My Not So Perfect Life

A head start. How long is a head start?

It’s twenty minutes later and Demeter’s already gone. I smuggled her into the house, stood sentry while she took a lightning-quick shower, then kept a lookout while she drove away. Now I need to see what Alex is up to.

He isn’t in the garden anymore, and when I knock on his bedroom door, I don’t get an answer. So I head along to the kitchen and find him sitting at our Formica table, looking at Biddy’s array of jams. As I enter, he turns to me with a weird expression of—what, exactly? I can’t make it out. Is it amusement? Or disquiet?

Is it pity?

I look swiftly at Biddy—what’s going on?—but she smiles pleasantly back. Clearly she hasn’t picked up anything amiss.

“Hi,” I say warily.

“Hi, Katie,” says Alex, his voice sounding constrained. “So, I was just talking to your dad and I hear you’re on sabbatical from a company called Cooper Clemmow?”

It’s like someone drops a set of cymbals inside me. Everything seems to clash and fall, while outwardly I’m perfectly still. All I can do is gaze at him helplessly, thinking: No. Please no. Nooooo.

“Not that you’re getting any rest, are you, love?” says Dad, with a little laugh. “They call her all the time, wanting advice on this or that….”

“Do they?” says Alex, in the same odd voice. “How inconsiderate of them.”

I want to curl up. I want to shrivel.

“Oh, she’s always on her laptop or on the phone, talking about these ‘brands’ they do,” chimes in Biddy eagerly. “Everyone wants our Katie.”

“These London bosses.” Alex shakes his head.

“Too demanding,” asserts Dad. “I mean, is she on sabbatical or isn’t she?”

“Very good question,” says Alex, nodding. “I think you’ve got right to the nub of it, Mick, if I may say so.”

“Well.” Somehow I manage to speak, even though my lips are trembling. “It’s…it’s not that clear-cut.”

“Yes, I’m sensing that.” Alex’s eyes meet mine, and I can see he’s intrigued, he’s concerned, and he’s not going to give me away to Biddy and Dad. Not right now, anyway. “So, do you know where Demeter is?” he adds.

“She…er…doesn’t seem to be here,” I say, looking around the kitchen inanely. Which, to be fair, isn’t a lie.

“Why not give Alex a tour of the farm?” suggests Biddy. “You might run into Demeter on the way. Have you been to Somerset before, Alex?”

“Never,” says Alex firmly. “I know nothing about the country. It’s all a mystery to me. Don’t even own a pair of wellies.”

“We’ll have to put that right!” Biddy pushes open the kitchen door and ushers Alex out. “Breathe in that air,” she instructs. “That’ll clear out those city lungs of yours.”

A flash of amusement passes across Alex’s face and, obediently, he begins breathing in. He’s peering around at the view of the hills and fields, as though something has interested him, and suddenly he strides forward, squinting harder.

“I know nothing about the country,” he repeats, “and this is just an idea. But if you cut down that bunch of bushes there…wouldn’t you make more of the view?”

He’s gesturing at a thicket way over to the east. I guess it is a bit of an eyesore, only we’ve got used to it.

“Oh,” says Dad, sounding taken aback. “Maybe you’re right. Yes. I think you’re right.” He glances at Biddy. “What do you think?”

“I never saw it like that before, but yes.” Biddy sounds flummoxed. “My goodness, all these discussions we’ve had about how to improve the view…”

“And he saw it straightaway,” chimes in Dad. Both he and Biddy are eyeing Alex in slight awe.

“As I say,” says Alex politely, “it’s just an idea. The countryside is a mystery to me.” He looks at me. “So, are we doing this tour?”

—

There isn’t an official “tour” of Ansters Farm, so I just lead Alex toward the yard. Anything to get him away from Dad and Biddy.

“So, Sabbatical Girl,” says Alex as soon as we’re out of earshot.

“Stop it.” I don’t look up or stop walking.

“Why?”

“Because…lots of reasons. Well, one mostly. Dad.”

“Would he give you a hard time about losing your job?” Alex looks surprised. “He seems like the supportive type.”

“He is! It’s not that he would give me a hard time. It’s…”

I screw up my face, trying to separate my mass of feelings into ones I can articulate. I’ve never spoken about Dad to anyone before. I feel out of my comfort zone.

“I can’t bear to let him down,” I say at last. “And I can’t deal with him being disappointed for me. He’s almost too supportive, you know? He doesn’t cope well when things don’t go well for me. He hates London; he hates that I’ve chosen to be there….If I tell him about my job, it’ll be more confirmation to him that London’s a terrible place. And the point is, maybe I don’t need to tell him.” I force myself to sound more upbeat. “Maybe I’ll get another job in time and I can fudge the truth. He’ll never need to know.”

Even as I’m saying the words, they sound hopelessly optimistic. But I’ve got to hope, haven’t I? There must be thousands of jobs in London. I only need one of them.

“Isn’t this a job?” Alex spreads his arms around. “Running this place?”

“Not the job I want.” I bite my lip. “I know it would be a dream come true for a lot of people, but I loved the world of branding. I loved the teamwork and the creativity and the…I don’t know. The spark. It’s fun.”

“Sometimes it is.” Alex meets my eye with a glint, and I suddenly remember the pair of us on the roof of Cooper Clemmow. That was fun. I can still remember the exhilaration of the biting winter air on my cheeks. Or was it the exhilaration of being with Alex? Even now my skin is prickling as we walk along together, just the two of us.

I wonder if his skin is prickling too. Probably not. I would glance over at him, to gauge his mood, but everything feels a bit loaded all of a sudden.

“So what are you going to do if the ‘sabbatical’ ends and you haven’t found a job?” Alex breaks the silence. “What will you tell your dad?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t got that far.” I pick up my pace slightly. I don’t want to confront that thought. “So, do you want to look at…” I pluck something random out of the air. “Sheep? We keep sheep, cows—”

“Wait a minute. What’s that?” We’ve reached the yard, and Alex seems to be peering into the biggest barn, where Dad’s stuffed all his crap. “Is that a brewing kit? Can I have a look?”

“Er…sure,” I say, distracted by the sight of Denise coming out of the farmhouse. “Hey, Denise,” I call. “Can I have a quick word? You know Susie’s not feeling well today? I wondered if you could pop in and offer her clean bedding if she’d like it, make sure she’s OK?”

“Not feeling well?” retorts Denise, with that tight-lipped look of hers. “Have you seen the empty bottles outside her yurt? I’ll tell you why she’s not feeling well—”

“Anyway…” I cut Denise off pleasantly. “I’d be very grateful if you could do that for me. Thanks, Denise.”

“Prosecco.” Denise utters the word with disfavor. “All five bottles. Prosecco.”

I’ve heard Denise’s views on prosecco many times before. Not to mention Parma ham.

“Whatever she drinks, she’s a client. We don’t judge our clients, OK?” I’m about to launch into a small lecture on customer service, when I hear a crash from the barn.

“Shit!” Alex’s voice comes from the barn, and I feel a stab of alarm. Don’t say he’s injured himself, that’s all I need….

“Are you OK?” I hurry toward the barn. “You probably shouldn’t go in there….”

“This place is insane!” As I enter the barn, Alex turns, a massive grin on his face. He has a scattering of dust and a cobweb on his face, and I instinctively lift a hand to brush it away—then stop dead, in embarrassment. What was I planning to do, stroke his face?

Alex darts the briefest of glances at my raised hand, and I can see the same thought process flashing through his eyes. Then he regards me again, square-on. Dust motes are floating between us, and I tell myself that’s why I feel breathless. Not because I’m slightly falling in…

In what? Lust sounds wrong, but it’s the truth. There’s a prickly, tantalizing vibe between us. It was there in London and here it is again. I know I’m not imagining it. Slowly, Alex wipes the cobweb off his own face, and his dark eyes glint at me as though he’s acknowledging it too.

“This place is a treasure trove,” he says. “Look at this!” He strokes the massive barrel that Dad bought to produce Ansters Farm Original Ale. What a waste of money that was.

I shrug. “My dad used to brew beer.”

“And that?” He points to the contraption behind the brewing kit. “Is that a loom?”

“We were going to weave alpaca wool and make our fortune. My dad’s what you might call…”

“An entrepreneur?” supplies Alex.

“I was going to say ‘deluded.’ ” I laugh. “We’ve never made any money out of any of this stuff.”

“What about that?” He points to the 1950s jukebox.

“Oh, we were going to host rock ’n’ roll parties.” I can’t help giggling at the memory. “Dad styled his hair into a quiff and everything.”

“Does it work?”

“I’ll see if there’s a plug.” I edge past him, trying to glimpse the end of the electrical cord, and feel my rib cage brush against Alex’s. Because it’s a cramped space, here in the barn. (OK, full disclosure: I may have arched my back deliberately toward him as I passed.)

“Sorry,” I say.

“No problem,” he says, in a voice I can’t quite read. “D’you need a hand?”

As he takes my hand, I can’t help feeling a frisson. After all those fantasies I had, here I am with my hand firmly clasped in his warm one. Although it’s not like we’re holding hands, I tell myself. We’re only holding hands. Temporarily. In very much a practical, necessary movement.

On the other hand, he hasn’t let go yet, and neither have I. Which is…odd? I glance at him through the dim, dusty air, and his eyes are as unreadable as his voice. Or maybe they are readable and I just don’t dare believe their message. Because what I’m picking up from his dark gaze is pretty explicit.

“Katie?” Dad’s voice penetrates the gloom, and I jump, dropping Alex’s hand. “What are you doing in here?” He’s peering in from the yard, holding his Farmer Mick hat in his hand.

“Just showing Alex some stuff,” I say, reflexively moving away from Alex.

“Oh yes?” Dad’s eyes run suspiciously over Alex again. “And what stuff would that be, then?”

His tone is instantly recognizable, as is his expression. It’s his I’ve caught you up to no good in the barn, haven’t I? expression. Honestly. Just because I’m alone in here with a man?

I mean, to be fair, Dad has caught me up to no good in the barn a few times in my life. (The post-exams party; that time after the cider festival; once when I was with Steve—God, that was embarrassing.) But, now, hello, I’m a grown woman?

“Mr. Astalis was interested in the brewing kit,” I tell him firmly.

“I’m going to pick your brains, Mick,” says Alex. “I’ve always wanted to brew my own beer. In fact…” A thought seems to hit him. “Can I buy your brewery off you? I’ll put it in my garage.”

“Buy it?” Dad’s face lights up for a nanosecond; then he instantly adopts what I call his “business” face—i.e., an expression of curmudgeonly suspicion. “Well, now. Thing is, I was planning to go back into brewing. That’s valuable kit, that is. I’d have to hear your offer first.”

My face is burning with mortification. Dad was not planning to go back into brewing, and Alex must surely guess that. But his composure doesn’t flicker.

“Quite right,” he says seriously. “Well, we’ll find a fair price. Do you remember what you paid for it?”

“I’ll find out.” Dad’s eyes gleam. “Give me a few minutes to check my records.” He turns with alacrity and practically runs out of the shed.

“Do you really want to go into brewing?” I ask suspiciously.

“Of course I do!” says Alex. “Your dad can set me on the way.” And he gives me a smile so blithe that I can’t help suspecting he’s done this at least partly out of some other motive. Except I can’t think what that motive could be, except simple generosity.

(Unless he’s spotted that the brewing kit is worth a fortune. Unlikely.)

“Oh, another thing,” he suddenly adds. “I should tell you. Your charity.”

“My charity?” I echo, not following.

“Your community center in Catford? We’ve just decided it’s going to be one of next year’s official company charities.”

“What?” I gape at him.

“I was going to try to let you know somehow. Anyway, here you are.” He spreads his hands. “It’s official. Next year we’ll be raising money for the Church Street Community Center in Catford and for Cancer Research.”

I’m almost speechless. He listened. He remembered.

“I went to visit them, in fact,” Alex continues, his eyes glowing. “I spoke to the kids. Met the leaders. And you’re right. They’re awesome.”

“You went to Catford?” This is so staggering, I can’t quite take it in. “You went to Catford?”

For a moment Alex doesn’t answer. He’s fiddling with the jukebox buttons, his jaw set.

“Like I say, it got to me,” he says at last, a little gruffly. “What you said in the office. I don’t want to be some entitled bastard who can’t see out of his own privileged bubble. I felt pretty chastened, if you must know. There you were, doing something for your local community, forging links, making a difference—”

Oh God. Is that what he thinks? My head feels hot with guilt. Me? Forging links with my community?

“Alex.” I cut him off. “Listen. I…I didn’t forge any links. The truth is…I never actually went to visit the community center.”

“What?” His head jerks up in shock.

“A girl gave me a leaflet and told me about it.” I bite my lip in embarrassment. “That’s all.”

“A leaflet?” He stares at me. “I thought you were heavily involved! No wonder they hadn’t heard of you. I couldn’t understand it.”

“Well, I would have been!” I say hastily. “If I hadn’t moved away. I mean, I’m sure it’s a great project and everything—”

“It is! It’s a bloody marvelous project.” He stares at me disbelievingly. “Why am I telling you about your community project?”

“Because…er…you’re a really good person?” I venture, and risk a little smile.

To my relief, Alex’s mouth is twitching. I think he can see the funny side.

“Well, do let me give you a tour of your own charity project sometime,” he says sardonically.

“Er…thanks!” I meet his eye. “I mean it. Thanks.”

I’ve found the plug of the jukebox, and I’m about to ask Alex if he wants to hear it work, when he glances at his watch.

“Shit.” He frowns. “I’ve got distracted. Do you have any idea where Demeter might be?”

My stomach flips apprehensively as I glance at my own watch. She’s been gone twenty-five minutes now. That’s a head start, isn’t it?

“Look,” I say. “Alex. I have to tell you something.” I rub my nose, avoiding his eye. “Demeter’s…She’s…”

“What?”

“Well, in actual fact…she’s…”

“What?” demands Alex.

OK, full disclosure: I’m really quite nervous. In the heat of the moment it seemed obvious I should help Demeter. It seemed the right thing to do. But now that I actually have to fess up…

“She’s…gone to London.”

“London?” Alex’s gaze darkens. “When?”

“Twenty minutes ago or so.”

“But what…why…” His eyes suddenly snap in furious realization. “Wait. You have seen her. Did you tell her?”

“I gave her some warning, yes,” I say, trying to hold my nerve.

“I don’t believe this,” Alex says evenly. “You mean you ran straight from our conversation and said, ‘You’re going to get fired!’ ”

This is so exactly what happened, there’s no point denying it.

“She deserved to be told!” I shoot back hotly. “There’s more to Demeter than you realize. She’s given a lot to Cooper Clemmow; you can’t just chuck her out—”

“I don’t care what you think of Demeter, it was not up to you to warn her.” Alex looks absolutely livid. “And if she thinks she can dodge the bullet by running away—”

“She’s not! She’s looking for a way to save herself! There’s some email or something…shhh!” I interrupt as I see Dad approaching. “We don’t know each other, remember?”

Alex flashes me another incandescent look, then turns to Dad with his charming smile. “So, Mick,” he says. “What’s the damage?”

“This is what I paid.” Dad holds out a scribbled figure. “Shall we say half?”

“Let me think about that.” Alex pockets the paper. “I need to get on. Katie, maybe you could show me some more of the farm? I feel we’re not quite done with the subject.”

There’s an ominous tone to his voice, which makes my stomach flip over, but then I remind myself: He’s not my boss anymore, is he?

“Sure,” I say warily. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, quite a lot, I’d say,” says Alex, flashing me an unsmiling look. He strides purposefully out of the barn, and Dad hurries after him.

“You a man of business then, Alex?” he inquires.

“In a way.” Alex smiles at Dad again. “Thanks for your time, Mick, but now I’m very keen for Katie to show me…” He turns to me. “The stables, was it?”

“We can look at the stables,” I say with a shrug.

“Our Katie will show you whatever you want,” puts in Dad eagerly. “Anything you need to know, just ask her.”

“Oh, I will,” says Alex, in the same ominous tone. “I will.”

In silence I swivel and we head toward the stables. Neither of us speaks until we’re out of Dad’s earshot. Then Alex stops dead. He pulls out his flashing phone and reads the latest messages on it while I wait warily.

“OK, this is a bloody fiasco,” he erupts at last. “I drive all this way to spare Demeter’s feelings. I’ve got Adrian here asking, ‘Have you dealt with her yet?’ ” He jabs at his phone. “And you tell me she was here but she’s scarpered?”

“She hasn’t scarpered,” I retort. “She will face the music, but she just wants to have a chance to make her case. There’s some email from Allersons that she thinks might be in her office at home.”

“So she’s gone home?” His eyes light up with this new information. “To Shepherd’s Bush?”

At once I curse myself. I didn’t need to give that detail away.

“Look…does it matter where she is?” I counter. “You’re not exactly going to drive all the way to Shepherd’s Bush on the off chance, are you? You’re bound to miss her. You should just sit it out here. She’ll arrive back here later, and then you can…”

I hesitate. I’m not going to say, Then you can fire her.

“Then you can work things out,” I conclude. “Tell Adrian she’s gone off on a hike and you can’t get through to her. He’ll never know the difference.”

Alex shoots another glower at me, but I can tell he realizes I have a point. He’s not going to go haring off to Shepherd’s Bush on a wild-goose chase. He still doesn’t look happy, though. In fact, he looks furious.

“You had no right to interfere,” he says. “No right. No right. You don’t work for Cooper Clemmow anymore; you have no idea what the issues are—”

“I know that Demeter deserves a chance!” Somewhere I find an inner robustness. “She isn’t nearly as bad as everyone thinks! And taking her off guard like this—it’s not fair. She deserves time to gather all the evidence she needs. She deserves a fair trial. Everyone deserves a fair trial.”

I stop, breathing hard. I think I’m getting through to Alex. I can see it in his flickering, moody eyes.

“And what’s more…” I hesitate. Am I going to risk saying this?

“What’s more what?” he snaps.

“What’s more…I think you agree with me, if you’ll only admit it. There’s a risk of a big injustice happening here. You don’t want to be part of that. Do you?”

Alex is still silent and glowering. Which I can understand. I’ve made his life a lot more complicated. People hate that.

“Fine,” he says at last, and jabs irritably at his phone. “Demeter can have her fair trial. She can have her time. What do I do meanwhile?”

“Whatever you like.” I spread my arms wide. “You’re the guest.”

Alex looks around the stable yard, still scowling, as though nothing he sees can possibly clear his mood.

“Do you have Wi-Fi?”

“Of course we have Wi-Fi. And I can find you a place to work. Bit of a waste,” I add quietly.

“What?” He turns sharply.

“Well, you’re here now. You’ve made it to the countryside. You could enjoy yourself.” I pause. “Or maybe firing people is how you enjoy yourself?”

I couldn’t resist that one, and I can tell it’s hit Alex on a sensitive spot. He winces and glares at me.

“Nice. Thanks. I’m clearly a power-crazy despot.”

“Well, you said you volunteered for the task. How do I know this isn’t your hobby? Kite-flying, home-brewing, firing people.”

I know I’m close to the wire here, but I don’t care. I spent so long in London feeling like little Katie. Keeping quiet; in too much awe of everyone to speak out. But now, on home territory, I’m swinging the other way. Which might be reckless or even foolhardy—but I don’t care. I want to push Alex’s buttons. I want to get a reaction out of him. And it’s a risky game, but my instinct is: I know just how hard to push.

Sure enough, for an instant Alex looks like he wants to explode. But then there’s a flash of sunlight, a glimmer of a reluctant smile.

“Is this how you talk to all your B&B guests?” he says at last. “Find their sore points and skewer them?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say with a shrug. “Like I say, you’re the first guest. How’s it working out for you?”

I’m feeling a secret exhilaration: I judged it right. Alex doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just looks at me with that tiny little smile around his lips. My hair is blowing around my face, and probably in London I would be frantically smoothing it down. But here I don’t bother.

As though he’s psychic, Alex’s gaze shifts to my hair.

“Your hair’s gone curly,” he says. “And blue. Is that a Somerset thing?”

“Oh yes,” I say. “We have our own micro fashion climate here. I’m the cover girl on Somerset Vogue, didn’t you know?”

“I’ll bet you are,” says Alex—and there’s something about his expression that makes me warm inside. We’re still bantering, right? I swallow hard, the wind still gusting my hair, my eyes fixed on his. Just for a nanosecond, I can’t think what to say.

“All right.” Alex seems to come to. “Fair enough. I’ve come all this way. I should appreciate my surroundings. So: the countryside. Fill me in.” He swivels around, taking in the panoramic view beyond all the farm buildings.

“Fill you in on ‘the countryside’?” I can’t help smiling. “What, like it’s a new client and you’re going to rebrand it?”

“Exactly. What’s it all about? There’s the greenness, obviously,” he says, as though he’s standing in front of a whiteboard at Cooper Clemmow. “The views…Turner…Hardy…I can’t stand Hardy, as it happens—” Alex stops dead as something attracts his attention. “Wait. What’s that?”

“That?” I follow his gaze, past the stables, into the backyard. “It’s the Defender.”

“It’s spectacular.” Alex is already hastening toward it and runs a hand admiringly over the old Land Rover. It’s about twenty years old, all covered in mud, with the windscreen taped up because of the cracks. “I mean, this is a proper off-roader, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not a Chelsea tractor.”

Now Alex’s eyes are gleaming. “I’ve never driven off-road before. Really off-road.”

“You want to drive?” I say, and hold out the keys. “Go on, city boy. Knock yourself out.”

—

Alex wends his way carefully through the yard and out through the back gate, then speeds up as we get into the fields.

“Careful,” I keep saying. “Not so fast. Don’t run over a sheep,” I add, as he drives through the six-acre field. To be fair, he keeps well to the side and goes at a reasonable speed. But the minute we close the gate behind us in the empty far meadow, Alex is like a kid at the dodgems.

The meadow is a massive, bumpy, uncultivated mess—we actually get money from some government scheme for letting it grow wild. Alex drives at speed down one side of the meadow, then reverses at speed, then wheels around like a crazy person. If it wasn’t so dry, he’d be skidding by now. He hurtles over a set of rough hillocks at such an angle that I cling on to the handle, then he heads up a steepish bank and careers off the top. He actually whoops as we fly through the air (albeit for a second or two), and I can’t help laughing, even though I bumped my shoulder as we took off.

“Bloody hell!” I say, as we crash back down. “You’re going to—”

I break off. Shit. He’s heading toward the ditch. Except he can’t see that it’s a ditch because it’s covered in long grass and reeds.

“Slow down,” I say tensely. “Slow down!”

“Slow down? Are you nuts? This is the best thing I’ve done in my l-aaaaaargh!”

The Defender lurches down, and for a terrifying moment I think we might roll. My head has crashed on the ceiling. Alex has bumped himself on the open window frame. He frantically floors it, almost willing the Defender upward out of the ditch.

“Go!” I’m screaming. “Go!”

With an almighty whirring of wheels and growling of the engine, we manage to get out of the ditch, career bumpily along for a few hundred meters, then stop. I look at Alex and gasp. There’s blood all over his face, dripping down his chin. He turns off the engine, and we stare at each other, both panting.

At last I say: “When I said, ‘Knock yourself out,’ I didn’t literally mean knock yourself out.”

Alex gives a half smile, then frowns, eyeing my face closely. “I’m fine. But are you OK? You got a real bash there. I’m sorry, I had no idea—”

“I’ll live.” I touch my forehead, which is already sprouting a bruise. “Ouch.”

“Oh God, sorry.” He looks shamefaced.

“Don’t be.” I take pity on him. “We’ve all done it. I learned to drive in this meadow. Got stuck in the ditch. Had to be pulled out with a tractor. Here.” I reach in my pocket for a tissue. “You’ve got blood everywhere.”

Alex scrubs the blood off his face, then peers through the windscreen. “Where are we?”

“The meadow. Come on, let’s get out.”

It’s a pretty stunning day. It must be after one o’clock by now, and the sun is high in a cloudless sky. The grass is long and hay-like; the air is still and quiet. All I can hear are the skylarks singing, way, way above us, in their endless streaming ribbons of sound.

I get out the blanket we always keep in the back of the Defender and spread it over the grass. There’s a box of cider we keep there too, safely moored under its netting, and I take two cans out.

“If you want to know about Somerset,” I say, throwing a can to him, “then you need to drink our local cider. Only, watch ou—”

Too late. He’s exploded the can all over himself.

“Sorry.” I grin at him. “Meant to warn you. They’ve had a bit of a shaking.”

I open my own can at arm’s length and for a few moments we just sit there in the sun, sipping cider. Then Alex gets to his feet.

“OK, I do want to know about Somerset,” he says, his eyes glinting. “What’s that hill over there? And whose house is that on the horizon? And what are these little yellow flowers? Tell me everything.”

I can’t help laughing at his intensity. He’s so interested in everything. I can totally imagine him cornering an astrophysicist at a drinks party and asking him to explain the universe.

But I like it too. So I get to my feet and follow him around the meadow, telling him about the landscape and the farm and the flowers and whatever else catches his eye.

At last the sun is getting too hot to keep striding around, and we settle back down on the blanket.

“What are those birds?” asks Alex, as he stretches out his legs, and I feel a tiny satisfaction that he noticed them. He didn’t have to.

“Skylarks.” I take another swig of cider.

“They don’t shut up, do they?”

“No.” I laugh. “They’re my favorite birds. You get up early and you step outside and…” I pause, letting the familiar sound wash over me. “It feels like the sky’s singing to you.”

We’re both silent again, and Alex seems to be listening intently to the birdsong. Maybe he’s never heard skylarks before. I have no idea what his upbringing was.

“I called you a city boy before,” I say tentatively. “But are you? Where did you grow up?”

“Try ‘cities boy.’ ” He tilts his head as though recalling. “London, New York, Shanghai for a bit, Dubai, San Francisco. L.A. for six months when I was ten. We followed my dad’s work.”

“Wow.”

“I’ve had thirty-seven addresses in my life. Been to twelve schools.”

“Seriously?” I gape at him. Thirty-seven addresses? That’s more than one a year.

“We lived in Trump Tower for a few months; that was cool….” He catches my expression and winces. “Sorry. I know. I’m a privileged bastard.”

“It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t—” I break off, biting my lip. I need to tackle something that’s been bothering me ever since I saw him again. “Listen, I’m sorry for what I said at the office. That your famous daddy gave you your career.”

“It’s fine.” He gives me a wry smile, which tells me he’s heard it said a lot of times.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not fine; it was unfair. I don’t know anything about how you started out, if you had an advantage—”

“Well, of course I had an advantage,” he says calmly. “I watched my dad my whole childhood. I went into the office, the studio…I learned from him. So, yes, I had an advantage. But what was he supposed to do? Not share his job with me? Is that nepotism?”

“I don’t know.” I feel confused now. “Maybe not exactly. But it’s not…” I trail off.

“What?”

“Well,” I say awkwardly. “Fair, I suppose.”

There’s silence. Alex lies back and looks straight up at the endless blue sky, his face unreadable.

“You know the names of birds,” he says. “You lived in the same house all your childhood. You have a two-hundred-year-old farming background keeping you stable and grounded. Your dad loves you more than anyone could love anything in the world. You can tell that in thirty seconds.” He pauses. “That’s not fair either.”

“My dad?” I say, taken aback. “What do you mean? I’m sure your dad loves you too.”

Alex says nothing. I survey his face, sidelong, and it’s motionless except for a tiny twitch at his eye. Have I stumbled on ground I shouldn’t have? But, then, he’s the one who brought it up.

“Doesn’t your dad—” I stop dead. I can’t say, Doesn’t your dad love you? “What’s your dad like?” I amend.

“Super-talented,” says Alex slowly. “Awe-inspiring. And a total shit. He’s very driven. Very cold. He treated my mother badly. And, for what it’s worth, he didn’t get me my first job.”

“But you had your name,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Yes.” His face crinkles as though in humor, but he’s not smiling. “I had my name. That was half help, half hindrance. My dad’s made a lot of enemies along the way.”

“What about your mum?” I ask tentatively.

“She has…issues. She gets depressed. She withdraws. It’s not her fault,” he adds at once, and I can see a sudden boyish defensiveness in him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, biting my lip. “I didn’t realize.”

“I spent quite a lot of my childhood being scared.” Alex is still staring up at the sky. “I was scared of my dad. And sometimes of my mum. I spent most of my childhood like a fish. Weaving and darting. Trying to avoid…stuff.”

“But you don’t need to weave and dart anymore,” I say.

I’m not even sure why I say it. Except that he suddenly looks like someone who’s still weaving and darting. And is maybe a bit exhausted by it. Alex turns onto his side, rests his head in his hand, and looks at me with an odd, lopsided smile.

“Once you’ve got into the habit of weaving and darting, it’s hard to stop.”

“I suppose,” I say slowly. My mind is still reeling at the idea of thirty-seven addresses. It’s dizzying just to think about it.

“Whereas your dad…” Alex interrupts my thoughts, and I roll my eyes.

“Oh God. My dad. If he tries to sell you a bathroom suite, do not say yes.”

“Your dad’s lovable,” says Alex, ignoring me. “He’s strong. You should tell him the truth about your job, you know. This whole secret thing you’ve got going…it’s wrong.”

It takes a moment for Alex’s words to hit home, and when they do, they make me inhale sharply. “Oh, you think so?”

“How’s he going to feel when he realizes you’ve been keeping such a huge secret from him?”

“He might never have to know. So.”

“But if he does? If he realizes you felt you couldn’t come to him when you were in trouble? He’ll be crushed.”

“You don’t know that!” I can’t help lashing out a little. “You don’t know anything about my dad.”

“I know he brought you up pretty much on his own.” Alex’s steady tone is relentless. “Biddy told me all about it, earlier.”

“Biddy told you?”

“I guess I quizzed her a little after I’d realized you lived here. I was interested. She told me how she came into your family and saw the way your dad loved you and thought if she could just get a fraction of that love, she’d be happy.”

If I know how to press Alex’s buttons, he sure as hell knows how to press mine too.

“I know Dad loves me,” I say in a muffled voice. “And I love him. But it’s not as simple as that. He was so betrayed when I left; he’ll never accept that I’m a Londoner—”

“Are you a Londoner, though?” says Alex, and I feel a fresh stab of dismay. What else from my shaky house-of-cards life is he going to dismantle?

“You think I’m not a Londoner?” I say, in a trembling voice. “You think I can’t cut it in the city?”

“It’s not that!” says Alex, sounding taken aback. “Of course you can cut it in the city, a beautiful, talented girl like you? That’s not the point. It’s just…” He hesitates. “I think you’re more torn than you’ll admit.”

OK, I’ve had enough.

“You barely know me,” I say furiously. “You can’t just come here and tell me about my life—”

“Maybe I’ve got fresh eyes? Perspective?” He cuts me off in reasonable tones, and I suddenly think of him looking at our view and seeing in an instant what was wrong with it. Then I shake my head, dismissing the thought. That was a view. I’m me.

“All I know,” Alex continues, “is that you’ve got your farmhouse, your family, people who have known you forever—and that’s worth something. You know how a rolling stone gathers no moss? Well, that’s me.” He gestures down at himself. “Not a fucking speck of moss. But you? You’re a walking, talking mossball.”

I look away. “That’s irrelevant.”

“It’s not irrelevant. And, anyway, it’s not just your family, it’s…” He pauses. “I don’t know, the way you talk about the land. The skylarks. It’s in you. It’s your heritage. You’re a Somerset girl, Katie. You shouldn’t deny that. You shouldn’t lose your accent, change your hair. It’s you.”

I’m silent for a moment, brewing with thoughts, trying to respond calmly.

“You know why I got rid of the accent?” I say at last. “I was in the loos in my first job in Birmingham and I heard two girls talking. Taking the piss out of me. ‘Farrrmer Katie’ they called me. I wanted to burst out and slap them.” I flop onto my back, breathing heavily at the memory.

Alex absorbs this for a few moments, then nods. “I was in the loos at school one day and I heard two sixth-formers talking. I’d just won the design prize. They assumed my dad had done the whole project for me. I wanted to burst out and thump them.”

“Did you?” I can’t help asking.

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

Alex sips from his cider and I do the same. The sky is at its bluest and stillest at this time of day. There isn’t a sound except the incessant skylarks.

“You don’t have to choose, London or Somerset,” says Alex at length. “You can be both, surely.”

“My dad makes me feel I have to choose.” A familiar strain comes over me. “He makes it this either-or situation….”

“So you need to talk to him even more, surely. Not less.”

“Will you stop being right?” The words burst out of me before I know I’m going to say them. Abruptly, breathing fast, I get to my feet and set off on a circle of the meadow. My thoughts are teeming; my ears are buzzing. I can’t listen to Alex and his voice of reason anymore. But at the same time I’m craving some of his words again. The ones I think I might have misheard.

A beautiful, talented girl like you. Beautiful.

As I turn the corner, I see that he’s stood up from the blanket too. It’s so boiling hot, I can feel sweat trickling down my arms, and impulsively I peel off my shirt, leaving only a strappy, skimpy tank top underneath. I can see Alex blink at the sight; I can see him size up my body with barefaced desire. Ha. So I did read him right in the barn. And now I know for sure: There was a spark between us in London. I didn’t need to apologize or feel embarrassed or any of it.

As I get near to Alex, my own lust levels are rocketing too. Only it’s not as simple as that. I don’t just want him; I want control. To jettison insecure, defensive little Katie with all her hang-ups and humiliations. I want to feel empowered. I’ve never particularly been a first-move kind of girl, but right now I can really see the point.

I head to the Defender, reach for two more cans of cider, and hold one out to him.

“Hot day,” I say. “D’you mind if I sunbathe?” And before I can get cold feet, I peel off my tank top.

There. How’s that for a first move? I’ve never done anything so bold in my life, and I feel a slight inner breathlessness.

It’s a good bra I’ve got on—a black lace balconette one, very flattering—and Alex stares frankly at my tits as though he’s in some kind of torture heaven. As I crack open my cider, he starts, then, without speaking, takes his own can and opens it.

The atmosphere is unbearably charged. My head feels muzzy and I can barely breathe. All I can think is, I’m standing here in my bra and I’d better not have misread this and What happens now?

“Maybe I’ll sunbathe too,” Alex says at length, and strips off his shirt. His torso is leaner than I expected, almost boyish, with a strip of dark hair running downward from his navel. I can’t quite tear my eyes away from it. “Plenty of time before Demeter’ll get back,” he adds. His eyes are running over me too, and I feel my breath coarsening in response. There I was, obsessing about the “sizzling chemistry” he had with Demeter. Well, this is pretty sizzling.

“Loads of time,” I manage, my voice sounding blurry to my own ears. “And nobody will disturb us here. We can sunbathe all afternoon,” I add for good measure. “As long as we like.”

“Luckily, I’ve got sunbathing protection on me,” says Alex slowly. His eyes meet mine and I know exactly what he means, and I almost want to laugh, except I’m so desperate.

“So, what factor are you?” I step forward and run a hand down his chest. “Because it’s pretty hot out here.”

In answer, he cups my waist and presses his chest to mine, his hands swiftly roaming below my jeans waistband. As I inhale his scent—part sweat, part soap, part Alex—I feel a fresh, sharp flare of hunger. God, I need this.

Sex has not been on my agenda for a long time, and I can feel my body waking up, like a dragon after hibernation. Every nerve ending. Every pulsing bit of me.

“You know, I wanted to sunbathe with you the moment I met you,” says Alex into my neck, and his lips brush along my skin, making me whimper.

“Me too,” I murmur back, unbuttoning his jeans, trying to move things along.

“But I was your boss. It would have been fucked up….” He hesitates and draws back, his brow crumpled. “Hey, wait. You are OK with this? I mean, you’re not…” He hesitates. “This is a yes?”

When I was at senior school, I studied judo for three years. Without thinking twice, I wrap my foot round Alex’s leg, unbalance him, and pin him on the ground, ignoring his startled cry.

I straddle him, looking down at him, feeling more in charge of my life right now than I have done in a long time. I lean down, cup his face, and find his mouth for a long, sweet kiss, and for the first time I think, You. There you are. Men’s mouths are like their personalities, I find. (Which is why I never really took to kissing Steve.) Then I sit up, unhook my bra, and toss it aside, relishing Alex’s instant, unmistakable reaction.

“It’s a yes,” I say, and lean down to kiss him again. “Don’t you worry. It’s a yes.”