Chapter Fourteen

On Monday morning, she'd snuck into work with trepidation in her bones. Would Robbie still be mad at her, or would he apologise? Libby quietly opened the door, but he never looked up from his paper. Fine. It'd be easier to stop fancying him if he hated her.

But she didn't want him to hate her. She needed a friend, someone to talk to. Zoe had been bugger all use. Once Libby had recovered, Zoe found the whole episode hilarious, and Grace's just desserts for being a jealous cow-bag girl-friend.

'I see you played hard to get on Saturday,' he said, briefly looking up.

She stared at her feet, guilt burning her cheeks. How did he know?

'You're getting quite a reputation.'

'Oh, piss off. It's got nothing to do with you.'

His head jerked up, but Libby grabbed for the tack room key on her way out. In her rush, her fingers fumbled and the key clattered to the floor. She crouched down, fully aware Robbie was already on his feet.

'Libby-'

'What? Are you going to yell at me again for trying to help?' She faced up to him, her anger rising. 'I'm sorry if I interfered, but obviously something was wrong and after everything... I know you're my boss, but after everything that's happened recently, I thought it'd be okay to ask because I sort of thought we were friends. I'm sorry. It won't happen again.'

'Have you finished?' he snapped.

'No,' she said. 'If you ever speak to me like that again, I really will piss off and I won't come back.'

His face held no clue to his feelings, but as she turned to flee, he stopped her, gently grasping her wrist. She refused to face him, too scared she'd cry.

'Libby, wait,' he said. 'I'm sorry about Saturday. It's no excuse, but it was a really bad day.'

The room shifted as relief flooded over her. He didn’t hate her. Oh thank god. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the warmth of his body behind her, the citrusy bergamot in his aftershave, but she glanced down at the hand holding her wrist.

Those fingers… those were the fingers she’d seen slipping inside her, the fingers that had brought her to the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. They were fake memories, but she swayed backwards, his shirt touching her back. Had she imagined it, was it another hallucination, or had his thumb really brushed her arm?

'Please don't piss off,' he said, his mouth so close his breath tickled her ear.

Was she still hallucinating? Surely this couldn't be happening. She turned to him, frowning from under her fringe. His face was six inches from hers and his eyes gazed down. She had to be dreaming. With her heart thumping, Libby tipped her head up. Four inches of air stood between them and a kiss. Why wasn't he backing off? The gap shrank. Three inches.

'I should never have given you the job,' he murmured.

Unable to stop herself, Libby kissed him. Or had he kissed her? She didn't know, but when her lips met his, frozen for a second, it was definitely his hand holding her face. Slowly, their lips moved and as the kiss grew, she clutched his shirt, hoping to stay upright.

'Stop it!' yelled a girl's voice.

Oh god, no. Libby pinned herself back against the kitchen units, getting as far from Robbie as possible. He'd stepped away, staring wide-eyed towards the living room where his two daughters were grappling with a pink fairy wand.

'Dora, get off it's mine.'

Libby sagged with relief. They hadn't been caught, but now what? Robbie turned and slowly, the movement almost imperceptible, he shook his head.

'Daddy, Dora won't give my wand back.'

Libby fled.

The cool feed room did little to calm her burning cheeks. What had she done? She'd kissed a married man and he'd kissed her back. Storm kicked at her door, the other horses fidgeting, eager for their breakfast, but after Libby tipped a bag of Pasture Mix into the bin, she stood, hugging the empty bag, reliving the kiss. His lips against hers. His fingers in her hair. His head shaking.

He'd said no.

She fought mortification and tears as she tried to complete the usually simple task of scooping nuts into buckets. Oh god, what if he fired her? He couldn't, could he? He'd kissed her too. She had to stop fancying him. What she needed was a distraction from her distraction - she needed her true love. She'd have to do the Summoning Spell again.

A shadow fell over the room and she closed her eyes, praying he'd go away.

'Lib?'

With a little shake of her head, she pulled herself together and faced him as she faced everything in life - with her head held high. Robbie fiddled with his car keys, glancing at the floor more than her.

'It's fine, a mistake, I know.' She forced a quick smile. 'Sorry.'

'The girls-'

'Let's forget about it.'

He nodded, a huge frown marring his perfect face. 'If that's... I'd better go.'

At least he hadn't fired her.

That evening, under the powerful energy of the full moon, Libby sat on the lawn with her candle, flower petals and a new piece of chintz wallpaper. This time she wrote: Good looks, 25-35, nice eyes but not brown, English, honest, decent morals, single, good with animals. Then, in a final flourish, she scrawled, I want my Somebody.

For two days, she avoided Robbie. Each evening she'd hover outside, waiting until the girls needed him in another room, then quickly and quietly, she'd hang up the key and leave the list on the worktop. The following morning, a new list would replace the previous one, but he wasn't in his usual place at the kitchen table, reading the paper.

Robbie was avoiding her and each day, Libby's misery grew. She missed him. She missed talking to him. She wanted to tell him about Dolomite clearing four feet, but how could she face him? For two nights, despite working Dolomite and Storm until the horses were more tired than she was, she'd barely slept, her brain and body reliving that kiss. She had to stay away from him.

On day three, with the mucking out finished, she sat down nursing a mug of tea and took the time to light a cigarette before she took out his list. She read his words, stared at his neat handwriting and wished he were with her, kissing her again. Then she read the last item.

Talk to me.

Talk to him. Why, what would he say? Olivia Wilde, you're fired? Or the opposite. She banished the idea. He'd shaken his head. He didn't want her. God, she wanted him, but he'd said, no. The latest grounding exercise hadn't eased her obsession. All she could do was focus on the routine and turn up the radio to block out inappropriate thoughts.

Lethargically, she dropped the first net of hay into a tub of water, soaking it for Smokey's ancient teeth, but the blaring dance track from the iPod stopped. Libby froze, her heart rate tripling. Tallulah had gone to Kendal shopping with Chloe. No one, but her or Robbie would turn it off. What if he were coming to fire her? Well, to hell with going out there. He could come and find her. Cromwell, who never left her side, lay outside the door, stretched out in the midday sun, giving away her location.

Footsteps approached but Libby concentrated on stuffing the next hay net, not looking up as Robbie came in and perched on the hay bales.

'Don't you have a restaurant to run?' she said, sounding terser than she'd intended.

'It's quiet. Laurel can manage.'

Libby pulled the net strings closed and braved facing him. Sat on the hay, in his pristine white shirt and dark grey trousers, he looked like a model in a high end, arty photo shoot.

'Lib-'

'Can't we just forget it?' Please, don't fire me.

'No,' he said, fiddling with a piece of hay, 'because I haven't thought about anything else for three days.'

And just as he did most mornings, he looked her over, but this time she didn't breathe the whole time. It wasn't a mistake. He wasn't going to fire her. He wanted more and the arrogant twinkle in his eyes suggested he wanted more now. Crikey, that was the look Clara had told her about - the look that said he'd bend her over whether she liked it or not. Libby's body pulsed. He could; she would.

No. He couldn't; she wouldn't.

'You're married. It's wrong.'

The arrogant twinkle vanished and he closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders sagging. 'Fuck, I'm sorry, Libby.'

Sorry for what? Wanting a roll in the hay, or not wanting one anymore?

'What's going on?' she asked.

'It turns out I wasn't paranoid. She finally admitted she's shagging that French wanker.'

Her heart broke to see Robbie's face filled with desolation. 'Did she apologise and beg for forgiveness?'

'Not quite. She wants some time to work out what she wants.'

'A sabbatical?'

He nodded, rolling his wedding band around with his thumb. 'On Sunday... I agreed. I said she could have her free pass.'

'Oh.' What else could she say? She couldn't tell him it'd be okay, that Vanessa would change her mind because she had no idea what his wife might be thinking, but Libby hated to see him so dejected, his ego so battered. 'And do you get one too?'

His hands picked at a piece of hay. 'Why do you think I said yes?'

And he looked at her, his eyes glinting.

'What, are you expecting a quick roll in the hay?' She sounded flippant, but the suggestion of shagging him made her cheeks redden. 'Not my style, I'm afraid.'

'Oh, now you play hard to get.'

'Ha, ha.'

She tried opening the next hay net, but her fingers wouldn't work. Swearing, she threw it to the ground and studied him, her hands on her hips, fingers tapping. Did he really think he could just turn up and shag her? What else could she expect? They could hardly go out on a date. There'd be no relationship, just sex, something to boost his ego, something to distract her. Did she really want that? She did. She'd take any scrap of him that she could and she'd be stupid to tell herself she wouldn't.

'I know you're in a bad place,' she said, 'but I don't want to be the one responsible for wrecking your marriage. Free pass or no free pass.'

'It's wrecked already.' He leaned forwards, frowning at her. 'She said she wants someone to talk to about the thing she loves. Music. He can do that. I can't.'

'But-'

'The thing is, Lib. I get it. I know what she means because...' Robbie took a deep breath. 'Every morning, Dora screams for her. I want Mummy. I hate you, Daddy. The amount of times I've almost rung Vanessa, to tell her to come home. Dora misses her so much, but I don't ring her, because if I did... there'd be no more wine at five o'clock with you. And I don't want to give that up because it's the highlight of my fucking day.'

Libby crossed the gap between them in two strides and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Desperate to make him better, for him to make her better, she kissed him, hoping to show him he was wanted by somebody. Wanted? She needed him.

With their bodies pressed together, they kissed, but it bore no resemblance to what had happened in the kitchen. They tumbled backwards onto the hay, his hands holding her face as his tongue tormented her mouth. Libby raked her fingers through his hair, loving how his head yielded to her. This time she really was going to have sex with Robbie Golding and he really did like her as much as she liked him.

'I can't believe we're doing this now,' she whispered, her mouth hovering over his ear. 'I smell like a horse.'

'It's very, very sexy.' He looked her over, smiling as he slowly pushed up her t-shirt.

'But you'll get dirty... I mean...'

'If you're trying to talk me out of it, you're doing a dreadful job.'

Grinning, he slipped her t-shirt up her arms, but used the material to bind her wrists together. Held captive, she squirmed helplessly as his fingers trailed slowly down her arm and along the edge of her bra, his touch sending shivers shooting through her.

'Oh god, this is so wrong,' she mumbled.

'But inevitable.'

He released her hands and Libby took over, kneeling astride him to teasingly drop kisses down his neck as her shaky fingers unfastened his shirt. The last button opened and she pushed aside the cotton fabric, gaining full access to the torso she'd coveted for so long - the real thing and not some hallucination. Crikey, he was fit.

She glanced up, expecting to see his arrogant smile, but instead he stared, wide-eyed at the ancient beams. Oh god, was he having second thoughts? Gently, she placed a nervous hand on his chest. 'Are you sure you want to do this?'

Quietly, he sat up and tipped his head to the side, taking slow, steadying breaths.

'The problem is, Lib...' He tugged the band from the end of her plait and shook out her hair. 'I've wanted to do this since the day you walked into the Mill.'

They lay on a stable rug, naked, and Libby held him in her arms. They'd had sex. Crikey, they'd had good sex, but his silence for the last five minutes unnerved her. While she scattered kisses along his shoulder, up his neck, he merely stared into space. Was he regretting his revenge shag?

'Are you okay?' she asked quietly.

He nodded.

'Working out how you can run away?'

He shook his head and tipped his head back, kissing her slowly, gazing at her with blatant affection.

'Can I ask a question?' Reassured, Libby rested her head on his shoulder. 'Is Dora why are you're always so grumpy in the morning?'

'Not the time.'

'You can talk about her, Vanessa, I mean, if you want to.'

'Not the time, even if I wanted to.'

'Okay, question two. On a scale of one to burn in hell, how guilty do you feel?'

'About one.'

Even sat behind him, she could see him staring resolutely ahead, but his thumb fiddled with his wedding band. Maybe if she told him the truth, he'd tell her the truth. Wriggling from under him, she pulled on his shirt, fastening a couple of buttons.

'What are you doing?' he asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

A few feet from him, she perched on the balls of her feet for a moment before resting in first position. 'There are two things you should know about me, things that aren't on my CV. Well, they certainly aren't on the CV I gave you.'

She held out her arms and performed five passable fouettes before coming to a halt in an arabesque - hardly her best, but good enough for him.

'I try not to tell lies in person, only on my CV. You're right, St Mary Magdalene's School doesn't really exist. I really went to the Royal Ballet School. I was a professional dancer for five years, but for medical reasons, I had to retire. I'm very rusty, but believe me now?'

Robbie nodded, amusement and bemusement filling his face as she dipped forwards, raising her back leg until her face was level with his.

'Secondly, my father taught me to play poker when I was seven. I can spot a tell a mile away and I'd say you are feeling guilty. You're the worst liar. It's really very reassuring.'

His face said enough, but the eyes flashing to her left gave him away. 'Maybe a five then.'

'I'd rate my guilt at a nine.' Slowly, she lowered her leg, and let him pull her towards him. 'Look, can we be realistic? You need the ego boost and I need the distraction, but despite all the who has what in common talk, you love your wife and you want her back.'

He went to argue back, but Libby held a finger over his lips.

'She'll be back,' Libby said, quietly.

'What makes you say that?'

'Well, she's married to you. You're easy on the eye, occasionally bloody good fun and the rest of the time you're a massively grumpy, pain in the arse. What's not to love? Oh hang on, now we can add a good shag to the list.'

He fought a smile. 'You're one hell of an ego boost.'

'You're welcome.'

'Sorry for dragging you into this.'

'It's okay, but I hope you don't think you can rock up every day and expect a roll in the clichéd, not to mention itchy, hay.'

'Hey, I didn't rock up expecting a roll in the hay, cliched or otherwise.'

'Oh, really? You were rather well prepared for someone not expecting any rolling.'

'Boy scout. Always prepared.'

'Scouts and Pony Club? Liar.'

'How do you do that?'

'If I told you, then you'd stop doing it-'

'Doing what?'

'And then I wouldn't know if you were lying.'

'Thought I'd better be prepared. Knowing how hard to get you like to play.'

Laughing, she tried to hit him, but he flipped her onto her back.

'You know,' she said, her cheeks heating up, 'I don't normally... I really am hard to get.'

'I know.' Slowly, he kissed her. 'A ballerina, hey?'

'Officially, I was a ballet dancer not a ballerina, that title's reserved for the best of the best.'

'You don't look much like a ballerina.'

'I've spent most of my life wearing baby pink with my hair scraped into a neat bun. When I want to, I can look perfectly angelic, but the rest of the time, I work hard to look like a tramp.'

They grinned at each other.

'But why keep it a secret? I'd started to think you'd spent the last ten years in prison for murdering your family. Where are they?'

'Australia. Rose Bay, Sydney if you need specifics.'

'And why the sketchy CV, the secrecy?'

She took several deep breaths. 'Last time I told anyone, I cried. It always makes me cry. It was my life. You can't begin to understand how... and then it was over. I need to obliterate the memories, move on, but if I put it on my CV, people ask about it. Do you really dance on the ends of your toes? Are you all anorexic? So I took it off my CV and stretched out the jobs.' She wiped at the tear trailing down her cheek. 'Look, I don't like talking about it, so can we leave it? And promise not to tell anyone?'

He nodded. 'What other secrets are you hiding, Lib?'

'Full disclosure? I've had eleven jobs in the last three years. Twelve if you include Sandra's.'

'Twelve? But-'

'Sandra's was the first I wasn't sacked from, hence the sketchy CV.'

'You were sacked from eleven jobs?' He raised his eyebrows.

'Afraid so.'

'I think I'd prefer you to be a reformed serial killer. Sacked for what?'

'Mostly being too honest. My last job as the wedding planner's assistant wasn't bad. I was ace at planning parties. I have thought about setting up business here.'

'Really? It's Matilda's birthday in a few weeks. Fancy organising a party for me?'

Her eyes widened. 'What's the budget?'

'It's for Tilly. There isn't one.'

'You're such a pushover. Face paints and a bouncy castle, or is competitive parenting at large round here?'

'I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks, just make sure it's amazing so it...' He rested his forehead against hers. 'So it makes up for her mother not being here.'

Libby kissed him. 'You know we have something in common other than horses. Neither of us can stand listening to classical bloody music anymore.'

The week before, he'd thrown the radio out of the house when a Tchaikovsky piece Vanessa used to play came on.

'Had you been crying on Saturday?' he asked, quietly. 'Was that why?'

She nodded, taking a moment to build her courage. 'How did you know about... me not playing hard to get?'

'It's on the blog.'

'The blog?'

He took out his phone, opening a website called, Haverton Eye. Under a heading of Saturday Night, Sunday Morning, were photos of several couples in amorous embraces, and a list of who got up to what and with who. Her and Jack were listed at the top. Oh god.

'Basically, they put online what the Gazette daren't print. They email it every Monday morning.'

Local gossip. She was local gossip. She went on a date with the village policeman and the half the county got to hear about it. She has a one-off sex with the local joiner and feasibly her mother could hear about it in Australia. Libby, dumbstruck, simply stared at Robbie, hoping for... she had no idea what.

'What happened with Jack?' he asked quietly.

She turned her head, avoiding facing him as she explained what had happened after he'd snapped at her on Saturday afternoon. Poisoned, hallucinating, dealing with Grace's help and hatred, but she glossed over Jack's more ducious actions.

'I'm so sorry, Lib. If I hadn't yelled at you...'

'It's not your fault.' She smiled up at him, stroking his hair. 'I really am making a shambles of my life here. It's seems I am trying to find the most inappropriate blokes possible.'

'At least I'm trustworthy.'

'I'd better get dressed and do some work. I have this grumpy arse boss who might sack me if I don't finish his list.'

He gave the expected laugh, but as she nudged him up, trying to escape, he rolled over, pulling her with him. 'Your grumpy arse boss says the list can wait.'

As he unbuttoned the shirt and his lips trailed towards an already pebble-like nipple, she relaxed. Mr Golding was the best distraction in the world.

Libby perched on Zoe's bed. 'I need to talk to you.'

Zoe glanced at her through the mirror, but continued applying her eye shadow.

'I had...' Her cheeks burned, as she mimed locking her lips. Zoe nodded. 'I... shagged Robbie this afternoon.'

Zoe abandoned her make-up. 'What the hell... how?'

'We sort of kissed last Wednesday, but nothing-'

'And you didn't tell me because...'

'Because it's wrong and I wasn't exactly proud of it.'

'So what happened?'

Libby explained, flopping down on Zoe's bed, burying her head in the duvet. 'And we've literally spent three hours shagging this afternoon. Until he had to pick up the girls.'

'What's going to happen now?'

'God knows, but he kissed me goodbye, said he'd see me tomorrow. What have I done?'

'Shagged someone. Get over it.'

'But it's wrong. He's married.'

Zoe sighed. 'Lib, so is Greg.'

Libby sat up. 'What? When did you find out?'

'I've always known. The wedding ring kind of gives it away and the photos of his wife and son on his desk.'

'Zoe!'

'Don't you dare judge me.' Zoe wagged her blusher brush at Libby. 'This is why I didn't tell you, because you'd get all moral on my arse. But look at you. You're shagging a married man, and he's got three kids.'

Libby stared at her. 'How did we end up like this? We vowed never to steal another girl's man.'

'Oh for Christ's sake, we were idealistic fifteen year-olds. I've had eleven years of realism to beat that one out of me.' Zoe turned back to her mirror. 'So how's his fuck-me rating now?'

'What do you think? Fuck me now and keep going forever more.'

'Forever?'

Libby picked at her nail polish. 'No. Not forever. For now. I... think he needs me. He's devastated over Vanessa cheating.'

'So you're doing a good deed?' Zoe laughed. 'And that's it? Whatever. You shagged him because you fancy the pants off him. You know what's going to happen, don't you? You're going fall for him. Hard. He's your new love.'

Libby shook her head. 'No. It's not him.'

Zoe simply raised her eyebrows.

*

The full moon hung in a starry sky, but the temperature remained in the twenties. Patrick sat on the balcony, his bare feet on the table, appreciating the breeze.

He'd had a great day off, biking in the Sierra Bermeja mountains, but it left him with a niggle he couldn't shake. For six weeks he'd immersed himself in Sam's ex-pat, Costa del Sol lifestyle - working at the practice in Estepona, hiking, biking, helping with the renovations on the villa, but now? Even the scent of the roses reminded him of his mother's garden.

'The wind's changed.' Sam, his brother, handed him a beer as he sat down. 'It's coming from the North.'

From home. 'It's better, cooler.'

'You seem restless.'

Patrick stared at the mountains. Like him, they were brown from the incessant sunshine and lack of rain. 'It's time to go back.'