Perfectly Correct Read online

  He was out of sight, hidden by a dip in the field, for a few minutes, but even when he was striding briskly across his field at right angles to her, she did not see him. The sheep, greedy for feed, followed him, bleating indignantly, but not even their noise penetrated Louise’s distress. She had no idea that Andrew Miles was anywhere near her until he put a gentle hand on her shoulder and said quietly: ‘Miss Case … Louise.’

  She spun around with a gasp.

  Andrew Miles was very still, the early morning sun behind him, gilding his thick comforting jumper and his halo of blonde hair. He had cast aside his cap and without it his face looked younger, tender. His dark blue eyes were very steady, very kind. He stood as if he had somehow grown from the land, his Wellington boots firmly rooted in the sandy soil, his heavy-duty jeans as creased as the bark of a tree.

  Louise cried breathlessly, ‘Andrew, oh, Andrew! ‘ and flung herself into his arms and buried her face into the tickly warmth of his jumper.

  Andrew picked her up and carried her into a hollow of ground, cosy with last year’s bracken and heather, warmed by the morning sun, and kissed her face, her tragic mouth, her closed swollen eyelids, and her hot forehead. Her sweatshirt slid easily up to her shoulders, her jeans he had to struggle with. Louise, imprisoned in a warm and determined embrace, closed her eyes and let the events wash over her as if she were a fainting Victorian heroine. In this agreeable state of incorrectness she felt his hands gently, gently, caress her all over: knowledgeable hands, gamekeeper’s hands. She gave herself up, eyes closed, yielding as any Lawrentian virgin to the warmth and the weight and the seductive easy kisses of Andrew Miles, who proceeded to touch her all over and then slide easily and comfortably into making thorough love to her.

  Louise, finding herself underneath a man for the first time in nine years, gave herself up to the deliciously improper sensation of being overwhelmed, of yielding to male desire. Worse and worse, she found herself so out of control of events that she came: with a whimpering grateful orgasm, with no warning and no mannered preparation at all. And Andrew Miles did not verbally confirm her satisfaction at all; but sighed a deep restful sigh of delight and then lay, very heavily, on her.

  They rested for a long time in silence, and then Louise became slowly aware of small twigs sticking into her and insects or perhaps small animals biting her. She stirred and at once Andrew shook his head like a waking labrador dog and rolled off her. ‘Sorry,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Were you squashed?’

  Louise said nothing. ‘Squashed’ was not the first verb she would have used for their activity which had left her weak with profound satisfaction and with every distress washed from her mind. She pulled down her sweatshirt, and sat up to find her knickers and jeans. Andrew without embarrassment but with great interest handed her the small scrap of lace which she used for knickers. ‘Pretty,’ he said approvingly, and then pulled up his own trousers and pants which were bunched around his knees. He had not even had the grace to undress properly. Louise, with an appalled sense that something very drastic had happened, looked away.

  ‘I must get home,’ she said abruptly. ‘Good heavens, is that the time!’ She glanced blindly at her bare wrist; she had not put on her watch. Andrew was sitting comfortably in the little hollow, watching her.

  ‘Come back to the farm,’ he said without moving. ‘I’ll make you some breakfast.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly!’ Louise said with false brightness. ‘I’m sure you’re terribly busy.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked gently. ‘Come here.’ He held out an arm to her to tempt her back to lie beside him; but Louise stayed beyond his reach. She knelt and retied her shoelace.

  ‘We must be crazy!’ she said with a nervous laugh. She shot a swift look at him. His welcoming arm dropped to his bent knees. He was looking puzzled. ‘I had better go,’ she said straightening up and turning to leave.

  Andrew got to his feet and took two swift strides and put his arms around her. ‘You come home with me,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve got a saucepan of porridge on the stove, and you can have a coffee and a sit-down. It’s early yet, it’s only seven. You’re not generally even awake by this time. You’ve got hours yet before you need to be anywhere. You can tell me all about it over breakfast.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell!’ Louise said abruptly. She had been tempted for a moment by porridge and the warm kitchen smelling of coffee. But the thought of telling him about Toby and the red chiffon negligee shook her back to the nightmare of reality. And now she had tumbled into the arms of the odd job man and her life was more complicated and even worse than last night – and it had been in ruins then. ‘Nothing!’ she said.

  Andrew looked at her carefully. ‘Come to the farm then and I’ll drive you home,’ he offered gently. ‘You look tired out.’

  Hot tears of self-pity stung Louise’s eyes. ‘All right,’ she said ungraciously. She fell into step beside him and they walked in silence towards the farmhouse.

  ‘Come in for a moment,’ he said to her as they went through the gate from the home field into the yard. ‘I’ll make you some tea if that’s all you could fancy. Some toast.’

  Numbly, Louise shook her head and trudged towards the Land-Rover. Andrew opened the yard gate to the lane, swung into the driving seat and started the Land-Rover. Louise said nothing but stared blankly ahead through the filthy windscreen as they drove the three miles to her cottage. Andrew drew up outside her front door and switched off the engine.

  ‘Is it that man?’ he asked. ‘Toby? Has he upset you?’

  ‘I hope you don’t think that just because we … that because I … that what happened makes any difference to anything,’ Louise said in a sudden tense rush. ‘It was just silly, that’s all. Just one of those things.’

  ‘Lou …’ Andrew started kindly.

  Louise flinched at once from his shortening her name. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t call me Lou, I hate it.’

  He looked ready to argue.

  ‘Nothing’s changed,’ she continued quickly. ‘What happened was a mistake. It doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t mean anything.’

  Andrew put his hand over hers. ‘It does matter. It does mean something. And it wasn’t a mistake.’

  Louise drew away from his touch. ‘I’m an independent woman,’ she said thinly. ‘I won’t be blackmailed.’

  He took his hand from her but his dark blue eyes never left her face. ‘I know you’re an independent woman,’ he said simply. ‘I think you’re simply wonderful.’

  Louise gasped as if he had insulted her and struggled for the door handle. It came off promptly in her hand. ‘Dratted thing,’ Andrew Miles observed. ‘I keep meaning to fix it. I’ll get it done today, don’t you worry.’

  He got out of the cab of the Land-Rover and walked around to Louise’s door. She had no choice but to sit and wait while he opened the door for her with old-fashioned courtesy that the Women’s Movement had long ago identified as an insult to free able-bodied women, who can perfectly well turn their own door handles.

  Louise stepped down and went to her front door; Andrew followed her and waited while she opened it. ‘I am sorry,’ Louise said. ‘I think there’s some mistake. I should make it clear that I’m not interested in a serious relationship with you.’ She tried to find words to take the warm affectionate look from his face. ‘We are quite incompatible,’ she explained. ‘Quite incompatible.’ Her voice shook a little on a suppressed sob. ‘You could not find two more incompatible people. And in any case, I don’t believe in the notion of romantic love at all.’

  She succeeded better than she expected. The confident warmth was quite wiped from his face. He looked shocked. ‘You were just using me,’ he said.

  ‘I …’

  ‘I thought that you were upset and had come to find me,’ he said. ‘But you were just using me as some kind of diversion, to take your mind off things.’

  It was so near the truth that Louise could only gasp uncomfortably. ‘