A Lesson in Passion: Season of Desire Part 4 (Seasons Quartet) (8 page)

 
And look at me now – I’m in a borrowed robe, and we’re snuggled up in front of the fire.
I shake my head.
This is weird.

 
‘What is it?’ he asks, noticing my movement, distracted from the film. ‘Are you okay?’

 
I feel shy suddenly. I’m staring down at the belt I’ve tied around my waist and the way the pattern on the fabric disappears in the knot. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say quietly.

 
He clicks the movie on to pause, and squeezes me again. ‘Come on, sweetheart. What is it? You can tell me.’

 
‘I…’ I take a deep breath and glance up at him, catching those intense blue eyes before looking quickly away. The power of them is sometimes too much for me. ‘I just wondered about what’s going to happen when all of this is over.’

 
There. I said it.

 
He’s looking at me, his eyes expressionless. ‘No one knows what happens when all of this is over. Maybe nothing.’

 
My heart sinks and I can feel my face fall in disappointment.

 
He continues, ‘It all depends if you believe in God or not. Or maybe in reincarnation. Or the spirits of the trees and the stones. But to be honest, I don’t have a clue.’

 
I see a glint of mischief in his eyes and pound him crossly, laughing despite myself. ‘Not when
life
is over! I mean this! Our time in this beautiful place.’ I look around at the pretty interior of the chalet, with its nod to the Swiss peasant culture in the red and white cushions and the heart-shaped cut-outs in the chairs. First we were in a kind of hovel together, shut away from the world and everyone’s prying eyes. Now we’re here, in a more beautiful and comfortable version of the same thing.
With proper bathrooms this time, thank goodness. And without the fear of imminent death.
Nevertheless I am afraid; I’m worried that this is the last time Miles and I will be together like this and that this lovely dream is nearly over. I’m supposed to be heading back. Soon I’ll get an email from Jane-Elizabeth, under instructions from my father, wanting to know my whereabouts and what my movements are. I gaze at Miles, hoping my vulnerability isn’t showing in my eyes. ‘What’s going to happen to
us
?’

 
Just as I feared, Miles’s eyes darken. When that happens, they seem to go a shade that’s almost navy, the dark rim around his iris fading into the muted colour. He looks away from me.

 
My throat is dry suddenly. I should never have asked him this question, not yet. I should have kept my worries to myself and let him bring it up in his own time. Now he’s going to feel pressured. Our beautiful arrangement based on pure longing for one another will be ruined, because of my thoughtless questions.

 
‘The truth is, Freya,’ he says at last, ‘the truth is that I don’t know.’

 
My fingers are fiddling nervously with the knot on my belt. ‘You don’t know?’ I ask hesitantly.

 
He shakes his head, his lips in a straight line. His arm slips away from around my shoulders. ‘I can’t pretend to you – well, I guess I could but I don’t want to. What we’ve been doing is glorious, amazing, mind-blowing.’ There’s a tiny pause as we both remember some of the more exquisite moments we’ve shared in the last few days. ‘But…’

 
The but. Oh no. Not the but.

 
He hesitates. My stomach is doing all kinds of wild gymnastic routines while I wait the age it takes for him to speak again. When he does, his voice is low and he is still studying something of intense interest on the floor.

 
‘I don’t know what you want, but you’re very young, Freya. I’m older than you, and a lot more world-weary. I’ve seen a lot of bad things in my time. Believe me, you don’t know how bad.’ He pauses and I wait, desperate for him to continue. I want to say something but I bite my tongue, sensing that I have to let him speak in his own time. ‘There are reasons why it suits me to be employed by your father. His intense need for privacy and security work for me right now.’

 
‘Why?’ I ask timidly, unable to hold it in. ‘Are you running away from something?’

 
He glances at me swiftly and laughs one of those hollow, mirthless laughs. ‘You could put it like that. Yes.’

 
‘Is it…’ I don’t know why the thought strikes me, but it does. ‘…A woman?’

 
An awful expression crosses his face. It’s so brief I almost think I imagined it but I know I didn’t: it’s utter pain.

 
‘Yes,’ he whispers. ‘In a way. Yes.’

 
My heart plummets. I replay that fleeting expression in my mind again. It was a look of unbearable trauma. Whoever she is, it’s clear he still loves her, or, at least, isn’t over her.

 
Bleak disappointment races through me.
That’s why he wanted this situation to have limits. That’s why we had to agree that what happened in the hut would stay there. He belongs to someone else.

 
The minute I think it, I can’t believe I haven’t considered it before. Then I remember our time together in the hut, when he told me that he didn’t have a girlfriend.
But that doesn’t mean he’s not still in love with an ex.

 
A cold thought hits me like a punch.

 
And despite everything that’s happened between us, it hasn’t been enough to shake her from his heart. All this time he’d rather have been with her.

 
What hold must this woman have over him?

 
Miles is staring at me, and I suppose he must be watching a variety of emotions flit across my face. He says, ‘It’s not what you’re thinking.’

 
I look up at him with hope in my eyes. ‘She’s not on the scene any more?’

 
‘Nope.’ He shakes his head slowly. ‘She’s dead.’

 
I gape at him, horrified. ‘Oh my God, Miles, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.’

 
He looks away. ‘It’s fine, really. Do you mind if we just watch the movie now?’

Later that night I’m dozing in Miles’s arms, still wondering what his dead girlfriend means to him. I don’t know how I can live up to a woman who might well have attained saintly proportions by now. Despite loving the movie and enjoying the way I was sharing one of Miles’s passions with him, I couldn’t help the bleak feeling that kept creeping into my heart. After all of this, it seemed that it had meant nothing to Miles. Maybe a sticking plaster for a wounded heart, but little more than that. We would go home now and things would return to normal.

 
Normal?

 
I picture my everyday existence with its flurry of activity that really adds up to nothing much: the whirl of socialising, the preening and pampering, the rounds of shopping to keep up with the very latest of everything. And for what? What does it all really achieve? It doesn’t make me happy, I know that. Beneath the cheerfulness I summon up to show my friends, I feel constantly sad and angry – something I can hardly admit even to myself.

 
Miles has made me happy. He really has, and not just because of the divine sex he’s introduced to me. Even though I always knew that this was no-strings attached, he’s made me feel cherished and loved in a way I haven’t for ages. For as long as I can remember, in fact. And he’s made me feel protected too. The idea of losing that feeling is like walking naked into a snowstorm. I don’t want to return to the chilly loneliness of my daily life.

 
I look at him as he sleeps beside me. He’s turned towards me so that I can see the finely moulded shape of his lips and his long straight nose, his eyes closed. One arm is bent under his head and the other is flung out towards me, the fingers reaching out over the sheets as though he wants to touch me even in his sleep. I reach out my hand and brush the tips of his fingers with mine. His hand twitches and he sighs.

 
Oh Miles. What am I going to do without you?

 
I tell myself that he’ll still be close to me, that perhaps we can continue our lessons in other places – at home, in planned locations – but I fear that Miles won’t want that. He’s suggested nothing of the sort.

 
A tear leaks out from under my lashes, followed by another.

 
I don’t want to lose you. I’d give anything to be back in the storm in that hovel, if it meant I could be with you.

Chapter Eighteen

The next day we pack up to leave the chalet.

 
The chef arrives to make us breakfast, as Miles thinks we require a little more than eggs on our last day. He’s a tall, red-faced man with enormous ears, who says little but produces a hearty meal to sustain us on the journey home.

 
It’s only when our bags are at the door and we’re upstairs waiting for our cars to collect us that I say casually to Miles: ‘So – what happens after this?’

 
I’m sitting on the sofa while he’s standing by the window looking out over the magnificent view, clouded over today with a hint of bad weather to come. He looks ready to be on his way in a Belstaff black leather aviator jacket and sunglasses. My skin tingles at the sight of him, remembering the delicious early morning sex we shared when we woke up. It was not the long, erotic experience of my lessons, but the kind I love almost as much: straightforward but intense as he kissed me deeply, parted my legs and pushed in the hot hardness of his morning erection. I wrapped my legs around his thighs, and we ran a fast course of deep, satisfying fucking that ended in crackling, electric orgasms that exploded swiftly over us.

 
I wanted to speak to him then, as we pulled apart in that hot post-sex sweat and dampness, but he was out and striding to the shower almost at once. The time wasn’t right to broach the issue.

 
He turns to me now, his expression inscrutable and his eyes hidden behind the mirrored shades. ‘After this?’ He smiles suddenly, making happiness course through me. I’d do anything for that smile. ‘Well, Winter, I think you’ve learned just about all I can teach you for now.’

 
‘I don’t think so,’ I say softly. ‘I think there’s more to learn. And I need to consolidate my knowledge. You don’t ask a girl to take her driving test after just one lesson.’

 
He laughs. ‘True.’ Pulling off his shades, he walks towards me and sits down beside me on the sofa. ‘But how long can this go on for? We can’t both keep escaping from our lives like this – even though it’s been a beautiful experience.’

 
‘Has it?’ It comes out almost in a whisper and I realise how badly I want him to have loved this as much as I have.

 
He takes my hand. ‘Of course it has.’ His other hand reaches out to stroke my hair and he looks at me with tenderness. ‘You’ve trusted me completely. That’s meant so much. You can’t know how much.’

 
‘I feel so safe with you.’ I gaze up at him, hoping to convey the things I dare not say to him.

 
The expression in his eyes changes again, and I see a glimpse of that awful sadness, darkening his eyes like a cloud blocking out the sunshine.

 
‘What is it?’ I beg, feeling as though I’ve blundered somehow. ‘What have I said?’

 
He looks away. ‘Nothing. Nothing. Really.’ He gazes back and I can see he’s made an effort to put whatever it is out of his mind. ‘Freya, I’ve been a coward. I’ve been putting off talking about this with you because I’ve enjoyed our lost weekend so much.’

 
Oh no!
My heart begins to pound and a sick feeling makes my hands clammy.

 
‘But…’ He stands up. ‘I don’t plan to work for your father any more.’

 
‘What?’ I jump to my feet. ‘Why not?’

 
‘Because he’s lost his trust in me. I can see that. He and Pierre suspect me somehow, even though there’s no proof and no reason to. Now that you’ve explained what happened in the past, and the fact you were once betrayed by a guard, I can see where your father’s coming from. But the years have made him paranoid, and Pierre isn’t helping matters. He seems just as crazily suspicious – his job depends on it, I think. Pierre gets paid extremely well for reflecting back your father’s fears and, of course, making sure none of them are ever realised.’ Miles sighs and walks over to the fireplace where the hearth is now cold, scattered with the black ashes that are all that remains of the burning fire of last night. He picks up a poker and stirs them, but they remain cold and dead.

 
‘This is ridiculous,’ I say urgently. ‘Of course you must come back. They’ll soon realise they’ve been mistaken. I’ll tell my father and he’ll understand. I was there when we crashed, I know how it happened and it’s mad to think you could have somehow staged it. What do they think you hoped to gain out of it?’

 
He turns and looks at me with a long, penetrating stare and then says, ‘You. You, of course, Freya.’

 
‘Me?’ I blink at him, stunned.

 
‘Yes. You were out of his control for a couple of days while we were lost. Have you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?’

 
I shake my head, still taking in what he said.

 
‘It’s when someone is kidnapped, and they end up forming a relationship with their kidnappers, espousing their cause and turning to their side. Sometimes they can even end up falling in love.’

 
I feel a violent blush explode over my cheeks and I say, ‘That’s ridiculous.’

 
Miles doesn’t seem to notice my scarlet face but says, ‘They might think that a version of that has happened to you. They may even doubt there was a crash at all. They might think I pushed the car over the cliff and took you to the hut to brainwash you there, so that you’d back up my version of the story.’