The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,64

piece of coal from the scuttle at him and pushed him towards the door. ‘Stand outside till Willie pipes you in!’

For a couple of minutes Andrew stood shivering in the hall, clutching his piece of coal and wondering if he had time for a quick cigarette. The New Year was nearly upon them. What would it bring?

Willie came out of the library clutching his pipes. ‘It’s midnight,’ he said. He clasped Andrew’s shoulder like he used to when he was younger. ‘I wish you the very best o’ luck for the year ahead, Master Andrew.’

‘Thank you, Willie.’

Then the gardener was striking up his pipes and leading him back into the library to a chorus of cheers and clapping led by his irrepressible Auntie Tibby. ‘Happy New Year, everybody!’

The party went on into the small hours. At three o’clock, Tibby retired to bed and insisted Andrew must stay the night and not attempt to ride back on treacherous black ice. He needed little persuasion. He liked to bed down in his father’s old turret room – and he had an excited feeling that he might get a visitor tapping at his door later.

He’d fallen asleep in the chilly bedroom, buried under several blankets, when he became aware of someone there. He started awake. A figure stood over him; he could just make out the outline of a woman in the dark.

‘Ruth?’ he whispered, catching a whiff of her powerful perfume. His heart was thudding.

He heard her laugh softly. ‘Well, I hope you weren’t expecting Elsie.’

Before he could say anything else, she was lifting the bed covers and climbing in beside him. Cold air wafted in. She shivered and snuggled up, touching him with cold hands.

Andrew flinched. ‘You’re freezing!’

‘Warm me up, then,’ she answered, pulling his arms around her.

She was wearing a cotton nightgown. He rubbed her back vigorously, trying not to shake with nerves.

‘I didn’t mean like that.’ She sounded amused. ‘Am I your first?’

Andrew said hoarsely, ‘No, second. That’s if we . . .’

‘Do you want to?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ He hated the way his voice croaked, betraying his nervousness.

‘Good. I’ve been longing to go to bed with you all holidays.’

It was light when Andrew woke again. Ruth was lying with her back to him, snoring gently. They’d made love twice before falling asleep. He couldn’t resist kissing her pale shoulder, marvelling at the sight of this woman in his narrow bed. He craved a morning cigarette but didn’t want to wake her, wanting to prolong their time together. Perhaps they could have sex again before breakfast.

He lay back smiling, his breath like a cloud in the chilly room. This had been so much better than his first fumbling attempt with the older sister of a school friend in the dunes of some Northumberland beach the previous summer.

He had no idea how old Ruth was – thirty, perhaps?

Stella was twenty-six. Andrew tried to stop himself imagining it was Stella and not Ruth lying beside him. He cursed under his breath. Even now, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Ruth stirred, yawning and stretching.

‘Good morning,’ Andrew said, leaning over and kissing her.

‘Goodness, what time is it?’ She sat up.

‘No idea. Does it matter?’

She gave a brief laugh, fumbling for her nightgown and slipping out of bed. He watched in dismay as she pulled it on.

‘You don’t have to go, do you?’

‘Yes, I’m sitting for Dawan this morning.’

‘On New Year’s Day?’ Andrew protested.

‘Start the year as we intend to go on.’ She smiled. ‘Nineteen thirty-nine will be the year Dawan receives true recognition – and I will be famous as his muse. Can I borrow this dressing gown?’ she asked, picking the one that hung on the door.

It was his father’s. He never used it, but liked it hanging there as if it still held an essence of Tom.

‘Of course.’ He sat up. ‘Will I see you later?’

‘Won’t you be going back to Mamma?’ Ruth’s mouth twitched.

Andrew reddened. She came back and kissed him on the forehead. ‘You look really handsome with your hair in a mess. Call in and say goodbye before you leave for Sandhurst, won’t you?’

Then she was gone. He felt deflated. It certainly didn’t seem to be the momentous night for Ruth that it had been for him. What a fool he was to think it would.

Andrew reached for his cigarettes. The beginning of 1939 had already been eventful. As he smoked, he wondered where the year would take him. Andrew had a surge of restlessness. He was