Free The Lost Guide to Life and Love by Sharon Griffiths Page B

suddenly realised that nobody knew I was here. No one. I was completely free. I didn’t have to get back at a particular time or for a particular person. Or fit in with anyone else’s plans. My heart thudded a little at the thought. It was frightening, but it was also wonderful and exciting. Total freedom, to please myself. I did a little skip to celebrate and then strode out along the path.
    I could hear another noise now, a strange sound that I sort of recognised but couldn’t quite place. Some farm machinery, I supposed, though I didn’t think there was much actual farming going on up here, not the sort that used combine harvesters or things like that. Apart from hearing The Archers, when Mum was listening to it, I was a bit hazy on all things agricultural. But I was pretty sure that this wasn’t the sort of land where you grew things, apart from grass and sheep. Whatever was making the noise, though, it had to be big. I’d soon find out, as I rounded the bend at the foot of the hill. And then I saw it.
    A helicopter. Right in front of me. So close it seemed enormous. Like a huge buzzing dragonfly perched on a flat, white-painted piece of moorland. I could feel the force from the blades, and see it sending ripples across the grass. What a strange place to find a helipad. But then I looked further and understood. Just a few hundred yards away was a vast house, all Victorian turrets and chimneys, surrounded by a high stone wall and large gates. ‘Ravensike Lodge’, said a sign. ‘Private’.
    Of course. Ravensike was originally a Victorian shootinglodge, that’s why it was plonked down in the middle of nowhere surrounded by moors and grouse and partridges and all those things that people liked to shoot at. And now it was owned by a billionaire who owned a glitzy football club and a helipad. I wondered what the grouse made of that. Don’t suppose it made much difference to them who took a pot shot at them.
    Intrigued, despite the noise and the blast from the blades, I walked slowly towards it. A man was sprinting down the drive. Presumably he was the passenger the pilot was waiting for. He ran effortlessly, fluidly. He was clearly pretty fit. He wore black jeans and a black leather jacket. His hair was closely cropped, almost shaved. He had a beautifully shaped head.
    Oh my God, it was Clayton Silver. Was there no getting away from the man?
    I wanted to turn and run back to the cottage, but instead I just stood there staring at him; he must have felt my look because he stopped on the edge of the helipad and glanced over in my direction. He looked away and then back again.
    ‘Miss Tilly!’ he shouted above the roar. ‘Is that you?’ He ducked under the rotor blades of the helicopter and then strolled towards me.
    ‘You skipping work?’ he shouted, the draught from the helicopter blades whipping his words away. ‘Shouldn’t you be writing about sausages?’
    ‘Cheese-makers!’ I yelled. ‘And I’ve done it. I’m just getting some fresh air before I go back and do some more. I didn’t know where this path led. I’m just—’
    ‘Come for lunch.’
    ‘Sorry?’ I couldn’t have heard properly.
    ‘I said come for lunch. I’ve got to see someone in Newcastle. Come along.’
    ‘But I can’t. I mean…’ Did I even want to go to lunchwith him? Why did this man keep popping up in my life? First the club, then the pub and now, just when I thought I’d found one of the most isolated parts of England, he turns up there too. I shrugged my arms to show I was in jeans and a fleece and boots and, in any case, wasn’t too impressed by celebrity footballers.
    ‘That don’t matter.’ He laughed. ‘The pilot’s getting a bit antsy. You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind, Miss Tilly. Lunch or no lunch. Deal or no deal. Ten…nine…eight…’ He was grinning as he turned to go back to the helicopter.
    The nerve of the guy! He was so in love with himself that he expected everyone else to be as well.