Sara Craven - The Innocent's Sinful Craving

And even when their fantasies had changed, they’d still enjoyed the occasional picnic there.

She was looking forward to more of them—perhaps with Adam, but Aunt Joss had other ideas.

‘There’s little to be done about chickenpox,’ she’d said grimly. ‘But I can’t have you kicking your heels here for weeks on end, so Mrs Sansom at the Royal Oak has agreed to take you on to help with the rooms and wait at table, although you can’t work behind the bar. She’ll pay you a small wage and you can keep any tips. Your shift will finish once the lunchtime bar snacks are over.’

Dana had listened, appalled. Even the thought of earning some money of her own couldn’t reconcile her to being Mrs Sansom’s dogsbody for half a day. ‘She likes a big cake for her ha’penny’ as a local saying had it.

Worse, Janice Cotton who’d been the leading bully when she was at the village school was working in the Oak’s kitchen, and would almost certainly be waiting to put the boot in.

And if, by some ghastly mischance, Adam and his friends ever decided on a bar lunch in the garden, she’d have to serve them wearing a hideous pink overall with a bright green oak tree emblazoned on the left breast.

And I thought being an au pair was the pits, she’d groaned inwardly.

But she seemed to have little choice in the matter, so the following morning saw her cycling to the village, where, as bad luck would have it, the first person she encountered was Janice.

‘Well, if it isn’t Miss High and Mighty,’ was the greeting, delivered pugnaciously, hands on hips. ‘Tired of your airs and graces up at the big house, are they? Sent you down here, slumming with us peasants? Sorry if I don’t curtsy.’

Dana made no reply as she parked her bike, reflecting that biting her lip hard might well become a way of life.

And, as she soon discovered, working her fingers to the bone.

Her initial encounter with Mrs Sansom had not raised her spirits one iota. Her employer, in her own much repeated words, ‘liked to run a tight ship’. Her tone suggested that any backslider would soon find they were walking the plank.

The Oak did a brisk bed and breakfast trade and the changeover in its six bedrooms had to be swift and efficient.

Theoretically, the rooms had to be vacated by 10:00 a.m., but this didn’t happen as often as it should, and it generally became a mad rush to get the laundry downstairs in time for the van, dust and polish the lounge bar and mop its flagged floor, check the garden parasols and check the ashtrays were clean before washing her face and hands, tidying her hair and changing into a clean pink overall for her waitress stint.

At the same time, she had to contend with Janice, who had soon made her malicious intentions clear, focusing on the hated uniform.

It seemed hardly a day went by without some accident, a favourite being a jog to her arm as she was pouring breakfast juice or ladling soup into bowls, necessitating a change of overall, which could have its own problems.

‘You really are the clumsiest girl,’ Mrs Sansom snapped when Dana had to show her the only clean overall she had left, with a sleeve mysteriously hanging half torn from the armhole. ‘How on earth did that happen?’

‘I don’t know, Mrs Sansom,’ said Dana, although she could make an educated guess at the kitchen scissors followed by a good, hard tug.

‘Well, I suppose you must serve in your own clothes for once, but be more careful in future or I shall have to speak to your aunt. These uniforms cost money, you know, and you’re damned lucky I don’t deduct this damage from your wages.’

But it turned out to be her lucky day, because the cook, Betty Wilfrey, who’d allowed previous incidents to pass without comment, apparently decided enough was enough and took Janice aside for ‘a quiet word’.

For a week or two there was peace; then, after a long, weary day with the temperature up in the eighties, the hotel full and the busiest lunchtime ever, Dana emerged later than usual and well after the kitchen had closed, to find that her bike had disappeared from its usual spot.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she groaned under her breath. She hoped it might just have been moved elsewhere, but a search of the outbuildings and storage area proved futile and Dana could have sat down on the cobbles, put her face in her hands and wept.

It was no use trudging the half mile to the small estate where Janice lived, because she would only deny all knowledge of the incident. So, instead, Dana turned left and began to walk the length of the village, cursing Janice with every step.

She’d coped with the odd flat tyre in the past and said nothing, but this was different. This time she couldn’t suffer in silence—not with the prospect of a three-mile hike at the beginning and end of every working day.

She’d gone about half a mile when she was overtaken by a dark blue convertible, which stopped.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Zac Belisandro. ‘Isn’t it a little warm for a stroll?’

‘I didn’t plan it.’ She stared ahead of her fixedly, one glance having told her that he was more casually dressed than she had ever seen him, bare-legged and bare-armed in white shorts and a dark red shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist.

‘You have a bicycle, I think.’

Now, how did he know that?

‘I couldn’t find it. Someone must have—borrowed it.’

‘Without permission?’

She shrugged. ‘Obviously. Anyway, the walk will do me good.’ Even if my feet feel as if they’re about to burst into flames.

‘I disagree.’ He leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Get in.’

Oh, God, no...

She said swiftly, ‘No, thanks, I can manage. You really don’t have to bother.’

‘It will only trouble me if I am forced to put you in the car.’ He sounded faintly bored. ‘For both our sakes, do as you are told.’

The desire to tell him to go to hell almost overwhelmed her. Almost—but not quite.

So she obeyed, a picture of mutiny, fastening her seat belt quickly in case he offered assistance again.

He added, ‘And do not sulk.’

‘Does it occur to you that I might not wish to be driven by you, Mr Belisandro?’ She’d intended to sound dignified, but somehow the words emerged as juvenile and petulant.

His own tone was silky. ‘Then it is fortunate we have only a short journey to endure.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I am not convinced that you yet know what you truly want. I also believe you should be careful what you wish for.’

The car moved forward and began to gather speed. The languid heat of the day seemed suddenly to be pulsing in Dana’s veins and, in spite of herself, she lifted her face welcoming the rush of air.

‘I’ve simply mislaid my bike,’ she returned. ‘I hardly require counselling.’

‘Is that what I’m offering?’ His mouth twisted in the way that always put her on edge. ‘I believed it was kindness, but perhaps you have little reason to recognise it.’

‘But I do know, however, when I’m being patronised,’ Dana said stonily.

‘Then let us change the subject. Do you know who has your bicycle?’

‘I think—Janice Cotton who works in the pub kitchen. I—I expect she meant it as a joke.’

‘She has a strange sense of humour.’ His tone was dry.

‘Well, that’s the English for you.’ She attempted airiness. ‘Unpredictable.’

‘You include yourself in that category?’

‘Why not?’

He said softly, ‘Because I can already foresee the future you have chosen for yourself. The decision you have made to remain anchored to the ground when you could fly.’

Dana stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘ Che peccato. What a pity. Yet again totally predictable.’