Page 145 of Guilty Pleasures

‘How’s your father?’

‘We had a few difficult meetings,’ he said, his voice sounding on edge.

There was a long yawning pause.

‘So are you around this weekend?’

‘Mostly,’ she said cautiously.

‘I thought we could have lunch on Saturday at the house.’

Her first thought was that she didn’t want to see Morton in what could be construed as a first date. Her second thought was that it was lunch. Not dinner as he had suggested at the cider farm.

‘From your silence you don’t fancy lunch at Winterfold.’

‘I was thinking.’

‘So how about we go for a ride?’

‘Very well,’ she said, unable to stop herself smiling broadly into the receiver. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday after my run.’

Winterfold’s stables, on the west perimeter of the estate, had been leased to a local riding school for several years. Rob kept a horse there, a sixteen-hand chestnut, and had arranged for Emma to ride a beautiful strong-looking bay. They had agreed to meet there; Emma was late, having changed clothes three times before deciding that her cherry-red sweater and tight cream jodhpurs were perhaps just a little too sexy but they were, at least, appropriate.

Rob had already saddled up and was sitting astride his horse without a riding hat, looking cavalier and certain.

‘I never had you as the equestrian type,’ she smiled, wedging her foot in the stirrup.

‘You know I like to keep you on your toes.’

She bit her tongue, feeling they were already on the verge of some teasing banter. She wanted today to be easy and already she felt as nervous as a teenager.

‘Where do you want to go?’

She knew immediately. The lake in the northern corner of the grounds. It was quiet and pretty and romantic.

They barely spoke on the way up there and were just content to take in the magnificence of the Winterfold estate. It never failed to take her breath away no matter how often she saw it. Today bright winter sunshine skimmed the long grass, turning it blonde like champagne.

The lake dazzled silver. There was a diving board at one end which looked as if it hadn’t been used in a decade. They dismounted and tied the horses up to a tree and went to sit on an old gnarled log by the water’s edge.

Their hands were inches away from each other’s resting on the log. The sunshine on her face was making her feel bolder. She reached her fingers along the log until they touched his, feeling deliriously contented for one split second before he edged his hand slowly away.

That tiniest of movements was like a slap across the face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pushing his fingers back clumsily towards her.

Emma gave a low, cynical laugh. The look on his face was transparent. Embarrassment, regret, kindness. She shuddered. Or was it pity?

‘It was a mistake,’ she said before she could think. She meant it to be a question, but self-preservation meant it came out more a statement of fact.

‘You think so?’

How maddening language could be, thought Emma, trying to read the subtleties in his voice, subtleties that change how one was understood. Had he emphasized the word you which suggested that he didn’t think it was a mistake?

‘You’re embarrassed about Somerset, aren’t you?’ she said finally.

‘Embarrassed, no.’

‘But it was a mistake.’