restoration workshops. He waved to a couple of workmen in the nearby garage, who were working on the rear bodywork of a Triumph Vitesse.
Then he put his arm around my waist and pointed upwards. There was a helicopter on the roof. He looked at my astonishment.
‘We’re going in that!’
‘Yes, Freya. Thought you’d like a little more fun.’
‘You mean you can fly that thing?’
He grinned, taking out a flying hat and headset from behind his back. ‘A friend flew it in for me this morning. But yes, I’m a fully trained pilot.’
Was there no end to his talents? I thought, as we clambered up the stairs. I began to realize I was being seduced as much by his lifestyle as by his sexual and intellectual prowess. But somehow, I could not help myself being drawn in even deeper. Maybe I was thriving on the implicit dangers of getting close to this man.
Soon we were airborne and my thoughts were lost in the general excitement.
We spent the next hour on a grand tour of the Lake District. First came the bleak northern fells: mainly grassy, with the occasional outline of an Iron Age hillfort or old mine workings. Then came the more rugged central region. The glaciated valleys, dramatic combes and barren volcanic crags and cliffs contrasted with the peaceful expanses of lake and tarn. And with the lower, more afforested slopes, where farmsteads appeared as mere specks in the powerful landscape. Lastly, we flew over the verdant meadows and parklands of the southern expanses, before banking away towards the Irish Sea. Only the vulgar structures of coastal industry blotted the spectacular natural environment as we journeyed back again.
We flew inland, coming back across Bassenthwaite Lake and Skiddaw, the only features I could recognize. Dylan drew my attention to a great view of the ridges of Causey and Grisedale Pikes, as the sun began to sink behind their pointed summits.
But I was more interested in a large cliff, shrouded on both sides by plantations. I pointed to it, gaining Dylan’s attention. ‘What’s that white thing?’
‘It’s called the “Bishop of Barf”. It’s a statuesque rock that sticks out from the face. They paint it regularly to make it stand out.’
‘Oh, interesting.’
‘See the hotel at its foot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’ve booked us in for a romantic meal later.’
‘Excellent,’ I replied, embracing him. Inner relief swept through me. I’d nearly booked myself into this hotel, as it had been the nearest to Grimshaw Lodge. If I had done so, my mission would soon have been exposed.
After our meal, we returned up the road to the Lodge. He surprised me by stopping in a lay-by and pulling me into the forest. He started to make love.
‘We can’t do this here. Someone might see!’
‘That’s exactly what makes it so exciting!’
- VII -
THE GARDENS OF the Victorian mansion must have been spectacular in their heyday. Its centrepiece had been the large conservatory. Dylan had restored the intricate glass panelling very faithfully; now it housed a heated swimming pool and sauna.
I found Yasuko swimming in the pool. She was wearing a nightshirt which covered her body and must have been very cumbersome to swim in. She climbed out on the other side of the pool and scurried off towards the changing rooms.
Dylan joined me. We both stripped naked and dived into the soothing waters. We frolicked around for over an hour, swimming, play-fighting and periodically embracing.
After lunch, the truck returned, with the same personnel, to recover the remains of my Fiat. We watched its crane lift the crumpled wreck aboard. It was a sad sight. We followed behind in the Land Rover. Our destination was Dylan’s car restoration business. On the outskirts of Keswick, we turned off the main road and drove up a track to the old bobbin mill.
We found Rupert with his head under the bonnet of the Bentley, in discussion with one of the mechanics.
‘Still here, Rupert,’ Dylan called.
‘Yes.
Then he put his arm around my waist and pointed upwards. There was a helicopter on the roof. He looked at my astonishment.
‘We’re going in that!’
‘Yes, Freya. Thought you’d like a little more fun.’
‘You mean you can fly that thing?’
He grinned, taking out a flying hat and headset from behind his back. ‘A friend flew it in for me this morning. But yes, I’m a fully trained pilot.’
Was there no end to his talents? I thought, as we clambered up the stairs. I began to realize I was being seduced as much by his lifestyle as by his sexual and intellectual prowess. But somehow, I could not help myself being drawn in even deeper. Maybe I was thriving on the implicit dangers of getting close to this man.
Soon we were airborne and my thoughts were lost in the general excitement.
We spent the next hour on a grand tour of the Lake District. First came the bleak northern fells: mainly grassy, with the occasional outline of an Iron Age hillfort or old mine workings. Then came the more rugged central region. The glaciated valleys, dramatic combes and barren volcanic crags and cliffs contrasted with the peaceful expanses of lake and tarn. And with the lower, more afforested slopes, where farmsteads appeared as mere specks in the powerful landscape. Lastly, we flew over the verdant meadows and parklands of the southern expanses, before banking away towards the Irish Sea. Only the vulgar structures of coastal industry blotted the spectacular natural environment as we journeyed back again.
We flew inland, coming back across Bassenthwaite Lake and Skiddaw, the only features I could recognize. Dylan drew my attention to a great view of the ridges of Causey and Grisedale Pikes, as the sun began to sink behind their pointed summits.
But I was more interested in a large cliff, shrouded on both sides by plantations. I pointed to it, gaining Dylan’s attention. ‘What’s that white thing?’
‘It’s called the “Bishop of Barf”. It’s a statuesque rock that sticks out from the face. They paint it regularly to make it stand out.’
‘Oh, interesting.’
‘See the hotel at its foot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’ve booked us in for a romantic meal later.’
‘Excellent,’ I replied, embracing him. Inner relief swept through me. I’d nearly booked myself into this hotel, as it had been the nearest to Grimshaw Lodge. If I had done so, my mission would soon have been exposed.
After our meal, we returned up the road to the Lodge. He surprised me by stopping in a lay-by and pulling me into the forest. He started to make love.
‘We can’t do this here. Someone might see!’
‘That’s exactly what makes it so exciting!’
- VII -
THE GARDENS OF the Victorian mansion must have been spectacular in their heyday. Its centrepiece had been the large conservatory. Dylan had restored the intricate glass panelling very faithfully; now it housed a heated swimming pool and sauna.
I found Yasuko swimming in the pool. She was wearing a nightshirt which covered her body and must have been very cumbersome to swim in. She climbed out on the other side of the pool and scurried off towards the changing rooms.
Dylan joined me. We both stripped naked and dived into the soothing waters. We frolicked around for over an hour, swimming, play-fighting and periodically embracing.
After lunch, the truck returned, with the same personnel, to recover the remains of my Fiat. We watched its crane lift the crumpled wreck aboard. It was a sad sight. We followed behind in the Land Rover. Our destination was Dylan’s car restoration business. On the outskirts of Keswick, we turned off the main road and drove up a track to the old bobbin mill.
We found Rupert with his head under the bonnet of the Bentley, in discussion with one of the mechanics.
‘Still here, Rupert,’ Dylan called.
‘Yes.
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