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After all her high hopes, this was turning out to be the worst summer of her life. Misery filled her as she remembered how she had pictured talking to Blake, being with him… discussing her future with him, seeing the pleasure and approval in his eyes, watching the realisation dawn in them that she was now grown-up. She had even visualised exactly where ‘it’ would happen… in the garden, not the formal, carefully cultivated part, but the tangled wild area beyond the tall yew hedge where field poppies grew in the untidy grass and the stumps of the stricken elms which had been cut down three summers ago provided seats that were close enough together and tilted at such an angle that she would have had to lean very close to Blake when she was talking to him. So close that she might just possibly have slipped off her seat, necessitating Blake’s reaching out to catch hold of her…
Her stomach muscles had clenched when she had visualised this particular moment, the way he would look at her, the way his expression would change, the way he would hesitate for a moment, looking deeply into her eyes before brushing her hair off her face and then, as though completely unable to hold back any longer, bend his head to kiss her, gently at first, and then later…
A delicious frisson of fear and excitement had run through her at the thought of being kissed by Blake. But now Blake was gone and sometimes, when she tried to conjure up his image, to re-create the intensity and magic of that anticipation, all she could actually feel was a sense of loss and panic. On the morning of her birthday she searched the post, hoping that there might be a card from him, because after all he had sent her one when she had sat her exams, wishing her good luck; but there wasn’t one.
Her parents had planned a small dinner party to celebrate the event, inviting those of their friends who had suitably aged children of their own.
Philippa hated every second of it, but most especially when her father stood up and made a brief speech and then handed her the keys to the car he had bought her as a birthday present. She had been taking lessons for the last ten months and had surprised and shamed Robert, who had taken his test three times, by getting her full licence on her first attempt.
Only Philippa knew that the tears filling her eyes at her father’s generous present were tears of misery and resentment.
She didn’t want a car. She wanted… she wanted her freedom, the right to make her own choices… her own decisions.
As she listened to the envious comments of her peers she was bleakly aware that the money spent on her birthday present could have quite easily put her through university, and just for a second she fantasised about running away, selling the car… defying her parents. But she simply wasn’t that kind of person, the habit of obedienc
e too deeply ingrained.
Michael was due home in four weeks; perhaps, she decided, she could arrange to visit him at the flat once he was back at university. Then she could see Blake and…
And then, totally unexpectedly, her parents were invited away for the weekend, by an influential acquaintance of her father’s who, like him, was a keen golfer. No invitation had been extended to Philippa; Robert was away visiting Lydia’s family and, despite her mother’s reservations, Philippa was to be left at home alone.
The decision to visit Blake wasn’t made overnight; at first it was nothing more than a tentative, daring but impossible wish, but it grew stronger. Her imagination even subtly provided her with the ideal excuse for such a visit… an excuse that, once it took root, like the original desire, swiftly became a necessity.
Blake, she was sure, would be able to think of some way for her to get around her father… Blake would convince her parents that she should continue her education, she decided, conveniently ignoring the fact that Blake was the last person her father was likely to listen to.
While her mother fussed about what clothes to pack, Philippa mentally planned. Studying maps, making surreptitious notes, firmly ignoring the small, frightened voice that warned her that no good could come of such deception. Her need to see Blake was paramount, totally overriding everything else.
At night, once she was in bed, she closed her eyes and visualised the look in his eyes when he opened his door and saw her standing there, and her body shivered in anticipatory excitement. He would know, of course, exactly how she felt, just as she would be able to see from his face how much he had missed her… how much he wanted her.
And once she had gone to him, given herself to him, once they had acknowledged their feelings for one another, there would be no going back… Blake would not allow her to go back. She would be his then, and nothing her parents could do would change that.
Her imagination ran on busily; she saw herself rushing home to the flat from her tutorials to get Blake’s supper, the plain gold band of her wedding-ring adding a new maturity to her status. She saw herself buying flowers for the flat, while Blake looked on admiringly at the small feminine changes she had made to it. She saw him pleased and proud of her the day she got her degree, sweeping her up into his arms and telling her how much he loved her; she saw him… In the darkness she blushed furiously at the intense intimacy of her thoughts.
Her parents left home early in the morning but Philippa waited almost until lunchtime to do the same, still half afraid that for some reason they might come back.
The journey would only take her a couple of hours, or so she had estimated… What she had not allowed for, though, was taking the wrong exit off the motorway and getting well and truly lost afterwards, so that it was early evening before she finally turned into the road where Blake lived.
It was a chilly, wet evening, sullen grey rainclouds darkening the sky. She parked the car outside the flat, running through the rain to the door and ringing the bell.
A huge drop of rain fell on her face, smudging her mascara, and she was just trying frantically to rub it away when the door opened.
‘Blake…’ Tired and emotional, she would have hurled herself into his arms if he had not fended her off.
‘What is it… what’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘Is it Mike—has something happened to him… ?’
‘Michael?’ Philippa stared at him. This wasn’t what she had planned… what she had imagined… Blake holding her at arm’s length, looking at her so coldly, more concerned, it seemed, with her brother than with her.
Fiercely she tried to banish the small feather of disquiet starting to curl uncomfortably inside her stomach.
‘Blake, I had to see you. I need to talk to you…’
He didn’t seem to be listening to her.
‘How did you get here?’ he demanded.
‘In my car…’ Wearily she gestured to the car parked by the kerb.
‘Your car…?’
