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‘Your very own medieval castle.’ Complete with a few ghosts from the past, if the memories flickering in Greg’s eyes were anything to go by.
‘Yeah.’ He was looking around, seeing things she couldn’t. ‘We had a film crew here once. It was just a B movie and I don’t think they set much store by historical accuracy but I loved it. I made my mother bring me here every day, just to watch.’ He grinned proudly. ‘I had a bit part.’
‘Really? Who did you play?’
‘A nameless, grubby urchin. Didn’t get any lines, but I gave it my all.’
‘I’m sure you did. So what’s the film?’
‘My mother has a copy. I dare say if you ask her, she’ll let you savour every moment of my time on the silver screen in glorious slow-mo.’ He went to turn but something stopped him. The ghosts weren’t done with him yet, and he seemed caught, unable to move, his breath misting white in the chill of the air.
‘Those memories are important.’
‘They’re… ’ He was making a visible effort to resist some beguiling force, but Jess couldn’t tell what, and it was difficult to imagine what Greg could want that he didn’t already have. His attention was suddenly focussed back onto her. ‘It’s cold in here. You’re shivering.’
So do something about it. Hold me. Keep me warm. ‘I should have packed a warmer sweater.’
‘I have a few here.’ He turned abruptly. ‘Come and pick one out.’
His sweater didn’t fit, but it was warm, and Jess could fold the cuffs so that her hands didn’t disappear completely. And it smelled of him. Warm and sexy, and not really hers. She’d packed her best jeans, on the off chance she might need them, and Greg produced a pair of wellingtons along with a pair of thick woollen socks from the cloakroom.
‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to turn up at your mother’s looking like this?’
‘I think you look rather fetching. Red suits you.’ Greg’s smile would have made her feel fabulous, even if she’d been wearing rags. ‘Anyway, you wouldn’t want to make me feel underdressed, would you?’
The idea was faintly ludicrous. His jeans were a shade of something between indigo and black, which you generally didn’t find on the high street. His sweater wasn’t new, but it was soft, thick cashmere, like the one he’d lent her. Coupled with those dark good looks, he was quality from head to toe and would have fitted in anywhere.
He caught his car keys up from the hall table. ‘I’ll get your coat from the car.’
They tramped across the fields, keeping up a brisk pace against the cold. Jess was glad of the woollen scarf and gloves that Greg had produced from the cloakroom, which was beginning to take on the nature of a magician’s cubby hole, from which it was possible to conjure up all manner of useful things that appeared to belong to no one in particular.
‘That’s where we’re headed.’ He pointed towards a house, standing on the outskirts of the village.
‘It looks lovely.’ Jess didn’t have to search for something nice to say this time. The yellow-brick, rambling farmhouse was everything that Greg’s father’s house wasn’t. Blending in with the trees and evergreen bushes that surrounded it, as if it had just grown there instead of having been brutally hewn from the countryside. ‘This was your real home, then.’
‘Yeah.’ His pace seemed to quicken, the nearer they got. As if he was leaving some burden behind. ‘Where did you grow up?’
Jess smiled. ‘Nowhere so grand.’
He twisted the corners of his mouth down. ‘This isn’t so very grand, is it?’
‘It is quite grand. We didn’t have our own medieval tower at home.’
‘It’s only mock-medieval—’ He broke off, grinning. ‘Yeah, I suppose the tower’s not your average home extension. But stop changing the subject. I’ve already spilled the beans.’
Maybe he had. Maybe he’d just told her what he wanted her to know and kept the rest back. ‘Not much to know. Just me and my mum. We had a little house in South London.’
He nodded. ‘No brothers or sisters?’
‘No. My father left before I was born.’ Jess shrugged. ‘I don’t miss him. I can’t, I didn’t know him.’
‘Can’t you miss things that you didn’t have?’
‘I’m not sure there were any.’ She answered too quickly. Maybe even a bit defensively.
He laughed. ‘May I have your autograph?’
‘Why?’
