Read Online A Summer in the Country by Marcia Willett - Free Book Online

liked him enormously and he was a good lover. Yet she knew that she would be perfectly happy once he’d gone; content to be alone. She felt inhibited by any other presence in her flat, not quite at ease, and bad often stated that she was by nature a mistress.
    Leaning on an elbow she admired his long straight legs mid supple, tanned back, watched his desirable, pleasure-giving body being swallowed up by his neat, concealing clothes.
    â€œI might be down again on Tuesday.”
    She rolled on to her back so that he might not see her face. “I’ve got someone coming over to supper on Tuesday.” He liked her to be casual; it fanned the flames of possessive-ness. “Can’t put it off.”
    â€œWho is it?” sharply.
    She smiled, a private little smile. “No one you know.”
    He stared down at her and she knew that he was torn with pursuing this conversation, yet cautious lest it opened him up to accusations:
“What’s it got to do with you? You’re going home to your wife. Why should I sit around waiting
…
? ”
and so on. He’d heard it all before, though not from Jemima. Still, it was wise not to push your luck… Eyes narrowed, his hands flicking his tie into a knot, his thoughts might have been scrolling over his face so clear were they to her.
    â€œNot Tuesday, then?”
    He stooped deliberately to kiss her, one last lingering caress, and she felt laughter bubbling up from deep inside. This often happened at moments when she should have been moved with desire or sadness; instead this sudden upward-swooping joy, a flash of delight at her separateness. He released her abruptly, irritated by his failure to persuade her, his face sulky.
    â€œNot Tuesday.” She swung her legs out of bed, her toes feeling for her espadrilles. “Give me a buzz.”
    â€œOK.” He could play it cool too. He hesitated. “Well, then.”
    She led the way into the passage, shrugging into a cotton wrapper, deciding not to offer him coffee or a drink.
    â€œSafe journey.” She kissed the tip of her forefinger and put it against his cheek. “See you soon.”
    There was nothing to do but smile, accept it graciously, and leave.
    Closing the door behind him, Jemima was chuckling to herself. She padded back along the passage and opened the door into the sitting room. It still gave her a thrill. Looking out across the harbour the room seemed to shimmer tremulously with a watery light; cool, bright reflections danced on the pale green walls. The smoothly pale, ash-wood floor gleamed between white rugs and an enormous sofa, striped cream and blue and green like a deckchair, was set at right angles to the glass doors which led on to the balcony.
    â€œHe’s gone,” she said. “So now we can relax.”
    There was no response from the huge, long-haired Persian cat who lay curled in a basket-weave chair. He slept peacefully, his round face serene. Jemima bent over him, smoothing his long fur, and he opened one eye before settling himself more comfortably.
    â€œYou are lazy, MagnifiCat,” she told him severely. “You are an idle animal. But then so am I. That’s why we like each other, I suppose.”
    She took an apple from the bowl on the low, glasstopped table and, opening the sliding doors, stepped on to the balcony. The evening was cool and the rising tidewater was stained crimson with the last sunset rays; small waves lapping round the ferry pier, rippling from beneath the bows of a small dinghy being rowed steadily out to one of the moored yachts. People were sitting outside with their drinks at the Ferryboat Inn and tiny, friendly lights twinkled from East Portlemouth across the harbour. Jemima took a deep breath of sheer joy and bit into her apple. She knew that Brigid disapproved of the rent she was paying, knew that it would have been more sensible to have used her small legacy to make a down payment on a small cottage or a