Page 35

Chapter Eighteen

I have something big and strong between my thighs, something sturdy and hard clenched in my hands, and I’m ready to take control.

I squeeze my legs together, mutter “let’s go” and I’m off, but – wait, I’m actually kinda scared?

The horse below me definitely has a mind of her own as she sets off trotting and I begin to screech, dropping the polo stick while I’m at it, gripping on to the horse for dear life.

After all, her tail is all wrapped up pretty, which I thought was for the photos but have since been told this is apparently to stop accidents. How dangerous is this game?

“Steady on, steady on,” Sebastian chases after me and Winnie, that’s the horse’s name, and grabs a hold of her. “Angelica, you can’t be screeching like that, you’ll scare the mare.”

“You should have warned me she was going to go that fast,” I yell, but my words are lost to the wind.

I’m very, very high up on this absolutely massive horse and very out of my depth.

I’ve come to Sebastian’s parents’ house in the country, and much to their dismay, there’s a bunch of paps (leaked to and let in by Sebastian’s management) hiding in the bushes.

And considering that display of Winnie being a rebellious, wild thing, much like myself, they’ve probably already snagged their shot.

This is mine and Sebastian’s first ‘date.’

“You’ve got to go slow, we’re practising, you can’t just run off and be waving your mallet around.

” That’s the official term for the hammer thing I’m meant to be holding.

It’s this long, thin stick with what looks like a miniature beer barrel at the end.

We’re meant to hit the little white balls which are dotted all over the ground, and whack one in the goals.

Sebastian said it was like hockey so I confidently said I would be absolutely fine as we played that in school, but then I remembered I spent most of my time bunking off PE and trying (and failing) to learn how to smoke.

Also, hockey is played running on my own reliable feet that I control, not at the mercy of a horse with a mean streak.

“She’s a polo pony, she doesn’t understand when you use two hands on the reins, you’re only meant to use one, your left hand, I told you this.”

“And I told you I think it’s offensive to left-handed people to not be able to switch hands.

” Apparently in polo, you have to swing the mallet with your right hand, no exceptions.

Sebastian said his father would “have a heart attack” if he saw me holding a mallet with my left hand.

What can I say? Rich people care about the daftest things.

“Anyway, that did look a little scary, do you want to get down?”

But I’m no quitter. I’ve agreed to play polo, for the photo opportunity, and also “for the memoirs” so I’ll keep playing. “It’s only been five minutes, I’ll get better.”

One hour later and guess what? I’ve not got any better.

Winnie, who I thought was once my comrade, I believe now has a vendetta against me.

She doesn’t listen to any of my cues, she keeps running off without me telling her to and I’ve not managed to hit even one ball.

But, I am laughing. A lot. And that’s the key thing.

Everything I do in life is mostly just to have a laugh and have some fun.

Sebastian clearly disagrees. The worse I am, the more I laugh and as a result, the more pissed off Sebastian becomes.

He’s huffing and puffing about how I’m “just not listening” when the most gorgeous older man I’ve ever seen comes swaggering onto the lawn.

He’s well over six foot, with salt and pepper hair, these big strong eyebrows and the most captivating smile.

“Can’t you see the girl’s trying, son, also it’s time for a break, it’s G&T o’clock. Sweetheart, let me get you down from there.”

Then, with a magician’s touch, this man walks straight over to Winnie, who stops dead in her tracks, as he then pats her murmuring, “there, there, good girl” (and, I can’t lie, I was fluttering down there as he said it, lucky Winnie.)

“Now gently ease your feet out of the stirrups, one foot at a time. That’s right.

” I do exactly as this silver fox says and manage, miracle of miracles, to elegantly pull my feet out of the stirrups and gingerly step down from Winnie, directly into this man’s very large, very capable hands.

As I slide down the horse, his hands graze my hips, pulling me close to him.

I feel his breath in my hair, as he whispers, “you’re trembling, don’t worry, you’re safe now.

” I can smell the leather from Winnie’s saddle, and feel the warmth of the just-setting evening sun on my face and, oh my god, I’m so horny for this sixty-year-old.

“I’m Thomas,” he says, shaking my hand. Did I mention his hands were firm? “But you can call me Tommy. I’m this reprobate’s father.”

Sebastian shrinks in his dad’s presence. He’s also well over six foot with a taut well-proportioned frame, but he becomes flustered around his father. “Daddy,” he coughs. “I mean, Dad, this is Angelica, she’s my…” He pauses. “Girlfriend.”

“I heard from your mother (who’s not happy by the way, you have some groveling to do, I’m afraid) that none of this is real.

I’m sorry if you were under a different impression Angelica, but you’re not his genuine girlfriend, are you?

Even if he’s told you otherwise, my son is quite the scandalmonger. ”

“Oh don’t worry, sir, I know exactly what I am getting myself into, I can assure you of that.” I don’t know where the sir came from, it just slipped out, such is this man’s power over me.

“I got the impression you were a smart girl, now,” he clicks his fingers and some men appear, guiding Winnie and Sebastian’s horse back to their stables. “Let’s go for a G&T and you can tell me all about your upbringing. I’ve got a feeling you’ve been quite naughty in the past…”

“Oh Tommy,” I say. “You’ve no idea. And it’s definitely not in the past.”

Four very strong gin and tonics later, which we swig while overlooking the “grounds”, and I’ve gone from sensing that Sebastian’s dad is being a tiny bit flirty, to being almost 100% sure that he definitely wants to fuck me.

His suggestive comments are getting more and more direct with each drink and, about two G&Ts in, I realised that the knee touching mine under the table wasn’t Sebastian’s but Tommy’s.

Tommy, it turns out, is a self-made millionaire, he grew up in Yorkshire, his dad was a miner and his mam died very young, which fuelled his determination to make enough money to care for his two younger brothers.

After moving down to London to work as a hotel porter (“and sending money home every week”) he learned the tricks of the trade, eventually ensuring he was in a position to take over management of the hotel.

Now? He owns a whole chain of them (“which you, Angelica, are welcome to stay in whenever you want…”)

“Dad, we’ve all heard your rags to riches story about a million times before,” Sebastian says, in a very whiny, unsexy voice.

“I haven’t,” I say. “That’s so inspirational.”

“I imagine you and I are cut from the same cloth, Angelica.” He constantly says my name, and I know it’s a trick to make me feel special but, even so, it’s working. “You really know the graft, the power of grit and hard work.”

“Angelica knows the power of a good job, alright,” Sebastian says, rolling his tongue around his mouth.

Tommy glowers at him. “Son, that’s a crude choice of words.

Your mother and I raised you better than that.

With that said, I’ve no doubt she’s acquired skills in all sorts of areas,” he then actually winks at me.

“I was talking about how you were born with that silver spoon in your mouth and now consider tarting about on television to be laborious, whereas Angelica and I have had to earn our money the hard way.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I did always have part-time jobs growing up, all throughout school.” I don’t mention that until the old people’s home, they were mostly shop jobs where generally I sat on a stool and read magazines, apart from an awful stint in a bakery which I quit as the hair net really didn’t suit me.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom… where is it?”

It takes walking down one set of stairs and through three different heavy wooden doors while I mutter to myself “this is some Alice In Wonderland shit” before I end up in their bathroom.

It’s like stepping inside my old jewellery box.

It’s big enough to fit a dusty pink velvet chaise longue and there are porcelain figurines of ballerinas and tiny vases of fresh flowers.

The wallpaper is rose coloured and there are Diptyque candles burning, creating the softest, muskiest of scents.

There’s a full length gilt mirror by the sinks, and I check myself out in it, just for a second (I don’t want Tommy to think I’m doing a poo, there’s something about him that makes me want to be all ladylike) when there’s a knock on the door.

“Angelica?” I jump. It’s Tommy. He speaks through the door. “I wondered if you fancied another drink?”

“You came all the way down here to ask me that?” I open the door and instead of stepping aside to let me pass, Tommy joins me in the velvety room. It suddenly doesn’t feel so large with both of us in here.

“Well…” He steps closer, now just a few centimetres away from me. “I did wonder about this…”

That’s when he leans in to kiss me and it’s rough and tender all at once, the bristle of his neat beard against my cheeks. “God, you’re so sexy,” he growls in my ear, and part of me really wants him to push me back onto the sofa behind me.

But in that same moment a thought crosses my mind, an unwanted one, like a pesky fly that’s just flown into my vision and now I can’t get rid of, no matter how much I swat it away. “Aren’t you married?” He pauses, stops, turns around.

“Oh Angelica, why would you ruin the moment like that? But yes, yes I am. My wife is currently knocked out upstairs on Diazepam, she had to pop two the moment she saw who her son had arrived with.”

“Charming.”

“Only because she finds youth so repulsive, she hates seeing all she has lost. She’d inject your blood into her veins if she could.”

“Still,” I say, “I’m not interested in getting with married men, no matter what the press says about me.”

There’s a slight shift in his body language, visible even from the back, when he says, “it’s not real any more, it’s like you and my son.

A facade we maintain for the sake of ‘society’ and ‘family’ but, truthfully, we haven’t been a legitimate couple in years.

She has her precious pills and I have my, well, I have my own relief… ”

Already I can feel myself being turned-off by the whole thing.

I can suddenly see Tommy a little clearer now.

Earlier, I thought he was this sexy, self-made charming man-of-the-people genius, but now I think he’s more of a manipulator who plans on seducing his son’s girlfriends when he brings them home.

As if he could read my mind he says, “I don’t try it on with all of my son’s girlfriends you know…

” Then he turns to me. “Just the sexy ones.” And, damn, I realise I’ve had a lucky escape here.

* * *