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‘Well, that’s up to you. What I meant was, why don’t you take Silas to Gawsworth? I mean, it’s much more your sort of thing than mine, you know so much more about it, and you know that I’m not that interested in history. Besides, when I was in the off-licence I bumped into Susie, and she’s asked me round there today so that we can catch up on all our gossip. You don’t mind, do you, Ma? I mean, you love going to Gawsworth, don’t you? You’re always saying how much it inspires you and how you never get bored with it.’
Hazel had no idea what to say. Katie was looking appealingly at her, almost willing her to agree. But why? Surely she must want Silas to herself? Unless of course there was something wrong—unless perhaps they had had a quarrel. Perhaps over last night’s sleeping arrangements. Maybe Silas had tried to insist that Katie spend the night with him and maybe Katie had felt impelled to refuse because they were under her mother’s roof. If that was the case and she was the cause of their quarrel, then perhaps she owed it to her daughter to do what she plainly wished her to do.
Swallowing down her reluctance, she began uncertainly, ‘Well, if Mr…if Silas doesn’t object to having me as a guide, I’d certainly love the opportunity to revisit Gawsworth.’ She had in actual fact been thinking of paying the house a visit anyway.
It was true that she found endless inspiration in its black and white fade, its homely collection of rooms, its history, but she was sure that Silas could have no wish to visit the house in her company. She waited, expecting him to point out to Katie that it was her company he wanted, that he would have plenty of time to undertake his research for his new book once she, Katie, was back at university, but to Hazel’s astonishment he turned to her and said with what appeared to be genuine pleasure, ‘If you could spare the time to come with me, I’d really appreciate it. Katie’s told me that you’re a very keen local historian, and I suspect I shall be picking your brains on more than one occasion during the next few months. I only hope you don’t come to regret your very generous offer to house me.’
‘Great, so that’s settled. Since I’m not to be offered a cup of tea I’m going to get dressed,’ Katie announced cheerfully.
She headed for the door, leaving Silas to get off the bed where he had been sitting.
As he got up his movements dislodged the duvet, which slid sideways exposing, to Hazel’s mortification, the upper half of her body in its totally unsuitable covering of a pink and white candy-striped nightshirt embellished with a large picture of a cat.
Hardly suitable nightwear for a woman of her mature years, and, while the rest of her body was extremely slender, she was not after all a girl of eighteen and her breasts were far too clearly revealed by the slightly too close-fitting garment.
She made a dive to recover the duvet at the same time as Silas bent down to do the same thing. Their fingers touched briefly, her skin burning as she snatched her hand away, a wild flush of colour dyeing her skin scarlet as Silas looked towards her.
Perhaps he had merely been going to apologise; or perhaps he had not intended to say anything at all, but, whatever his intentions were, they seemed to be forgotten as he tensed, so obviously and so unexpectedly that Hazel automatically turned her head to see what it was that had compelled his attention.
When she realised that it was the soft swell of her own breasts on which his gaze was transfixed, and, even worse, that her nipples, those delicate and normally exceptionally primly behaved indicators of feminine sexual arousal, were flaunting themselves in rigidly taut pinnacles that pushed wantonly against the soft, worn cotton of her nightshirt as though deliberately begging to be touched…kissed.
Hazel couldn’t help it. She gave a tiny shudder of self-revulsion and closing her eyes, rolled over on to her stomach and through the muffling thickness of her pillow whispered huskily, ‘Please go.’
She was still shivering long after she had heard him leave.
How on earth could she get dressed and go downstairs now, behaving as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened? And what if Silas chose to tell Katie what had happened? She gave a small moan of despair and self-contempt, longing to simply keep her eyes closed and stay where she was, but she couldn’t do that. She was a mature woman, not a child, even if she was not behaving as one.
And so she got up, showered in her own small bathroom, and then dressed in a plain black skirt, a cream shirt, and a thick cardigan, which she took great care to fasten all the way down the front, so that even if her body did choose to betray her a second time no one other than herself would be aware of it.
As she scooped the damp towels and her nightshirt up off the bathroom floor, she made herself a promise that first thing on Monday morning she was going to go out and buy herself something to sleep in far more appropriate for her years. Something sensible and middle-aged. Something heavy and thick. Something that wouldn’t give away the over-stimulated state of her body, no matter how close to her Silas chose to sit.
Which was stupid, because after what had happened this morning bringing her further early morning cups of tea was the last thing he was likely to do. Nor would she want him to do so. In reality it was all his fault anyway. He had no right to invade the privacy of her bedroom. No right at all. Just because he was Katie’s lover, that did not give him the right to walk into her room and perch himself on the end of her bed.
And yet…and yet, she acknowledged mournfully, there had been something luxurious, something very special that made her feel pampered and cosseted about being brought tea in bed by a man. Perhaps, she realised with a faint awareness of some deep inner pain, because no man had ever done that for her before. Just as no man had ever held her breasts in his hands, stroking them, caressing their softness, and then kissing them, teasing the erect nipples, until they were trembling with excitement, until she was trembling with excitement.
Stop that, she warned herself, frantically, stop it right now. She had no right to have such thoughts. No right at all.
When she got downstairs, she discovered that not only was the table set for breakfast, but that the kitchen was permeated by the delicious smell of freshly filtered coffee. Sniffing it appreciatively, she enthused to Katie, who was just opening a cupboard door, ‘You are a love. Thanks for getting breakfast started. I don’t know what happened to me this morning. I overslept, I’m afraid.’
She was praying that her daughter wouldn’t turn round and see the guilt and the misery in her eyes. Silas belonged to Katie, and she was betraying her own daughter in feeling so aware of him, so aroused by him.
‘Don’t thank me,’ Katie told her, reaching up into the cupboard and removing a packet of her favourite cereal. ‘It was Silas’s idea. He’s a real slave-driver, you have no idea. Said I’ve been spoilt for long enough, and that it was time someone spoiled you a little bit.’
Hazel couldn’t help it. She felt her skin flush and her jaw drop as she listened to this announcement.
What on earth was Silas playing at? He hardly seemed the kind of man who would ever be insecure enough with a woman to need to stoop to those sort of ploys, but then a man of his age, who needed to boost his ego with the company of a much younger girl, must have some serious emotional problems.
And yet in other ways he seemed so mature, so…so in control of himself and those around him.
Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he was one of those men who needed to control the emotions of others and could best do so by preying on the very young. With a woman of her years, for instance, he would never be able to do that. Well, at least not with any other woman of her age, because she would have the experience to match his own, the knowledge, the maturity.
‘Er—where is Silas?’ she asked Katie, trying to control her rioting thoughts.
‘Gone down to the village to buy some papers. He’s taken the car though so he shouldn’t be very long.’
‘Mm…are you making toast?’ she asked as Hazel picked up the breadboard and removed a loaf from the bread bin.
‘And I wouldn’t mind some scrambled eggs if there are any going.’
