kid,’ Victor replied, his voice a shade lighter. ‘When Nicky takes to somebody, the way he’s taken to you, he’s devoted. Nothing fair weather about him either.’
Francesca said, ‘I sensed that. Don’t you think it odd that he and Katharine are so antagonistic towards each other?’
‘That’s pretty smart of you, picking up on the undercurrents between those two. I didn’t realize anyone else had noticed their carefully-veiled dislike, and it is a bit puzzling, yes. On the other hand, you never know about people. We all bring out different things in each other, present different sides of ourselves.’ A short pause, another swift glance at her, and then, ‘You and Katharine seem to be closer than ever. Unusual really, for two such pretty girls to be inseparable. Women are generally very competitive, in my experience anyway. You two are the exception to the rule, I guess.’
Francesca nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, that’s true I think. And she is quite marvellous, and so good for Kim. If she is going to become my sister-in-law, I know I couldn’t ask for a better one.’
Victor was dumbfounded. ‘Are you trying to tell me those two are serious?’
She regarded him in surprise. ‘I thought you’d realized how involved they are. Yes, I think they’re very serious, although, to be honest, they haven’t confided in me.’
‘I’ll be damned,’ he muttered half to himself, and wondered how Katharine Tempest, rising star, intended to manage her career in Hollywood, where she was destined to go, and marriage with a member of the English aristocracy. A farmer no less, based in the wilds of Yorkshire, and one who was entirely involved with his heritage. Christ, he thought, she’ll have to do a lot of expert juggling. A smile touched his eyes. No one was more adept at that little trick than Katharine, as he had recently come to understand. Sweet and thoughtful though she was, there was a manipulative side to her character, and it was so deeply ingrained it was second nature. ‘And how does your father feel about having a movie star in the family?’ he asked. ‘That must really thrill him.’
Francesca picked up the edge of his sarcasm and gave him an odd look. ‘I haven’t discussed it with him lately, but he does like Katharine very much. Why wouldn’t he? In fact, I’d say he’s enchanted by her.’ Not wishing to become further embroiled in this conversation, she added, ‘There’s the gazebo Diana was telling you about at lunch.’ She pointed towards a small stone structure, just visible on the crest of the hill ahead of them, a little beyond the edge of the forest. It was circular, with a domed roof and four side columns, built in the manner of a pavilion, and it was obviously very old. ‘From there we’ll be able to see for miles and miles around, right across the valley.’
‘I’ll race you,’ he cried, and charged forward before she could respond, leaving her well behind as he sped through the few remaining trees, across the snow and up the slope. Francesca began to run after him and when she finally reached the stone steps leading into the pavilion she was panting.
Victor was already standing inside and he leaned forward to give her his hand. ‘Watch the steps,’ he cautioned. ‘They’re a bit icy.’ He steadied her with his free hand and helped her up. Francesca, who was familiar with the spot, led him to the far side of the structure, which faced out towards a range of mountains punctuating the horizon above the floor of the deep wide valley below.
‘Diana was right!’ he exclaimed. ‘The views are magnificent.’ He put his arm around Francesca’s shoulder in a companionable way, and brought her close to his side. They stood for a long time like that, not speaking, regarding the awesome beauty of the glacial snowscape stretching endlessly before them, engulfed by the infinite white silence and the crystalline light pouring out of a sky of the clearest blue.
Francesca, conscious of Victor’s proximity, could hardly breathe. She was shaking inside and her heart was pounding, filled as she was with a mixture of joy and anticipation. And the longer he held her next to him, the sharper his desire became, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to release his hold on her.
Then, as though they had read each other’s thoughts, they turned slowly. Their eyes met and each one saw the longing and desire so clearly revealed on the other’s face they were momentarily staggered. Francesca’s lips parted slightly and she wanted to say his name, but it choked in her throat and she could only continue to stare up at him speechlessly. Her adoration of him blazed on her face, and to Victor it was heartstopping in its depth and sincerity, and he was spellbound by her. He felt a rush of intense emotion. His eyes bored into her, devoured her, and she returned his gaze unwaveringly, baring her innermost feelings, and in her expression he recognized irrevocable commitment to him. For the longest moment they were unable to look away. They were entranced, breathless, bound up in their infatuation with each other, and they both knew there was no going back.
Victor finally discarded the tight rein he had had on himself for weeks. He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms roughly, and his mouth was on hers, and he kissed her passionately and for a long time, as if slaking a consuming thirst. And she responded so ardently, meeting his passion head on, without restraint, and this sent thrill upon thrill shooting through him, and he wanted to take her without delay. But he knew he could not. Not now. Not here. And yet he was unable to quell his urgent need for her, and he tightened his embrace, lavishing her face and her neck and her hair with kisses, his heart racing, the blood pounding in his temples.
At last he held himself away from her, and guided her into the shelter of the gazebo, out of the wind, his hand gripping her arm forcefully. He leaned her against one of the stone columns and stood in front of her, looking down into her face, brimming with expectancy and paler now. His gabardine parka was fur-lined and cumbersome, a barrier between them, and he unzipped it, throwing it open, and then he took her hands in his and pulled off her woollen mittens. With his own he tossed them onto the floor.
She was in his arms again, their mouths meeting as if for the first time, their tongues entwining, their bodies cleaving together, straining to be joined. Victor’s kisses were slow, prolonged. He ran his hands through her silky hair and grasped the nape of her neck, his fingers biting into her skin; and she reached up to touch his face, stroking it languorously, and she thought she was about to dissolve in his arms. His control was slipping, slipping away from him completely, and he felt his hardness growing as she returned the pressure of his body with her own. He was on a dangerous explosive edge, wild with longing, and suddenly he thrust himself up against her savagely, pinning her against the stone column; his mouth grew more demanding, was unrelenting on hers. He wanted to draw all of her into him, to know every part of her body intimately, to make her truly his.
The rage to possess her drove him on, and his hand went under her cape and he cupped her breast and fondled it lovingly. He felt her nipple harden through the wool, and he slid his hand around her back and up under the sweater. His fingers plucked impatiently, and expertly, on her bra strap, freeing her, and at last he was caressing her bare flesh, gently, tenderly, and then with growing urgency and fervour. He heard a faint moan of pleasure from her throat, and he brought his mouth down to her breast and kissed it with sensuality, savouring the warm silken flesh, drinking in the delicate perfume of her body, so yielding and so obviously craving his.
It seemed to Francesca that his mouth was ravaging her, an exquisite tingling sensation spreading up from her thighs through her whole being. She was intoxicated with him. Her legs weakened and she swayed against him, aching for total domination, wanting to give herself to him. And the erotic fantasies she had harboured about him in the past few weeks converged and exploded in her head. Her fingers embedded themselves in his thick black hair, and she called his name, saying it over and over again, and she quivered under his touch, every one of her senses clamouring for him.
Consumed with his passion for her though he was, Victor knew dimly, at the back of his mind, that to continue
