Larkrigg Fell by Freda Lightfoot

shaft of sunlight, right down to the gleaming leather of his polished boots. He carried about him a serenity and confidence that was quite mesmeric, yet at the same time managed to appear vulnerable and innocent. A writer or artist surely. A sulky angel. Beth gazed upon him entranced, astonished, and helplessly ashamed at the emotions which soared through her.
    Sarah was the first to acknowledge his presence. She moved across to him, smiling in that special way she had. Beth saw the heavenly blue eyes quicken with predatory interest and she felt suddenly, desperately sick. Here we go again!
    The one with the beard introduced himself as John Reynolds. ‘Most folk call me Jonty,’ he told them.
    He sauntered over to the carver chair, stared defiantly at Beth then lounged in it, propping his feet on the corner of the rusty range as Sarah had previously done. Sarah herself seemed content to watch him with smiling curiosity, like a cat.
    ‘You seem to have made yourself at home,’ Beth remarked, rather acidly.
    ‘So? We live in your house, eat in your kitchen, swim in your lake. That a problem?’
    She wanted to say that it was very much a problem but her tongue seemed somehow stuck to the roof of her mouth as every sense prickled with awareness of the beautiful young man by the door.
    Sarah intervened. ‘Of course it isn’t a problem. Where are you heading?’
    ‘Wherever we fancy. This is Pietro. He doesn’t talk much. Say hello to the pretty ladies.’
    All eyes turned to the silent figure who hovered by the door. Except for Beth’s. She simply couldn’t bear to look at him for fear of what he might read in her eyes. The young man inclined his head in a deep bow but said nothing.
    ‘Pietro? That’s Italian, isn’t it?’ Sarah asked, moving across to him. The young man nodded again.
    ‘Where did you two meet?’
    ‘On Paddington station,’ Jonty replied for him. ‘Six months ago. We’ve been hitching ever since.’
    ‘We see the world,’ Pietro added, breaking his silence at last as his whole body seemed suspended in motion, eyes riveted upon Sarah’s face, then moving uncertainly over to Jonty, as if asking what he should do now. Sarah flickered one humorous eyebrow.
    ‘Sounds good.’
    ‘It ees good.’
    ‘So now you’re here?’
    ‘Sì.’
    ‘Why the Lakes?’
    ‘I have the fancy to see the English Lake District. I hear it ees very beautiful. Magnifico!’
    ‘Indeed it is, And you must stay as long as you like. Don’t you agree, Beth?’
    As Beth failed to answer, an awkward silence fell. After a moment she gathered up the used rags and headed for the door, heart beating like a mad thing. Outside, she lifted the lid of the dustbin and flung the rags inside, slamming it down with a ringing clang. She had a great longing to throw her sister in with them. Sarah’s recklessness was beyond belief. Inviting two perfect strangers, no, far-from-perfect strangers to stay as long as they liked. What was she thinking of? Was she mad? No, sex mad, Beth thought, remembering with a childish display of temper, the exchange of glances.
    Well she, for one, meant to ignore them. She would refuse to speak or have anything to do with either of them. They would quickly tire of this silly game they were playing, and leave. Just thinking of the expression in Jonty Reynolds dark eyes made her blood run cold. As for the beautiful Pietro, he was as besotted with her sister as was everyone who had ever set eyes on her. Damn them all.
    And I’m jealous, she thought, dismayed to find tears running down her cheeks.

 
    Chapter Six
    Beth’s agony was far from over. The next afternoon Sarah decided they should make the most of the good weather and have a picnic. She dispatched Beth to make sandwiches, collect rugs and take them up to the tarn in the yellow mini. Tessa was only too willing to help since she could then meet the naked bodies in the flesh, as it were.
    James crawled about the grass, gurgling with delight in