Running Scarred Page 7

  “How did you know about my leg? And how come you don’t seem to notice my face?” His tone was almost accusing.

  She jogged up the next couple of steps to stand beside him. She smiled radiantly again and gazed, unafraid, into his blue eyes as she scoffed.

  “Of course I noticed it. I’m not blind.” She was completely unembarrassed. “My brother had both of his legs blown off three years ago in Afghanistan, along with most of his face. If he hadn’t had the best body armour, he would have been killed. Some fourteen year old kid had been persuaded to become a suicide bomber. Terrible thing to make a child do. I guessed something like that had happened to you too. You look kind of the same as David but not so…well, not so bad, but of course, I don’t mean bad, because David doesn’t look bad. He just looks like David now and not David before. I didn’t know what you looked like before, so you just look like you to me. And just so you know, I think you look great actually. Does that make sense?” She looked up at him, her face twisted as though she were thinking hard.

  Patrick stared at her in complete amazement. She was so open. He had never heard anybody describe him like that since the bomb. He had avoided people so much, he rather hoped they wouldn’t be able to describe him at all. He shook his head.

  “Huh! No not really. My face looks like shit, and the rest of my body is loathsome. If your brother got hit worse than me, I feel sorry for him.” He stomped up the last flight of stairs, leaving her trailing behind him.

  She was silent as she tried to catch him up. She couldn’t fathom his mood swings. One second he seemed light hearted and happy and the next a bewildering hulk of glowering hardness. The anger was rolling out of him at that moment, but it didn’t seem to be directed at her. Perhaps it was at himself. It was impossible to guess.

  They reached the upper floor and he guided her through the rooms to the front of the Chateau. He delighted in showing her the curl of smoke, wafting through the forest, from his own chimney, and the break in the tall trees at the head of the ravine. Then he stomped furiously back along the gallery to the staircase, begrudgingly taking her back down stairs, through the great hall again and round to the back stairs and the cellar.

  She ignored his wavering moods. She was happy just to be in his presence. Every time his deep voice growled at her in the dim light, her whole body shivered in delight. Several times his hand brushed her arm and heat burned through the fabric of her jumper. She breathed in his wonderful manly scent and kept as close to him as possible.

  The cellar was pitch black. Patrick shone the flashlight over the damp, grimy walls. At some point in time they had been covered in wildly extravagant wallpaper. Now it hung limp and mouldering, peeling away from the plaster and falling onto the tiled floor.

  She kicked a curling sheet out of their path.

  “Ghastly pattern. I can’t imagine having to look at that all day.” She murmured as they passed through a long corridor with rooms off each side. He shone the torch briefly into each room. Some were bigger than others. She walked into one that appeared to have a small window at the top of the outside wall. She reached up, rubbed away the festoon of cobwebs, and peered out. She could see a pair of legs swinging on the wall outside, feet kicking at the gravel.

  “Not much of a view either.” She giggled as Anton dragged his toe in the dirt and swore flamboyantly in French at the scuff on his shoe. She glanced back into the room and then outside again. “I wonder what these rooms were used for. They’re so dark and if they had bars they’d look almost like prison cells.”

  Patrick came into the room behind her and stood looking down at her. Her face was still tilted up towards the slither of daylight. Her skin looked almost luminescent in the soft light.

  There was a cobweb falling from her hat across her forehead. He pulled the hat from her head and placed it on the windowsill, then he reached up a finger to lift the thick web from her hair and face. His fingertip touched her skin on her forehead. She didn’t flinch. She just stared back up at him, her eyes wide and sparkling.

  He could barely breathe, the air felt almost thick in his lungs. He pulled back a fraction, needing some distance, and dropped his hand to his side.

  “I think they must have been dormitories from when the place was a mental home or maybe treatment rooms. I came down here once before. There are old bed frames and mattresses in some of the other rooms. All rotten and pretty uncomfortable looking. I wouldn’t have fancied being shut up in here.” His voice was soft again, almost a whisper.

  She lifted a pale hand to his wide shoulder and brushed gently at his thick cotton shirt.

  “No, me either, must have been awful...” She hesitated for just a moment and then carried on. “You have cobwebs on you too.” She said gently as her hand came up to the unscarred side of his face and she wiped her thumb lightly across his cheekbone. She was very close to him, her breath cool and sweet.

  He stood very still, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as her fingertips touched his skin. His heart was crashing against his ribcage, his blood racing through his veins so fast he could hear a rushing noise in his ears. He couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his hand again and touched her plaited hair.

  His voice sounded as soft as the gossamer threads wafting in the air around them.

  “They get everywhere. This place hasn’t been cleaned for years.” He ran his fingertips over the side of her face, feeling the contours of her cheekbones as fire leapt through his body at her tender warmth.

  She hadn’t moved away from his touch. She hadn’t moved at all. She was still staring up at him. He could hear her fast, shallow breaths. Her lips were just parted over her teeth and he could see them glisten moistly. Her top lip quivered a fraction, just a tiny, involuntary flicker.

  Realization suddenly flooded over him. His whole body leapt with anticipation. She wanted this. She wanted him to kiss her. Her desperation was almost as acute as his own. He bent his head, completely unable to resist, wanting to taste her more than anything in the whole world. Her rose coloured lips were just a whisper from his, warm and succulent, trembling with desire. He could feel their heat, could taste her delicious breath in his mouth, he hesitated for a second longer wanting to prolong this moment, this torture, wanting it to last as long as possible. Her eyelids closed slowly. He breathed a deep sigh of longing, shut his own eyes and bent even further, his lips brushing the outer corner of her beautiful mouth.

  There was a loud crack as the pane of glass above them shattered and his eyes flew back open.

  A small stone clattered to the floor between them and Ellen jumped back in surprise. She looked as though she was going to faint. Patrick leapt forwards to catch her, but she swivelled out of his arms towards the broken window.

  “God Anton! Be careful, you nearly hit us.” She shouted up through the small hole in the glass.

  There was a mumbled response and then more grating on stones. Anton’s face appeared at the tiny window. He knelt down and squinted at the broken window then peered around in the gloom.

  “Mon Dieu! What an ‘orrible place. All those spider webs, ugh! They must be monstrous, crawling creatures. You must come out now Patrick, whatever are you thinking of, taking a lady into such a disgusting cave? Are you nearly done? It’s getting very late for lunch.” He was backing up, moving away from the window as he dusted his knees.

  Patrick glanced back towards Ellen. She was looking down at herself, brushing more cobwebs from her jacket. Even in the dark, he could make out the deep flush on her cheek. She was obviously embarrassed now. What on earth had he been thinking? She didn’t want to be kissed by him, what beautiful woman would? He must have been delusional. He aimed his voice towards the window.

  “We’ll be about five minutes Anton. We’re all but done here now.” His tone was harsh and then he was silent.

  Ellen stopped brushing her jacket and looked up at him in the gloom. Her pulse was still racing in her body, but she felt a cold shiver as she watched his face. His e
yes had been burning with desire, but now they were as cold as ice. His lips had been as soft as melted chocolate, but now they were as firm as set concrete. His shoulders had been surrounding her, deep and caressing, enclosing her in warmth and security, but in less than a second everything had changed. He was as stiff and unyielding as granite. She couldn’t fathom his expression at all. She must have been mistaken his intensions. Her imagination was running wild. Maybe he hadn’t been about to kiss her at all, he was just getting the cobwebs out of her hair. That was what she had felt brush over her lips, just a silken cobweb. She blushed even deeper at her error.

  “It’s filthy down here. Let’s move on shall we?” There was a strange tremble in her tone.

  He was silent for a breath longer, then his eyebrows came together in a stiff line.

  “Yes let’s. There are only a couple more rooms to see.” He was marching out of the room even before she could reply.

  They clambered over the rotting mattresses and between the old metal bed frames. Her nose crinkled up at them in disgust. She looked so beautiful, for a moment he lost all concentration. His false leg hit an old bed frame. He stumbled for a second, and she caught his arm before he fell. He shrugged her off angrily, completely bewildered by the emotions running through him, and for a second she cowered back from his furious expression. Instantly he felt appalled. For the first time a reaction from her had wounded him. But it was nothing that she had done. His heart plunged to his stomach. He had frightened her at last, but with his anger not his looks. A terrible guilt consumed him. He tried not to look at her again.

  They stumbled back up the stairs, into the light.

  Anton was lying along the balustrade, Patrick’s coat bundled up under his head, his eyes closed. He looked comfortable in the sunshine.

  Still slightly breathless, Ellen prodded him on the shoulder and his eyes flicked open immediately.

  “At last you are ‘ere again, I ‘ad no idea we would be this long. Now can we go?” He was impatient to be gone.

  Ellen put a hand on his shoulder stopping him from darting back down the overgrown path to the car.

  “Just a moment Anton. I think the Chateau will be perfect for me. It’s a blank canvas. I can do exactly what I need. Have you had any offers for it?” She asked and out of the corner of her eye she saw Patrick’s shoulders slump in defeat.

  Anton looked up at the sky and laughed out loud.

  “You must be joking. Monsieur Patrick ‘ere, ‘as been the only one near the place for years. As I said before, it is too expensive for most people to renovate, not that it means you can come in with a silly offer if you are truly keen. The Maire needs the money raised for other projects in the area. ‘e won’t let it go for nothing. And ‘e will need to see proof that you have some kind of secured finances, something from the bank perhaps, before ‘e will let the place go. ‘e won’t want you to buy it and then not do anything with it.”

  Ellen smiled at him and patted his arm. At least it would be easy to reassure him on that score.

  “Let’s go and talk some figures Anton. Perhaps we can come to some agreement. I want to speak to my brother too. He’ll be working on the project with me as soon as he can get here.”

  She looked back at Patrick. He was closing the doors and turning the key once again. He handed it to Anton and lugged his coat out from under Anton’s head. His expression was grim. He didn’t look at Ellen.

  “I’ll leave the key with you. And if you don’t need me anymore, I’m going to cook my lunch.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but folded up his coat and stamped off towards the forest.

  Ellen called after him.

  “Thanks for showing me around. I’ll look forward to being your neighbour.”

  Patrick spun back to her, his face aghast at the prospect. He couldn’t have her anywhere near him. She was too beautiful and too fragrant and too irrepressible and the hour spent with her in such close proximity had been almost unbearable. He had wanted to kiss her so desperately. His anticipation had been at such a height, he had wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. His passion had been so great, so hard, that if she had given him the slightest encouragement he would have taken her there and then, ripping his clothes from his body before tearing hers aside and then making love to her on the filthy floor of the cellar.

  But he had completely misunderstood her body language. That had been obvious when she had suggested they move on. She was just too polite to tell him outright that his ruined face and body didn’t mean a thing to her. He wanted to kick himself for his own stupidity. He should have known what she would be like. He’d lived in Colchester for long enough. Her friendly, flirty openness, when she was with him, meant nothing. It was all just an Essex girl’s facade.

  His blood pounded, raging through his veins as he glared at her, hating her for making him feel a complete fool. Pain made him snarl the words.

  “My neighbour! Not if I have anything to do with it, you won’t. Let’s get one thing straight right now. I bought my place on the understanding that I was going to be left alone. If you think you’re going to turn this place into some fancy hotel, with hundreds of rowdy guests running all over the forest, then I’m sorry, but I will be objecting. There’s a hotel nearby already. If you remember, you stayed there last night. With a bit of luck they won’t want you here either.” And with that he shoved the bushes savagely and disappeared back into the woods.

  Chapter Five

  It was hers.

  She was so excited that she couldn’t not stay there. She spent the first day making one of the downstairs rooms habitable. She swept the floorboards and rigged up some material at the broken windows. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the weather forecast that promised it would be dry for the next week and she threw down her camping gear. Then unable to bear waiting to employ professional gardeners she spent the first backbreaking few days hacking away at the overgrown driveway, keeping a constantly burning bonfire to consume the detritus.

  Each night she lit oil lamps around her makeshift bedroom and ate bread and cheese bought at the local market. She washed in bottled water and drank glasses of sparkling wine in the lamp light. Every night she fell exhausted into her sleeping bag and each morning she was out early, dragging the ivy away from the tall avenue of trees and clipping brambles away from the rhododendrons. By the end of the week she had discovered where to find the water main and the next day she rigged up a garden hose in the stable block. She shrieked and laughed as she took her first freezing cold shower.

  Buying the Chateau hadn’t been a problem at all. The negotiations over the price had been more like haggling over a second hand car, than an eighteenth century building. The paperwork was hurried through and the Maire had looked very happy at the bargain.

  Clearing the place completely was first on the agenda and then putting in some form of electricity. She watched in satisfaction as the first lorry drove up the newly cleared driveway and deposited a huge skip. She directed her workmen to the basement first.

  The cellar was the least damaged area of the property. The workmen soon removed all the old beds and reeking mattresses before moving on to the upper floors while Ellen carried on with the planning of the basement pool and luxury treatment rooms.

  She wanted to keep as many of the original features as possible and was pleased that the eighteenth century tiling was still in place in many of the rooms. Some of the rooms in the cellar only needed new wiring and then decorating. She tackled the room where Patrick had almost kissed her, herself. After the glazier had replaced the broken window, she brushed the cobwebs from the ceiling and cleared the debris and filth of years from the tiled floor.

  She stood and stared out of the now clean window, her heart racing as she thought of how close she and Patrick had been, of how his fingers had touched her face. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him there with her now. Her breath came in uneven gasps as the feelings grew in her. Her body began to tremble. A terrible wave of desire s
wept over her.

  She hadn’t seen him since that day. She wanted him with her now.

  There was a small cough behind her. Her eyes flew open as she spun towards the sound.

  “Patrick! You came back!” Her delighted exclamation immediately died on her lips as the man standing in the doorframe stepped forwards into the room.

  “God Ellen, it’s only been a few weeks. Surely you can’t have forgotten my name already?” Justin stepped over the pile of dirt she had swept and walked across the room.

  Ellen stood stiffly, the broom held defensively in front of her, her hands resting on the top of the handle.

  “What are you doing here Justin? How did you know where to find me?” Her tone was not welcoming.

  Justin flipped dust from the shoulder of his expensively tailored suit.

  “You don’t need to sound quite so pleased to see me.” He said sarcastically. “I saw David a couple of weeks ago at an army do. He told me that you had bought this place. It was more difficult to find than I had imagined. It’s not on any of the maps. I had to ask for directions from some sort of hobo who lives in the woods around here. You should be careful. Horrible character, dangerous looking, nearly as bad as your David, lame and ugly as sin, covered in scars.”

  Ellen drew in a furious breath.

  “How dare you talk about David and Patrick like that! They can’t help the way they look. And Patrick happens to be a very nice man anyway. He’s not dangerous at all.” She bristled instantly in Patrick’s defence.

  Justin threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed wickedly around the room.

  “Oh I see, that’s why you called out Patrick when I arrived. You haven’t changed much Ellen, still a sucker for a good sob story. So you’re enjoying a bit of rough are you? Well, I hope he finds you more fun in bed than I did.”

  Ellen ignored his remark, not wanting to be reminded that she had slept with Justin for several years. She shivered in self-disgust. She didn’t want to prolong the conversation any more than she had to.