up,’ said Chris, emptying the vodka bottle into Seth’s glass.
‘And how’s your Tilda Flood defence, my dear?’ murmured Seth to Alan.
‘Non-existent, I adore her and the poor darling’s school’s been trashed, but shut up about it.’
‘Only if you tell your sweet daughter to call me. I’ve got an idea for when Corinna comes back from America: we’ll give an evening of Shakespeare and perhaps Noël Coward to raise money for the flood victims. Trixie loves Shakespeare. Maybe she could help. What d’you think, Norman?’
But the Major was off bellyaching about Larkminster Council who were offering free sandbags. ‘But when Debbie and I rolled up this morning they were only handing out bags with no sand in them, which are utterly useless.’
‘Why don’t they use the obese as sandbags?’ suggested Seth. ‘Give them a feeling of self-worth. They could start with Jude. It’d be better than pounding the streets with Martin to raise awareness for WOO.’
‘That is in deplorable taste,’ exploded the Major. ‘Jude is a lovely lady.’
109
Even though she’d been lucky enough to keep Priceless and Gwenny with her at Russet House, Etta was fretting about what she was going to feed them on, now the village shop had been flooded out. Priceless also needed a walk.
‘I must take him,’ she wailed, rearing out of bed.
‘You’ve got to rest,’ ordered Trixie, adding hopefully, ‘Dad should be home in a minute. I’m defrosting a chicken for everyone’s supper and I’ll take Priceless out for a quick walk. I know he hates getting wet, so we’ll go east across Farmer Fred’s land.’
Outside, everything dripped and reeked of sewage, and Farmer Fred’s fields had been replaced by huge lakes of pale brown water with clean-washed cows and very white sheep grazing on the still green high ground. Yesterday’s deluge had bowed down the willows and flattened the shocking-pink willow herb growing along the footpath, which had become a rushing stream. A light breeze ruffled the yellow antlers of the wild honeysuckle.
Priceless bounded in front, picking his feet out of the water, tossing his head from side to side, to beckon her on, before charging off in search of rabbits. Despite the muggy closeness of the evening, Trixie shivered. She had been jolted by how close her grandmother and Wilkie had come to death. She must try to enjoy life more.
Suddenly Priceless gave a bark of joy and loped forward as a tall, dark and decidedly handsome man emerged from the shadowy hazel grove ahead. The smell of sewage retreated, giving way to the musky lemon scent of Terre. And Trixie’s heart failed. It was Seth. She must keep her feet on the terre.
‘Go away,’ she whispered in horror, as he fell into splashing step beside her, ‘I so don’t want to see you.’
‘Darling, please, please, please listen to me,’ Seth begged, ‘I only want to say how desperately sorry I am about Stratford. It was appalling. My only defence is I was so relieved the first night had gone well, I got absolutely plastered. Four in a bed was all Rogue’s idea, he was so desperate to shag Bonny.’ The more Seth lied, the more truthful he made it sound. ‘And in vino veritas, the only thing I wanted to shag was you. I’ve never desired a woman,’ how flatteringly his deep voice lingered over the word, ‘the way I desire you. I’m afraid that night my vile animal nature overcame me.’
‘Don’t blame animals, they’ve got much nicer natures than you,’ said Trixie furiously. She must not look into his face or she’d be lost. She wished her heart would stop thumping and she wished she could breathe again. But when she slipped in the mud, his hand caught her elbow and he left it there.
‘Please forgive me,’ his voice became hypnotically mesmerizing, ‘just give me a second chance. I can’t bear us not to be friends, I so adored coaching you.’
‘“Come, my coach,”’ said Trixie sarcastically, but as they walked on, jumping to avoid the puddles, the fingers of his left hand somehow plaited with the fingers of her right.
‘“Had he come all the way for this?”’ he spoke melodramatically, ‘“To part at last without a kiss.”’
‘Who said that?’ asked Trixie sulkily.
‘William Morris in a poem appropriately called “The Haystack in the Floods”. Although he wrote it about a girl, I know I’m too old for you. I’ve tried to back off but I can’t stop wanting you.’
As he dropped her hand and laid his, warm and caressing, on the back of