.’

There was a pause and Flin, not wanting to lose the moment, daringly started stroking her hair.

‘Hmm, that’s really nice,’ said Poppy, smiling contentedly, her eyes closed. ‘Do you fancy a fuck?’ she said suddenly.

Startled, Flin felt momentarily wrong-footed. ‘Yes, actually, that would be just marvellous,’ he replied, his heart quickening rapidly. What did he care if the ground was really pretty dewy and hard? Turning her over, he gently laid her on the grass and kissed her, carefully lifting her knee-length cotton dress to reveal legs of cool silk skin. This was turning into one of the best and most exciting nights of his life, and Flin felt his ego being massaged to new heights. The whole scenario seemed to him so unlikely – it was the sort of thing he used to read in the letters at the back of Men Only that did the rounds at school. He was also – and who could blame him? – truly struck by the beauty of the scene: the moon and stars above them, an owl calling in the trees nearby, the gentle gurgle of the babbling brook and the smell of damp, summer grass. Her face seemed magical. He loved looking at the pale outline of her neck and shoulders, creamy light against the dark blue of her skin in shadow, which was rising and falling with her quickening breath. He felt earthy and manly, Mellors with his Lady Chatterley, enveloped in the smell of the damp grass and soil. D. H. Lawrence would have approved.

Afterwards, it suddenly seemed cooler and they were soon back inside the house. A tender kiss and Poppy floated tantalizingly upstairs, the moment gone for ever. But as Flin settled down on the sofa, his mind was positively humming. Was that it? Tomorrow, would she act as though nothing had happened? Could her current relationship survive this? Or was his liaison at the gazebo nothing more than a one-night stand? Having gone over the same thoughts without progressing further for about the thirty-eighth time he finally drifted off to sleep.

At 6.03 a.m., he woke up on the sofa with itchy eyes, a pounding head and a mouth that felt as though it had been in the Sahara for a week with no water bottle. Sun poured through the open curtains in the drawing room. It was another beautiful English summer’s day, and Flin, aware that thoughts of further sleep were useless, decided to walk up to the downs above the house. After a couple of pints of water and some Aquafresh had considerably improved his mouth situation, he was sure fresh morning air would clear the eyes and head. And so it proved.

Up on the downs, his feet sodden by the dew, he found the view everything he had imagined it would be. The sun broke through the morning haze of the valley below, a sylvan carpet encased by soft-curved hills of chalk. Droplets of dew covered the anthills and he marvelled at a prospect so fresh and succulent and green. He breathed in deeply, the pure, cooling air cleaning his nostrils and lungs. All his anxious thoughts had disappeared. Whatever the future held in store, nothing could take away his wonderful evening the night before. Smiling, he thought about the pleasure he would gain from reporting back so positively to Jessica and Geordie. Even at twenty-five, he still felt ridiculously competitive with Geordie and this pact had made him more so. He didn’t know why; it wasn’t as if relationships were a question of one-upmanship, but it had simply always been like that ever since they were young.

When he returned and went into the kitchen to make a much-needed cup of tea, Poppy was already there.

‘Where have you been so bright and early?’ she asked, kissing him casually on the lips.

‘For a walk on the downs. It was fantastic, absolutely beautiful up there,’ he told her as she poured him a mug.

‘How brilliant of you,’ she responded, then added, ‘I adore it here, and I love it when other people love it too.’ Then someone else came in and they were no longer alone. As more people woke, Poppy held court, organizing teas and coffees, and never tiring of putting in more toast, croissants and brewing more hot drinks. She was a perfect host, Flin thought, admiringly, so charming to everyone – including him but not especially so, as though nothing had ever happened at all.

She had affectionately kissed him goodbye, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be hearing from her again, and admitted as much to Jessica and Geordie when he arrived home later. Geordie was still fiddling about with power drills and planks of wood, and Jessica was painting in a pair of old dungarees, yellow emulsion already covering her hands.

‘So, I think we will still be a house of singletons for a bit longer,’ he told them as Geordie passed him a paintbrush.

‘Oh, well, never mind, darling, I’m sure it’s for the best,’ said Jessica. ‘You certainly don’t want to get caught up in some sordid love triangle. Much better you fall in love with someone who’s unattached. Take it from me.’

‘I agree,’ said Geordie, ‘and now you’re playing catch-up with the painting, so get stuck in.’ Flin reluctantly obliged, lamely slapping paint onto the sitting-room walls, but all the time his mind thinking furiously about Poppy and whether she might, after all, call again.

Tiffany wanted to know all about the party when Flin arrived back in the office the following Monday; she had lived Flin’s eager anticipation of the week before and was dying to know the outcome.

‘Sounds to me like you had a pretty successful time: a party at a great house and a night of hot passion,’ she laughed after Flin had given a detailed account of his weekend’s events.

‘As one-night stands go, it was pretty good,’ Flin admitted with an air of wistfulness not lost on Tiffany.

‘Well, you never know.’ She smiled consolingly at him from her perch on his desk. Flin wondered why he didn’t see more of Tiffany out of office hours – they had lunches together and sometimes went for drinks after work, but so far that had been it – clearly a work friendship only. He supposed they had separate friends, but even so he felt he should ask her over to supper one night now he was in the new house. Or perhaps they would have a house-warming party and she could come to that. Conscious he’d done rather a lot of talking about himself recently, he asked about her weekend. She’d gone to a big party to say farewell to one of her friends who was going back to Australia, and then – and this had been the best bit, she laughed – she’d gone to the Tower of London on Sunday. ‘It was fantastic,’ she effused, ‘and I loved seeing all the inscriptions in the cells. You just don’t get that kind of history back home.’

Flin hadn’t been there since he was a child. As a teenager, you didn’t come up to London to go to museums – you came to hang out at Camden Lock and to see the Cult at the Brixton Academy. And since he’d been living here, sightseeing hadn’t really occurred to him; there always seemed to be something else to do.

‘Have you been to the Natural History Museum?’ he asked her, suddenly remembering how he’d marvelled at the enormous dinosaurs when he was little.

‘No. Is it good?’

‘Brilliant, as far as I remember. I’d love to go again and see whether the dinosaurs really were that big.’

‘There’re dinosaurs?’ said Tiffany, clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘Well, let’s definitely go one day. It’d be fun.’

‘OK, you’re on,’ agreed Flin. But before they could discuss it further, Martina was yelling at them for the weekly department meeting, and they headed off without ever fixing a date.

By the middle of the week, Flin was convinced his weekend foray would be nothing more than a pleasant memory. But then, out of the blue, Poppy phoned. Tiffany took the call and put her through to him, saying in conspiratorial tones, ‘I think it’s her.’ Firstly she apologized profusely for not ringing earlier and then asked him over to her flat. She’d cook him supper and they could watch a film or something. His spirits soared. She was coming back for more. Perhaps in those two days she had even cleared the way with Mark.

Jessica preached caution. ‘Now don’t go blindly rushing in like normal – you know what you’re like.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ Flin assured her. ‘It’s just a bit of a laugh.’

‘Well, that’s fine, but don’t go falling madly in love with her until the boyfriend’s out of the way, that’s all I’m saying. Otherwise it’ll only end in tears.’

‘Clearly he’s on the way out though,’ Flin told her, ‘otherwise she wouldn’t be asking me over for a little one-to-one at her place.’

Jessica and Geordie both gave each other knowing looks, but Flin had little time for such cynicism. They were just jealous because he was making such good progress in the competition. This new romance with Poppy was fun and he was going to make the most of it. Spontaneity bred excitement and made life interesting.

Arriving at Poppy’s mansion block on Prince of Wales Drive, Flin felt his pulse quicken with anticipation. Someone was leaving the main front entrance, so he walked straight in without calling on the intercom. At the top of the third flight of stairs he arrived at the door of her flat and knocked firmly, causing the unlocked door to open slightly.

‘Hi, Flin?’ came a voice from within. ‘Sorry, I’m in the bath. Come in and talk to me.’ Her hair was bunched up out of the way, but almost everything else was immersed in a mountain of bubbles. Her feet and ankles were resting on the taps and two nipples, very erect, were also making a point of their existence. ‘Mark’s working late tonight and won’t be coming over, so you’ve got me all to yourself. Give me a kiss.’ So that was clear: Mark was not out of her life yet. But seeing her reclining in the bath Flin thought it fairly apparent what her immediate intentions were.

Once out of the bath she put on nothing more than a silk dressing gown which periodically revealed tantalizing amounts of bare flesh – a breast emerging as she bent over, or a full stretch of thigh when she sat down – perhaps deliberately, but more than anything proving she was a woman at ease with her body and comfortable with having it admired. From the bathroom Flin followed her into the kitchen where she handed him a very chilled bottle of white wine to open. Producing two glasses, she then proceeded to knock up a bowl of pasta, chatting all the while.

There was so much to talk about, and every story seemed fresh and new. She made him laugh and, equally importantly, she laughed at all his jokes too. Having finished the pasta, they moved from table to sofa, and then seamlessly to the floor, where she was lying against him and he was at last doing interesting things with her breasts with one hand and stroking her head with the other. Flin was vaguely aware of a clock striking at least ten when the dressing gown finally slipped away and all the teasing glimpses merged into a whole. He was lying back against the sofa, still dressed, looking up at an incredibly beautiful, slender and totally naked body, her tousled hair hanging forward as her hands were tugging determinedly at his belt buckle. He wanted to savour the moment, so that when he was old and grizzled and had not been with a woman in years, he would be able to think back and remember this completely. Unlike under the gazebo, where their love-making had necessarily been urgent, they now had time to explore each other’s bodies and make every stroke, lick and thrust long and meaningful. As Flin finally shuddered and stiffened, Poppy also tightened with pleasure and then, hugging him tighter in her arms, covered him in kisses. Bliss.

Later, Flin was to realize that the next couple of weeks were among the most exciting of his life. He saw few of his friends and spent as much time as he could with Poppy. At the house, his bed remained largely unslept in and at work Tiffany and Martina both commented on his sudden tardiness in the mornings. He knew Jessica would only ask him awkward questions about Mark and that Geordie would expect him to paint the house, so he tried to avoid them as much as possible. He was vaguely aware of a new-found selfishness, but then again, everyone was a bit one-track-minded at the beginning of a relationship and he felt sure his friends would understand. Mark, he knew, was away on business, but Poppy never mentioned him, and so it seemed a pity to spoil things by bringing him into the equation. Anyway, after all the time they had spent together, it seemed impossible to believe Mark was a serious threat. They picnicked in the park, strolled arm in arm along the river, spent long nights of making love … and she always looked so lovely and sexy, her long slender limbs a healthy golden brown from days spent in the summer sun. It seemed as though they lived in a world where no one else could play a part and Flin honestly wondered if his time with this gorgeous woman could possibly be more romantic.

The bubble burst rather suddenly. One evening, Flin eagerly bounced up the stairs to Poppy’s flat only to find Mark there. Impossibly good-looking, he had a chiselled chin squarer than a brick-end, making him seem healthy, confident and mature; self-confidence and success oozed out of every pore. Flin was taken aback. He had been convinced Mark must be out of her life. Still in his suit, Flin’s rival extended an arm for a predictably firm handshake, his cuff-linked shirt retreating to reveal an impressively solid and genuine-looking Rolex.

‘Good to meet you, Flin. What can I get you? Beer? Glass of wine?’ Suddenly Flin’s position as man of the house had been drastically reversed. It was more than disconcerting. Mark seemed so manly Flin felt he should opt for the beer. ‘Good man,’ Mark said, smiling, and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Hi, Flin,’ said Poppy, coming out of the kitchen as Mark went in. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and said in a lowered tone, ‘Sorry, darling, I wasn’t expecting him tonight. But you don’t mind too much, do you?’

Course he bloody did, he minded a lot. Mark had just ruined his evening, possibly even his life.

Returning with the beer, Mark said, ‘So I gather you’re coming to the concert too?’

What was this? What concert? It was the first Flin knew about it. Momentarily caught off-guard, he assured Mark he was; then immediately regretted his split-second decision. Why was he being so nice to them both? Why not snarl at Mark and stake his claim to Poppy right there and then? But he knew he’d missed his opportunity and anyway, acquiescence was easier than confrontation. But even more galling, there seemed to be no dampening Poppy’s enthusiasm. If she had been worried about having her two lovers spending the evening together, she never showed it.

‘Flin, you’ve been promming before, haven’t you?’ she asked.

‘Um, no, I haven’t actually,’ he replied truthfully. He had only ever been to one classical concert and that was at school when he was going through his Brideshead phase.

‘Well you’ll love it. You just turn up, hand over your three quid and stand anywhere you want.’ Flin was hugely relieved to discover this was not going to set him back a fortune, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Poppy.

‘My poor darling, were you thinking it would cost twenty pounds?’ she laughed, adding for the benefit of Mark, ‘Poor Flin’s been worrying that this would be horribly expensive!’ Mark laughed too and assured Flin that he would never have come if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was so cheap. Patronizing bastard, thought Flin, laughing too.

‘It wasn’t the money,’ Flin lied, ‘but don’t we need flags to wave? I don’t want to make a promming faux pas.’

‘Flags are only for the last night,’ Poppy laughed. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

Afterwards, Flin left them to it. His self-esteem, which had been riding at an all-time high, had plummeted spectacularly. People like Mark made him sick, although he knew this was essentially envy. Standing briefly outside the Albert Hall, Mark gave Flin his leave, saying, ‘Good to see you, mate,’ as though saying ‘mate’ meant he was in touch with all rank of man. Poppy smiled charmingly, as if everything was perfectly as it should be. In a moment, they were hopping into a taxi. Flin despondently trundled off to the nearest underground at High Street Kensington wondering how Mark had been able to hail a taxi that quickly outside the Albert Hall on a concert night. The situation had to change – and soon – but Flin was bleakly aware that he was leagues behind his rival in terms of wealth and stature.

Jessica and Geordie could not resist the ‘told you so’s’.

‘I’m sorry, darling, but it’s so obvious she’s using you. This boyfriend of hers – whilst being good-looking, rich and successful, is clearly treating her like shit and so she’s latched on to you to boost her self-esteem.’

‘It’s not like that at all,’ Flin told Jessica weakly.

‘All right, if you say so.’ She kissed him affectionately. ‘But just don’t trust her an inch. Take on board my woman’s instinct.’

‘Yeah, give her a wide berth,’ added Geordie. ‘You know what you’re like, you get all caught up in the romance and fling yourself headlong into completely unsuitable relationships. Anyway, what about your share of the decorating?’

A few days later, though, just as Flin was beginning to despair of ever seeing her again, Poppy suggested they go out for supper. He had very lamely offered to take her, but capitulated quickly on her insistence that it was ‘her shout’. She had suggested it, she said, he could take her to dinner next time. Sitting at an outside table, Flin smiled at her as she popped an olive neatly into her mouth and smacked her lips. She took his hand and rubbed it and then looked down at the table slightly anxiously, before meeting his gaze again.

‘I’m not being very fair to you, am I?’ She had suddenly grown serious. ‘I mean, you must wonder what’s going on?’

Flin did not really want to respond to that, so smiled wistfully instead.

‘Mark and I have been together a long time, and it’s difficult to end it all. But I know I should. You’re so much better than him in every way. And I’ve just adored the last couple of weeks. Mark’s a complete shit to me, you know.’ She took a large swig of her wine and accepted the cigarette that Flin offered her. ‘Tonight, for example,’ she said, exhaling her first drag, ‘he’s gone off for another of his boys’ nights with his City chums. I’m not allowed to join in, of course. I’m strictly persona non grata, not able to drink enough pints and talk about rugby and stocks and shares.’

‘But would you want to spend an evening doing that? It sounds pretty grim to me.’

‘No, of course not, but that’s not the point. It’s just that he’d rather do that than be with me.’

‘Surely not,’ said Flin, gallantly.

‘Flin, our relationship is totally on his terms: he still fancies me, and I’m sure he thinks I look nice on his arm at parties or what-have-you, but if I get in the way of him playing his sport, or seeing his stupid friends, then, well …’ She trailed off. All that cash must be nice though, thought Flin to himself. He couldn’t imagine she had to buy Mark dinner. Poppy had not finished, though. ‘I know everyone thinks Mark is so wonderful. Under normal circumstances you’d probably like him too.’ Flin doubted it, but kept quiet. She continued, ‘Things haven’t been great for a while, but then we’ll have a great weekend or evening together and I think perhaps everything is OK after all.’

‘But it’s not?’ said Flin.

‘No.’

Although Flin had been enjoying listening to Poppy telling him how awful Mark was, he was keenly aware that Jessica’s assessment of the situation had been uncomfortably accurate. But then again, now that Poppy was coming clean, this was clearly his opportunity to improve his own stakes. Delicate tact was what was required. ‘Hm,’ he said, feeling it was about time he said something decisive, but not quite managing it.

Poppy looked straight at Flin with large doleful eyes. ‘I just don’t feel I can trust him. Really, I’m a very insecure person. I need to feel wanted and … I don’t know … a bit special.’

‘Well, I’d look after you,’ he told her emphatically. ‘I wouldn’t treat you like an attractive appendage to have around whenever it was useful.’ Flin felt that was the sort of comment she was fishing for and a unique opportunity to prove that he was sensitive to a girl’s needs. She suddenly softened and smiled at him.

‘Sweet Flin. I think you would look after me, wouldn’t you? You’re lovely, you know.’

The next morning, she invited him to Italy, and the roller-coaster that Flin’s emotions had become soared again to the previous week’s high. Her parents were hiring a farmhouse in Tuscany, she told him, in the vine-laden hills between Florence, Siena and San Gimignano, and it was enormous and needed filling up. Her sister was going too and had invited three of her friends. The prospect seemed impossibly romantic to Flin and he immediately filled his mind with images of Poppy swanning around Italian side streets in long, light summer dresses. She was offering ten days in a beautiful part of the world, wonderful food, delicious wine and, most importantly, time alone without Mark to get in the way of long nights of love-making.

He had already made plans to go on holiday with Jessica and a few others later on that summer, but still had enough days spare to fit in the time in Italy. He had a bit of spare money – living with his sister had saved him a lot of rent and although he knew he would need that later on, convinced himself that cash worries should not be a serious obstacle. After all, Poppy’s parents were paying for the villa, he’d probably be spending just as much money if he stayed in London. And nowhere, but nowhere, was more expensive than London. So, all he was really looking at was the price of the airfare, and he could just about manage that. He accepted her invitation immediately.

Directly before Poppy was due to fly out with her parents, she had had to go on a long-arranged weekend with Mark. He had been invited by some clients to go fishing in Scotland and Poppy had agreed to accompany him. ‘It’ll be totally awful, but I promised and I have to go,’ she had said. Flin was not at all happy about it, but the promise of great things to come convinced him not to make an issue of it. To add to the complications, Flin’s late addition to the party meant that he could not get on the same flight as Poppy and the rest. He had to fly the next day, but Poppy assured him this was not a problem – she would simply meet him at the airport a day later.

Flin was careful not to tell Jessica or Geordie about Poppy’s weekend with Mark.

‘So the boyfriend’s finally gone, then?’ Jessica asked him.

‘Yes, he’s been shown the door,’ Flin lied.

‘Well, it seems I was wrong then. I hope you have a jolly time, darling.’

‘You bet I will,’ Flin told her eagerly. ‘Ten days of love-making with a beautiful girl and Tuscan hills as company.’

‘And her family,’ added Jessica.

‘Well, yes, but they’ll be off doing their own thing, I’m sure. Poppy’s hardly going to get me all the way over there just so I can join the family trips to the Uffizi.’

Jessica said nothing, but Flin was far too excited to worry about her scepticism. What did she know anyway? He was going to have a brilliant time, and at least Geordie was green with envy.

When he finally reached the arrivals door of the airport, there was no one there to greet him, no luscious Poppy in sight. There was an awful moment when Flin suddenly realized that he didn’t even know the address of the farmhouse, let alone a telephone number. But no sooner had he started to panic, there was a honking of horns and up screeched a tiny Fiat Panda with arms waving madly from the windows. Poppy jumped out, ran up to him as he advanced grinning inanely, and gave him a huge hug.

‘You’ve made it! How absolutely marvellous – you’re going to love this, it’s simply the most fantastic house in the most fabulous setting.’ And with that, they skipped back to the car, which already contained four people including Poppy.

‘Sorry it’s a bit of a squeeze, but you sit in the front,’ said Poppy. ‘This is Dad, this is Alice and this is George.’

Flin shook hands with Poppy’s father, a benign professorial-looking figure, and said, ‘Hello, hello,’ to the other two as the car lurched off into the city traffic. Her father may have a mild and gentle demeanour but Flin was quick to discover that his appearance was in strong contrast to his driving, which was fiendishly fast. Careering round corners, his expression never changed from one of quiet passivity – there was none of the deep-set determination or taut knuckles that are normally associated with motor-racing. Flin sat clutching his bag trying not to look at the road too much and feeling slightly conscious that he was the new boy and late arrival among what was really a bunch of strangers. Poppy and Alice chattered enthusiastically about the house and things that simply had to be seen, and Flin joined in whenever he could or should, all the time thinking that it would be good just to get there alive and talk to Poppy alone.

The journey lasted about forty minutes. Finally the tiny Fiat jolted along a track at a marginally slower pace with vines either side, then up a hill until they pulled into a courtyard. It was too dark to see whether the house lived up to Poppy’s superlatives – but even so he could sense a certain aura of splendour about the place. The four of them walked straight in to the flagstoned kitchen and Poppy’s mother strode over to greet the new arrival with a firm and formal handshake. Younger and taller than her husband, she cut an impressive figure in her three-quarter-length khaki trousers and white linen shirt.

‘Buon giorno, Flin, welcome on board. Call me Liz.’

‘Thank you so much for letting me come and join the holiday,’ said Flin in his very best sincere and polite voice, ‘it really is very generous of you indeed.’ He dumped his bag on the floor and then met Alice’s other two friends who had just appeared through the front door.

‘This pair of love birds are Max and Charlie and I think they’re marvellous,’ said Poppy, tugging on Charlie’s arm. Charlie was tiny – about five foot nothing and already bronzed, while Max looked relaxed and faintly disinterested in Flin’s presence, leaning against the doorway and twiddling his goatee. He made Flin feel instantly unfashionable.

‘How you doing?’ said Max and then extended one arm for a handshake before spluttering something from the depths of his lungs into his other hand. ‘Ugh, er, sorry,’ he recovered.

Charlie smiled sweetly. ‘You’ll love it here, it’s just so … um.’ She waved her hand and gazed bashfully at the ceiling. The word or phrase she was searching for did not come. She shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s so, well, perfect.’

‘Come on, Flin, I’ll show you your room.’ Poppy took his hand and they walked through the kitchen and into a hallway and up some stairs. All the walls seemed to be white and the floor and stairs left bare stone. Flin’s room had two single beds, but even at that stage Flin was deaf to any alarm bells ringing. In the corner was a tiny sink and in front of the beds were two huge windows with wooden shutters.

‘Are you going to be OK in here?’ she asked, kissing him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come! Now, come down whenever you’re ready but I’ve got to go and help Mummy with the supper,’ and off she went.

Supper was quite lively, and it became clear to Flin that Liz liked good conversation with plenty of discussion and interesting debate. This was better than awkward silences, but Flin felt constrained by the fact that his conversation should be intelligent and pertinent at all times. Donald, Poppy’s father, spoke very softly, but seemed to be so revered by everyone that as soon as he opened his mouth everybody else immediately shut up and listened keenly to what the old sage had to say. He appeared to be rather amused by his strident wife; in fact he seemed rather amused by everything, demonstrated by the faintest hint of a perma-smile and a frequently raised eyebrow. Whilst a heated discussion about the value of television took place, Flin decided to keep quiet and assess the gathering. Alice and George were an item and had a room in the main house, which Donald and Liz clearly had no objection to, while Max and Charlie, who were also a twosome, had a room in one of the outhouses. Only then did it occur to Flin that he and Poppy were the only ones not sharing a room, and he began to feel just the tiniest bit irked. But then, he supposed, he was the last to arrive, and so put the matter out of his mind.

The meal seemed to last an aeon, and Flin began to feel increasingly frustrated. He was desperate to talk to Poppy on his own and to steal some kisses al fresco; Sussex revisited, but beneath an Italian moon. Eventually, after the coffee had been drunk and after helping to wash up, Flin excused himself and went outside for a cigarette. Poppy followed and at last the two of them were together and alone. He took her hand and kissed her soft cheek.

‘I can’t believe I’m here and that we’ve got over a week to go,’ he told her as they strolled down the steps into the garden. There was a pause. Poppy suddenly seemed quite unaccustomedly embarrassed. All at once, Flin knew what was coming.

‘Flin, I don’t want you to be angry, but Mark and I patched things up in Scotland. We did a lot of talking and I think I’ve got to give it another chance.’

He absolutely couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘I mean, it’s not as if we could have got up to much with my parents here anyway.’

Couldn’t they? What was she on about? Of course they could! Why invite him otherwise? Did she honestly think he’d come all this way just to be told that she’d decided, after all, that she wanted to stay with someone, who was, by her own admission, a total shit? Flin reeled. What could she be thinking? Had she gone completely insane?

He took a long drag on his cigarette. Outwardly calm, his mind was racing in a panic. With eight full days to go, he desperately needed to be rational. If he said what he actually thought, life would become even more difficult. She was offering friendship. If he turned that down, he would be in even worse trouble. He took a deep breath.

‘It’s a long way to come to be told that,’ he said with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘But this is a fantastic place and we are going to have fun, fun, fun with a capital F,’ he said, smiling weakly. Thank God it was dark.

‘We can still spend all our time together,’ she said, hugging his arm and warming to the fact that her announcement had been so painless. ‘I’m sorry though, and I do think you are gorgeous. You’ll be better off with someone far nicer than me.’

He felt sick. This was a monumental disaster, and there was absolutely no escape.