Page 39 of Sparring Partners
“Yes, Kerry?”
“Can you take a picture of me and Tyson? He’s my favourite.” She held out an outrageously pink mobile phone.
“Sure. Tyson!” Adrian hollered, and Luca’s jaw dropped open when a sheep, the smallest in the small breed flock, staggered over, its bad tempered bleat making it clear it didn’t much like being diverted from its food.
Luca looked closer. “Does that sheep only have?—”
“Yep.” Adrian took a few shots of the sheep, which was so not a Tyson, and a grinning Kerry. Handing back her phone, she ran off to show a friend. “Three legs due to a deformity which meant amputation. I called him Tyson because he was a fighter, and survived against all the odds. I looked after him inside the house, where Spud took a liking to him and which is why the daft wool ball thinks he’s more sheep dog than sheep. He should have gone for slaughter and ended up as Sunday dinner, but…” Adrian trailed off. “Anyway, it’s time for this rabble to go,” he muttered, as he jumped over the pen and made his way towards the helpers who’d come with the children.
Luca kept his distance, watching as Adrian laughed and joked with them, his smile wide and transforming his face, wiping away the grumpy expression that so often clouded his features. The boy who’d been fearful in the sheep pen hovered, and Adrian turned to him, giving him every last ounce of his attention. The boy smiled, seemed to stand up straighter, and bloomed like a flower opening up to the sun as Adrian spoke to him.
Seconds later, in a flurry of waves and laughter, the children climbed aboard a minibus. Moments later they were gone.
“Elena, can you sort everything out here?” Without waiting for an answer, Adrian nodded for Luca to follow him into the kitchen.
“I need to have a quick shower, to wash the farmyard off me.” Adrian wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps I should have suggested dinner instead. We could still?—”
Luca shook his head. He wasn’t used to this less assured version of Adrian. It was so at odds with the cocky, commanding, on the edge of aggressive man he’d come to know. Adrian disappeared upstairs, but rather than take a seat at the table, just the sight of it making his cheeks heat, Luca instead made his way to the lounge.
An old, large brick fireplace filled up most of one wall but otherwise they were whitewashed and lumpy, as they were in the kitchen. A large TV sat in the corner, but it was the dark brown leather sofa that dominated. Although it looked squashy and very comfortable, the room was severely masculine, nothing softening its hard lines.
A plain white bookcase stood against the wall, and Luca inspected the packed shelves. Non-fiction, mostly. Books on sustainable farming, but also economics and politics, along with a large number in Spanish, Italian, French and German. But not every inch of the shelves were stuffed with books. In a cleared space was a photograph in a plain silver frame. The teenage version of Adrian, of which there was no doubt. Smiling into the camera, he held a protective arm around a small, plump, elderly woman. Like Adrian, she was smiling, but whereas Adrian’s smile had an aggressive edge, almost a challenge, the woman’s smile was soft and serene.
“My gran.”
Luca swung around; he’d been so absorbed in the photo he hadn’t heard Adrian come in.
“I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I was snooping.” He swallowed, sharply aware Adrian hadn’t said anything about making himself comfortable in the lounge.
“Not at all.” He took the photo from Luca, and stared down at it. “It’s one of the few photos of me at that age where I’m smiling. She was an amazing woman. I don’t know what I’d have done without her,” Adrian added quietly.
Luca glanced back at the shelving. No other photos. No evidence of family other than an elderly grandmother.
“Anyway,” Adrian said, putting the photo back, and running his fingers through his damp hair, “how about a change of plan?”
“Just as long as it includes food, because I’m starving.” But it wasn’t just food Luca craved.
Adrian looked good enough to eat. Faded jeans that moulded to him perfectly, sitting low on his hips, and a snowy white T-shirt which clung to the defined muscles of his stomach and chest, muscles that had everything to do with hard, physical work rather than weights in the gym. Everything about Adrian was uncompromisingly masculine, a wet dream on two legs. He glanced up, meeting Adrian’s gaze, feeling every single pulse of heat in his face.
“I was thinking maybe we could eat outside?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, why not. Here, in the garden you mean?”
“No, not here, somewhere I know that’s — well, it’s a bit different. For a picnic, as the weather’s so good. But if you’d rather we went to the pub I’d suggested?” Adrian’s hand found the back of his neck.
“I think eating al fresco would be perfect.”
“Al fresco?” Adrian laughed. “Thought I’d offered a picnic. Sandwiches and scotch eggs.”
“Call it what you want, and as long as there’s plenty, I’ll eat it. Seriously, it’s a great idea. I don’t really get too many chances to get out and about. In fact, I’ve rarely been much further than the village.”
Adrian’s jaw dropped, his surprise almost comic. “That’s… outrageous. I was going to suggest Starry Point, which has great views, even though it’s best at night because of the?—”
“Stars?”
“All right. Yes, because of the stars. I’ll drive us up there one night.”
“Star gazing. That’s very romantic.”
