It had begun in earnest that night in the farm office. Adjacent to the lambing shed.

Not many people had sex in farm offices adjacent to a lambing shed. Or not many people she knew, anyway. Well, nobody she knew. Maybe they did in the country. Life was certainly different there.

They’d met in the pub and he’d suggested they go to another one a couple of miles away: “Too many people here I know.”

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me, William?” she’d said.

And he’d blushed and said, “Of course not,” in tones of such horror that she’d laughed. “It’s just that we’ll be… well, you know, interrupted all the time.” And they’d driven to the other one in the Land Rover, and she’d had two vodkas and he’d had two beers and it had straightaway begun to get out of hand. Or rather she’d got out of hand. She just couldn’t stand it, sitting there, looking at him, with those bloody great feet of his, and his ridiculously sexy mouth… and she’d savoured that mouth now that she knew what it could do… and his eyes moving over her, looking at her cleavage and her legs… and she’d shifted her chair nearer him, and pushed one of her legs up against his, just because she wanted to touch him, even through those ridiculous trousers he’d worn-what were they called, cavalry twill or something? Really grossly old-fashioned-and then he’d said would she like another drink, and she’d said, “No, William, not really, thank you very much,” and he’d looked a bit nonplussed, and she’d said, “I tell you what I would like, William,” and he’d said, “What’s that?” looking slightly nervous, and she’d said, “I’d like to go out to the car,” and they’d sat in it and snogged rather deliciously for a while, and then she’d said… after he’d made it clear he wanted what she wanted, every bit as much, possibly even more, “I’d like to go back to your house. To your room,” and he’d been so horrified it had been quite funny.

“Abi, we can’t do that. I’m sorry. We just can’t. You’ve met my parents; can you really imagine them sitting calmly watching TV if they thought… if they knew… we were… Well, it just doesn’t happen. Honestly, if I tried, I’d be so… so… well, I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

She decided not to ask him what he’d done in the past, simply said, “Well, we have to find somewhere, William. I’d suggest going back to mine, but I don’t think I can wait that long…”

That was when he’d suggested the office.

It hadn’t been too bad, the office. It was away from the house, quite far away; they’d gone in his car down a long track, to part of what he called the lambing shed. Which was hardly a shed, but a huge building that could have housed half a dozen families. They went into it; the office was at the far end, a surprisingly clean, warm pair of rooms… “This is my bit, mine and Dad’s; the other’s for the farm secretary. She-”

“William, I don’t want to know about the farm secretary… Oh, God, can we just get on with it?”

He started to kiss her: that incredible style of kissing he had, slow and hard and sort of thoughtful; and while he did so, she managed to pull her dress off: all she was wearing under it was a pair of pants.

And then he’d started kissing her breasts in the same way, and then she’d pushed him down onto a sort of large couch thing, and… well, then it had all been totally incredible.

It seemed to go on for hours, wonderful, wild, noisy hours, as he worked on her body, made its sensations rise and fall, ease and tauten, as he moved slowly, then fast, then slowly again, pushed her to the edge, then pulled her back, as she felt everything with her head and her heart as well as her body, as he invaded every aspect of her, every capacity for pleasure she had, as she came, yelling with triumph, and then again and then, yes, yet again.

And now, nearly two weeks later, it was… well, it was absolutely great. They alternated between her place and one of the empty holiday cottages on the farm… He said he hadn’t thought of them before, and they were certainly more comfortable than the farm office. She didn’t mind William’s insistence that they only use candles in case his mother or the cowman who lived quite near them noticed the lights on and came to investigate; it seemed rather romantic. They cooked Ready Meals, usually curry, on the time-warp electric stoves, and drank some very indifferent wine and then had a lot of wonderful sex. She didn’t even mind the drive home at some point in the night; in fact, she rather liked it: the roads were clear, and she could play the radio and sing loudly along with it, and think about William and how sweet and funny he was and how much she loved being with him, and not just for the sex. Her only fear, and it was truly dark and dreadful, was that William would find out what she was really like.

CHAPTER 31

Incredibly pushy, what that woman had done: calling the hospital, asking for his secretary, leaving a message, and then calling again before he’d even begun to think what to do about it. And then just… asking him out. No excuses, no, “I wanted to hear more about the Connells,” or, “I wondered if Georgia had helped as much as we hoped.” Simply, “This is Linda Di-Marcello here.”

He’d been completely taken aback just hearing from her.

“It was very nice meeting you on Sunday. I’ve been hearing so much about you from Georgia. Well, from Maeve Connell, really. And I wondered if you’d like to go to a show one night. I get tickets for pretty well everything, and I don’t know what sort of thing you like, but there’s a new musical previewing, based on The Canterbury Tales, supposed to be good, or there’s yet another Macbeth; take your pick. Oh, and what sounds huge fun at Sadler’s Wells if you like dance, sort of flamenco crossed with tap.”

“Well, I… That’s very kind. I’m not… well, I don’t like dance. Not too keen on Shakespeare…”

“Fine. Canterbury Tales then. The tickets are for Saturday week. Any good? And then we could have a meal afterwards.”

“I’m not… sure. I’ll have to check my rota. Can I… can I get back to you?”

“Of course.” She gave him her office number. He rang off sweating.

It was Francis who’d dared her to do it. She’d been telling him how the day had gone, how difficult Georgia had found it, how sweetly grateful Maeve had been, how much she thought they’d helped. And then threw in a little anecdote about Alex and how they’d had a spat over the phone and then made up in the car park.

“He turned out to be quite… quite sweet. Apparently he’s going through a hideous divorce, Georgia informed me. She got all the goss from Maeve Connell.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Well, I’d be on the wife’s side, I think. He’s clearly very arrogant. Sexy, though. Nice smile. Which, of course, isn’t enough to keep a marriage together. I should know.”

“Sexy, eh? Your type?”

“No, of course not. Well… maybe. Dark and brooding.”

“Maybe you should ask him out.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Francis.”

“Why is it so ridiculous? Or is this not the woman who sat and moaned through an entire evening that she was lonely and longed for a man?”

“Not very seriously.”

“I’d say pretty seriously. Actually.” There was a pause; then he said, “I dare you, Linda. To ask him out. What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity.”

“What’s so great about dignity? Doesn’t warm the other side of the bed. Go on. You ask him out; I’ll pay for everything when we go to Bilbao.”

“Really? First-class, five-star?”

“Yup. Promise.”

She was silent, considering this; then she said, “All right. You’re on. I’ll ask him. Is that all I have to do?”

“Well… and take him out if he says yes.”