The Italian Matchmaker(3)

‘Come on, slow coaches!’ Miles shouted at the entrance of the wood. ‘You won’t work up an appetite unless you put in a bit of effort.’ His Labrador sat obediently at his feet, panting excitedly.

‘It’s like boot camp,’ Emily complained. ‘Miles always has to be the first, whether it’s on the ski slope or tennis court, he always has to be the best.’

‘And is he?’ Luca asked, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

‘No,’ said Emily dryly. ‘At least not when he’s playing tennis against Hugo. My husband might be short but he moves quickly around the court.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Miles is not a very good loser.’

‘You’ve known them a long time?’

‘Almost ten years. Since they moved down here. We live about twenty minutes away, just outside Alresford. We met through mutual friends. Freya’s heavenly. Not a competitive bone in her body.’

‘What makes them work as a couple?’ he pressed. Emily’s round face beamed at the chance to enlighten the handsome Continental.

‘You could say they work because they’re opposites. Freya’s so laid-back. Miles is sporty and competitive. Freya just rolls her eyes and smiles.’ She glanced warily at Annabel and lowered her voice. ‘I think Miles is rather pompous, actually. Perhaps Freya likes a man who takes control.’

‘What do you think, Annabel?’ Luca thought he might as well get something out of the walk. It was now drizzling heavily and he could feel a cold trickle down his back. Hunching his shoulders he wondered how long it would be until lunch.

‘Miles is a very good lover,’ Annabel stated authoritatively. Luca shuddered. The thought of Freya making love to Miles was as unappealing as the rain trickling down his spine.

‘Did she tell you that?’

Emily honked with laughter. ‘Did she really say Miles is a good lover?’ she echoed, suddenly seeing him in a completely different light. ‘Well I never.’ She couldn’t wait to tell Hugo.

‘Yes, he’s got an enormous cock,’ Annabel explained as if she were discussing the size of his car. ‘And he enjoys pleasuring her. He can stay down there for hours.’ Luca looked more appreciatively at Annabel. He liked women who were unashamed of sex. It had been Freya’s innocence that had frightened him back in ’79.

‘Secrets of the powder room?’

‘I’m sure Freya would kill you if she knew you had told us,’ said Emily, clearly titillated by the conversation.

‘But she won’t know, will she?’ replied Annabel coolly. ‘It’s not the kind of thing one discusses over dinner, is it?’

‘So how come she told you that piece of intimate gossip?’ Luca asked, watching Freya walk on ahead of them, oblivious of her secrets being divulged.

‘We got drunk one evening just after she’d met Miles. I’d had a regrettable night with a man who looked like Sylvester Stallone but was a terrible disappointment, and she just came out with it. Looks can be deceptive. Miles is not only rich but a wonderful lover too. What more can a woman want?’

Up ahead, Freya joined her husband. He put an arm around her waist and drew her against him a moment while the others caught up. They shared a joke and she briefly rested her head on his shoulder. Luca felt jealousy rise in his throat. Miles wasn’t handsome but he was a good lover. He couldn’t help but wonder how he compared. It was so long ago now, Freya had probably forgotten. Yet, Luca hadn’t forgotten her. His memories of making love to Freya were like scenes on a video. He could take it out and play them over and over again at will. She had been naïve, sweet as nectar, and shy. He had opened her up like a bud and deflowered her. He had kissed her embarrassment away and she had let herself go, abandoning herself to the pleasures of sex. Then he had casually tossed her aside, scared off by the intensity of her desire to marry and live happily ever after. He had dropped her, leaving her to be picked up by Miles with his big house, big ego and big cock. If he had been more mature where would they all be now?

While Emily whispered Freya’s secrets to Hugo, Luca began to feel an unspoken connection with Annabel, like a pair of thieves recently returned from a robbery. They walked on, chatting like old friends, with the undertone of a growing sexual chemistry. Luca didn’t notice the glances that Freya threw in his direction. She had invited Annabel for his amusement, but now that they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, she didn’t like it.

The house party returned hot and flushed, their hair wet but their spirits high. The smell of roast lamb wafted down the corridor from the kitchen. Heather Dervish had come from the village to cook and Peggy, the cleaner, who lived in the cottage at the end of the drive, had come to help serve. Peggy had replaced her usual dowdy clothes with a bright red smock dress with matching red tights and silver-buckled shoes into which she had only just managed to squeeze her marshmallow feet. Freya did a double take, gathered herself and said, ‘Gosh, Peggy, you look splendid, but you needn’t have gone to such trouble on our account.’