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‘That’s because it’s not your mother hosting this event, is it?’ Boyd went cross-eyed for no apparent reason. ‘She likes me to drink champagne. Says it shows breeding.’
Ed gave Boyd an indulgent punch on the arm. ‘Your family own this massive house on the coast,’ Ed gestured outside, ‘and you have a coat of arms, for feck’s sakes. No one could possibly doubt that you’re a toff.’
‘Oh, piss off. You’re lucky you’re even here, you know. My mother thinks you’re a bad influence. And she says there’s something dodgy about you.’
Ed fingered the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. Boyd had no idea how astute his mother was. In the first instance, Ed had learnt that mothers fell into one of two camps as far as he was concerned. Camp one (of which Boyd’s mother was the archetypal, fully paid-up member) took the view that he was dangerous, a bad boy. Someone liable to lead their son – or more likely, daughter – astray.
Camp two saw him as a plaything and as such, flirted with him. Outrageously. On occasion members of camp two had been known to proposition him, despite his tender age of seventeen (just). Ed had succumbed once to such a proposition, mainly because the mother had been astonishingly beautiful and because Ed was sure she would teach him a thing or two. He hadn’t been wrong about that, but he hadn’t expected the stalker-ish behaviour that had followed the liaison. He had been forced to sever all ties with the friend simply to avoid the mother. Lessons learnt.
Ed edged a cigarette out of the packet and put it in his mouth. He couldn’t exactly blame camp one for being wary of him. He was a bad boy, in the mildest of forms. And frankly it was an image he cultivated. Like many of the macho heroes he admired, Ed loved drinking, smoking and women. Especially women. Or in his case, they tended to come under the banner of ‘girls’. He loved the way they looked, the way they smelt, the swell of their chests, their long, smooth legs. Their full mouths, their beautiful eyes looking at him with appreciation, or sometimes trepidation. Ed easily dealt with either response; the former fed his ego, the latter presented a challenge.
But Mrs Middleford had also worked out that there was something ‘dodgy’ about him – a very upper-class way of stating that he didn’t fit in somehow, that her social antennae had detected a mismatch. Ed made a mental note to keep an eye on that. He could do without his secrets being revealed just as he was about to leave the school he had worked so hard to get into. He had promoted an enigmatic image for himself, one that hid his real background and, as such, he deliberately kept his friends and his home life firmly separate. Ed never took friends home. He had done it once, with disastrous results. Again, lessons learnt.
Ed cleared his throat and took the cigarette out of his mouth. ‘Anyway, Middleford, pay attention. I’ve seen a girl I like. She’s gorgeous and I want to talk to her. I need her name and some background details, please.’
Boyd let out a sigh of resignation but narrowed his eyes nonetheless. ‘Which one is it? Not Gaby, surely? She’s a friend of my sister’s. Her nickname is “Vacuum”, which probably makes you even more excited, but I wouldn’t touch her with yours, quite frankly …’
‘Not Gaby. As if, Boyd.’ Ed knew exactly how Gaby had earned her nickname. ‘No, that one over by the window. The one with eyes I could drown in and a body like the Venus de Milo.’
Boyd frowned. ‘God, you are a massive tit. I know you want to be a writer, but honestly. Do you mean that one with the terrible hair?’
Ed rolled his eyes. The long, wild tangle of mousy curls conjured up thoughts of bare backs and exquisite shoulders, surely? Boyd, a sturdy, unimaginative fellow at the best of times, truly lacked vision.
‘I think she’s called Molly,’ Boyd offered finally. ‘Molly … Wilkes. Yes. Her mother is an old school friend of my mother’s. Father’s an Oxford Don. Older brother. Tom, perhaps. Successful architect. Ummm …’
‘That’ll do. Good work, Boyd. You are a veritable goldmine.’
Ed headed straight for the window as the girl called Molly slipped outside. He followed her, knowing he had the perfect excuse in his hand should he need it; a sneaky fag was useful in so many ways. As a result, he was taken aback when Molly turned and eyed him suspiciously.
‘Are you following me?’
Ed lit his cigarette suavely but spoilt it by almost burning his fingers when he snapped his Zippo shut. ‘Shit. Er, might be. Molly, isn’t it?’
‘You know my name.’ She raised her eyebrows in a ladylike fashion. He was handsome. And he knew it. She wasn’t sure if she liked that. Obviously Molly understood that everyone had a mirror – it was more that she preferred confidence that came from achievement, not looks. ‘You’re following me and you know my name. There are laws against that, you know.’
‘I’m having an innocent cigarette and a friend told me your name just now. Hardly grounds for arrest, surely? I’m Ed, by the way.’
‘Hi. I’d tell you my name but clearly you already know me.’
Close up, Ed found himself drawn to Molly’s eyes. They were cat-like, shrewd. Brown. No, dark blue – an unusual shade that no doubt earned her compliments aplenty. From lesser mortals. Ed would need to come up with something more original. This was a smart, eloquent girl who looked as though she might, with impeccable manners, coolly dismiss boys who bored her.
Ed sucked on his cigarette, feeling something spark inside him. He was tired of easy girls; Molly was already challenging him.
Out of the blue, Molly smiled. Was she mocking him? Ed felt unnerved, wrong-footed. He really needed to get a grip.
‘I’m not planning to get you arrested, no.’ God, but he was sexy. Molly checked out his mouth. Kissable, definitely. Hmm. How annoying. She hadn’t felt this attracted to someone at first glance before. Was this what everyone called ‘chemistry’?
Molly pulled herself together and gestured to his singed fingers. ‘But I do think you need to learn how to use a lighter properly. Otherwise everyone will think you’re a right nobber.’
Ed let out a shout of laughter. He’d never met anyone else who used his favourite insult before. He stared at Molly. She was on the short side but perfectly proportioned. She had that irresistible blend of slender, with tantalising curves in all the right places. Ed was willing to bet Molly worried about the size of her bum constantly. Molly might be a challenge, but he was confident he knew how her mind worked. To a degree. Because Ed could modestly acknowledge that he knew a fair amount about girls. He caught sight of her bum as she began to walk away from him and almost dropped his cigarette. Delectable. Rounded. Ripe. Bloody hell. Better than he’d imagined. Hang on; where was she going?
‘I’m off to do some stargazing,’ Molly said, as though she had heard his thoughts. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t looking at her bum. She always worried about it, stressed that it was a little on the large side. ‘I think if you carry on walking in that direction, you get to the beach, right?’ She began strolling but threw a glance over her shoulder. ‘Aren’t you coming, shadow?’
Ed watched her. It wasn’t his style to chase after a girl like some sort of lap dog, but Molly was intriguing. He had a feeling about her. Whatever that meant. Ed threw his cigarette down and hurried after her, slowing his steps when he realised what a dick he must look.
Act casual, dude, he told himself sternly. She’s just a girl.
Molly kicked her shoes off at the edge of the beach and carried on walking. She was glad Ed had followed her. She would have looked like a right idiot strolling off on her own. She would have followed it through for an indeterminate period of time, of course, so as not to look even more absurd – and being on a beach wasn’t exactly a hardship – but she would have felt downright silly. She gestured to