brilliant exposé on some unfortunate personality and very much in vogue. She doubted if he had ever read a fairy story in his life, and if he had he certainly wouldn’t admit to it. It struck her that it was a long time since Howard had made her laugh, much less shared that laughter, but she banished the disloyal thought firmly.
‘Here we are,’ Drew announced, turning into a cobbled farmyard.
Holly had visited the farm occasionally. To her, it had always been an exciting, fascinating place, but once they had all reached their late teens, Rosamund, Howard and one or two of the others had expressed disdain for such bucolic pursuits, and Holly had loyally said nothing rather than criticise Howard’s views.
Now, though, she felt the familiar frisson of pleasure she had felt as a girl as the Land Rover stopped and the yard was busy with a flurry of dogs, hens and geese, all of them making a considerable amount of noise.
A terrifyingly loud bellow far too near at hand made her jump, and Drew chuckled. ‘It’s all right, that’s just Ben.’
‘Ben?’
‘Benjamin Leonard Brahmin the Tenth. My prize bull,’ he informed her with a grin. ‘He’s tied up in one of the cattle sheds, and very resentful about it, too.’
‘Tied up? Oh, Drew, you haven’t gone in for all that intensive farming, have you?’
Her disappointment showed in her face. Drew’s father had grown mainly crops and kept a small dairy herd, and Holly had fond memories of the chickens who had scratched round the yard, and the goats kept by Drew’s mother. She hated the thought of the farm being converted into high-intensity units, with battery hens and tethered goats.
‘No, but Ben has fulfilled his duties for the summer, so I’ve brought him in to give him and the cows a rest.’
He saw the realisation dawn in her eyes and watched as her face flushed a warm pink.
‘So you can still do that,’ he said softly, making her blush even harder. Howard was always criticising her for being so easily embarrassed, but she couldn’t help it.
Avoiding Drew’s eyes, she tried to get out of the Land Rover.
‘Hang on,’ he told her, ‘I’ll lift you down.’
He did, and then, to her surprise, he didn’t put her down, but strode across the yard with her in his arms.
‘Drew!’ she protested.
‘You can’t walk on these cobbles in those heels,’ he pointed out calmly. ‘You’ll either break them or break your ankle. Put your arms round my neck, would you, Holly?’ he commanded casually.
She obeyed him automatically, wondering absently why it was that she always felt so at home with Drew, so comfortable. When Howard put his arms round her her heart started thumping, and her pulses raced.
But when he kissed her all that excitement disappeared somehow.
She frowned unhappily, not wanting to dwell on such unpalatable truths. She and Howard had never been lovers, not because she hadn’t wanted him to make love to her, but because, for some reason or another, they never seemed to find the time or the place. Their dates were always short, snatched affairs sandwiched into their mutually busy lives; and on those rare occasions when they had had both the time and the opportunity to make love, Howard had always made some excuse to leave.
Of course, when she had lived at home it had been impossible for them to be lovers, her parents had very old-fashioned ideas; but she had fully expected that this would change once she was living in London.
Sadly, she leaned her head into the comforting warmth of Drew’s chest. Was that another advantage that Rosamund had over her? Did she have the power to excite and arouse Howard’s desire?
Whenever she had plucked up the courage to ask him about it, he had grown angry with her, and pointed out that they had known one another a long time, that she ought to be pleased that he respected and cared for her too much to see her merely as a partner for sex. Making love was something that would happen in its own good time, he added, and because she loved him she had accepted what he had said, although she had to acknowledge with painful honesty that five years was a long time to wait for a man to desire you.
‘Something wrong?’
They had reached the back door, and Drew shifted her weight slightly, nestling her against his chest as he opened it.
‘I was just thinking about Howard and Rosamund. Drew, can I ask you something?’
They were in the kitchen now, and Holly was amazed to see how much it had changed. Gone were the shabby cupboards and ancient gas stove she remembered Drew’s mother using, and in their place were new units in plain unstained or varnished wood, and a modern Aga in golden sunny yellow.
‘This is nice,’ she approved, giving the units a professional inspection. ‘Who made them for you?’
‘I did,’ Drew told her, surprising her, adding in a dry voice, ‘It’s something to do in the winter.’
‘You made these? But, Drew, they’re marvellous! Dragged and then varnished, and perhaps even stencilled-well, you wouldn’t get much change out of twenty thousand pounds for that kind of kitchen.’
‘Yes… I thought of getting someone to do something like that,’ Drew told her, surprising her even further, ‘but I just haven’t got round to it.’
Decorative paint finishes were one of Holly’s specialities, and she itched to get to work on the clean, untouched wood, but she remembered that she had wanted to ask him something.
He was still carrying her, even though they were now safely inside the kitchen, and she was glad because their intimacy gave her the courage to ask the question which had been burning an acid brand on her heart ever since Howard had told her he was engaged to Rosamund.
Turning her head even further into his chest, she asked in a muted voice, ‘When you and Rosamund made love, was it… was it like it is in the books? You know…’
Drew had gone very still. She shouldn’t have asked him, Holly acknowledged, cursing her rashness. She gave a little shiver of tension and lifted her head to apologise.
Close to, the bones of his face looked hard and masculine, the brown skin drawn firmly over them. His eyes behind the obscuring frame of his glasses were golden brown… like sherry, she realised with an odd start, puzzled that she had never noticed their distinctive colour before. But then, come to think of it, she had never been this close to him before. He was still holding her, and not even breathing heavily, as though her weight were the mere nothing he had claimed.
‘Why do you ask?’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve never struck me as the kind of girl who wants to pry into people’s personal lives, so it must be because you fear that Howard will make an unfavourable comparison between you and Rosamund. Is that it, Holly? Are you worried that Howard will compare your lovemaking to Rosamund’s, to your disadvantage?’
She hung her head. She had not expected his comprehension to be so acute.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged in a small voice.
She felt his chest lift as he drew
