Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Charlotte

Where is he?

My Master is not in the lounge or the dining room. I don’t find him in his office or any of the usual places.

Outside?

In this weather?

I finally find him in the stables, currying mud from Oliver. He doesn’t see me as I come in behind him and I halt at the doorway…

Does he want to talk to me?

Oliver blows through his nostrils as the comb circles over neck and flank. Charlie leans across, nuzzling at my Master, then nickers softly, ears flicking forward as I enter.

My Master turns, but as he sees me, displays no pleasure. “Charlotte.” And he returns to grooming Oliver, this time using a brush on the heavy winter coat, clearing dirt and dust from the thick hair.

“Master, I’m sorry. I came to apologise...”

He pauses his movement, then restarts. “Thank you for that, at least…”

“… and to ask if you might like to invite Georgie to dinner this evening?”

He ceases his brushing, sets the brush to one side then turns to face me. Legs astride, arms folded, he’s still not smiling. “And what brought about this change of heart?”

“Michael spoke to me. So did Mom. They said… They said I’m being selfish. And that there’s nothing you could want more than…” I can’t look at him… “Even Richard said…”

I stir a flake of hay across the floor with my foot.

“I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I want to try to put it right.”

And he’s there, his arms around me, pushing me hard back against the plaster, his mouth on my own. His grip on me grows tighter. Setting his face by mine, cheek on cheek, his breath rasps loud. His chest heaves. One hand pins the side of my head, holding me still.

After a long minute, he relaxes, kisses me. “Thank you, Charlotte.” He stands back, palming my cheek, looking me in the face, and my Master is smiling at me again.

me, a staccato tumble. “I’m sorry.

He presses a finger to my lips. “It’s done. It’s over.” Then he replaces the finger

Holding me at the shoulders, “What shall we have for

I can’t think of a single thing I want to eat. “I…

“A

like?

blinks. “I could, couldn’t I…” He considers for a moment. “You know, I‘ve no idea. When she was a little girl, she always liked beans and sausages, but she’s grown up

grown-up beans and

again, real joy there now. “You’re right.

shake my head. “I’ve no idea, Master.

distant… “Or fabada… That’s the Spanish version. Come on…”

we make our way back to the house, he’s muttering to

have a clue if he has any chorizo. But it doesn’t

*****

James

are we having?” It’s Richard, with the

“with some traditional

examining the contents, sniffing the steam. “And fabada

Spanish answer to

south of France on holiday some years ago.

can get away with black pudding instead of morcillas. I don’t have the authentic Jamon Iberica, but

Richard’s face is glazing…

I talking

Probably…

And the accompaniments?” His gaze

dip with fresh crusty bread, a

kitchen. “Sounds like

it is. So it is. Perfect for

stands, hands in pockets,

Or a bit lost…