“Well, burglars, squatters, criminal damage, arson.”
He chuckles. “Such a litany of disaster. But you should have no fear. No one enters my domain without my permission.” He swings open the door and gestures me forward with a courtly gesture. For a second, I hesitate. It’s dark beyond the opening, and I feel a sudden trill of fear. I shoot a worried look at him, and he’s watching me calmly with no offence.
“You need have no fear in my home, Cary,” he says solemnly. “Everything here welcomes you.Alt mitt er ditt.”
I wonder what the last bit means. It sounds lovely. “Thank you,” I say, my caution falling away. A dim part of my brain is still informing me that he could be a serial killer, but he’s still the most interesting person I’ve met in my entire life, so I can’t bring myself to worry too much. If he murders me, at least I’ll have died interested.
I walk in and find myself next to two sets of stone steps. One leads down, the other up, and they’re lit by old glass lanterns that would look at home on a Victorian street. The stone is wornand gleams with age, and the bannisters have been carved to resemble snakes, their heads peeking slyly around the landing stone, each with an eye cast in a cheeky wink. He places his hand at the base of my spine in a courtly gesture as he guides me to take the steps down. I feel my back tingling and wish for a brief second that I could feel his hand on my bare skin.
“Wow,” I say, looking around as we come to the bottom. We’re in an airy vestibule. A huge olive tree grows in a pot, and a stained-glass window floods the stone floor with jewel-like colours.
“To your right,” he says, opening a door for me and ushering me through. My mouth drops open. I’m in a large lounge, which is possibly the most luxurious room I’ve ever been in. The walls are made of stone that glows with a soft sheen, and beautiful oil paintings are hung on them. A massive fireplace takes up most of one wall. It’s big enough to walk in, and a fire is burning merrily in the grate. I edge a little closer and feel the welcome warmth of it while looking around.
The floor is covered in a heavy carpet over which faded oriental rugs have been laid. Big squashy sofas are positioned in front of the fire, which look like you could sink into them and while away the day with a book. One wall features a floor-to-ceiling mullioned window that looks out onto a stone-flagged patio and a panoramic view of Porthcurno Beach. Another wall is filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with vinyl and a very expensive stereo system. A Christmas tree has been positioned in the corner of the room, its top kissing the ceiling. Fairy lights twinkle amongst the branches, and the ornaments look very delicate and old. It fills the room with the fresh sharp scent of pine.
I look over to see him watching me, his golden eyes full of curiosity. “You like music?” I ask pointing at the vinyl.
He nods. “It has been both my comfort and my inspiration over the years.”
“This room is beautiful,” I breathe. “It feels so lovely and comfortable.”
He smiles in pleasure. “I shall show you all of the place.”
I follow him through room after stunning room, all of them decorated to the same high standard. My mum is an interior designer, so I know quality when I see it, and all this must have cost a fortune. The person who owns the place obviously has a taste for the finer things in life.
Finally, we end up in a huge bedroom. The walls are whitewashed stone, and easily the biggest bed I’ve ever seen is set against one wall. It’s made of oak and positioned to face a huge window. I move closer and exclaim in delight. It looks directly down onto the section of beach where I was standing just a few minutes ago. If I crane my neck, I could see the Minack.
I turn to him. “How didn’t I spot a window when I was down there?”
“Ah, it is cleverly concealed.”
“What a view.” My eyes fall on the bed. It’s huge and made up with white linens. An astonishingly vivid image comes into my head of us writhing there. I’m lying on my back, my legs spread, and he’s pounding into me, his hair loose and his expression fierce. Longing and heat run through me like a flame licking at paper.
“You like my home, Cary?”
When I turn, he’s watching me, his eyes dark and the heat unmistakable. I clear my throat. “Like isn’t nearly enough. This is beautiful. Is it an Airbnb? They have the nicest places.”
His eyes twinkle. “No, it is mine.”
I gape at him. “What?Allof it?”
He nods, and I ponder how that’s even possible. A place like this would cost a fortune. Maybe his family are worth a lot of money. He doesn’t look old enough to have bought it by himself, but he has the unmistakable air of command and assurance that I’ve found in successful people.
“Well, you have a lovely home,” I say softly.
We smile at each other, and the silence that drops is easy and warm. Then I shiver, and he exclaims with a horrified look on his face.
“What a silly fool I am. You will catch an ague. Come. You shall shower.”
He tugs me through a door, his big hand gentle on my arm, and I find myself in a stone bathroom that’s warm and bright with a huge wet-room shower.
“Shower,” he says. “Warm yourself. Avail yourself of whatever you need. I will lay some clothes out for you on the bed and then go and prepare you some food.”
“Will anything you have fit me?” I ask doubtfully.
He looks me up and down, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so stripped bare. It’s as if his clever eyes are seeing right through me. When he looks up, his eyes are hot and slumberous, and for a second, I think I see flames hovering in the pupils. Then he shifts and I realise it was just the light in the room.
“I think I will fit you very well,” he says, his solemn tone at odds with the smile playing on his lips.
