In a Class of His Own (6 page)

The answer wasn’t what
I was expecting.

“Come
on, you can’t spend all your half term holiday at school.” He
stood abruptly and pulled me out of the little plastic chair on which
I had been sitting. We stood close together and he didn’t let go of
my hand immediately. I was in breathing distance and I could see the
flecks of green in his light blue eyes; darker blue rings surrounded
the irises and they made me think of a wolf suddenly. Predatory and
masterful.

He
spoke at last.
“Would you like some lunch?” He smiled very slightly, looking
down and seeming embarrassed, not quite meeting my eyes.

I grinned back, hugely.
“Have you ever known me to refuse food, Mr. Thorpe?”

“Oh
Nicky,” he replied irritably. “Remember to call me Jack.” Then
he caught my amused look and grinned back. It lit his face. I could
fall for this man I suddenly thought. Underneath the granite exterior
was something so much more alluring. Dangerous territory. I still had
to work with him, for him, after all. And while I might be falling
for the man, I still had grave concerns over the headmaster.

Jack
offered to drive, saying he could drop me back at school later on in
order to pick
up my car. I readily agreed as I was curious about his car. I’d
often wondered about it when I’d seen it in the school’s car
park. I hadn’t a clue as to the make but I thought it seductive
with its low, curvy lines. As we got in I reflected it wasn’t the
sort of vehicle I’d have thought he’d go for. A classy and
discreet BMW was more his style surely. As I looked around the dated
and shabby beige leather interior he caught my look.

“She
belonged to my father. Totally impractical and some days I’m not
sure if she’ll get me into work but I love her.” He stroked a
long finger over the spokes of the steering wheel as he spoke –
there was more warmth in his voice than I could ever recall hearing
before.

“Series
Two Fixed Head Coupe. 1970 model, British Racing Green.” He rattled
off. Seeing as I looked even more mystified – to me cars were for
getting from A to Z, he added, “E-Type Jaguar.” He grinned at me
again, pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and switched on the
ignition. “I always like this moment – I never know if she’s
going to come up with the goods for me. Everyone should have moments
of uncertainty in their lives!” Then he laughed throatily as the
engine fired into life.

I
stared at him. Until
now I’d thought him the sort of man who knew precisely where he was
going and how to get there, with any distractions, or uncertainties,
batted masterfully out of the way on the journey. As the layers of
his complicated personality were being peeled back I felt myself
being sucked into the attraction further. Dangerous territory I
reminded myself again.

It
was
a lovely day – Dad had been right when he’d made the comment that
morning. I loved this season; being in teaching I always associated
it with new beginnings, fresh starts. And today was a classic Autumn
day. The breeze was keen, with the hint of winter approaching but the
sun was faithfully squeezing the last of the year’s heat down onto
us. As we sped past trees gloriously clad in golds and crimsons,
Jack put on a pair of black Ray-Bans then wound the window down. The
wind ruffled his dark hair attractively.

More disorder in his
apparently very controlled life.

I
risked
a furtive glance to my right. What is it about being driven by a man?
There is something so deeply erotic about it. Jack was a skilful
driver, the powerful engine responded with a guttural roar and we
took a racing line through the bends on the country roads. I felt as
if I was almost lying down in the passenger seat and felt very near
the road speeding past outside. I could feel every bump and
vibration. Jack was a big man and, to accommodate his long legs, he’d
had to push the driving seat as far back as it would allow. We were
very intimately confined in the small space. The faint aroma of the
after-shave he was wearing wafted over. The muscles in his bare
forearms were flexed but one hand rested casually on the steering
wheel. He had good arms I thought. Toned, with the muscles strongly
defined. I’ve long had a weakness for a pair of fine hands and
Jack’s were beautiful. Long fingered, with square, capable looking
palms. One was resting lightly on the gear lever. When he changed
gear his fingers closed firmly around the knob and the back of his
wrist brushed up and down my thigh in a whisper of a touch. I didn’t
move my leg away.

We
didn’t talk much on the journey, he mentioned his parents were
still living in Manchester, where
he’d been brought up. He told me that his father was unwell, that
he had a younger sister called Jennifer. I didn’t respond but let
his low, earthy voice mesmerise me. The words were ordinary and
commonplace but I began to feel quite faint and sincerely hoped it
was only lack of food. I had no idea where he was taking me and
didn’t overly care – I was enjoying the experience too much. When
he turned into a courtyard of converted barns I was almost
disappointed that the drive was over. I thought it a strange place
for a pub or restaurant – where I’d assumed he was taking me.

I
clambered out of the low car inelegantly. Somehow I’d managed to
miss the lesson about getting out of sports cars at the comprehensive
I’d attended. I looked around me, fascinated. It was an upmarket
sort of a place and Jack’s E-Type fitted in perfectly. A selection
of four or five farm buildings had been converted into what an estate
agent would call ‘a
superior and luxurious development’. One house had the obligatory
large glass panels filling in the cart entrance, another had steps
winding up at the side, each step decorated with a pretty pot of late
flowering geraniums. Two further buildings were semi-detached and had
unusual arched windows reaching to the ground. It was private, very
exclusive and seemed a million miles from my parents’ bungalow.

I looked at Jack over the
low roof of the car. “Why have we come here?”

He shrugged. “This is
home – for the moment.”

Stupidly,
it
took a second for me to catch on. “This is your home? This is where
you live?”

He led me to the building
in the furthest corner of the courtyard, the one with the geraniums.
He was fidgeting with his keys and seemed almost embarrassed. “This
is me. I’m renting it from my brother-in-law. He and Jenny develop
a bit of property now and again. They couldn’t sell this place for
some reason. I suppose the market’s a bit flat at the moment. It’s
a little unusual too.” He gestured to the small, enclosed garden.
“Not much land with it so it’s no good for a family and, as
you’ll see, it’s a bit on the large size for couples. I rattle
around in it.”

He
unlocked the front door and led me into an enormous entrance hall,
flooded with light from a roof window. I followed him to where stairs
rose up reaching towards an exposed ceiling, criss-crossed
frantically with oak beams. Plain walls were painted a warm colour
redolent of clotted cream and heavy curtains in rich shades of reds,
indigo blues and creams hung at the windows, softening the stark,
empty interior. The scent of lavender and beeswax polish hung in the
sun-filled
air. It was as far from the bachelor pad that I’d vaguely imagined
him living in as it could be.

“It’s
beautiful,” I breathed as I looked up at the endless space above
me. “Would you mind if I had a look round?” I gave him a cheeky
grin.

“Would
you really like to?” Jack queried with a frown.

“Would
I? You’re asking the world’s nosiest teacher that question?” I
grinned at him delightedly. “Second choice career was estate agent.
I love looking around other people’s homes!”

“I’m
not sure how much of a home I’ve made this, as you’ll see.”
Jack murmured. “We’ll start in here.”

I followed him into a
room which must have run the entire length of the back of the house.

“Sitting
room,” Jack said unnecessarily. “What furniture is here is mine,”
he shrugged. “Although I haven’t got much, just the essentials.”

He wasn’t lying. The
only furniture in the vast space was a couple of deep red,
comfortable looking sofas and some shelving holding a state of the
art sound system and hundreds of CDs. That and a flat screen TV was
it. I clattered over the oak flooring to the CDs; they always told
you such a lot about people. I glanced quickly at Jack who remained
near the doorway, as if longing to escape. He had that closed down
neutral expression on his face again and his body language was giving
out a clear defensive message. He stood with his arms folded and his
lips thinned. I ran my finger along the shelves. I smiled, as I’d
anticipated they were in strict alphabetical order. My smile widened
as I remembered the heap of CDs piled near my bed at home.

“At
least you can find what you want easily,” he said reading my mind.
It was starting to become an alarming habit of his.

“Of
course, very sensible,” I replied over my shoulder absorbed in his
choice of music. It was an eclectic mix. Classical rubbed shoulders
with Keane, an alarming amount of David Bowie, the inevitable Norah
Jones and I couldn’t believe it! I whirled around holding aloft
evidence that my oh so correct and severe headmaster wasn’t always
what he seemed.

“The
Very Best of Bananarama!” I cried. “You dark horse!”

He had
the grace to smile and looked down at his feet. He shrugged. “My
misspent youth. What can I say?” Then he looked up at me suddenly
in that breathtaking way he sometimes had, his blue-green eyes
sparkling. “So what’s the most embarrassing thing in Nicola
Hathaway’s
collection?”

“Does
‘Black Lace – the Party Album’ count?” I giggled. “My
brother bought it as a joke!”

“And
they had enough to fill an entire CD?” he laughed back.

“Some
disco remixes padded it out.” I said absent-mindedly.

Jack winced, as well he
might. “Want to see upstairs?”

I
looked at him and nodded eagerly.
Then my eyes were caught by the large opera collection. Someone with
that amount of Puccini must have hidden passions. Thoughtfully I
followed him up the oak staircase, running my fingers along the
smooth, hand carved banisters. We walked along a type of minstrels’
gallery over looking the main entrance hall.

He
gestured to a door at the end of one landing. “That leads to the
granny flat. It’s completely self-contained and gets rented out
occasionally, although no
one’s in it at the moment. I’ll show it to you later.”

As I followed him along
the endless landing I couldn’t resist sneaking a look around one
door which led into an enormous bathroom, all white tiles and chrome
fittings. It shone blindingly clean. Either he had an incredibly
conscientious cleaner or he didn’t wash.

“There
are five bedrooms,” he glanced at me and I could swear he was
blushing. “I’m more of a shower person. I don’t have time for
long baths.” He cleared his throat slightly. “I don’t use the
main bathroom, I prefer the wet room as it’s next to the master
bedroom.”

I had
a sudden vision of him naked, with water streaming down his
well-muscled body. I gulped and to rid my mind of this disturbing
image spoke without thinking. “Well of course, who wouldn’t?” I
tried
to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and was unsuccessful. And then I
stopped dead because the room he had led me into simply took my
breath away.

“This
is Jenny’s showcase. All her own work.”

It was
a stunning bedroom. Floor to ceiling windows opened out onto a
balcony and then to the great stretch of countryside beyond the rear
of the house. Billowing voile curtains, in the lightest shade of
green draped artfully over them, providing some privacy. The room was
painted in a paler shade of cream compared to the rest of the house
and one wall behind the bed was shaded in a soft olive green. The bed
itself, and I found myself swallowing suddenly for some reason, was
dressed in the same soft green tones. Silk and velvet covered
cushions were piled up in a heap on the enormous cast iron bed frame.
It was a haven of peace and tranquillity. I imagined myself coming
back here, after a long difficult day and sinking onto the bed and
…

“So
what do you think?” Jack had walked over to the windows but his
face was in shadow, so I couldn’t read his expression.

I tried to put some words
together and babbled nonsensically as was my habit when nervous.
“It’s so beautiful, I can’t believe they can’t sell it.
There’s so much space. It’s so light and airy. Did your sister do
all the interior decorating herself? She’s so talented.” I
stopped then for breath and sensed his smile.

“Come
on, I’ll show you the rest of the place and the real reason I’ve
dragged you out here. And then I suppose I ought to feed you. I
remember promising you some lunch!”

As we ate in the beech
wood and stainless steel kitchen I thought over what Jack had
outlined as the solution to my housing crisis. To my relief he hadn’t
suggested that I move in to share the house but had offered me the
use of the granny flat. He’d shown it to me last, taking me through
the door which led from the main part of the house to the flat
beyond. It was small, with just a bedroom, bathroom, and a sitting
room with one wall fitted out as a kitchen but it had the same
stunning views as the bedroom Jack had shown me and was completely
self-contained.

“You’ll
even have your own front door.” Jack was saying as he heaped smoked
salmon onto my plate. “Wine?”

I nodded my thanks and
accepted the cool glass of white wine he offered.

“The
flat has its own door off the steps you can see at the side of the
house. You won’t need to disturb me at all and you can have
complete privacy. We can bolt the door onto the landing if it makes
you feel happier.” He looked at me from under long dark lashes.
“It’s all above board, Nicky. If it would help, you could take it
on a temporary basis to see if it suited you.”