“He’ll be back for your birthday tomorrow, won’t he?”
“Oh yes, I think he’s back tonight. So, he picked up the wrong luggage, did he? Oh dear. Do you have the girl’s number to hand? I should call her and explain. What made you think she was so odd?”
“She was rather foulmouthed, and she had wild, hysterical sort of eyes,” says Keith.
FOULMOUTHED! WILD EYES? Literally, Keith heard the one time I’ve ever sworn in public.
They are out of sight now, at the other end of the hall, but I hear paper rustling, and then the clunk of a handset being lifted from its cradle. A cold bead of sweat trickles down my neck as I realize what’s about to happen—she’s dialing my number and the phone in my handbag is not on silent. It’s going to start ringing, and they will freak out when they hear it coming from inside the house. It will be like a horror film; Keith might murder me with a fire poker, and he wouldn’t even go to jail because I’m the intruder hiding behind a brown Barbour jacket in Maude’s coat alcove.
Scrambling about in my handbag, pinching my lips closed to suppress a scream, I manage to flick the phone onto silent just as the screen lights up with the call. From farther down the hallway, I hear Maude leaving me a message explaining Jasper’s lost his phone and he’s off on a training exercise all day, but that she’ll get him to call me about the bag as soon as he returns.
With the phone-ringing/death-by-poker emergency averted, I have a few moments to digest the fact that Jasper is a volunteer; the guy just gets better and better the more I hear about him. He has a flat in London—great for a potential relationship with me, since, well, I live there. He’s called Jasper—such a hot name and he rescues people from the sea. He must have quite muscular upper arms if he hauls people out of the water all day. An image of Ted’s arms springs unbidden to my mind, as he stripped off his sea-soaked T-shirt, that understated, muscular definition, strong but lean—
Through my musing about the sexiness of upper arms, I hear Keith’s and Maude’s footsteps across the hall again and tuck myself farther back behind the coats. This really is a very deep coat alcove; you could fit a short bowling alley in here.
“So, when am I giving you your birthday present?” Keith asks Maude.
I feel briefly indignant on Jasper’s behalf—he better not be about to give Maude the beehive. It’s supposed to be a surprise, Keith.
“Oh, you are a mischief,” says Maude, with a chuckle. “I thought there was a reason you came over today when you knew I’d be here on my own.”
“Mrs. Le Maistre, I’m shocked you would suspect me of such base motivations. I am purely here as a messenger—though if you would like a little something—you know I’m always happy to oblige.” Keith’s voice breaks into a little purr.
Then they stop talking, and I hear what sounds like kissing sounds. No! Maude and Keith? I did not see that plot twist coming. They must be in their late sixties—no one kisses like that in their sixties, do they?
“My queen bee,” says Keith, “undress for me.”
What? No! I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I dare to peep out from behind the Barbour jacket, and sure enough Maude drops her plaid knee-length skirt to the polished wooden floor. Keith stands watching, his bushy white eyebrows jumping up and down like caterpillars on a trampoline. Surely this isn’t happening, not here in the hallway. They could at least go upstairs!
“Come on then. I’ve got the gardener coming over at four thirty, so you’ll need to be quick about it,” says Maude.
“The chaise,” Keith purrs, and I hear more kissing sounds.
My eyes dart around the hall and to my horror I see a green chaise longue directly opposite my hiding place. Please no, just say no, Maude, I’m sure you’d rather have a nice comfy bed, not a quickie in the hallway.
“You only like the chaise so you can hold on to the antlers,” Maude says with a girlish giggle. Sure enough, above the chaise, I see two huge antlers protruding from the mounted skull of a stag, “If Frank only knew what his hideous family heirloom was being used for.”
Ooh, who’s Frank? Husband? Hang on, isn’t Keith married? Yes, I asked him how he met his wife at the fete—the plot thickens. Am I witnessing a clandestine affair?
“Well, my balance isn’t what it was,” cackles Keith, and I hear the sound of trousers being unzipped.
Closing my eyes, I hear my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. Should I make myself known now? It might be better to be arrested for trespassing than to witness what’s about to happen. But it’s too late. Daring to peek again, I see Maude is now sitting on the chaise, and Keith is unbuttoning her cardigan, bending down to kiss her neck. I retract my head, like a horrified tortoise. If I’m going to have to listen, I certainly shouldn’t watch.