Page 47 of The Love Letter

‘Okay.’ Marcus yawned and lay down on the sofa. ‘Wake me up when you’re done, okay?’

Revived by the tea, Joanna continued sifting until the darkness had long since lengthened the shadows in the quiet room. She stretched her aching limbs and gave a groan. ‘Oh God, I need a nice hot bath,’ she murmured, shivering as she saw the fire had gone out.

Marcus’s head popped up from the sofa and he stretched languidly. ‘Yep, the range may have roused itself to produce at least half a tub of lukewarm water. Come on, I’ll show you the bathroom and where you’re sleeping tonight.’

Upstairs, Marcus took her into the large but rather shabby bedroom that would be hers for the night. A big brass bed covered in an old patchwork quilt stood in the centre of the low-ceilinged room, and an oriental rug covered the wood floor, which was liberally peppered with mouse-sized holes. Marcus dropped her holdall on the rickety chair next to the door, then tugged her along the corridor to another room. In it stood an impressive mahogany four-poster bed.

‘James’s room, where I shall be kipping. It’s a very big bed . . .’ he whispered in her ear as he pulled her towards him.

‘Marcus! Stop it,’ she said firmly as she wriggled out of his grasp.

He pushed a strand of her hair away from her face and sighed. ‘Jo, you have no idea how much I want you.’

‘You hardly know me. And besides, I’m not into one-night stands.’

‘Who says it would be? Christ, Jo, do you really think that’s what I want?’

‘I have no idea what you want, but I know what Idon’t.’

‘Okay,’ Marcus sighed, ‘I surrender. You may have noticed that patience has never been one of my virtues. I promise I won’t touch you again.’

‘Good. Now, I’m going to have a bath, if you’ll kindly show me where the bathroom is.’

Ten minutes later, Joanna was lying in the claw-foot bath, feeling like a Victorian virgin contemplating her wedding night. She groaned, thinking of the self-control it had taken to pull herself out of his arms. Why was she being so old-fashioned?

Apart from the fact that sleeping around had never appealed to her, Joanna knew she was scared. If she gave Marcus what they both wanted, wouldn’t he tire of her, as he had of all the other women? And then how stupid and used would she feel?

Well, there’s no point overanalysing it, she thought as she stepped out of the bath. Shivering her way back to the bedroom, she threw on her warmest jumper before pulling her jeans back on.

‘Joanna!’

‘Yes?’ she shouted.

‘I’m pouring the champagne! Come down.’

‘Coming.’ She padded downstairs to find him on the leather sofa in front of a newly restoked fire.

‘Here.’ He handed her a glass as she sat down beside him. ‘Look, Jo, I just want to apologise for behaving like a lothario. If you don’t want me in that way, it’s absolutely fine. I’m sure I’m mature enough to enjoy your friendship, if that’s all you want to offer me. What I’m saying is that you’ll be perfectly safe tonight. I promise I will not creep into your bedroom and ravage you. Now, I hope we can relax and have a nice evening. I’ve booked a table at the pub in the village. They have nice plain English fare, none of this fancy sophisticated stuff that I’m already gathering you don’t like. Anyway, cheers.’ He raised his glass and smiled at her.

‘Cheers.’ She smiled back, feeling relieved yet disappointed at his fervent apology and acceptance of being ‘friends’.

Half an hour later, they drove the bumpy mile down the pitch-black lanes to the local village. The ancient inn was low-roofed and cosy with its dark wooden interior and huge fire. A cat dozed on the bar top as Marcus ordered a couple of gin and tonics and chatted to the barman before the two of them took their seats at a table in the dining room.

‘By the way, this is my treat,’ said Joanna as they studied the menus, ‘to say thank you for arranging all this for me.’

‘My pleasure. And as it’s your treat, I’m going to have the steak.’

‘Me too.’

The young waitress came to take their order and Joanna chose a bottle of claret from the surprisingly extensive wine list.

‘So, tell me about your idyllic childhood in Yorkshire,’ Marcus prompted.

As Joanna did so, Marcus listened with more than a little envy to her descriptions of family Christmases, riding horses on the moors, the tight-knit community that worked together to help their neighbours through the long, hard winters.

‘The farm’s been in my family for generations,’ she said. ‘My grandfather died about twenty years ago and Dora, my granny, handed the place over to my dad. But she still came and helped out at lambing time, right up until last year when her arthritis got the better of her.’

‘What will happen when your dad retires?’