We left the King William soon after ten and were pulling into the farmyard by half past. The security lights came on as we drove in, illuminating Scrumpy racing madly back and forth at the end of her leash and barking like crazy.
‘Are you sure that dog is safe?’ Josh asked jokingly.
‘No, can’t you see she’s a cross between a pit bull and a Rotty?’ I quipped.
‘Hmm. Well, I shall make sure I’m wearing my motorcycle leathers when she’s not tied up, whatever you say.’
I didn’t know which part of that statement surprised me more – the motorcycle leathers or the implication that Josh would be back. I took up the safest option.
‘You have a motorbike?’
‘My guilty pleasure. I’ve had motorbikes ever since I was old enough to get a licence. It was one of those that sound like sewing machines, and I practically had to get off and push it up steep hills.’
‘You’ve got something a bit bigger now, I take it.’
‘Just a tad. A Ducati.’
‘A Ducati!’ I was impressed.
‘You know them?’
‘Of course I do. I can’t pretend to know much about motorbikes, but I certainly know the Ducati. Big and powerful with racing-style handlebars.’
‘That’s the one. I’d offer to take you for a spin, but I don’t suppose that’s on at the moment.’
‘Hardly,’ I said ruefully. ‘Even if I could get on, there wouldn’t be anywhere to stow my crutches.’
‘In which case,’ Josh said, ‘my best offer is another ride in a boring old Peugeot. What about Sunday?’
My heart had given a little skip.
‘I don’t have any other plans,’ I said, trying to conceal my delight.
‘Shall we say Sunday afternoon, then? We’ll go for a drive somewhere, then stop off for a drink and a bite to eat.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Right – that’s a date.’ Josh got out of the car and came around to the passenger side. I already had the door open and was manoeuvring myself to the edge of my seat. He took me by the elbows, easing me out to a standing position. And then, almost before I realized what was happening, he kissed me.
It didn’t last long, that kiss, but wow – did it pack a punch! His mouth was hard on mine, the length of his body pressing me back against the car, with his hands protecting me from the cold rim of the door frame. For a moment I felt nothing but surprise, then, suddenly, I was very aware of him. My hands were on his shoulders; I could feel the well-defined muscles beneath his jacket, and unexpected desire was stirring deep inside me. It was so long since I’d been kissed by anyone but Tim, and that had become so familiar I’d almost forgotten how exciting it had been in the early days. Now, I wanted Josh’s kiss to go on forever; I wanted to drown in it.
All too soon, he released me.
‘OK?’ His eyes met mine, teasing. ‘I’ll get your crutches.’
I remained leaning against the car. The farmyard seemed to be spinning around me; I looked up, over the barn roof to the inky blackness, and the stars seemed to be spinning too. I must have had one Bacardi and Coke too many, I told myself. Or the liqueur coffee had proved to be the last straw.
Josh came with me to the door.
‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ I asked.
‘Better not. I’ll see you on Sunday, then? Say about half two?’
I thought – hoped! – that he might kiss me again, but he didn’t. He waited until I’d unlocked the door and stepped inside, then he turned with a simple, ‘Good night then,’ and went back to his car. I watched as he did a quick and competent reverse arc and his tail lights disappeared down the track, then I went in, closed the door, and stood for a moment catching my breath.
I couldn’t believe the way I was feeling – exhilarated, happy, still a little wobbly. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt quite like this, it was so long ago. It must be the alcohol that was to blame – mustn’t it? But when I got into bed the room didn’t spin around me as the farmyard and the stars had. I simply felt good, glowing and warm inside too, and there was a little buzz of something like anticipation of things to come. For the first time since I’d begun my investigation, it wasn’t Brian Jennings, Dawn Burridge and Lisa Curry who were on my mind as I drifted towards sleep.
Once – I’ve no idea what time it was – I stirred, drowsily thinking I heard my phone ringing. But by the time I was awake enough to think clearly there was nothing but silence, and before I knew it I was asleep again.
Nine
Saturday is Farmers Market day in Stoke Compton and Mum always has a stall there selling fresh produce in season, eggs from her flock of hens, and jars of home-made pickles and preserves. For a couple of weeks now I’d been well enough to go with her, though I had to take one of the folding garden chairs with me, as I couldn’t stand for too long.