Ollie rolled his eyes. “He’ll be there,” he said. “Because he needs to leave the house more.”
I glared at him. “Fine,” I said, as Nigella stood up and made to go back to her family. “I’ll join.”
“Great! I’ll text you the details.”
She placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “Lovely to finally meet you.” Then turned to Kennedy – “Good boy, no – stay.”
As she departed, I moaned at Ollie. “What did you do that for?”
“Stop being a sulky git,” he said. “You’re at risk of becoming an asocial hermit. One of those men who hoards newspapers and keeps boxes of milk bottles.”
Those men were very sensible if you asked me.
“You seem popular down here,” he said after a minute.
I shrugged. “I’ve been welcomed.”
The truth was, Ihadbeen made to feel welcome. In the beginning. But after Tarquin, I’d seized up. I couldn’t do it anymore.
“Just as long as not too welcome,” he said with a wink. Ah, there it was.
In the past few months, I’d slept with two men. One of whom I couldn’t bear to think about, and the other, well, he was an enigma.
Then there was Guy Frobisher, who had once asked me out.
There were three of them. Three men who seemed keen on me at one point. Three men with whom I could see myself being content. Oliver – with his perfect light brown hair. Gym-built muscles. His middle-class values. His job in law. Brimming with effervescence and self-confidence.
Then there was Guy. The upper-iest crust of the crust. Old money. Blond hair, a lean body, a craggy face from a love of the outdoors. The country gent. Slightly awkward. Slightly bewildered. But always in charge and always treated with deference.
And then there was Simon Anson. The man who had used my body like a glove. Sent me to heaven and back on my living room floor and had me seeing stars and panting. Big. Bulky. Arms so broad you couldn’t get your hands around. Ginger hair and blue eyes. Some kind of Celtic outdoorsman. An educated man from a good family who slummed it as the village handyman, drove a pickup truck, and wore a toolbelt over practical clothes.
Surly and unrefined. True, he didn’t seem to like me very much, but his sweetness that day, after he’d rocked my world, couldn’t have been faked. I was sure of it.
Three so very different men. I didn’t understand any of them.
And if you asked me to pick one, I couldn’t.
I tore my mind away from such matters and focused back on Ollie. We talked for another hour or so. We finished our meal. Ollie asked for a tour of the church. We walked in the sunshine. I briefly considered taking his hand. The lubrication of a pint or two in the sun, a nice meal. Being out of the house.
“Why do I do it to myself?” I asked.
“Hmm?” He glanced over as we made our way back up the hill.
“Hide away when anything goes wrong.”
“Babe, I wish I knew. You’re far too entertaining and smart to take yourself off into the corner when it all gets too much.”
Maybe I should try a different strategy? My life seemed to be in a constant ebb and flow. Hell, it was mostly ebb.
We arrived back at my house, and Ollie looked up at it expectantly. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He clung to me for a hug. “It was good to see you,” I whispered.
“Please don’t be a stranger.” He let me go but leaned forward again to brush an eyelash from my cheek.
“I won’t. I promise.”
Ollie sighed and then got back into his car. He gave me a long, searching look. For a brief second, I changed my mind and wanted him to come inside. To lie in my bed with me and never leave. But instead, I waved.
He pulled away. As he did, he rolled down his window. “Be sociable!” he yelled and drove off.
