Love Falls (22 page)

‘Yes.' Isabelle gathered up her things. ‘I had better  . . .'

‘Yes.' Caroline held the door for her. ‘And do give Hugh my regards, I expect he'll be wondering where you are.' She smiled at her coolly.

The doctor had suggested Lambert keep his foot raised for several weeks and then to be as careful as possible not to knock it. ‘A toe will never really heal,' Caroline had translated. ‘If you nudge it against anything it can just break again.'

‘The Italians.' Lambert had dismissed this. ‘They always were a melodramatic lot. Several weeks.' He shook his head. ‘I'll be better by tomorrow.'

 

 

They ate supper in the sitting room with napkins on their knees while Ginny rushed in and out checking all was well.

‘There's someone outside,' she said as she came in, a bowl of berries on a tray, and a jug of hot white chocolate sauce. ‘No one's knocked, but I can see a shadow . . . hovering.'

Just then Kip put his head round the door. ‘I just wanted to say . . . I hope Mr Gold is feeling better.'

‘Thank you.' Lambert looked at him. ‘That's very kind.'

‘Will you have a drink?' Caroline offered, and so Kip sat down with them, and they all watched him, his wide mouth and deep-blue eyes, his self-consciousness and confidence and odd, unlikely ease. He stayed and had another drink, and then another while Lambert eyed him as if he were an animal, examining him with such scrutiny that Lara could watch him too without being observed.

And then Caroline yawned. ‘How will you get back?' she asked, and Kip, well trained, stood up.

‘I'll walk. It's fine. The only thing is . . .' He looked directly at Lara. ‘Lara promised to come up and stay at Ceccomoro tonight. It's been arranged.'

Lara was so taken aback she could hardly breathe.

‘Well.' Caroline smiled to show that nothing Kip wanted would ever be refused. ‘Lara. You'd better go up and get your things.'

Lara looked at her father. ‘I'm not sure . . .' But her heart was thumping and nothing could have made her stay. She would have leapt from a window if she'd had to, or slid like Rapunzel down a rope of her own hair.

Lambert put his head on one side. ‘If it's been arranged.'

Lara took her nightdress from under her pillow, her toothbrush, hairbrush and a change of clothes and, even though she knew it would not be opened, her book. She pushed them into a bag and ran back down.

‘She'll be back tomorrow,' Kip promised, and they stood at the door, innocent as two potholers on a hike.

‘Bye then.' Lara ran back to her father and leaning down over him she pressed her lips against his cheek. Are you sure, she asked him with her eyes, and she could have sworn that he said yes.

 

 

As soon as they were outside Kip began to laugh dementedly. ‘I didn't think I could do it!' and reaching for her hand he ran with her along the road. ‘ “Well.” ' He mimicked Caroline's clipped voice. ‘ “You'd better go up and get your things,” ' and Lara had the horrible sensation that the whole thing had been a dare.

Once they were inside the sexy wood Kip pressed her to him. ‘I missed you today,' and she realised that today, for the first time since they'd met, she hadn't thought of him.

‘I missed you too,' she said, because she wished she had, and she leant back against what had already become their tree and gave in to their kissing.

They were getting good at it. Their mouths were unafraid, their tongues singing. They kissed until their kiss was the entire world. But Kip's hands were urgent too. They ran over her body, cupping her breasts, fumbling and unfastening her clothes. She could feel his belt buckle somehow come loose, the heat of the metal digging into her side.

‘We haven't got . . . I haven't . . .' She tried to stall him, but he was pressing so hard against her, his face pushed into her neck. ‘It's not safe,' she said.

He stopped and looked at her. ‘Even if we had a baby,' he said, ‘I wouldn't mind.'

Lara felt herself reeling. I don't believe you. She knew it was a lie, but all the same it was thrilling. If they had a baby she would be linked to him for ever. To him and all this too. Ceccomoro, the rose gardens and statues, and to some huge cold house somewhere in Yorkshire, with its estate, its cattle grids and farms.

‘It's all right.' He was tugging at her underwear, pushing the cotton of her knickers over to one side.

She stood on tiptoe, helping him, flattening her back, drawing up one leg. They were breathing hard, frowning in concentration. We'll never do it. Her legs were trembling. But just then, as if it was meant to be, he was inside her. Lara opened her eyes, and for a moment they stood quite still and looked at each other. They'd done it, and they stayed like that, moving gently, their mouths a little open, weaving snake patterns up against the tree.

‘Are you ready?' he breathed, and not knowing what he meant, she nodded just as he began to thrust against her so hard and furiously that she lost all sense of him, and of herself, could only feel his heat and desperation while she clung to him, following the thin thread of her desire, like coloured silk, until she felt him grow inside her, swell, and with one great shudder he was still.

Lara smoothed down her dress and was amazed to remember she still had her knickers half on. Kip turned away and buckled up his belt, buttoning his flies, leaving his shirt loose. That was the second time, it occurred to Lara, and she still hadn't seen a real-life penis. Would she ever see one, or would she go through her whole life with her eyes closed tight?

‘Are you all right?' Kip looked carefree and a little embarrassed.

‘Yes,' she said, but there was a sticky wetness coating each thigh that stung when she walked. ‘Do you have . . .?' She was going to ask for a tissue, and then she remembered her overnight bag.

‘Are you always so well prepared?' he asked her, and she picked up a handful of dry leaves and threw them at him.

They walked on, hand in hand. It was very dark and every rustle, now they weren't so distracted, reminded them there were wild boar living in these woods.

‘What is that?' She stopped. She could hear the gypsy music high in the hills above them. ‘Listen.' She tugged at his hand.

‘It's the communists.' The music floated down to them in bursts. ‘They must be celebrating something. Another kidnap maybe.' He squeezed her hand.

‘But do they really kidnap people?'

‘Sure.' Kip sounded nonchalant. ‘Only a few years ago they got the former Prime Minister, Aldo Moro, held him for fifty-five days and then murdered him. He was found in the boot of a car.'

‘Really?' Every nerve in Lara's body jangled. It won't last, she thought, it can't last, but even so her heart soared.

‘Actually,' Kip went on, ‘they might have found him before. They had a tip-off about his whereabouts, it came from someone in the government, but guess where they said it actually came from?'

Lara opened her eyes wide to show she had no idea.

‘A Ouija board!' he whispered, and they both began to run.

 

 

There were people still sitting outside at the long table when they arrived at Ceccomoro, lit up by candles and lamps, lounging on benches and chairs. Andrew, Antonia, Roland, and as they drew closer Lara made out the half-slumped figure of Hugh and, as far away as it was possible to get from him, Isabelle petting a small dog.

No one saw them approach, and Lara hoped they might slip by, but as they neared the table Roland snapped round and caught them. ‘Come and have a drink.' He reached out and grabbed her hand, and so, followed by Kip, she slid on to the cool slats of a wooden chair and accepted a tumbler of wine.

‘The kind of woman I find most attractive, and I'm not proud to admit this . . .' Andrew Willoughby was holding forth. ‘Is the kind of woman that is most likely to make my friends jealous. Someone really, very obviously, good-looking. Really stunning. Like Pamela, obviously.' He looked around and noticed that, if she'd ever been there, she was gone. ‘Hmm.' He seemed dumbfounded as if he'd wasted a compliment on thin air. ‘A little firecracker.' He was staring down the table at Isabelle now, who, with her plain hair and rough hands, glanced up, aloof.

‘It's the subtle ones I like.' Roland stretched his arm around Lara and squeezed her right breast.

Her hiss of protest was drowned out by Hugh. ‘Rubbish.' He was having trouble focusing. ‘There's nothing subtle about Tabitha. She's the most beautiful of all the beautiful girls I know.'

‘I wasn't thinking of her,' Roland said, but Andrew bowed his head as if the compliment was his. ‘Thank you. She is lovely. It's true.'

Kip stayed quiet.

‘I'll tell you the kind of person I find really attractive.' Antonia took a slug of wine. ‘The ones that no one else fancies, that only I have discovered.'

‘The old dogs,' Roland said and Antonia pouted. ‘Mmmm, yes please.'

‘But you never introduce me to these dogs. Hmm. Why is that?' Andrew demanded.

Antonia turned away.

Lara wished the evening would end. She wanted to sleep. With or without Kip. To lie flat in cool sheets and end this day. She slipped her hand along the bench and pressed it against Kip. He moved his body very slightly to acknowledge her, but he didn't look round.

‘The thing is . . .' Hugh said, his words slurring, his eyes droopy as a dog, ‘so much beauty is in the eye of the beholder and so much of the zebolder . . .' He was tangling himself up now. ‘Confidence!' He tried to rescue his theory. ‘That's what gets us through.' Defeated, he laid his head on the table, and although everyone laughed he left it there and soon his snoring testified to the fact he was asleep.

The conversation went on without him. Roland and Antonia sparring across the table, while Andrew crept through the shadowy dark towards Isabelle, bending down beside her to nuzzle the dog.

‘You can't drive back.' His voice was low. ‘It's unthinkable.'

Lara stood up. She took Kip's arm. ‘Where shall I sleep?'

‘I'll show you,' and they walked round the side of the house, past the swimming pool, around the edge of the garden, past an overhanging roof from which a hammock was strung, and up a flight of stone steps. Kip pushed open a heavy wooden door, led her across a tiled hall, up another staircase, a wooden one, where finally he opened a door into a small, plain whitewashed room. There was a bed with a bleached-white cotton cover and one window, the shutters thrown open, a view on to the starry night.

‘You can sleep in here,' he said, and hearing steps below them he kissed her quickly on the mouth. ‘I'll be back later. The bathroom's along the hall.' She heard him clatter, whistling, down the stairs.

Lara pulled on her nightdress, and wandered out into the corridor. There were several doors. She tried one, and found another bedroom, empty, and then another with nothing in it but a chest of books. The third door she tried she found the bathroom, a room so full of moonlight she didn't bother flicking on the switch. She filled her hands with water and pressed them against her face. She felt ashen with tiredness, parched and empty, but when she looked up into the mirror all she saw were the bright-brown freckles of her tan. She brushed her teeth, rinsed and spat, and was just turning when she heard a voice. She stopped, her hand on the door.

‘I think you're being absurd.' It was Isabelle, and she was laughing.

Whoever was with her was not charmed. ‘I'm never wrong. Don't take me for a fool,' the man said.

‘Andrew. I wouldn't. I don't.'

With one toe Lara pushed the door closed.

‘You were with him. You were with him that time in London, and last week when I called.'

‘No.' Lara could almost feel Isabelle shaking her head through the wall.

‘And I know why he's doing it,' Andrew persisted.

‘Why?'

‘So you admit it?'

‘No. I'm just curious, that's all.'

‘Are you saying you don't know?' Andrew Willoughby gave a dry laugh. ‘I spent bloody years. A decade of fruitless fucking. Getting nothing but girls. And then some cunt whisks in and suddenly my wife is giving birth to a son.'

‘You can't mean  . . .?'

‘Isn't it obvious?'

‘No.'

Lara looked down into the bath. There was a yellow stain where the water must have dripped, the enamel eaten away, green and brown in layers.

‘So.' Isabelle was wary. ‘Is that why you're after me? Revenge?'

‘Not at all.' She could hear the rasp of his breathing. ‘I'm after you because I can't resist you. Because you're gorgeous. Because your husband is asleep, and he will never know. And anyway.' His voice was sly. ‘You said you were never with him.'