Wild Oats (16 page)

‘How do you know?’

‘It’s… on loan. Let’s just leave it at that, OK?’

Jamie sat at the wheel, turning everything over in her mind. Why would anyone in their right mind want Tanya Deacon to be in charge of a valuable horse like that? And why was it being kept in the field that was farthest from the road, where no one was likely to clap eyes on it?

The penny dropped. She turned to look at Rod, who was staring ahead, frowning.

‘It’s an insurance job, isn’t it? Someone’s arranged to have it nicked, and you’re looking after it.’

His lack of response was sufficient answer.

‘That’s terrible! That’s absolutely terrible! You can’t let them do that –’

‘Look,’ said Rod. ‘I don’t criticize your family. So don’t criticize mine. OK?’

There was something in his tone that made her drop the subject immediately. But the incident had frightened her, unsettled her. Somebody somewhere had made a substantial claim on their insurance for a horse they’d declared stolen, knowing full well it was perfectly safe with the Deacons, who had no doubt received a generous payment for ‘stealing’ it. This made them out-and-out criminals. Rod, by doing nothing, clearly condoned this behaviour, even if he wasn’t directly involved. She was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, unable to help wondering what else he was happy to accept. It was in his blood, after all.

In the end, she decided to keep quiet and not mention it again, though she couldn’t help worrying if that made her as bad as they were. She’d toyed with the idea of phoning the police anonymously, but she was too frightened. She didn’t want anything to come between her and Rod. And she was sure he hadn’t had anything to do with it directly. He wasn’t like the rest of them. And she didn’t want to risk upsetting him, possibly losing him. Not when she’d finally found someone she wanted to spend time with; someone she thought about the minute she woke up, and fell asleep dreaming about. And who she was pretty sure felt the same way about her.

Thus they continued their sweet, rather old-fashioned courtship, enjoying innocent pastimes and days out that most people would have dismissed as dull, but they got their excitement from each other’s company, discovering as much about each other as they could.

And then finally, one day, when they’d taken a picnic to a tranquil secluded spot by a river, they made love. It seemed entirely natural, not the terrifying, traumatic occasion Jamie had always imagined it to be. They were lying side by side on a rug under an oak tree, dozing after having devoured thick ham sandwiches and crisps and a cloudy bottle of local cider, when he leaned over and looked deep into her eyes.

He said just one word. Her name. And she knew in that single word was a question, a request for
permission. And her reply was to reach her hand up behind his head and pull his lips to hers. She could taste the appley cider on him, rough yet sweet, just like his kisses, and she devoured the sensation eagerly. She was wearing a skimpy sundress, and as he pushed it up, caressing her thighs, she knew she had no intention of protesting, that she was going to let him go as far as he wanted, that she was totally happy to give herself up to whatever was to come. And as his firm, strong fingers began to explore her further, it was as if he’d unlocked a magic box. She pushed herself against his hand, which suddenly wasn’t enough, urging him on with a frenetic desperation. He tried to calm her, a little frightened by what he had unleashed.

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Please. Just do it. Please.’

He was incredibly tentative, and at first she felt nothing. Somehow, she’d expected pain, but there was none. Then gradually he began to move, and so did she, relaxing into his rhythm, shutting her eyes and letting herself go. Then a little tingle started right in the core of her belly, twisting round and round like a tiny tornado, elusive at first, seeming to tease her. As it grew stronger, and then stronger, she heard herself give a little whimper of pleasure, then felt Rod stop. She opened her eyes: he was looking at her in concern.

‘Are you OK?’ he whispered. She nodded, and as if to confirm it pulled him to her urgently, for fear
the magical sensation would vanish. It didn’t; on the contrary it spread, spilling through her insides like an upturned tin of golden syrup, seeping through her veins. Nothing else in the world mattered; she didn’t care if the whole of Shropshire was lined up to see her.

All too soon, it was over. Rod lay on top of her, and she could feel their hearts hammering in unison, their breath gradually subsiding. For a moment she felt bereft; terrified that had been the first and last time. It couldn’t possibly happen again. Not like that. It was…

Heaven.

The next day Jamie was walking on air. She had hardly slept, just gone over and over what had happened that afternoon. It had been beyond her wildest dreams and expectations. She wondered if it was like that every time, and if it was like that for everyone. And if it had been as fantastic and momentous for him – though she didn’t flatter herself that she’d been his first by any means. Not that she minded. She hugged his shirt to her, and every time she smelled him on it her insides turned over.

Eventually she dragged herself out of her bed and away from her daydreams, and went into Ludlow to run some errands. Rod was working, and they’d arranged to meet later that evening. She was in a frenzy of anticipation, longing to see him but somehow feeling shy as well. She didn’t want to seem too
cheap, too eager to have sex again, but the truth was she couldn’t think about anything else. She let herself imagine the day when they could be together for ever, when they could fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up the same. She knew somehow that their relationship had changed, that it had gone up a gear, and that they were going to have to make some serious decisions. She would have to reveal the truth to her parents. How desperately she had wanted to tell Louisa what had happened, and ask her if it was like that for everyone. And had it been with anyone else, she would have done. Her mother was very open and frank. But Jamie had kept quiet. If she and Rod were going to come clean about their relationship, they would have to do it together. There was going to be uproar from both sides, she was sure of it, and they would have to demonstrate their conviction for each other in order to heal the rift between the two families.

Neither of them was too sure what dark history there was between the Deacons and the Wildings. Being such close neighbours, life would have been much easier if they had at least agreed to co-operate with each other. But for as long as both Rod and Jamie could remember, the Wilding name was anathema to the Deacons, and vice versa. Perhaps it was just the good old English feudal system, the haves and the have-nots. Or some petty disagreement years ago that had grown out of all proportion.

Maybe, thought Jamie, allowing her imagination to run away with her, maybe a wedding would heal
the breach. Everyone loved a wedding, didn’t they?

She was drifting past the market square, indulging in what she knew was a ridiculous fantasy, but which involved Nutmeg dressed up and pulling a little flower-decked cart and Jamie in a shepherdess frock, her hair in ringlets, and the church bells ringing all over Upper and Lower Faviell while the villagers turned out to witness –

‘Hey – you’ve cost me good money, you have.’

A booted foot stretched out and blocked her path. It was Lee, the oldest and baddest of the Deacon brothers. He was the one that had actually done time, several times. His black hair was slicked back, his skin was pitted from teenage acne, his fingers were bedecked with huge silver rings: a skull, a dragon’s head, a serpent. His sideburns were pointed and reached nearly to the corners of his mouth. He was sitting at a table with his hand curled round a pint of rough cider that was, judging by his slurred words and glittering eyes, not his first.

‘Fifty quid. Fifty quid I couldn’t afford to lose.’

Jamie stopped short. ‘What do you mean?’

Lee leered at her, eyes fixed on her camisole top. Jamie crossed her arms firmly across her chest.

‘Rod. I bet him fifty quid he couldn’t get into your knickers.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Jamie knew she sounded stuck-up as soon as she said it. She should have just laughed, tossed her hair and walked off. Lee was baiting her.

‘Rod. I said to him, there’s no way a top-drawer bit of skirt like you would let a bit of rough like him get his leg over. Seems I was wrong.’

Lee leered again. Jamie was tempted to pick up his glass and throw it all over him, but that was probably the sort of uptight reaction he expected. He was gazing at her crotch now, so she moved her handbag to cover it, wishing she hadn’t cut her jeans off quite so short.

‘He says you’re a right little wildcat. Can’t get enough of it. I’m going to have to pay him out now.’

Lee threw back his head and laughed long and loud.

Jamie tilted her chin in the air primly.

‘I don’t believe you. I don’t believe he told you anything of the sort.’

‘Pink panties.’ Lee presented the proof matter-of-factly. ‘Tiny little pink panties that wouldn’t do you as a hankie, he said.’

Jamie felt sick. She had been wearing pink knickers; Marks & Spencers bikini briefs. Lee chortled at the expression on her face. He leaned forwards conspiratorially.

‘Easiest fifty quid he’s ever made. Just you make sure he buys you a drink out of it.’

Lee picked up his glass and took a long, satisfying pull as he watched the girl fly off in distress.

There hadn’t been any such wager, of course. In fact, Rod hadn’t told Lee anything about Jamie at all. It had been his somewhat furtive behaviour of late, his reluctance to join the rest of them down the pub
as usual, combined with his sudden preoccupation with his appearance that had alerted Lee to the fact that his little brother was up to no good, and that it involved a woman.

He hadn’t been spying on them as such. He just wanted to confirm his worst suspicions. Despite his brother’s attempt at secrecy, Lee soon realized Rod was besotted with the Wilding girl. He’d followed him on a couple of occasions, just to make sure his hunch was correct, and his heart had sunk when he’d seen the two of them mooning over each other like love’s young dream. And yesterday, he’d spied them by the river, using the powerful binoculars he had for keeping surveillance during a job. They’d given him a pretty clear view of his brother’s seduction of Jamie, and her obvious enjoyment had struck fear into his heart. Things had gone too far.

So when he’d seen her like that, tripping across the market square without a care in the world, smiling the smile of the recently satisfied, he couldn’t resist bursting her bubble. He was pretty confident that he’d put a spanner in the works. And even if he hadn’t, it had been worth it for the look on Jamie’s face. With any luck she’d send Rod packing with a flea in his ear. Lee wasn’t worried about dropping his brother in it. It was for his own good.

He knew Rod had no real understanding of why it didn’t do to get mixed up with people like Jamie Wilding. He’d always had a naive streak, had Rod. No doubt he fancied himself in love, and that the love
was reciprocated. Lee knew better. You’d always be a toy, ready to be dropped as soon as the novelty wore off. Though they always made out you were the best thing since sliced bread at the time. Lee had been a bit of rough for enough middle-class women over the years to know all their tricks. They bloody loved it when you gave them a good seeing-to; the rougher the better usually. But if you started to get too close, started to ask anything of them, they became nervous. Nervous then cool. Then would come the excuses.

Lee didn’t mind. He’d always got his revenge. Pleasuring these women in their own beds gave them a thrill, but also gave him a golden opportunity to case their houses. And when he did them over a few months later, they could never point the finger at him, not without incriminating themselves. Rough justice, maybe. But justice nevertheless.

Lee took another slug of cider. His brother might not realize it now, but he’d done him a favour in the long run. Cruel to be kind, thought Lee. Cruel to be kind.

Jamie hurried away as quickly as she could, Lee’s derisive laughter still ringing in her ears, hot tears of humiliation stinging her eyelids.

Had she really just been a wager between the two Deacon brothers? She could imagine them in the pub laughing, Lee ruefully and reluctantly counting out fifty quid in used tenners, with Rod telling everyone who wanted to listen about her sexual performance,
how pathetically grateful she’d been for his attentions, boasting about her prowess. It couldn’t be true, surely. But then – how had Lee known she was wearing pink knickers? That couldn’t have been a lucky guess.

What a total and utter bastard Rod had turned out to be. Well, she wasn’t going to humiliate herself by confronting him and giving them all another chance to laugh at her. Jamie cursed her own stupidity. She should have known better: her own mother had always denounced the Deacons as black-hearted vagabonds that weren’t to be trusted, and had warned Jamie away from them. How on earth had she managed to persuade herself Rod was any different from the rest? The stolen horse: surely that should have set off alarm bells? They were a feckless bunch of petty criminals, the whole lot of them. And she was a naive little fool.

She tried not to think about the moments of tenderness that had seemed so genuine. The way he traced his fingers gently over her face. The way he always seemed to know what she was thinking, what she wanted. How they agreed over so many things. And how utterly fantastic making love had been –

Only it wasn’t making love. Not for him. It was a conquest, a challenge, a dare – a feat he’d probably be boasting about for weeks. And no doubt he was only good at it because he’d had so much practice.

She walked straight out from the market square into the road, blinded by her tears. A mad tooting alerted her to the fact she’d stepped right in front of
a car. The driver was leaning out of the window, about to berate her for her stupidity.

‘Oh, fuck off!’ she snarled, in no mood for recriminations.