The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) (14 page)

Chapter Nine

Colin smiled as the old Vauxhall drew up to the
Braeport Country Club parking lot. The rusty car, at best second-hand, stood out among the polished Audis and Bentleys that graced the gravel car park, but the occupant seemed blissfully unaware of the incongruity as she stepped out with a wide smile in his direction.

Fiona
was looking as beautiful as ever and slightly better-dressed, wearing pale colours that matched her fair skin and hair.  Her eyes looked at once hopeful and a tad shy, giving her an endearing look that made Colin kiss her firmly on both cheeks as he greeted her warmly. The slight breeze blew a few strands of her pale hair across her face, escapees from the clip that held her hair back high on her head, and he tucked them back behind her ears fondly.

“
Welcome to the Dark Side,” he intoned in a theatrical voice. “It’s a slippery slope from your first game of golf to suppressing the masses.”

He grinned at her uncertain look. “And remember not to take things too seriously, or you’re going to have a bit of a frustrating day. If you can stay a bit open-minded about this, you’ll find golf a highly enjoyable game. There’s a reason people pay outrageous fees for this.”

“Yes, because it keeps away the likes of me,” she muttered dryly.

He found himself smiling again, despite her lack of joy at the prospect of her first golf lesson. He loved the fact that she was without pretenses and that she was so obviously under-awed by the opportunity to golf at the highly exclusive
Braemore Club.

He led her past the tall, thick hedge which bordered the car park, following a gravel path into the fresh green of the links. The poplars along the edges of the fairways were already turning yellow,
whispering and rustling in the breeze. He pointed out the club house perched on the slope above the links, its glassy façade reflecting the white autumn light like a jewel. She glanced at it with misgivings.

“Don’t worry, everybody will be eating inside with this breeze,” he assured her cheerily. “And the driving range is behind, out of sight. Nobody will be there to witness your
introduction to a sport that might turn out to be one of your passions.”

“Not bloody likely,” she replied. “But nobody will be within range of being hit by a stray golf ball, which is more to the point.”

“If you manage to hit one that hard, I’ll be impressed,” he said teasingly. “Now come along. I’ve selected a few drivers for you to start with, and out of respect for your various sensitivities, we haven’t got a caddy.”

She still looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter as they took their places in the dri
ving range. He handed her a three wood and placed a golf ball on a tee in front of her.

“The best thing to do is to take a few practise swings at nothing,” he advised. “Let me first show you how to grip the club, and what sort of motion you’re hoping for.”

He selected another driver from the golf bag leaning against the fence and demonstrated the proper stance, swing and follow-through. Fiona watched him dolefully before making an exaggerated imitation of his movements.

“Not bad,” he said brightly. “But please allow me to guide you through a few swings.
Preferably without knocking me out in the process.”

He came up to stand behind her, his legs straddling hers as his arms reached around her body, his hands lightly on top of hers on the grip of the golf club. His motivations were entirely sport-driven, but the position was far more intimate than he had noticed in previous lessons and he was suddenly very aware of the clean smell of her hair and the muscles in her arms as his chest brushed against h
er back.

He tried to focus on the lesson. He was unsure of what she thought of their last encounter
, which had ended so unexpectedly in passionate, if somewhat raw, love-making. He was not the type who normally gave into such wanton displays of passion outside of the bedroom, and even then he was never quite so overwhelmed and uninhibited as he had felt with Fiona. His relationships were generally with sophisticated women who expected a certain degree of comfort and he had decided that this was what made the difference. Now, however, feeling the heat of her body close to his, he realised that it was Fiona who had a stronger effect on him than the other women he knew, making him feel more reckless and hungry for contact.

Immediately he found himself drawing back slightly. The
Breamore Country Club was no place to end up rolling around in the bushes and he didn’t want Fiona to misinterpret his motives. For one thing, he genuinely wanted to share his passion for golf; for another, he was fairly sure that her serious mind would be analysing what had happened between them and what it meant, and he himself wasn’t sure of the response.

The truth was that he felt more for
Fiona than he had done for any of the other women he had dated. There had been a few for whom he felt a certain attachment and affection, but never enough to addle his thinking and actions the way that Fiona did. Quite apart from the strong desire that she aroused in him, he admired and respected her, was interested in her attitudes and what she had to say, and simply enjoyed her company enough to miss her when she wasn’t there.

For a sworn bachelor who tried not to become entangled in serious relationships, this was a dangerous start with
Fiona. She already had a strange hold over his emotions and while his fascination with her might be based on their differences, it still left him wanting more from her than he usually wanted from women. None of this was compatible with the start of a frivolous fling.

He tightened his grip over
Fiona’s hand and kept his tone light, bantering. “Don’t go reading something feudal and imperial in my leading you here,” he joked. “Just let me guide you through a swing or two until you get the feeling for the right motion.”

He could feel her hands becoming tense under his, whether in readiness to grip the handle more tightly or in response to his touch, he couldn’t tell. But he guided her shoulders gently as he pulled the club back and swun
g it slowly through an arc that ended over their left shoulders.

“Did that feel right?” he asked ambiguously, enjoying the feel of her body moving in coordination with his own. “We’ll run through it a few more times before you try on your own.”

After a few more swings he released her, stepping back reluctantly. “Now go ahead and try it,” he urged. “Think about your body position and keep an eye on the ball.”

Fiona
had said nothing throughout the proceedings, but now, when she lifted her head to look at him, he saw that she was looking flushed. He hoped that she had been feeling the same thing as him, but it was also possible that she found him distracting to her lesson. He sent her an encouraging smile.

With her first swing she missed the ball entirely, letting the club arc so far around in her follow-through that she came close to hitting herself in the back. Her second stroke chipped up a large chunk of turf, and on the third try the ball dribbled twenty metres down the green and petered to a halt.

She looked discouraged. “It isn’t as easy as it looks,” she said with a small frown.

He laughed out loud. “That’s the challenge and pleasure of it,” he told her
as he tried to stamp the tuft of grass back into place. “And you don’t seem to me the sort who backs away from a challenge or is afraid of working hard at things. Unless writing history just comes naturally to you.”

“It takes a bit less coordination,” she told him with a rueful smile, the first one she had shown since greeting him in the car park.

He took heart. He didn’t want any tensions or misunderstandings to mar their interactions, having enjoyed the very simple way that they had communicated up until now. But he was aware that the simple and frivolous approach to things seldom worked for very long once sex became part of the picture. Still, the fact that she had agreed to come out today must prove at the very least that she wasn’t angry at him.

So he tried to concentrate on the lesson. He had never before had any problem in pushing distractions aside and remaining focused on the game, but then his usual manner of dealing with things was to delegate problems and keep t
hings simple,  neither of which was really an option now. But he reverted to his usual flippancy and joviality to balance Fiona’s growing frustration as they continued to practise until he felt she was ready to try to play a few holes.

Her attitude towards his sport was certainly not love at first sight, but she was showing a certain dogged determination and slowly relaxing enough to laugh at some of his jokes. But when they walked over to the first fairway and saw a couple on the links ahead of them, he felt her become reticent again.

“Let’s just stick to the driving range a while longer and then call it quits,” she begged. “I don’t want to embarrass you out here, or myself, for that matter.”

“Nobody knows who you are out here,” he reminded her pragmatically, ignoring her request. “And I don’t really care what anybody thinks, so don’t worry about me. Now just remember what we’ve been working on and apply it here in these more scenic surroundings.”

By nature Colin was neither cruel nor vindictive, but he found it extremely hard not to laugh at Fiona’s increasingly fervent attempts to drive the ball down the green. Her playing was so dismal that it was hilarious, and a lesser man might have taken some satisfaction in seeing her in the role of novice for once, rather than playing the expert to his ignorance. But he wanted her to enjoy the game and tried his best to be encouraging and supportive with constructive advice when he couldn’t come up with anything to praise.

“This is hopeless,” she finally said when the ball dribbled pathetically from her clu
b yet again. “Can we just throw in the towel and accept that golf and I will never see eye to eye?”

“Never say die,” he said jovially. “It’s normal that it takes a while to learn a new sport or th
ere would be no interest in it.”

“It isn’t fun when there are people ahead who can see me,” she grumbled.

“It isn’t the people ahead that you have to worry about,” he told her with a grin. “We’ll never catch them. It’s the people who will start catching us up and wanting to pass.”

Within minutes his prediction came true. They heard distant voices coming nearer and stepped aside with a wave to allow the approaching group of golfers to play through. But as they drew closer, Colin was surprised to recognise the angular form of Aiken ambling along beside two women who he guessed to be Bridget and Emma.

He shot a guilty look at Fiona, having promised her not to let her humiliate herself in front of his friends. But Aiken hadn’t mentioned plans to play today, although he hadn’t spoken much to his friends since his parents’ arrival apart from one painful dinner where Aiken’s lack of employment had also come under scrutiny. Since then he had chosen to remain antisocial for the duration of their stay.

So he hailed the others heartily. “Aiken!  Bridge, Emma – I thought you had returned to London,
Em?”

Emma smiled mysteriously. “I decided to prolong an extra week,” she said airily.

Aiken sent Colin a helpless look but all that Colin could do was to send him a sympathetic smile before turning to Fiona, who was staring at the others with frank dismay.

“
Fiona, meet my friends Robert Aiken, Bridget Haskins and Emma Dancy. Everybody, this is Fiona Buchanan. I believe you’ve all seen Fiona at the history do at Mackenzie House.”

Fiona
seemed tongue-tied, her usual ability to speak her mind having obviously disappeared. Colin put his hand on her shoulder in a reassuring way and gave a gentle squeeze. While the others were discussing their golf scores before taking a break to converse properly, he leaned over and whispered in Fiona’s ear.

“Don’t mind what they think,” he advised her. “I don’t.”

“That’s because they adore you,” she whispered back, but her smile seemed grateful for the support and she squared her shoulders firmly to face the others.

Bridget and Emma
were looking Fiona up and down coldly. “Did we meet?” Bridget asked icily. “I don’t seem to recall it.”

“Well, not everyone has a sharp memory, I suppose,”
Fiona replied in the same cold, polite tones. “But I remember meeting you. You were worried about getting sick from the hors d’oevres for some reason. And then you seemed awfully anxious to whisk Colin away to talk urgently about dinner plans.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Bridget said icily. “I thought you were the waitress in that uniform you were wearing. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t recognise you now.”

Emma seemed keen to join the conversation. “I would have expected tartan plus fours from someone like you,” she chimed in with forced joviality. “You’re all keen about Aulde Lange Syne and all that, aren’t you?”

“I’m Scottish,”
Fiona replied stiffly. “We live here, actually.”

“And we spend a lot of our summers up here too,” Bridget shot back. “It isn’t as if we’re tourists.”

“Then maybe it’s time you met a few Scots,” Fiona suggested. She now seemed to have regained her customary self-confidence and defensive attitude toward the English.