Chapter 9
1811 Words
Heidi
Shortly after, we head out of the cottage. “Let’s go up to the church,” I suggest. “It’s such a beautiful little building, and it goes right back to the Normans.”
“I know it sounds weird,” he says, “but I’m finding it hard to get my head around all the history. The Normans—that makes it nearly a thousand years old. That’s incredible!”
“Some of the prehistoric stuff is going to blow your mind, then. Did you come down here along the A303 or via the M4/M5?”
“The M4/M5.”
“Aw, so you missed Stonehenge. You’ll have to take that road when you go back to London.”
It’s a beautiful morning, a true English summer’s day, warm and bright. We’re both in shorts, and he’s wearing an All Blacks rugby shirt. I’d forgotten how tight the new ones are. Man, he has an impressive physique. I’m tempted to take him swimming just so I can see him with his clothes off.
I’m already regretting my insistence that we’re not going to have s*x. But I know the fact that I’m his best mate’s little sis is on his mind, and I don’t think he would have stayed if I hadn’t said that. Besides which, it makes sense for us not to get involved. After all the hassle I’ve had with Jason, the last thing I need is to fall for the Striking Viking when he lives on the other side of the world. Some people can have s*x without being emotionally attached, but I’m not one of them. I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I’ve always dated guys for at least a few weeks and usually months before I’ve slept with them.
We arrive at the fence of iron railings that surrounds the church, and I open the gate and go in. “There’s been a church here since Saxon times, and they think it burned down in a Viking raid.”
“Wow.”
“The west end has a Norman entrance—you can see that because it’s round rather than arched. The rest of it is fourteenth century, with some later additions.”
“Can we go in?”
“Of course. Come on.”
I take him inside, and spend some time showing him the features: the fifteenth-century octagonal font, the painted and gilded pulpit, and the tombs of local landowners with their carved stone effigies.
“This knight has one leg crossed over the other,” I say. “That means he fought in the Holy Land.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mm. And look at these carved bosses. There’s a pope, a bishop, a nobleman, and a king, but can you see the one at the end? It’s a Green Man. Look at the oak leaves around his face.”
“Isn’t that a pagan symbol?”
“Oh, definitely. That’s what I love about England. It’s like a businesswoman dressed in a perfectly respectable suit who’s wearing naughty underwear underneath.”
He chuckles. “Trust you to have an analogy like that.”
“Oh, there’s plenty more where that came from.” I grin and lead him back along the nave. “What do you think?”
“It’s wonderful.”
I smile, glad he likes it, open the church door, and go back into the sunshine. “Come on. I’m getting hungry. Let’s have some lunch at the pub.”
We walk slowly through the village, with me pointing out the sights as we go. There’s an old market cross that’s been restored as a war memorial, the Town Hall, the Mission House, and the Devon House of Mercy for reclaimed fallen women.
“They’re saving me a spot,” I tell him, and he chuckles.
About halfway down, I lead him along a side road and stop outside the primary school.
“This is where you work?” he asks.
I nod. “There’s my classroom.” I point to the one on the right, nearest the office block. In the window is the long picture I did with the class at the end of last term of African animals—elephants, giraffes, lions, and zebras.
“It’s nice to be able to picture the place,” he says.
“Miss Huxley!”
We turn at the sound of a young girl’s voice and see Tara, one of my pupils, running up with her mum a few steps behind.
“What are you doing here?” the girl asks, astonished.
“Miss Huxley doesn’t disappear when the holidays start,” her mum says, amused, and we both laugh.
“I live in Briarton,” I tell Tara. When she looks up at Titus, I add, “This is my friend. He’s come all the way from New Zealand. Do you remember where that is?”
She nods and says to him, “Miss Huxley showed us where she was from on a globe. It’s underneath.”
He grins. “That’s right.”
“Is everyone upside down there?” she asks.
“Yep,” he says, “we all walk on our hands.”
I chuckle. “He’s teasing,” I tell Tara. “It’s exactly the same as here.”
“Except the moon’s upside down,” he says.
“Best not to complicate matters.” I smile at the girl and her mum. “I hope you have a lovely summer holiday.”
“Thank you,” the mum says, and Tara waves as the two of them cross the road.
We continue walking down to the river. “I don’t think you’re brooding,” I tell him.
“Er, thanks?”
“It’s how Elizabeth describes you. Apparently she said you’re like the Dark Knight without the cape.”
“Seriously? I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I’m sure there are worse ways to be described. But I’m just saying, I don’t see you like that. You’re not brooding at all. I find you very warm and funny.”
“You bring out the best in me,” he says, and smiles, and I smile back. He probably doesn’t mean it, even though he promised he doesn’t give false flattery, but it’s a nice thing to say.
Eventually we reach the river, and cross over the bridge to The Monolith. He crosses the lawn to the standing stone.
“Over four thousand years old,” he says in awe. “Unbelievable.” He reaches out a hand to touch it.
“Careful,” I warn, “or you might go die or go mad. Mind you, not sure how we’d tell.”
“Haha. With my luck I’d fall in love. The ultimate disaster!”
I smile, because I’m meant to, and we head into the pub. The outside is whitewashed cob; inside, it’s all oak beams and low ceilings, with a huge fireplace. In the winter the logs would be crackling merrily but today because it’s warm, the double doors are open to the beer garden, so we decide to sit outside.
Under my direction, we order two cream teas, and we let the warm summer breeze blow across us as we watch two house sparrows hopping around beneath the tables looking for crumbs, while a wood pigeon coos softly from its perch in the lower branches of a nearby horse chestnut tree.
Titus closes his eyes, tips his head back, and breathes deeply. I imagine he’s inhaling the scents from the nearby herb garden—mint, rosemary, and thyme. I study his light-brown skin, clean-shaven jaw, and Adam’s apple. When he passed women in the street, their gazes were drawn by his height, his powerful shoulders, and the fact that he walks with confidence, not stooping like some tall men do. And he’s so handsome. He looks like a movie star on vacation.
At that moment he opens his eyes and looks straight at me, catching me looking at him. Caught out, I just smile, and he smiles back.
“So tell me why you think falling in love is a disaster,” I say.
He chuckles. “I was being facetious.”
“You say that, but I sense some truth beneath it. Some girl has scarred you. Was it Claire?”
He looks at the beer mat on the table, picks it up, and turns it in his fingers. “Did you ever meet her?”
“Yeah, once or twice. I thought she was very nice. Pretty and smart.”
He gives me a wry look. “You can be honest with me, Heidi. We’re not together anymore. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“She seemed like a bit of a b***h,” I admit. “It surprised me that you’d end up with someone like that.”
“We sort of fell into a relationship,” he says. “We met through friends and went out a few times. She started staying over. And then one day she just didn’t go home. I don’t remember talking about it, but her clothes appeared in the wardrobe and her things were in the bathroom and that was it—we were living together. I didn’t argue at the time because it was nice to have the… ah… company…”
“To have s*x on tap, you mean.”
His lips twist. “Maybe. But it turned out in the end that’s all it was about. For me, anyway. Elizabeth told me she’d overheard Claire joking with a friend about hooking a rich guy at last. I confronted her about it, and she just shrugged and said I was naïve if I thought women wouldn’t be interested in my money. I ended it that day.”
I can’t tell whether he truly liked her, or if he’s more annoyed about her being attracted to his fortune.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know both Mack and Oliver have had similar problems.”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t the only issue we had. She never really got me. She thought I was being contrary when I didn’t just say yes to her all the time. She called me moody, which used to annoy me.”
“I don’t think you’re moody. I’m sure you just get preoccupied with work.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
A young guy comes out with a large tray and sets it on the table between us.
“Thank you,” I say, and he smiles and withdraws. “Shall I be mum?” I ask, picking up the teapot.
“Sure. Wow, this looks amazing.”
Four large warmed scones rest on a plate next to two dishes containing strawberry jam and thick clotted cream.
- Writer
