Page 142

“Emily! Wake up!” he shouts.

Gasping, I sat up and I was back in my bedroom, in the dark and alone. I switched on the bedside light for comfort.

Whoa! What was that?

Tristan.

His kiss.

I touched my lips. He’d kissed me. I flopped back down on my pillow, unable or unwilling to contain my ridiculous grin. I’ve been kissed. Properly and thoroughly kissed.

Kissed by a ghost, Emily.

What good can come of this?

I frowned, then shook off the negative thought. Being with Tristan had been deliciously thrilling and exciting. And kissing. Wow. He was waking parts of me I didn’t know existed.

I squirmed in my bed. Hmm… and I wondered what else we could do in my dreams.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in a long, long time let my fantasies fly.

***

Watching Dylan play cricket was deathly dull. Lulu and I sat on a large picnic rug in the bright August sunshine at a cricket pitch in Ealing, a leafy West London suburb close to Chiswick. I made a vague attempt to follow the play, but I only had a basic understanding of how it worked. Lulu, on the other hand, Ms. Sportswoman of the Year, had no trouble understanding the score or giving me a running commentary. She was invested. Her eldest brother was a keen cricketer and when at school had played at county level.

Doctor Dyl’s team from his hospital were fielding. It was uber, uber tedious to watch. However, the slow, relaxed, easy day meant I could daydream. I smiled and closed my eyes, remembering last night.

Emily, I want it too.

“I do like a man in cricket whites,” Lulu murmured, pulling me away from my giddy memories of Tristan’s kiss. Dylan was up to bowl. I had to agree with Lulu. The whole team dressed entirely in white—well, more a sort of cream—looked clean, crisp, and elegant, especially Doctor Dyl.

I concentrated on the game for a while. To polite applause, I watched Dylan bowl two men out and catch another batsman out.

“Three people out for a duck. He’s very good,” Lulu said, her voice dreamy, like she was talking to herself. But then Lulu was usually talking. She had it bad where Dylan was concerned. I hoped they were okay—they’d been bickering this morning and, for once, not about me.

“I’m going to have a Pimm’s. Would you like one, Emily?” Lulu rose to make her way to the clubhouse, her tea dress wrapped around her lush curves and fluttering in the summer breeze.

“Yes please,” I said eagerly, though I didn’t know what sort of drink it was. Anything to relieve the tedium.

Dylan was fielding. I lay down on the rug, propped on my elbow, and watched him through half-closed eyes. He was concentrating on the action at the wicket, ready to run and catch the ball. He was sporty, like Lulu. Perhaps this was what they had in common—that and the fact that they were both far too good-looking. It was unnerving being surrounded by beautiful people.

Closing my eyes, I lay back… The most beautiful of all was Tristan. I smiled as I pictured him in my mind’s eye, and in the soporific surroundings of the cricket grounds, I drifted. The greenery of the suburban landscape faded, and I was once again standing in the gray terrain that was Tristan’s domain.

Tristan emerges from the mist at a run, and it’s obvious from his expression that he’s agitated. I’ve never seen him like this.

“Finally, I found you,” he exclaims and grabs my shoulders.

“I’m in Ealing,” I whisper, alarmed by his demeanor. “How did you find me?”

He gave a wry snort. “Beauchamp, you’re like a beacon. I’ve told you. Get the son of a bitch. You need to come back to the house. Get him to come back to the house.”

“Why?” I ask, staring up into his anxious green eyes.

“Here you go.” Lulu’s voice woke me, and she handed me a plastic pint glass of what looked like a fruit punch. “Were you asleep?” she asked.

“Um, yes, I was dreaming.” I sat up, confused. Absentmindedly, I tasted my drink. “Mmm, this is tasty. Thank you.”

“And it contains your five-a-day fruit portions.” Lulu grinned.