Chapter 13 Don’t You Want Me
DON'T YOU WANT ME
When we arrived back at the manor, I made my excuses and left them to it. The brittle sound of Francesca's laughter echoed behind me — the laugh she always used around Jeremy.
I crunched along the gravel track until the manicured lawns gave way to the more rugged, untamed beauty of the surrounding landscape.
Our cottage sat nestled in its own private garden, framed by imposing conifers and a low picket fence, marking the boundary of our little world — a world away from all the pretensions of the manor.
An evening curled up with Atwood and her Handmaids suddenly seemed preferable to the thought of an evening of Francesca and Jeremy laughing at me as I tried to swat Hugo away like a persistent blowfly.
But with the fresh air and distance between us, I could see that their conversation was just banter.
I could see how silly I was to question Francesca’s feelings and motivations when just last week she’d been the one to seduce me, to pull me into her bed and consume me like a Fortnum’s hamper.
Jeremy was winding me up and Francesca was playing along, that was all.
Of course she liked me and not Jeremy. Of course she didn’t actually want me to date Hugo Beaumont.
She’d sat next to me, touched me under the table, and flirted when I told her I’d missed her.
Things between us were good. We hadn’t yet had the chance to define our relationship, and perhaps relationship was too formal, but what we had was something special, and everything she’d said hinted at more to come.
Yet something about her that afternoon had sown a seed of doubt.
Cold air and an earthy smell followed Dad into the cottage when he returned from the hunt.
“Alright, kiddo,” he called, waving a gloved hand in my direction. He peeled off his waxed jacket and wrestled with his muddy wellies, leaving them in a haphazard pile in the porch.
“Good timing. I just brewed a pot,” I said as he shuffled into the room, all ruddy-faced, hugging himself to warm up.
“I was about to have a bath, but you can go first if you like?”
“God, I really don’t feel like socialising tonight,” he said, blowing into his chapped hands as he bent by the fire.
Me neither, I thought. But I didn’t say that, because I didn’t want to give him an excuse to back out of it.
He needed this; it was one of the few social occasions he still went along with, probably because it felt like duty wrapped in obligation.
The Daltons were not only his employers, but his friends.
“You’ll have a good time once we’re there and we don’t have to stay late.” I handed him a mug of tea. He smiled up at me, appreciation softening the lines etched onto his face.
“Go on, you get in the bath first, love. Leave the water in, and I’ll add some hot.”
After a soak in the tub, where I strategically dunked myself every time I let my mind wander to Francesca and Jeremy, I took my time getting ready, deciding on a white blouse to tuck into high-waisted black trousers.
I blow-dried my hair, scrunching mousse through to give it more volume.
I even brushed on a little mascara and a swipe of pale lipstick before standing back to take in my look. Not too bad.
Dad poked his head around my bedroom door. “Ready, love?”
I turned to face him as he slowly stepped into the room.
“You… look…” he said, wearing an expression I didn’t recognise.
I turned back to the mirror to try to see what he was seeing. He closed in behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders.
“You look beautiful… I mean, you actually look like…” his voice cracked. “Your mum.”
“Oh,” I said, searching my reflection for any hint of her, but I couldn’t see it.
Before the sadness bloating between us squeezed all the air from the room, he said, “She’d be so proud of you, kiddo.” He planted a kiss on the top of my head and turned to leave.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?” He looked back, eyes glistening.
“Do you really think she’d be proud of me?”
“I know she would.”
Festoon lights lit the single track to the manor house. I linked my arm through Dad’s and squeezed into him against the biting chill of the crisp evening. As we neared the manor, the front door swung open and Jasper’s voice boomed out.
“Michael, Catherine. Come on in.”
We stepped inside, stamping away the cold and shucking our outerwear. I folded my peacoat over Jasper’s outstretched arm as he pecked a kiss on each of my cheeks. Jane popped her head out of the drawing room; her elegant face split into a smile when she saw us.
“Catherine, look at you. You look lovely, darling. So grown-up… You’re all so grown-up now. Come, come, let me fetch you a drink, and you can go find the others in the snug.”
I turned to check on Dad, but he was already lost in conversation with Jasper, both men hunched over, chatting like conspirators.
I smiled as I looked back to Jane, who was chuckling at the same thing, and I was hit with a genuine rush of affection for the Daltons.
They’d been good to us; they treated us as equals even though Dad was on their payroll.
We’d lost so much before we came here, but the Daltons had been a glorious light at the end of a dark tunnel.
They were friendship and warmth. Plus, they’d been more than generous with my education, which Dad never would have been able to afford otherwise.
In the kitchen, Jane poured me a glass of Champagne and clinked it with her own. “Before you go in to the others, may I speak with you for a moment?”
I took a sip and tried not to wince. It was still a taste I hadn’t acquired, despite Jeremy sneaking bottles and sharing them with me throughout the summer before I started uni.
Jane leaned in, looking at me through her fluttering false eyelashes. “What’s your take on this Gadby girl Jeremy’s brought home?”
The question caught me off guard. “Oh, Francesca. Yeah, she’s…” Where do I start? She’s bright, funny, sexy, can do magical things with her fingers… “She’s really great.”
Jane laughed, and her diamond earrings sparkled as they swayed. “Phew! Jeremy’s besotted, but he’s my baby boy and I don’t want to see him hurt. Girls can be so cruel, and he’s the sensitive sort, as you know.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
I knew this is what they’d think. Jeremy knew exactly what he was doing when he’d orchestrated this. “Me, finally bringing a girl home,” was what he’d said on the train.
I must have been frowning as Jane touched my arm and peered into my face. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. That was awfully insensitive of me, Catherine. Sometimes these chaps can’t see what’s right under their noses, can they?”
I tilted my head until the penny dropped. “Oh, wait. You don’t think that I like—”
“It’s quite alright. I get it. It took me years of flaunting my ankles before I finally turned Jasper’s head. If it’s meant to be, it’s—”
I squawked a laugh. “No, really. Jeremy and I are just friends. He’s like a brother to me.”
Jane pressed a hand to her chest in an exaggerated flap of relief. “Thank goodness. You looked crestfallen. I thought I’d shoved my foot right in it then.”
“No, not at all. I guess the three of us are close friends. I was just thinking how it’ll change everything if…” If Francesca and I were to come clean about how we spent the last night of term wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Ah, yes. I see,” she grimaced. “You don’t want to be a third wheel. Look, don’t worry, you’ll meet the right chap soon enough.”
I broke eye contact and stared down at my polished shoes.
“And if you don’t, then eager young Hugo Beaumont will be waiting in the wings. If rumours are to be believed, he has quite a crush on you.” Jane chuckled but then widened her eyes as if struck by an important thought. “The Beaumonts are one of the wealthiest—”
“Families in Berkshire.” I finished the sentence with her, and we both laughed. “Yes, I know. I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Right, well you better go see what they’re up to, and I’ll go rescue poor Camilla before the chaps bore the poor woman into a coma. Supper’s at eight.”
I nudged open the door to the snug, where a tense concentration hung in the air.
Jeremy leaned over the back of the chair where Francesca sat, holding a fanned hand of playing cards.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her black dress with its plunging lacy neckline and ruffled cap sleeves.
Her makeup was pared back, but immaculate.
Subtle kohl around her eyes, and dark lips which made her skin look pale, almost ethereal.
She looked stunning, not that she didn’t usually look that way to me, but her outfit was a far cry from the clothes she wore around campus.
Here, there wasn’t even a hint of the vampy goth-girl I knew.
She not only looked different, she held herself differently, moved differently.
It was probably just the new hairstyle and change of clothing; I hadn’t seen her in a dress before.
But something about it felt off — almost like the same machine with a different operator who hadn’t quite figured out the controls yet.
Francesca’s forehead crinkled in concentration as Jeremy leaned in close to her, whispering and pointing at the cards. The air crackled with a low hum of anticipation, punctuated by the clinking of ice.
Hugo and his younger brother, Archie, reclined on the Chesterfield opposite, their own cards fanned out and face down on the coffee table. Hugo swirled an amber liquid in his glass. “Oh, come on, JD. Quick game’s a good game; how long’s it take to teach her?”
Jeremy scoffed. “Why are you in such a hurry to lose, Hugo?”
I laughed too, and they all twisted around to the doorway where I stood.
“Catherine,” Hugo beamed, his round face shining like a glazed gammon. His legs flailed as he struggled to pull himself up from the low sofa. Jeremy scoffed and jumped up to give him a hand before moving over to me.
“You’ve scrubbed up well, Trusty.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “We’re showing Francesca how to play Bastard.”
“Teaching her how to cheat, more like it,” said Hugo. He gripped my shoulders and pressed a flaming cheek to mine. “Lovely to see you, Catherine. You look delicious.”
“Good to see you too, Hugo.” I looked past him and held up a hand to Archie, who bobbed his head in return.
Hugo leaned in, the smell of bourbon sickly on his breath. “I can teach you if you like; we can make it doubles. Give these two a run for their money.”
I looked over at Francesca, her dark eyes sparking like flint, lips puckering against a grin.
“Thank you, Hugo, but I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Suit yourself, but I’d be happy to show you a few tricks whenever you’re up for it.” He gave me a leery grin. The guy had confidence; I had to give him that.
I perched on a stool at the edge of the table, as far away from Hugo as possible, and took a sip of Champagne every time Jeremy touched Francesca, the sharp liquid adding to the stab in my gut. Twenty minutes later, quiet young Archie threw down his last card.
“Bastard,” he said smugly, and Hugo looked like he wanted to slap him.
“Right, well, that concludes that.” Jeremy gave Francesca’s shoulder a consolatory rub before he stretched up from the back of the chair.
I shuddered at the sight of his skin touching hers, but she was looking right at me.
I lingered as the boys went on ahead, catching Francesca’s wrist as she moved to follow them.
She spun, her eyes flashing as she looked down at my hand, still holding her wrist.
“You two looked cosy.” The words came out more accusatory than I’d intended. I released her hand, and she pressed it to my chest, pushing me back into the wood-panelled wall.
Her dark-red lips twisted into a grin. “Jealous?”
“Of course I am.” I pointed vaguely toward the dining room. “They think you’re his girlfriend.”
“So what?” She leaned into me, her eyes dropping to my lips.
“I thought we were…” Again, I stumbled to find the right words.
“Go on.”
“A thing?” The question almost squeaked out of me.
Francesca stood so close, I could feel her breath when she laughed. She fixed me with a stare so penetrating she could’ve nailed me to the wall with it.
“I fucked you, and I’m going to fuck you again. We have unfinished business, remember? So if that’s what you mean by a thing, then yes. We’re a thing. Are you…” she slid a hand down between us, palm up and applying pressure as she reached between my legs, “…okay with that?”
I nodded dumbly, transfixed by her eyes. My brain still screamed with questions, but I wilfully ignored the red flags, instead focussing all my energy on not grinding myself onto her hand.
She must have felt me holding back as she cupped her hand tighter, squeezing me through my trousers and the now-saturated fabric of my underwear. She smothered my gasp with a kiss, soft at first and then rough, nipping at my bottom lip until it hurt.
Seemingly satisfied with herself, she pulled back and patted my chest with the hand that had been groping me just seconds ago.
“I’m starving!” she announced, as if she’d just woken from a strange dream. Her eyes raked over me, then she dramatically flounced out of the room. I stood, rubbing my bruised lip with my thumb as I caught my breath, echoes of I’m going to fuck you again bouncing around in my head.
Yes, I wanted that; I really wanted that, but I couldn’t help noticing she hadn’t denied she and Jeremy were an item. I didn’t want to be a bore about it, but I needed to clear that up. I nodded to myself in shaky resolution before making my way to the dining room.