CHAPTER 96: The Virgin’s Summer, Part 36

The following day, he phones my Master. “I’d like to take Charlotte out, up into the mountains. I think a change of air will be good for her. I’ll bring her back here afterwards. Is that going to cause any problems? Fine… Yes, I will…”

He takes my hand. “Let’s go and relax, eh.”

We walk, Michael holding my hand, along a wild track, high in the mountains. Rambling between forest and green meadows which slope down to the lake, just being here is a balm to my black mood. And Michael, with his unconditional support, and lack of pressure, is soothing company.

We sit on an old stump. Michael pours me coffee from a flask, which I accept, then offers me a sandwich, which I do not.

“Thanks, I’m not hungry.”

“Charlotte, you’ve got to eat, or you’re no good to anyone, least of all yourself.” He presses the food onto me. Reluctantly I take it, fighting my churning stomach, to choke down small bites.

Nonetheless, the walk calms me. Clouds scud across the sky, casting light and shade across the meadows. The lake sparkles in the sunshine, the waters rippling with a shimmering light in the brisk breeze. Breathing deeply, the early autumn mountain air tastes good: of pine and snow.

“It’s real soul food, this place, isn’t it?” says Michael, lacing his fingers into mine.

I nod. Then, trying to find something pleasant to talk about, “Is this where we came before? To the cabin? It looks familiar, but not quite.”

“Yes, it looks different from here, because the lake dog-legs around the mountain over there,” he says, waving down to where the waters disappear from view around the hillside. “We’re looking at it from a different angle. The cabins and the hotel are just over there...” He waves back through the trees. Craning around, I can just see buildings through the trees.

“It’s a bit ramshackle looking. I don’t remember it looking like that.”

“No, we’re around the back side of it. I think they ran out of money for their renovations. They don’t get so many tourists up here, the last few years, after the Crash.”

We munch sandwiches in silence for a while, then he says, “Charlotte. I can’t begin to guess what’s going through your head right now. You must feel that all your worst dreams have returned to haunt you, but understand this: if your worst fears were to come true, and I don’t believe they will, but if they did… I will be here for you. I won’t go anywhere. You will never not have a future. Do you understand me?”

I fight back tears, and the tightness in my throat, nodding.

He continues. “And if it’s a case of needing lawyers, James and I, between us, can afford the best... you’re not on your own in this.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He stalls. “Charlotte, I can’t deny that I’d have been happier if you had spoken sooner, or in other circumstances, but I do understand that there were reasons... and however inconvenient James may find this, it has an upside.”

“Which is...?”

“Haswell has a lot of friends, or at least, a lot of people who owe him. If he’s helping you, you couldn’t have a better ally.”

My voice small, “Do you want your ring back?”

“No.”

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t want...”

“No. And that’s the end of it.” There is a finality to his voice.

I chew my food endlessly, trying to swallow. In the end, I put the sandwich down, hoping that Michael doesn’t notice.

I ponder his words. “You said, You and James can afford…?’ I thought...”

“You thought... what? He’s the one with all the money?”

“Um, yes.”

“I’m not without. He just talks about it more than I do.”

“Oh… I didn’t realise.”

“Well, you never asked. In fact, I’ll admit that your complete lack of interest in money, apart from the pressing problem of paying for your college fees, is quite refreshing. If more women were like that, I might not have lived the happy life of the bachelor free for so long…”

“I don’t like taking money from you. It feels like…”

He looks at me from the side of his eyes. “Charlotte, we’re getting married. You’re entitled to take money from me.”

I digest this. “You’ve had women after you for your money?”

“There’s been a few.” He grins at me.

The grin is infectious. “Er, one of them wouldn’t have been Marcie by any chance?”

He laughs. “And she hits the gold! Yes, Marcie took a shot at me. That was before Steve of course... and quite a few others for that matter...” He shudders. “Oh, my God, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Marcie, man’s living nightmare. It makes me itch just thinking about her.” He squeezes my shoulders, still laughing.

“I felt just like that, about that Steve of hers, but you’d better be careful. With Steve knocked out of the running, she might be after you again.”

He snorts. “Charlotte, not if she were the last woman on Earth, would I stick my cock inside Marcie.” He shudders as he chuckles.

I laugh, and he smiles at me, tracing my face with his fingers. “It’s good to see you smile.” I lean into his touch as he strokes my face, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

A breeze springs up and I goose-pimple. Michael feels me shiver. “Want to walk again? Warm up a bit? Perhaps down to the lake?”

We stroll down grassy slopes, the turf sheep-clipped short. At the water’s edge, dragonflies zigzag, lilies spread their green pads across the shallows, framing oyster-pink flowers, seemingly carved from wax. A little way along, old willows line the edge, straddling grassy banks that drop to the narrow gravelly shoreline.

Michael looks around, scanning the landscape.

“What are you looking for?”

He smiles, “Privacy.”

There is no-one about, only the two of us. He leads me by the hand. Under the cover of the trees, in an enclosed bower formed from the weeping of the willow, the air is still and warm, the light dappled green and gold.

He stands before me, my Golden Lover, brushing back errant locks from my face, my hair as rebellious as ever. A hand on either cheek, he bends, brushing his lips against mine; a soft, fleeting touch, utterly sensual, utterly tender.

Even in my current state of mind, my body responds to him, a tingle running through me, smooth and warm. My lips parting, I slip fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t just say the words,” he says. “When I hear it, I want it to be because you mean it, not because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“Michael, I...”