Free LAID & BETRAYED (Getting wrong with Mr. Wright) by Chloe Thurlow Page B

me.  
    'I've had enough of this. What the hell's wrong with you?'
    'Nothing's wrong with me.'
    'Do you hate me?' He was snarling , his gums showing .
    'No, you know I don't.'
    'Then what the hell's going on?'
    ' It's just not the right time. '
    ' It's never the right time. You're just a pathetic little virgin. You enjoy being a cockteaser?'
    'Y ou know that's not true .'
    ' I k now it is true. It's bloody dangerous, for one thing. You lead a guy on and then…just stop. I could have a heart attack or something.'
    'Simon…'
    ' Forget it. Just go home, Grace. There's plenty more fish in the sea.'
    He storm ed out of the room and I thought that was q uite funny about the fish, seeing as he was going surfing.
     
    We turned a corner and I dropped a gear to climb Pedding Hill. Everything in all directions was green and growing, glossy with sunshine. August in Kent, the Garden of England. I couldn't imagine anywhere more beautiful.
    'It's lovely here,' Charlie Wright said, turning and gazing out at the landscape.
    'We're only an hour from London,' I informed him. 'Some people commute.'
    ' How deadening is that?' he said .
    I grinned. F ather commuted to his office in Lincoln's Inn e very day, five days a week, forty-eight weeks a year; out on the 7.50, back on the 6.05, regular as the movements of the moon ; holidays at the cottage in the Lake District – he didn't like abroad, too many foreigners – Christmas with Granny One , his mother, in Faversham , New Year's Eve with Granny Two , mum's mum, in Aberdeen. I had been bound by timetables and agendas, strictures and rules , a work program that had secured A s in every exam and a place at Cambridge, my father's dream .
    The road meandered through apple orchards and strawberry fields. We passed a Saxon church with a flag hanging indolently on a pole , the flint of the walls like shiny eyes polished by the sunshine. On a hill, I slowed behind two cyclists, a boy in front, a girl in a white dress behind him. She stood on the pedals to get better traction and her dress blew up, showing her white knickers.
    'Wait, wait. Don't overtake,' he said.
    I stayed behind until the girl crested the hill and sat once more.
    'What a waste . Camera's in the back,' he tutted .
    The road swept down in a long sweeping curve. In the rush to get out of the office I had forgotten my sunglasses and the intense light made me squint as we left the shade and entered the sun light . My back was wet , pressed against the seat . Flies tapped against the windscreen. We reached a hairpin bend at the bottom of the hill and I passed the sign to Black Spires .
    'Sorry, I missed the turn,' I said, and he shrugged ,.
    'Don't worry about me, I'm enjoying myself.'
    I pulled into the entrance to a field, reversed out and followed a n un surfaced track I had never taken before . The hedgerows were full of wild flowers and the mature oaks and elms along the way gave the impression that we had travelled back to a slower age, a more serene time. The lane c u rved as it rose above meadows , before dipping down and ascending steeply to a circular plane where Black Spires sat on the summit. The rise in the land formed a natural defense .
    'There has been a building on this spot since the Renaissance ,' I said, quoting the stats I'd studied in the office .
    ' Any trouble with damp?'
    I wasn't sure what he meant. 'I 'm sorry?' I said.
    'I mean, if it's that old?
    'No, no, it's been rebuilt many times. The present building's early Victorian.'
    'Fascinating.'
    I turned through the iron gates and the car crunched over a gravel drive edged by rhododendrons and shaded by sycamores. We got out and stood gazing up at the building with its spires and turrets, leaded windows and gargoyles with devilish faces .
    As we approached the door, I remembered the key and went back to the car to get it. The lock turned and he followed me through an entrance laid out with stone flags below an arcaded roof. The slit windows softened the light and