Season of Desire: Complete Edition (30 page)

‘Completely!’ She laughs merrily. ‘Didn’t you notice how flabbergasted I was?’

‘Maybe just a little.’

‘So where did it happen?’ asks Miles.

‘Right here! About an hour ago,’ Dominic says. He looks at me. ‘Have you seen outside the schloss?’

I shake my head. ‘Just the front, but I could hardly see that in the dark.’

‘Come and see this.’ He gets up and leads the way out of the private vault and up the winding staircase. Halfway up it, set in the thick stone walls is a small window that looks out over the back of the castle. ‘Look,’ says Dominic, making space for me to peer out.

Beneath us, the view is illuminated by the cool white moonlight. Pine forests iced with snow stretch away up the mountain, towards its craggy, white-capped peak. Below us is the stone terrace of the schloss and a tower connected to the terrace by a flight of stone steps. The crenelated top of the tower is lit by storm lanterns holding fat candles, one between each crenulation, casting a pretty golden light over the snow.

Beth has come up behind us and stands next to me to look out of the window, her expression tender. ‘We were standing there together, on the top of the tower with that incredible view, and the castle behind – and then he pulled me into his arms and kissed me and said that . . . well . . .’ She blushes again, looking prettier than ever. ‘Well . . . he said some lovely things . . .’

‘And luckily she said yes,’ Dominic cuts in with a laugh.

‘He had the ring ready for me.’ She glances down at it as though she still can’t quite believe it’s on her finger. ‘It’s just . . . perfect.’

‘That’s so romantic,’ I breathe, looking down at the exquisite scene. A proposal on the tower of an Alpine schloss sounds amazing – a lifetime memory.

‘But I have no idea when we’ll find time for a wedding, or where it will be,’ Beth says, as Dominic puts his arms round her.

‘You should get married here in Switzerland of course,’ I say. ‘A beautiful Alpine winter wedding.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ Beth says, as we all begin to descend the stairs back to the private room. ‘But I’ve got family in England, Dominic’s sister is in New York, and the whole thing would be a nightmare to organise.’

‘It sounds like it’s going to be tricky wherever you hold it.’ We go back into the vaulted room where the champagne is now waiting for us. ‘Maybe you should make everyone come to you.’ I take my place at the table, putting a white linen napkin on my lap.

‘That’s a point,’ Beth says. ‘Somewhere equally inconvenient for everybody!’

We both laugh.

‘Are you two going to be talking weddings all night?’ Miles asks drily, as the wine waiter returns to open the bottle for us.

‘I think it’s virtually required, isn’t it?’ Dominic says. Good humour and happiness are shining from his face. All this bliss is catching, and I feel as though I’m walking on air myself. The waiter pulls the cork with a satisfying ‘pop’ and the foaming liquid gushes into the waiting flutes. Dominic holds up his glass. ‘Now, this might seem a little formal but this is a very special occasion, so I’d like to propose a toast to my beautiful, amazing fiancée, Beth. She’s agreed to be my wife.’ He says the word ‘wife’ as though it’s a precious jewel he can hardly believe he owns. ‘I’m the luckiest – and happiest – man in the world. To Beth.’

‘To Beth,’ chorus Miles and I, and we all sip our champagne while Beth looks bashful.

Miles clears his throat and says, ‘I think it’s only right that we both drink to your health and toast the future union of two very special people – so here’s to Dominic and Beth, and the future.’ He lifts his glass high.

‘The future,’ says Dominic, staring into Beth’s eyes.

‘To you,’ Beth returns, her face glowing with pleasure.

‘To the future,’ I echo, and I realise that I’m not quite sure whose future I mean.

On the way home, Miles doesn’t put on his gloves, but holds my hand under the fur rug. His thumb rubs gently across the top of my hand in smooth but pressing strokes that serve to heighten my anticipation for what will surely be coming next, when we get home. As we left Dominic and Beth at the schloss, climbing into the sleigh for the return journey, I turned to wave at them and saw that they had already forgotten us: he was turning her face up to his and gently dropping his mouth to hers in a tender kiss, the light from the open doorway gilding their figures.

I felt strange as I turned back to face the oncoming darkness lit only by the dim glow of the lamps. In a way, I envied them their obvious happiness in one another. But in another way, I was full of a kind of dark thrill at the thought of Miles and me being alone together again.

Dominic and Beth showed a polite interest in me and my relationship to Miles but the excitement of their engagement had, understandably, taken centre stage. I was relieved really – it meant there were fewer awkward questions to answer. They seemed to take it for granted that I was Miles’s girlfriend, not the daughter of his boss. When I thanked him for the use of the chalet, Dominic had said casually that he was happy for Miles and me to use it – Miles needed a proper holiday after refusing to take one for years.

‘Why has he refused to take a holiday?’ I asked, as Miles talked to Beth.

‘Oh . . .’ Dominic made a face and looked at the tablecloth. ‘You know. He ought to clear his head really, and try to relax. But he won’t do it. He’s too stubborn. He says he’s worried that if he clears his head, he won’t know what will pop into it.’ Dominic gave me a look as though he oughtn’t to say more. ‘But you know what I’m talking about. All that stuff in Afghanistan—’

‘What?’ Miles had stopped talking to Beth and was suddenly alert to my conversation with Dominic. ‘What’s that about Afghanistan?’

‘Oh – I was just saying to Freya that you still haven’t taken a proper holiday since . . . well, since—’

‘I’m taking one now, aren’t I?’ Miles said pleasantly but I sensed a kind of warning in the tone he used to Dominic. ‘You should be pleased. And that chalet’s a peach. It’s just the ticket.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Talking of which, we should really be getting on our way . . .’

It wasn’t long after that we said our goodbyes on the stone steps before the schloss and Miles and I climbed back into the sleigh for the return journey.

‘They seem very nice,’ I said to Miles, feeling his thumb moving insistently over my hand. ‘I liked them both very much.’

‘They’re good people,’ Miles replies. He’s staring ahead with no outward sign that he’s caressing my hand under the fur rug.

‘There seemed to be a story behind their relationship.’

‘Isn’t there one behind every relationship?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ I feel a little deflated by Miles’s taciturnity. ‘You know what I mean.’

He turns to me, almost apologetic suddenly. ‘Yes – and you’re right, it hasn’t been straightforward for them. Do you know Anton Dubrovski?’

‘Of course!’ I think of the very handsome Russian billionaire I’ve seen once or twice at parties. ‘I went to something he held in Moscow – a big party to raise funds to support an orphanage he sponsors. He’s a friend of my father.’ I frown. ‘Although I haven’t seen him for a while.’

Miles says, ‘It’s a complicated story but Dominic worked for Dubrovski for a while and managed to get mixed up in a very strange money-making scheme, which he got out of as soon as he could. He and Dubrovski went their separate ways but there was some nastiness over the whole thing. It ended with Dubrovski retiring from the public scene for a while to lick his wounds and let a potential scandal die down.’

‘What does that have to do with Dominic and Beth?’ I ask. I’m not that interested in Dubrovski’s fate. Russian billionaires have a habit of disappearing – either they mysteriously commit suicide or get on the wrong side of their government and then find themselves in prison for corruption or tax evasion.

‘I think the whole thing put a strain on Beth and Dominic’s relationship for a while. But they’re through that now. I’ve never seen them happier. I think this is the real thing for them both.’

‘Do you think they wondered . . . about us?’ I ask.

He turns to look at me, his eyes intense. ‘I don’t know. Let them wonder. Maybe we shouldn’t have come out. Perhaps it would have been better to keep ourselves shut away from everything.’

‘Well, I . . .’ I can’t get any further for Miles suddenly takes me in his arms and kisses me hard. When he pulls away he says:

‘We’re nearly home, Winter. Are you ready for our next lesson?’

I feel my stomach go liquid with longing. ‘Ready and waiting,’ I whisper back.

Chapter Sixteen

When we get back, Miles tells me to go upstairs and get changed.

A tingle of anticipation goes over me as I climb the stairs, wondering what he means. Should I put on the Goddess dress I wore on our first night here? But in the bedroom on our bed is another black box with a note on it. I pick up the note and read it.

Winter

Put these on and pin your hair back. Come downstairs to the sitting room.

Bring the tape and the other box with you.

I open the box and discover inside a set of pale pink underwear – a bra and knickers – made out of PVC. Beneath them is a packet of hair pins, a large roll of black sticky tape and a smaller black box that’s sealed with a ribbon in pink PVC. I don’t open it, but feeling breathless, I quickly take off my clothes and pull on the underwear. The sensation of putting PVC close to my skin is strange but arousing: it sucks on to me, locking on with a plastic grip, showing every curve and creating a surface of smooth, shiny perfection. My breasts look even riper and rounder when encased in pink rubber.

There is nothing for my feet, so I pin back my hair, pushing the pins in close to my scalp so that my short bob is even shorter, pick up the tape and the other box, and hurry back downstairs, wondering what Miles has in mind for me. I’m feeling pleasantly fuzzy inside after the champagne and the fine red wine we drank at dinner, but I’m in no way numbed. Every nerve is tingling as I try to imagine what lies ahead for me.

Water. What could he be going to teach me about that?
I had assumed that water meant we’d be in the bathroom, perhaps in the shower, but that isn’t the case if we’re going to be in the sitting room. I’m intrigued, which adds to the sense of excitement as I walk into the main room. Miles is sitting there, soft music playing from the speakers. He’s got a glass of whisky in his hand and is watching the fire glow and dance. He’s obviously spurred it back into life. He looks up as I come in.

‘Ah, Winter,’ he says, his eyes travelling down my body from the shiny cups of my PVC bra to the triangle that encases my mound, and down my bare legs. ‘You look exquisite – better than I could have imagined, and believe me, I enjoyed imagining how you would look in that outfit.’

I turn around for him, saying, ‘I’ve never worn PVC before.’

‘Really?’ He smiles, raising an eyebrow. ‘It can be very appealing, believe me. And it has a pleasant snap.’

A delicious sensation seizes me and my whole sex quivers and swells into life as my pulse begins to race.

‘Come here, Winter.’ His blue gaze is boring into me, as though he knows exactly how my skin is alive to him, my heart pounding and my breathing coming faster. It’s as though he even knows that, down below, I’m growing slick and ready. The PVC rubs tight and delicious on me as I walk, making my clit thrill to it. I walk towards him and when I reach him, he nods to the floor. ‘Sit down there, where I can see you.’

I sit at his feet, curling my legs up under me and looking up at him. He smiles at me and says, ‘The traditional place for the student to sit, yes? At the feet of the master.’

I love being so close to him but I can’t yet touch him, even though I would love to undress him so that I can press myself against that hard body and inhale his intoxicating scent.

Miles holds his glass of whisky up to the light so that it turns a honeyed amber colour and swirls it around. ‘See this, Winter?’

I nod.

‘Whisky. The finest Scotch there is. In some cultures spirits like these are called “water of life” – the kind of liquid that burns the throat and tongue, and that works a strange transformation on the brain, making the drinker more expansive, more merry before beginning to have the opposite effect altogether.’ He stares at the whisky as it eddies in his glass. ‘Too much and you’ll go mad. A little more than that, and you’ll die.’ He looks at me with a wry look. ‘A poison, you see. We drink our poison very carefully – but we still drink it.’

He passes the glass down to me and I take it. I take in the strong, dense aroma. I’ve never drunk much whisky. I’ve had Jack Daniels and Coke, but not Scotch, and certainly not neat.

‘Try it, Winter. It’s Talisker, the whisky made on the Isle of Skye, and this one is twenty-five years old, older than you are. It’s a single malt, which means it has just malt barley grain and water. Very pure. And the water used comes from springs that run over peat. That gives its particular flavour.’

I lift the glass to my lips, feeling the burn of the fiery liquid even before I’ve drunk any. Then I sip. A smooth strange flavour fills my mouth, burning along my tongue. It’s smoky and intense but honeyed and smooth too. I let it rest in my mouth for a moment, and then swallow. I cough a little with its strength but at once warmth fills my veins and the burn subsides to a pleasant tingle. I lift the glass again.