Under His Influence
“Can’t you get in on some kind of graduate training scheme?”
“Well, there is one. But it’s fiercely competitive. My friend Mimi is doing it, but she was one of three to get taken on. From over a thousand applicants.”
“Wow. Over a thousand? There are college courses though, aren’t there? Or perhaps a local paper might be a bit less competitive?”
“I kind of like the vibe at the Recorder. It’s exciting, you know. All the news coming in. All the famous people in the lifts. Plus I think if I stick around and get to know a few of Mimi’s friends… You never know. I mean, it’s who you know, isn’t it? Not what you know.”
“So they say. I’m not sure ‘they’ are the most reliable advisors though.”
“I couldn’t afford another college course anyway. Spent all my inheritance money at university.”
“Inheritance money?”
“Yes. I didn’t answer you when you asked about my parents last night. Actually, they’re dead.”
John was silent for a moment, stroking the stem of his glass contemplatively. “I’m sorry. That must have been tough on you.”
She looked away, shrugging. “It’s okay. Fourteen years ago now. More than half my life.”
He took her hand, forcing her gaze back to him.
“It’s not really okay, is it?” he said softly. “Who cares for you, Anna? Who is there to pick up the pieces for you?”
“I’ve got good friends. Oh, don’t be all kind and concerned, or I’ll cry, and I don’t think salt goes with champagne. Please?”
“Okay.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be cruel and heartless instead. Have some of this smoked salmon. It’s very good. Oh, and they’ve packed a pot of
Gentleman’s Relish. I’m not sure I’m gentlemanly enough for Gentleman’s Relish.”
“Oh, you are.” Anna wiped the tear that had been lurking in the corner of her eye and grinned at John. “Definitely.”
The sun sank slowly, low and orange, as Anna and John ate, the air growing colder by small degrees until Anna shivered a little and hugged her bare arms.
“Cold?” John moved up beside her and put an arm around her, pulling her into his side and popping a cream-dipped strawberry into her mouth. “Let me keep you warm.” They lay down, Anna nestled against John’s lean body, and just held each other, quietly, enjoying the feel of each other’s skin and shape and ins and outs, dreaming together under the lowering London sun. John plucked absently at Anna’s hair, tangled from the drive, while she buried her nose between his shirt buttons and tried to capture his essence in her memory.
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked suddenly. “You’re gorgeous, bright, sweet. What’s wrong with you?”
She snuffled happily into his chest. “I don’t know—there must be something though. Perhaps I don’t like boys.”
“You mean you like girls?”
“No. I mean perhaps I prefer men. I rarely get to meet a man.”
“Ah. That’s good. Oh, I’ve just remembered. I brought a little…musical thing.” He sat up and poked about inside the hamper until he uncovered an MP3 player with tiny speakers wired in. “Do you like music?”
“Love it!”
“Then I think we should dance.”
He pressed a button, then pulled Anna to her bare feet and across the grass, encircling her with his arms and holding her close as a wistful, ethereal tune floated out and over them, capturing them in its melody. It wasn’t dancing, thought Anna, leaning against John while he guided her slowly and caressingly in his arms along the shores of the lake. It was more like lovemaking, a higher love, a beautiful meeting of—hearts or…even souls. She felt so much a part of him, so close to him, so grateful to him, that he could have done anything with her, anything at all.
The lake water shimmered, reflecting burnt orange, then red, and Anna was burning as bright as the sun, drinking in her man, her John, with his swan neck and his eyes that could see through and into you and his face you could not look away from, and those lips, those infinitely kissable lips…
He looked down, and Anna felt, bone deep, that he knew what she was thinking, because he put one hand at the back of her neck and their cheeks met, their noses nudged and then their mouths were together, the way they were meant to be, kissing the sun down, kissing out the stars, kissing as if the world would end if they broke the lock on their lips, until the night fell.
Chapter Three
She could see his face on the ceiling, hear his voice in the silent night. As she lay fully clothed on her unmade bed, Anna tried to charm his touch back to her skin, willing it to speed on the particles of greyish light that half lit the room. She had lain like that for hours now, in rapture, immobilised by passion, sick with infatuation. She had never dreamed there could be love like this, never in all the years of crushes and teenage romances and exchanges of solemn tokens behind the big oak tree in the school grounds. This was so big and so all-consuming that it would almost be frightening if it weren’t so amazing, brilliant, every starry-eyed adjective in the lovers’ dictionary. When sleep eventually wove itself into her tapestry of John-thoughts, she was rehearsing her name: Anna Stone, Mrs. Stone, Anna Rice-Stone, Anna Maria Stone…