One Night with His Virgin Mistress. Sara Craven
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floated back to the office on a cloud of euphoria, almost unable to believe that she was going to see him again. That he wanted to spend time with her. So lost in bliss, in fact, that it never occurred to her to question why this should be.
And Saturday afternoon passed like a dream. Gareth was extremely knowledgeable about the capital—knew all kinds of interesting places and fascinating stories, and she listened, rapt.
He told her about his job too, and the other barristers in his chambers, and about his own flat-share with a couple of university friends, waxing almost lyrical about how terrific Notting Hill was—great ambience, great restaurants.
It was clear that city living appealed to him far more than the country ever would. That he didn’t regret the cottage at Cranscombe one bit, and this saddened her a little.
However, the only really awkward moment came when they were about to part and she realised he was going to kiss her, and she was so nervous—so unpractised—that it turned into little more than an embarrassing bumping of noses and chins.
She spent the whole evening mentally kicking herself at the memory. Telling herself that she should have kept still as he’d bent towards her, closed her eyes, smiling, as she raised her mouth to meet his. That he couldn’t possibly know she’d only been kissed three or four times before, and generally because it had seemed rude to refuse.
And that Gareth’s had been the first kiss that should have— would have—meant something.
Well, next time—and he’d arranged to see her on the following Saturday too—she would be prepared, and she would make sure that she was much less inept.
She spent the whole week in such a state of anticipation that reality was almost bound to be an anticlimax. Yet it started well— a glorious spring afternoon—and this time it wasn’t so much of a guided tour because Gareth suggested that they went strolling in Hyde Park. It seemed full of couples. They were everywhere Tallie looked—young, happy people, walking hand in hand, sitting close on benches—always looking at each other, always touching— even lying on the grass wrapped in each others’ arms, oblivious to all but themselves.
And she found herself moving nearer to Gareth as they walked, longing for him to take her hand or put his arm round her. That she wanted to be part of a couple too—half of him, with all that it would mean. Something she’d never contemplated before—or even desired…
But a sideways glance told her this seemed unlikely. He was gazing into space, not at her, seemingly lost in thought, even frowning a little.
She tried to keep her voice light, to recapture the almost intimacy of the previous week. ‘A penny for them.’
‘What? Oh, I see.’ He hesitated. ‘I was thinking about something we could do. That maybe we might…’
Her heart almost stopped. What was he going to say—to suggest? That the Park was too public and they should go back to— his place? Oh, please, she thought. Please, let it be that. Because even if nothing happened, and she knew it was far too soon—that she should be ashamed of herself for even thinking that, it went against every principle she’d ever had—at least it would show that he was beginning to consider her as part of his life. That she mattered to him.
It would prove, if nothing else, that he wanted her to meet his friends, maybe drink some wine, and, later, go out for a meal, even if she wasn’t strictly dressed for it. She tried to think of an excuse she could give Andy at the wine bar for not working that evening— the first time she would ever have let him down.
He went on, ‘I was going to say that tea at Fortnums would be nice.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Lovely.’ And tried not to feel disappointed. Reminded herself that it was still early days and the fact that he didn’t want to rush her into anything was a good sign. A sign that he respected her. And a warning that she must let things develop at their own pace.
She was still thinking that as they walked up Piccadilly. As they reached Fortnums and paused at the door because someone was coming out.
‘Natalie,’ Josie said, ‘I didn’t know you could afford places like this.’ She turned, self-assured and smiling, to look at Gareth. Tallie watched her eyes widen, her gaze become fixed. There was a pause— a count of a few heartbeats—then she said, ‘And who’s this?’
‘Gareth Hampton. A—a friend from Cranscombe.’
‘Goodness,’ Josie said lightly. ‘And to think I used to go out of my way to avoid the place.’ She smiled. ‘Well, friend from Cranscombe, I’m Natalie’s cousin, Josephine Lester, and I bet she hasn’t told you about me either.’
‘No.’ Gareth’s voice sounded odd, almost hoarse. ‘No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t.’ He was staring at her too, his face set, almost stunned.
Tallie had the oddest impression that the pair of them were locked into some kind of exclusion zone—surrounded by a barrier like a force field which she would never be able to penetrate. It was such a strong impression that she almost took a step backwards.
She heard herself say in a small wooden voice she barely recognised, ‘We were going to have tea.’
Was aware that they’d both turned and looked at her in surprise, as if they’d forgotten her very existence. Then realised that was exactly what they’d done.
Josie was smiling again. She said softly, ‘What a lovely idea.’
Somehow, Tallie found she was pushing up her sleeve, glancing at her watch. ‘Only I didn’t realise how late it’s getting, and I’m due at work pretty soon.’ It was still only mid-afternoon, but she knew numbly that she could have said she was off bungee-jumping from the dome of St Paul’s without it registering with either of them. She shared a swift meaningless smile between them. ‘So, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your tea.’
She went off, walking fast enough to convey an impression of haste—someone who needed to be somewhere else—but not so fast it would look as if she was running away.
Especially when there was nowhere to run to.
If the flat had seemed cramped before, it quickly became a living nightmare. It seemed that, no matter what time of the day or night she ventured out of her room, Gareth was there, and it was a minor consolation to know that Amanda was no more pleased with the situation than herself, or that she and Josie were constantly bickering about it.
‘No live-in boyfriends,’ she heard Amanda say stormily. ‘That was the rule we made, yet here he is.’
‘But he doesn’t live here,’ Josie returned. She gave a little throaty giggle. ‘He just—stays over sometimes.’
‘Seven nights a week is hardly “sometimes”,’ Amanda said coldly, going into her room and slamming the door.
Tallie did her best to be unobtrusive, speaking politely if it was required, her face expressionless, determined not to reveal the bewildered heartache that tore into her each time she saw Gareth or heard his voice.
Once, and only once, she came back from work and found him there alone. She halted in palpable dismay, then, muttering, ‘Excuse me,’ made for her room.
But he followed. ‘Look, Natalie, can we lighten up a bit?’ he asked almost irritably. ‘It’s bad enough getting filthy looks from Amanda, without you creeping about as if I’d delivered some kind of death blow. And now Josie says you’re moving out altogether.’
He added defensively, ‘For God’s sake, it’s not as if there was ever—anything going on between us. You were Guy’s little sister, that was all.’
Not for me—never for me…
She swung round to face him. ‘And you were just being kind— giving a child a day or two out. A few treats. Was that it? I—I didn’t realise.’