LITMIR.BIZ

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the sex scenes I’d written. Then I looked at a book of maps and realised if she was stopping in Chesterfield she probably did have a terrible sense of direction.

      I gave a sigh and redirected her to Knutsford. The climactic (in every sense of the word) meeting with the hero would have to wait until she got to Kendal. I didn’t want her to spend a night of bliss in a motel on the side of the motorway. And that meant I would have to reschedule the showdown with her ghastly mother.

      There was a sharp rap on the window and I nearly fell off the sofa with the shock. I got up and went to see who it was. It was Joe. He was back!

      He stood on the doorstep muffled up in a thick tweedy coat and a woollen beanie hat.

      ‘You okay?’ he said, excited and smiling broadly.

      His face was red with the cold and he stood stamping the snow off his boots for several seconds, resisting my invitations to come into the house.

      ‘Just called in to see you were all right. I knew we were forecast some bad weather but I don’t think anyone expected this.’

      ‘I’m supposed to be going back to London tomorrow,’ I said.

      I persuaded him to come into the hall where he stood dripping melted snow onto the flagstones. He pulled off his beanie hat and patted down his hair where it had ruffled into unruly curls.

      ‘You won’t be going anywhere tomorrow if it stays like this,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The roads are difficult between here and Exeter. Little car like yours, well you’d never get through.’

      ‘No I suppose not.’

      We both took a moment to think about this.

      ‘I was worried that you might not have much stuff here: wood and milk, that sort of thing. Ivy wondered if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight?’

      Ah, Ivy must be his wife. So had she known I’d met up with him last night? Perhaps she did. Perhaps they had an open relationship where she occasionally went off with sheep shearers and he chatted up stray women? No don’t be ridiculous.

      ‘That’s very kind of her, but how—’

      ‘Well it’s midday; I could come and get you later on. This snow isn’t going to last long. I’ve got the sheep to see to and a few things to sort out, but I could fetch you in the Land Rover. About seven. Okay?’

      He began pulling his hat and gloves on again, ready to leave. It was a fait accompli.

      ‘I don’t know—’ I said.

      ‘Go on, it’ll be fun.’

      He gave me a slightly crooked smile that made me feel a bit funny inside. I wanted to object; to tell him I had a significant other. I wasn’t the sort of girl who liked being told what to do. And I certainly didn’t like being pushed into a speedy decision. He needed to know that.

      Instead I smiled. ‘I’ll see you at seven o’clock then.’

      ‘Great, see you later.’

      Well that told him.

      I watched him tramp off down the lane, his boots crunching into the snow. I would see him again later and the thought suddenly made me feel rather giddy. For heaven’s sake I wasn’t a teenager. Perhaps my blood sugar was low?

      I ate another two chocolate digestives just in case.

      I supposed Ivy was the brisk, no-nonsense blonde pocket Venus I had imagined. I expected she would produce a hearty stew made from their own lambs and their own vegetables and probably an apple pie made from their own apples. There might even be hand-thrown plates, hand-blown glasses and hand-made cutlery. There would be a table hewn from a local tree and a cloth woven from their own wool.

      Right, I was getting a bit hysterical and silly here.

      But I was certainly curious.

      *

      Just before seven o’clock I pulled on every warm garment I possessed and my cute, embroidered gloves that were fashion items with as much warmth in them as a tea towel. I didn’t have any warm headgear, so I borrowed a maroon bobble hat from the cupboard under the stairs that proclaimed me a supporter of the Washington Redskins, whoever they were.

      I heard the distant rumble of a heavy vehicle coming up the lane. During the afternoon the snow had stopped and the lowering clouds had disappeared over the moor leaving a clear and cold sky. It was nearly dark and Joe’s headlights pierced the gloom in a very reassuring way as he pulled up next to the house.

      He leaned across to open the door of the four by four for me and I clambered up beside him. It was surprisingly warm in there. Heat was blasting out onto my feet and after a few minutes I pulled off the woolly hat and the useless gloves and tucked them in my pocket.

      A short while later he slowed down and took a sharp turning to the left. We drove carefully up a single-track lane. It was incredibly dark and I could see random snowflakes blowing against the windscreen. We stopped by a farmhouse, which was big and built from dark stone. There was a light on over the front door and as I got out of the car I heard the sound of dogs woofing behind it. The barking increased in volume to a furious level and then a high, female voice called for them to stop being silly. Who was that then? Ivy?

      ‘Don’t mind the dogs. I’ll put them out in the kitchen. Come on, let’s get inside.’

      I followed him into a hallway that had the sort of old flagstones that would have cost a small fortune in any reclamation yard in London. From there we went into a sitting room bright with an open fire in a massive inglenook fireplace. There were tapestry sofas and thick curtains closed against the darkness. It looked absolutely perfect. Every piece of furniture was dark wood and held the patina of old age and generations of polishing.

      ‘Not a very nice night,’ he said.

      ‘No.’ I was suddenly shy in a way that I hadn’t been since I was seven.

      ‘Can I take your coat?’ he said. ‘Ivy will be down in a minute. She’s gone up to have a bath. She’s a bit under the weather.’

       Who the hell is Ivy? Why didn’t I have the nerve to ask?

      ‘Oh wow you should have said something; I wouldn’t have come at all if I’d known. She doesn’t want to be catering for guests if she’s unwell.’

      Joe shook his head. ‘She’s fine with it. I told you it was her idea.’

      I felt awful. I imagined the pocket Venus lying mournfully in her bath, one hand over her eyes. Would she have Jo Malone bath oil? Or would she make do with something less fancy? Sheep dip or something?

      Joe returned with two glasses of red wine – not three – and handed one to me. Perhaps Ivy was off wine? Or perhaps she was a recovering alcoholic? The sort who would say things like ‘No, none for me thanks. It’s been three years and two months and four days since I touched a drop. I feel so empowered these days. Alcohol is a poison you know, and so many empty calories too. I’ll just have a glass of Appletiser.’ And then she would watch with hungry eyes as we swigged back our glasses of toxins.

      ‘Something smells wonderful,’ I said. It did too.

      ‘Beef stew. After all, I know you’re not a vegetarian.’

      ‘No I’m a carnivore through and through,’ I said, toasting the prospect with my wine. I could almost imagine the shudder Benedict would have given if he’d heard me. It was eighteen months since I’d had a bacon sandwich, thanks to him.

      ‘Excellent. Come and relax.’

      The minutes ticked past and we talked about the snow and he told me about the worst winters he had known.

      Had Ivy drowned or gone to bed?

      I wondered if he got lonely or if Ivy ever wanted to seek out the bright lights, but I didn’t ask. Out in the hallway a clock chimed the hour.

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