A Lesson of Intensity: Season of Desire Part 2 (Seasons Quartet) (5 page)

Miles stands up suddenly and his form towers over me, appearing to fill the room. ‘That’s enough about me. I’m sure your stories are better than mine. Why don’t you tell me a bit about your life while I make us some coffee? Would you like some?’

I nod and he fills the kettle and sets it over the fire to boil. He asks me a few questions about my life but I’m not in the mood for talking about myself. I’m interested in him but whenever I try to turn the subject back towards him, he dodges it. It feels as though we’re playing a subtle and complicated word game where the aim is to give away as little information as possible. In the end, over tins of black coffee, we chat about our favourite films instead. I expect Miles to like gory violent thrillers and martial arts pictures, but instead it turns out he loves film noir of the thirties and forties.

‘Barbara Stanwyck in
Double Indemnity,
’ he says, wrapping his hands around his tin of coffee. ‘Now there was a dame. And anything with Jimmy Cagney. His charisma just leaps off the screen.’

I’m impressed. ‘I don’t know much about early film. I love comedies – anything to make me laugh. But that’s more modern stuff.’

He gives me a look of mock outrage. ‘Some of the funniest films ever were made in the thirties and forties!’

‘Really?’

‘Yes!’ He laughs. ‘Cary Grant was one of the most gifted comic actors in film. As for Claudette Colbert, Carole Lombard…’

‘I’ve heard of Cary Grant, of course,’ I say tentatively.

He slaps his forehead in pretend despair. ‘Oh my God, girl. There is a lot to teach you!’

I gaze at him with wide eyes, hoping he can see my desire to be taught. He catches my expression and quickly turns back to his coffee.

‘Well, the good thing is how much you’ve got waiting for you to enjoy. I’ll make you a list of my favourites if you like.’

‘I would like that, very much,’ I say.

‘All right. It’s a deal. All I ask in return is that you tell me what you make of them. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ I smile at him.

He tells me about some of his favourite directors while we eat our soup; he rates John Houston and Preston Sturgis, neither of whom I’ve heard of, but I make a note to look them up when I have access to Google again. It’s strange to think that unless circumstances had thrown us together, I would never know this stuff about Miles. I’d have no idea that he’s tracked down the Taliban in the mountains of Afghanistan or that he’s a nut for classic film. I’d still be treating him with haughty disdain, expecting him to obey my orders as though that’s what he was born to do, as though he had no other purpose in life. This situation has changed everything around. Now I’m hanging on what he’s telling me, trying to learn a bit about life outside my own orbit of privilege and instant gratification.

After a while, he suggests we have something to eat.

‘Is it supper time already?’ I ask, surprised. ‘It feels like we’ve only just had lunch.’

‘It’s getting close to six o’clock, we’ve been talking for a while.’

I hadn’t noticed. For the first time, the hours have slid by almost pleasurably. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

‘We should eat something just to keep our strength up. There’re some soup sachets. Let’s have one of those each.’

He goes about refilling the kettle, prodding the fire back to life with a fresh log and making us each a tin of soup, chicken flavour with bits of reconstituted sweetcorn floating in it. It’s surprisingly comforting, and while we eat it, I tell him stories about my days as the naughtiest girl at my St Moritz boarding school, and how I used to escape late at night and head out to nightclubs in the town. He laughs when I tell him some of my most daring exploits, and I feel my mood lifting. I like to hear his laugh when it’s not mocking me. The way he throws back his head and roars heartily at the stories of my bad behaviour makes me feel warm and happy.

‘What did they do to you in the end?’ he asks, after I tell him of Mademoiselle D’Anton’s shock when I skied in my underwear for a dare.

‘Oh, they expelled me, of course.’ I shrug. ‘But it didn’t matter. There were always places that would take me in. My father just paid for me to go to the next on the list.’

‘Didn’t he give you a good telling off?’

I shake my head. ‘No. His assistant, Jane-Elizabeth, told me off – then she arranged a new school for me. I don’t know if she even told Dad what had happened.’

Miles gives me a sideways look and just says ‘Hmm’ in reply. I get the feeling he’s understood more about me than I meant to give away.

When we’ve finished, it’s properly dark outside and the only light comes from the fire. Miles has decided that the torch has to be kept for emergencies. I don’t mind; I like the way the little hut descends into velvety blackness illuminated by the orange glow from the hearth. The crackling, flickering flames are comforting. They seem to be our allies: something warm and alive to help us combat the freezing cold elements outside. I wonder if the storm has abated at all, but the wind is still howling.

I look over at Miles. He’s gazing into the fire too, lost in his own thoughts. I wonder what they are: if he’s thinking about the past, or about how we’re going to get out of here, or maybe…

He turns suddenly to me and says, ‘You’ve been different this afternoon, Freya. I didn’t really expect it but ever since you’ve apologised – it’s like the anger has gone out of you.’

‘Do I seem very angry?’

‘You’re quick to feel persecuted, quick to square up for a fight, that’s all. I never know what’s going to set you off.’

‘I guess… I’m not used to not having my own way. Now I’m in a place where I’ve got no control at all… maybe that made me want to try and control you instead.’ I shrug lightly. ‘I’ve been in therapy. My father made me go. I’ve seen loads of shrinks and more than one of them said my need to control comes from a fear of loss or something like that. I don’t know if there’s anything in it.’

‘Shrinks…’ he echoes. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘That’s young to be in therapy, isn’t it?’

‘Depends what has happened to you, doesn’t it?’ I gaze back at the fire. ‘Things happened to me when I was younger. That was why I needed therapy, apparently.’

He doesn’t press me to find out more. Instead he says, ‘You’ve got so much time to enjoy, Freya. You’re young. Life is on your side right now. Grasp it with both hands, make something of it.’

‘How old are
you
?’ I ask, turning to look at him. He doesn’t look old but the silver speckles in his short hair and the lines on his brow show that he’s lived a little.

 
‘Thirty-five,’ he says. ‘Older than you by a considerable margin.’

 
‘Not that much older,’ I say quickly. ‘Twelve years. That’s nothing.’

 
He gives me a quizzical look. ‘How old was your last boyfriend?’

 
‘Well, he was twenty-five but—’

 
‘And I bet you thought he was the height of adult sophistication!’ Miles laughs.

 
‘No I didn’t!’ I reply hotly. ‘He was a stupid, immature kid who’d never learned anything worth knowing in his life! All he cared about was partying and getting laid – not always with me, as I discovered. I can’t tell you how humiliating it was to have to get myself checked up for STDs. Luckily, all the tests came back clear, so that’s something.’ I unwrap myself from my sleeping bag and lean even closer towards Miles. ‘I was hurt at the time because I’d really loved him. But now I’m beginning to realise that he had nothing real to teach me about life.’

I feel a strange quivering excitement in my belly. All day, at the back of my mind, I’ve been thinking about the moment when I will make it clear to Miles what I want. I’ve thought of it with nervous anticipation and a kind of giddy thrill, wondering how it will happen. Now, I’m sure that the moment is here. I’m going to put all my cards on the table. I take my sleeping bag and spread it out on the dirt floor, the fleece lining uppermost, and then I kneel on it so that I’m at Miles’s feet as he sits on the bench opposite me. I look up at him, admiring the way the orange firelight falls on his face, giving him romantically hollowed cheeks and emphasising the shadowed depth of his eye sockets. He’s frowning slightly, puzzled, watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do next.

‘Miles,’ I say in a quiet voice. ‘You remember what happened between us this morning, don’t you?’

He’s suddenly awkward. ‘Of course,’ he says gruffly.

‘I tried to seduce you. I made a mess of it.’

‘Please… don’t worry about it.’ He looks away, not able to meet my gaze. ‘Consider it forgotten about. We don’t need to mention it again.’

‘But I want to talk about it. The things you said about me, about the way I treat people. It was hard to hear, but you were right. I’ve realised now that I’m going about so much in the wrong way.’

He looks back at me, intrigued by what I’m saying. ‘Am I hearing right? Is Miss Freya Hammond being humble?’

‘For once,’ I say, with a short laugh. ‘You’ve made me take a look at myself and I’m not sure I like it.’

‘You shouldn’t be too hard on yourself,’ he replies. ‘You’re young. And the way you’ve been brought up – well, it’s hardly surprising that you have a well-defined sense of your own importance. But you’re a decent kid, you really are. You’ll get there in the end.’

I lift my chin to look him right in the eye. ‘But I can’t get there on my own. I need help. I need… a teacher.’

He gives me a sideways look. ‘What do you mean – a teacher?’

‘Someone who understands the world, who knows something about life. You know so much – about how to survive out here, how to look after yourself…’

‘That’s my job,’ he interjects.

‘Yes, but it still means you have knowledge that I’m lacking. I want some of the wisdom you’ve got.’

‘Freya, you can’t just be given wisdom. It isn’t that easy,’ he says gravely. ‘We all have to make our own mistakes, you know that.’

‘But everyone needs a teacher, someone to show them the way.’

‘You want me to teach you mountain survival?’ He frowns.

‘No. Not that. I mean something else. I… I…’ I look away, lost suddenly. It all seemed so clear in my own head but I’m not articulating it very well.
What do I really want? What am I actually asking for?
Then it comes to me. ‘I want you to teach me about what men and women do.’

There’s a loaded pause and then he says softly, his accent more rolling and caressing than ever, ‘It seems to me that you know very well what men and woman do, if this morning was anything to go by.’

I smile up at him, his tone relaxing me. ‘I’m not a virgin but I have the feeling that there’s much, much more to know. More than my boyfriend was ever able to show me.’

‘Wait.’ His eyes glitter with amusement. ‘You are a cunning little kitten, I will give you that. You’ve lulled me into a sense of false security but actually, we’re back where we started, aren’t we? When you asked me to…
pleasure you
.’

I lower my head so that I’m not looking directly at him. ‘Yes – nothing has changed. I’m still desperate for you. But then I was ordering you. Now… I’m asking, humbly.’

I stay very still, looking at the floor again, feeling as though everything is balanced on this moment. I don’t know if I’ve persuaded him, but the way I’ve asked feels right to me. I want him to be my teacher, my instructor in a world I’m eager to explore. I know that the condition will be surrendering my power over him – the power I have in the outside world. I wait, desperate to know his answer, my fingertips trembling lightly.

He speaks at last, his voice strangely rough. ‘But something hasn’t changed. I would still be abusing my position of trust if I sleep with you, no matter how much you beg me.’

I lift my head slightly to look at him, hoping that my sincerity will be evident in my eyes.

‘You have my word that whatever happens here will remain a secret. I will never divulge to anyone anything that takes place inside this hut. I give you my solemn promise.’

He is staring back at me, his lips tight and his eyes grave beneath their hooded lids. ‘Can I really trust your promise?’

‘Yes,’ I say in a heartfelt voice. ‘I might be many things, but I’m not a liar or a traitor. I’ll never go back on my word.’

‘You know what, Freya Hammond? I think I believe you.’

‘Then…’ I turn my gaze to him. ‘Will you? Will you be my teacher?’

There’s a long pause. I know he’s thinking it over. He desires me, I felt it this morning, but he needs more than that to agree to this. At last he speaks, his voice low, its roughness gone. ‘There would be… conditions.’

My breathing quickens and the shaking in my fingers gets stronger. A throb of desire swells between my legs.

‘Yes,’ I whisper. I lift my top and remove it in one swift movement, so that I’m sitting there, my skin touched by the orange firelight, the light falling on my breasts as they rise from the cups of my bra. My bruise is still there, dark against my white skin but I hope that this time it doesn’t put him off. ‘I’m ready for my first lesson.’

Chapter Seven

Miles is staring at me, his gaze raking my body as I sit in front of him, offering myself to him. The atmosphere between us has become highly charged. I can feel electrical currents of desire zipping over me, flicking out to the zones of my body that most long for Miles’s touch: my lips, my nipples and my sex. My breath is coming fast now and my chest is rising and falling quickly as I try to control my growing excitement. I’ve been deadly serious in everything I’ve said to Miles: I want to be taught. I don’t want some mindless quick fuck, the kind he thought I wanted this morning: I want something beautiful, something meaningful. I have a feeling that Miles is going to change my life and it is about to start right now.

 
‘You look very beautiful,’ he says. ‘Do you know how hard it was to pull away from you this morning? I’ve never had to fight so hard to control myself.’

 
‘It was the same for me,’ I say softly. ‘I’ve been desperate for you since last night in a way I’ve never felt for anyone.’