One Christmas Morning & One Summer's Afternoon by Tilly Bagshawe Page A
Authors: Tilly Bagshawe
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very, very long time. He smelled of whisky and stage make-up and his stubble felt rough and scratchy against Laura’s cheeks. This was nothing like kissing Daniel. Or John. Or anyone she’d ever kissed before. This was pure magic.
‘Come with me,’ he said, when at last they came up for air, grabbing her hand and leading her over to a stile at the side of the road. With his hands on her waist again, he lifted her over into the snowy field as if she weighed no more than a straw doll. Hidden from the road, but only a few feet back was a barn. Unbolting the door, Gabe pulled Laura inside.
‘Aren’t we trespassing?’ she giggled.
‘Nope. This is my land.’
Gabe pulled a torch out of his coat pocket and wedged it between two hay bales to give them a little light. Then, taking Laura’s face in his hands, he kissed her again, more gently this time. Removing his coat, he placed it over the straw. Then he rolled up his scarf as a pillow and, scooping Laura up into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold, laid her down gently on the makeshift bed.
Gazing up at him, stroking his face with her hands, Laura wondered how long she’d wanted him and realized that it had been a very, very long time.
‘So.’ She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
‘So.’ Gabe smiled back, and slowly began to undress her.
In the distance, the bells of St Hilda’s began to ring out, summoning the villagers to midnight mass. The sound mingled with Gabe’s breathing as he pulled off his shirt and expertly unfastened Laura’s bra. She had never felt happier in her life.
It was going to be a very Merry Christmas indeed.
Copyright
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
This ebook first published in Great Britain by HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2012
Copyright © Tilly Bagshawe 2012
Cover images © Simon Wilkinson/Getty Images (woman); Shutterstock.com (illustrations)
Tilly Bagshawe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Epub Edition © December 2012 ISBN: 9780007472543
Version: 2013-11-27
ONE SUMMER’S AFTERNOON
TILLY BAGSHAWE
MONDAY
‘All right, so let’s run through it again. Who’s going to open the batting with Will?’
The five men considered this all-important question in the beer garden of Fittlescombe’s prettiest pub, The Fox. This Saturday was the big match, an annual cricketing fixture between Fittlescombe and the neighbouring village of Brockhurst. Dating back more than a hundred and fifty years, the Swell Valley cricket match was older than the Ashes, and every bit as hotly contested. For the last six years in a row, shamingly, Brockhurst had trounced the home team. Indeed, almost since the match’s inception, Fittlescombe had been perceived as something of a gentlemanly shambles, gracious losers in the great tradition of affable, British sporting failures. The village had produced only two county players in the last century, in comparison with Brockhurst’s six, and no Test cricketers at all (Brockhurst could boast
‘Come with me,’ he said, when at last they came up for air, grabbing her hand and leading her over to a stile at the side of the road. With his hands on her waist again, he lifted her over into the snowy field as if she weighed no more than a straw doll. Hidden from the road, but only a few feet back was a barn. Unbolting the door, Gabe pulled Laura inside.
‘Aren’t we trespassing?’ she giggled.
‘Nope. This is my land.’
Gabe pulled a torch out of his coat pocket and wedged it between two hay bales to give them a little light. Then, taking Laura’s face in his hands, he kissed her again, more gently this time. Removing his coat, he placed it over the straw. Then he rolled up his scarf as a pillow and, scooping Laura up into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold, laid her down gently on the makeshift bed.
Gazing up at him, stroking his face with her hands, Laura wondered how long she’d wanted him and realized that it had been a very, very long time.
‘So.’ She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
‘So.’ Gabe smiled back, and slowly began to undress her.
In the distance, the bells of St Hilda’s began to ring out, summoning the villagers to midnight mass. The sound mingled with Gabe’s breathing as he pulled off his shirt and expertly unfastened Laura’s bra. She had never felt happier in her life.
It was going to be a very Merry Christmas indeed.
Copyright
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
This ebook first published in Great Britain by HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2012
Copyright © Tilly Bagshawe 2012
Cover images © Simon Wilkinson/Getty Images (woman); Shutterstock.com (illustrations)
Tilly Bagshawe asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Epub Edition © December 2012 ISBN: 9780007472543
Version: 2013-11-27
ONE SUMMER’S AFTERNOON
TILLY BAGSHAWE
MONDAY
‘All right, so let’s run through it again. Who’s going to open the batting with Will?’
The five men considered this all-important question in the beer garden of Fittlescombe’s prettiest pub, The Fox. This Saturday was the big match, an annual cricketing fixture between Fittlescombe and the neighbouring village of Brockhurst. Dating back more than a hundred and fifty years, the Swell Valley cricket match was older than the Ashes, and every bit as hotly contested. For the last six years in a row, shamingly, Brockhurst had trounced the home team. Indeed, almost since the match’s inception, Fittlescombe had been perceived as something of a gentlemanly shambles, gracious losers in the great tradition of affable, British sporting failures. The village had produced only two county players in the last century, in comparison with Brockhurst’s six, and no Test cricketers at all (Brockhurst could boast
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