Hard Choices (14 page)

“Looking for rabbits,” explains Eva. “Doesn’t usually find any. And if he did they’d hear him coming a mile off. Still, he needs the exercise. Like Ash.”

Ashley grins. “Tom’s wonderful. Absolutely lovely. But he worries too much.”

Eva links her arm through Ashley’s. “Not too much. He just wants to make sure that everything goes okay.”

Ashley turns to me. “I lost a baby a while back. Not Tom’s, I was in another relationship then. But Tom does tend to wrap me in cotton wool. Most of the time.”

“Yeah,” Eva agrees. “That means no spanking, no whips, no caning. Can’t say I’d complain about that—I hate canes.”

“Come off it. Nathan never canes you.”

“Well, no.”

“Definitely no. But he keeps you well topped up in other ways, so to speak.” She looks wistful. “My bottom’s itching for a decent spanking, though. Do you think Tom might…?”

Eva puts a consoling arm across her shoulders. “Doubt it, sweetheart. You’ll just have to settle for vibrators and anal beads. Could be worse, I suppose…”

Ashley seems to be considering this. At last, “Yes, there’s a lot to be said for anal beads. And he’s even stopped putting them in the freezer, just for the next few months.”

Shit!
My butt clenches at the thought. I hope the subject never comes up in Nick’s hearing.

And speaking of which, Eva turns her attention to me. And Nick. “So, Freya, your Nick looks sort of…hardcore. Is he?”

I stop, look at each of their expectant faces, wondering if I should be discussing my Master like this. But I badly need their companionship, the friendship of other women is important to me, and I miss Summer desperately. I soon relent, and sign my reply, “Yes, Nick
is
tough. Demanding, very stern sometimes. And yes, he has caned me, though not much because I don’t like it. He spanks me, though, and he’s particularly good with whips. But he’s nice too. Caring and gentle and he makes me feel safe. He loves me, and I love him.”

Eva translates my words for Ashley who smiles broadly. Clearly she likes the sound of Nick. She nods firmly. “I told you so. Sounds absolutely spiffing.” Then, in a sudden shift of subject, “So, what’s Mrs Richardson intending to feed us on tonight?”

Chapter Ten

Mrs Richardson, it turns out, is Nathan Darke’s housekeeper, cook, live-in nanny and resident grandma to Rosie, though I gather Eva’s mother now helps out on that front. Still, Grace Richardson handles just about everything, it seems, at their huge home. It’s a converted barn with several cottages and outhouses, all now integrated to create a beautiful, sprawling house. My first sight of it is from about a mile away as we crest a hill, and from there the huge stone house stays in view as we stroll down the moor towards the back door. Despite the size of the place it looks inviting, sort of homely, welcoming. Or maybe it’s the company.

Certainly Black Combe is located in a beautiful spot.

“Have you lived here long?”

“Me? No, I’ve only lived here a few months. Nathan’s had the place for five or six years, that’s all. It was a ruin, I gather, and he restored it. He’s an architect. He originally intended to just do the place up then sell it on, but decided to keep it instead and live here himself.”

“It’s a lovely house. I can see why he didn’t want to part with it.”

Eva nods. “Yes. I love it here.” I suspect she’s referring to much more than bricks and mortar.

As we approach, we see Nathan’s sleek black Porsche glide into the yard and circle around to the back of the house. He stops, and the passenger door flies open. Rosie hops out and heads for the back door, which opens before she reaches it. A woman of around fifty or so is in the doorway and Rosie rushes past her.

“Probably desperate for the loo,” murmurs Eva, and sure enough, a few seconds later we see the light go on in a small ground floor window. Meanwhile, Nathan has taken his time reaching into the back of the car and lifting out his youngest daughter, who now looks to be awake. He holds her up above his head, and her feet kick wildly before he pulls her in for a cuddle.

“Nathan’s good with children,” I observe.

“Yeah,” Eva agrees. “I reckon he’d fill the place with them if I was up for it.”

“Will you have more?” I’ve asked the question before I can stop myself, even though it’s really none of my business.

Eva doesn’t seem to mind. “Most likely. In a year or so. At the moment I’m busy finishing a research project I’m involved in with Oxford University. When that’s done, probably by around June next year, well, then…”

“When they make you a professor…” Ashley’s smile is infectious. It seems she finds the notion of her best friend reaching the august heights of professorhood somewhat amusing, and I have to confess it surprises me as well. Eva can’t be more than twenty-four or twenty-five. And they say policemen are looking younger.

Eva shrugs. “Maybe. As long as they don’t want me to go head up some academic department somewhere. I don’t mind just staying on as a research fellow with Leeds, to be honest. My days of passing every exam in sight are long over. For now, I enjoy my music, a bit of foreign travel, and if I get short of cash I can head for the casino in Leeds to top up.”

I’m looking a bit bemused, I daresay, but Ashley helps out.

“She’s a bit of a genius on the quiet, our Eva. A swot, you might say. Apart from being able to play more or less any instrument to concert standard, and learn a new language in about ten minutes flat, she’s a mathematician as well. And she’s so good with numbers she can even beat the odds at roulette, comes out of the games room with a fortune in chips. Every time.”

Now I
am
impressed. With both of them. Ashley’s an artist, Eva’s a genius. And me, I’m just lucky. So I suppose we make a fine trio.

* * * *

Dinner at Black Combe is a noisy, crowded affair. Dan, Nick and Callum arrive in my Vanquish about an hour after we do, and Tom’s not far behind them. Nathan invited Seth Appleyard and his wife to join us as well, so by the time Mrs Richardson calls us all into the dining room to start sampling her carrot and coriander soup our ranks have swelled to twelve.

It could have been fifteen. Ashley’s father, Bajram, and her two sisters are visiting from Turkey. They had been due to go home before now but decided to extend their stay to be here for the wedding. Greystones would be a bit cramped for all of them so they are staying at Black Combe too. They are away for a few days, though, sightseeing in London.

Rosie manages to get herself seated next to Callum, and spends most of the meal quizzing him about his taste in music, films, video games and whatever she can dream up. She seems smitten, but Callum’s very nice to her and tolerant of her childish babbling. Probably just as well—her dad looks as though he’d be a formidable man to piss off.

The Appleyards are lovely, and just the sort of down to earth people Callum might respond to. He’ll certainly be kept busy by the sound of it. He’ll be starting work at seven in the morning, three days a week, and not finishing till dusk most days. He’ll go to college two days a week—Nick looks particularly impressed with this news—and best of all he gets to ride a quad bike. He and Eileen Appleyard seem to have hit it off, and I’m beginning to see a pattern emerging. Callum appears to get on better with women. I make a mental note to ask Ashley to keep an eye out for him.

There’s a spare room at the Appleyards’ since their eldest son moved in with his girlfriend in Oakworth, and Callum seems delighted at the prospect of relocating there. I’ll miss him slobbing around our house in Cartmel, though I don’t think Nick will, particularly. There’s a brief discussion, but it’s generally agreed that there’s no point delaying matters and Callum might as well stay here and get stuck into his new job. It’s not as though he has a whole lot of stuff at our place to pack, in any case. Our Callum travels light. We can drop off his few belongings, and I expect we’ll be down to check up on him quite often.

The biggest surprise of the evening, though, is the wedding invitation.

“You two
will
come, won’t you? It’s next Tuesday.”

Ashley’s watching me earnestly across her peppered steak, and doesn’t look inclined to take no for an answer. I glance at Nick, seated next to me, not sure how he feels about driving back down quite so soon, though it will be an opportunity to bring Callum’s stuff. And although we’ve had a lovely afternoon together, we hardly know Tom and Ashley.

“Please. I need people on my side of the barn.” She’s not letting up. “So far it’s just my dad and two sisters. And my friend from way back who’s arriving the day after tomorrow. You two, and Callum, will help even it all up a little bit. Please…”

“It’s kind of you, but we wouldn’t want to crash your wedding.” Nick’s refusal is polite, and he’s right of course, but still, I’m disappointed. I like my new friends.

“Not at all.” This from Tom. “The more the merrier. There’s loads of room. And little Norma No-Mates here needs the company.” He ducks as Ashley lands a punch on his arm. “Really, you’d be welcome. It’s short notice, we know, but if you’re free next Tuesday…?”

And so it’s settled. We’re coming back to Yorkshire next week for Ashley and Tom’s wedding, which will take place in the huge barn at Greystones. I’m delighted. It’s a good excuse to buy a frock. And we’ll need a wedding present. Busy, busy, busy.

* * * *

We drive back down to Greystones four days later, the day before the wedding. There’s a hen party and a stag night this evening, and I’m looking forward to the whole thing. Maybe I’m a much more social animal than I thought. Just depends on the company, probably. Nick and I are staying at Black Combe again, and the hen party is to be there. The men are all going to start at Greystones and end up at some pub down in the village. I’m sure the landlord will be pleased to see them, it’ll probably double his month’s takings.

We head up the narrow lane to Black Combe, to find our way barred at the top by a massive gate. Nick gets out and presses a buzzer, and moments later the gate starts to slide sideways. It glides closed behind us as my Vanquish purrs along Nathan Darke’s gravelled drive, and we finally pull up at the rear of his huge house alongside his Porsche. Nathan opens the kitchen door as Nick is unloading our luggage—weddings need careful and extensive packing, I find. Nathan grabs my bag from the boot as Nick hoists his own, and leads us inside.

I can hear voices coming from a room somewhere as we trot along in Nathan Darke’s wake—feminine voices laughing, calling out to each other. The party seems to have started.

“I’m living on borrowed time,” Nathan explains to Nick as he leads us upstairs to our room overlooking the moors. “Eva’s been trying to sling me out for the last hour but I thought it only neighbourly to wait for you. Anyway, just dump your stuff, and then you and me can head over to the farm. Leave these bloody females to their coven.”

“Mr Darke, how rude.” Eva’s grinning as she emerges from what I assume is the room she shares with Nathan, and hugs me on the landing. “But if you wouldn’t mind buggering off now, we would appreciate that.”

Nathan pats her on the bum, not especially gently, and she steps back to a safe distance. She and Nathan exchange a look, one that promises intimacy and pleasure later, and probably more than a hint of retribution for her remark. My pussy clenches in sympathy. Or should that be envy? The mood is broken as Nathan turns back to Nick. “See? Come on, mate, we’re not welcome here. Oh, and leave your keys behind. We’ll end up dossing at Greystones most likely and Seth’s youngest lad is on driving duty.”

With a clatter of footsteps down the stairs, and a thump of the back door closing, they’re gone.

Eva doesn’t even suggest I might like to unpack or freshen up. Sensible woman this. “Right, we’re all downstairs, in the living room. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Moments later she’s shepherding me into the crowded, noisy space that used to be the Black Combe lounge but is now more akin to a harem as women of all shapes, sizes, ages and shades are draped over every available surface. I spot Ashley straight away, and she makes a beeline for us as we appear in the doorway.

“We heard your car, knew it must be you.” She stops chattering just long enough to hug me and kiss my cheek, then rattles on, “It’s so lovely to see you again, I’m really glad you could make it. I think you know some of the others already…”

I do indeed. Rosie, of course, and Grace Richardson. I glance around the rest of the assembled female faces ready to make polite gestures—and gasp in absolute stunned amazement.

What. The. Fuck?

There, in the middle of all this feminine chaos and happy celebration, large as life, is Summer. My Summer. Summer Jones, my friend who disappeared weeks ago without so much as a word. For some reason, some unfathomable reason, she’s here. At Ashley McAllister’s hen party.

What. The. Fuck?

We stare at each other, both equally astonished at this turn of events. And suddenly I’m signing. Fast.

“Where the hell have you been? I was so bloody worried. What are you doing here? What the fucking hell got into you?”

I see her eyes widen. I rarely—never—swear when I sign. But this is a special occasion and I’m making an exception here. I’ve missed her so much, been so desperate for news, for any word to tell me she was okay.

“I’m sorry,” Summer answers me in sign, our old way of keeping things private, obviously not realising that Eva at least will be able to follow the conversation. I don’t disillusion her. Hell, I’m so bloody angry I don’t care who knows.

“Sorry! So you should be fucking sorry. What happened? Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? I was so worried, I thought… I thought…” I falter, not wanting to put into words what I thought, the dark fears I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, and the growing certainty that I might never see my friend again. I step forward, seriously considering killing her.

“Well, it’s obvious you two know each other. Lots to discuss. Let’s not spoil the party, though.” Eva steps between us, quickly linking both of our arms and marching us out of the room. Followed by Ashley she pretty much drags the pair of us into the kitchen, shoves me into a chair, then Summer. Eva stands over the pair of us, looking as though she’s still ready to rugby tackle me to the ground. I concentrate on not looking dangerous, not usually a problem for me, but hell…Summer? Here?