‘So people keep telling me, but it doesn’t change the fact those men are dead because of me.’
Roger shakes his head. ‘I hope you stay long enough for me to knock some sense into you.’
‘Good luck with that.’ I slap his back and usher him into the house, trying not to picture the old man upstairs or the way a shred of hope sparked to discover he’s still alive.
Stupidly, somewhere deep down, the young boy still lurks.
The one that’s determined to make him proud, even though he can’t stand the sight of me.
27
VICTORIA
The farm is a stunning, quaint lakeside retreat in the middle of the Cotswolds countryside. Surrounded by animals and nature, it’s beyond therapeutic, a place to unplug from city life and the rest of humanity. Even the wi-fi is delightfully shocking.
Of all the places Archie could take me to hide out, this has to be the best.
It’s our third day here and the way I feel right now, I could stay forever.
The bedroom we’ve been allocated is at the back of the house overlooking a crystal blue lake and the finest chartreuse-coloured land. There’s not another house as far as the eye can see. No one in their right mind would ever think to look for us here.
Sasha’s frantic phone calls have eventually subsided now I’ve reassured her we’re safe, though it took an age to convince her not to send a helicopter.
I haven’t got a stitch of my own clothing, but Andie has kindly lent me some of hers, and with Archie by my side, I have everything I could possibly need.
After the intensity of the last few months, this is better than any European holiday I could have planned. Even the weather has been amazing. Twenty-six degrees of pure sunshine and powder blue skies that extend as far as the eye can see.
Andie and Roger are the perfect hosts, cooking delicious homemade meals grown in their garden, serving fine wine, and regaling me with tales of Archie’s boyish antics. Ones where his father was clearly not around.
Andie mentioned her father is in the house, but he rarely makes it out of his bedroom these days. Old age has taken a grip of him, weathering him down by the day. Archie hasn’t seen him, as far as I know. Nor has he mentioned him.
I wish he’d open up to me. Talk to me. But it’s not my place to pry. Families are complicated. I know from experience.
I thought city life in the UK offered freedom, but the city has nothing on this place. Each day, I roam the fields with Archie by my side, pointing out landmarks and amusing me with memories of his childhood, the happier ones at least.
Sprawled across a chequered blanket a few feet from the edge of a lake, we laze under the midday sun, picking from a wicker picnic basket Andie packed for us. She’s really pulling out all the stops. The basket is overflowing with local cheeses, fresh juicy apples, home-grown strawberries and even a bottle of chilled champagne.
Archie watches with a smirk as I sink my teeth into an apple with a satisfying crunch. ‘If your bark is worse than your bite, I’m not sure I ever want to hear it.’
‘Smart ass. Take your t-shirt off and you won’t have to.’
That perfect Cupid’s bow flattens into a broad, wide smile. His arms snake out to capture me, tugging me tightly against his chest. ‘Fancy a bit of alfresco fun, huh?’
‘I’ll take whatever I can get.’ The original wooden flooring in the farmhouse squeaks almost as much as the bed. Though I don’t know if that’s what stops Archie reaching out for me or knowing the man who made his childhood an utter misery could be listening.
Out here, in the open, neither is an issue. When we’re outside, the cloud that hovers over him lifts. When we’re inside the house, his gaze permanently returns to the wooden beams along the ceiling, though it’s not them he’s seeing. It’s the man who lies above them. His father is the proverbial elephant in the room above.
In one swift jerk, Archie removes his t-shirt. My fingers automatically roam over his scars, with a fresh insight that the deepest ones he wears are on the inside.
Perhaps it’s not only the people who present at A&E who need help to heal.
Our lips fasten, deepening into a kiss loaded with tenderness. Archie nudges me onto my back with one huge broad shoulder while his hand bunches up the yellow summer dress I’m wearing around my waist. Deft hands slip off my underwear. Powerful hips wriggle between my thighs.
With the sun beating down on my face and the man I love pressing down on top of me, I think I may actually have died and gone to heaven. We needed this. Needed the break. Needed some time together away from the spotlight.
Archie takes his time, pressing slow, languorous kisses all over my body. Goosebumps tear across my sensitive skin with every loving stroke, every gentle caress. He’s behaving like I’m fragile this time. Truly, I think he’s the fragile one and he’s projecting. Either way, I’m revelling in his touch. Basking in his undivided attention.
When he slips inside me, it’s slow. Sensual. We’ve joined like this so many times before, but this is different. On another level. Bringing me here has forced him to face up to his past. Reveal his vulnerabilities to me. And for that, I only love him more.
