The Summer of Us Page 3

  So three months doing something that I’ll enjoy, that will also challenge me, spending my time in a beautiful country that I love and sleeping in a beautiful villa. But also spending my time with someone who completely rubs me up the wrong way. I shake my head.

  Becoming aware that I’m under the focus of two pairs of sharp eyes I turn around and sigh. “Okay I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 2

  Song: ‘Long Hot Summer’ by The Style Council

  John

  I lie back against the cushioned lounger feeling the sun baking down on me and sending everything behind my eyelids a golden black. For the first time in months I take a deep breath and inhale the scents of lavender and sun tan lotion. I exhale feeling like all the tenseness is flowing out of me in that one breath, and then I lie there listening to the shrieking of a lone seagull and the lapping of the water in the pool against the steps.

  I have a thousand things to do, a book to write and a series of lectures to prepare for that I’ve been asked to give at University College. I have emails to answer and phone calls to make, but today I refuse to do any of them. Instead I seize the peace that I have only ever known in this place. This whitewashed villa high in the hills around Cannes with its view of the sparkling sea and its fragrant grounds hidden down a winding road and behind high gates, is the one place in the world that I can really call home.

  I have a very expensive penthouse flat in London in a desirable location and kitted out with everything that any man could want, but nothing rivals this place. I’d found it quite by accident when I was taking a short weekend away to celebrate making partner. I’d always loved the South of France from the holidays that I’d spent here as a child when something about the place had imprinted on me – the winding roads with their jaw dropping drops to secluded coves lapped by the blue sea, the little villages with crooked paths redolent with the scents of fresh baking bread and garlic and the sheer profusion of scented plants everywhere. It’s no wonder that the place is the centre for perfume making because every breath that I take here is redolent with some blowsy new fragrance.

  That weekend I’d been puttering around in an old Citroen enjoying kicking back and feeling the excitement of having made it at becoming the youngest partner in the firm’s history. I’d come across a fork in the road and some instinct had made me take the left hand turn, leading me down a winding narrow lane towered over by tall Cypress trees broken occasionally by the quick glances of a sparkling Mediterranean sea.

  I’d followed the road to where it ended in a dead end. Swearing under my breath I’d just been about to execute the world’s tightest three point turn when I’d spied a sign attached to a rickety pair of old iron gates. It read ‘For Sale’ in French and curiosity had bloomed and I’d found myself turning off the engine and getting out of the car. The gates had been secured with a brand new huge padlock but looking up at them they’d looked sturdy, and feeling strangely compelled and ignoring the vision of making partner and being locked up in a French jail on the same weekend I’d reached up and climbed over them.

  I’d dropped down into a wilderness of overgrown greenery and the most startling colours and scents imaginable that overwhelmed the senses so that I’d inhaled greedily. I’ve always had a weakness for scents and have always insisted on fresh flowers everywhere so this was like paradise. Seeing what looked like a drive which was pitted with age I’d followed it around until it led out onto a circular forecourt in front of an old derelict house.

  It looked like an old Provencal style farmhouse, two storey with tall windows, but the paintwork had faded and chipped and the windows were either dirty or broken. Following the house around I saw that the path ran down the side of the house and I followed it only to come up short when I saw the view. Beyond a swimming pool which was empty apart from a few inches of stagnant water and copious amounts of ivy, was the most spectacular view of the Bay of Cannes curving around to Frejus. It was an endless view of the sea sparkling under the fierce sun so intensely that I had to put my hand up to my eyes to shield them.

  I’d turned back to the house and noticed what looked like an old broken down veranda next to the pool, and instead my imagination had supplied a wide terrace around the pool, big sun loungers with bright cushions and a rebuilt veranda covered with bougainvillea and shading a huge table and chairs for outside eating and looking out over that view.

  I’d inhaled the sharp scents of lavender and eucalyptus and I’d felt a peace stealing across my soul that I’d never felt before and certainly never since. It felt like this place in some strange way had been waiting for me, and that’s why I hadn’t taken the piss out of Charlie too much because I too fell in love with a tiny corner of a foreign country and had to have it.

  I’d put in an offer that weekend using some of an inheritance that my grandfather had left me, finding and cajoling the estate agent out of a lazy Saturday with the promise of a huge commission. I’d pushed the sale fiercely, finding myself in the unique position of wanting something desperately. That attachment has never wavered over the years and although I’d let Bella have our house without any argument she’d known not to go after this place. I’d have fought and won over that.

  The distant chime of the doorbell jerks me from my sleeping dream and I jerk, cursing softly. I wait for a second but nobody is going to get that because Odell my housekeeper has gone home for the day. The bell sounds again and I slide off the lounger dragging a towel over my torso which is still wet from my swim but that will have to do as whoever it is at the door will have to take me as I am.

  I pad down the cool entrance way over the tiles and swing open the heavy wooden door only to stand there open mouthed. “You!” I say in consternation.

  He stands there dressed in closely fitting, cuffed grey jogging bottoms paired with white Converse and a crumpled white t-shirt and looks off puttingly good looking and cool. Half of his hair has been pulled up into a top knot leaving the rest to fall around his face and neck in shades of blonde and sand, and his eyes are covered by silver aviator sunglasses.

  I run my hands over my own wet hair feeling the wet strands hit the back of my neck and very aware that I’m standing in only a damp pair of swimming shorts. I’d hoped to meet him dressed properly and feeling put together because something about this man makes me utter discomposed. “You’re early,” I blurt out and then groan. “I’m so sorry. That came out so rudely. Please come in.”

  He smirks at me and shoves his sunglasses up over his hair, pushing the wavy blonde strands back and revealing a pair of piercing brown eyes that are regarding me in an amused way and making my hackles rise again. I remind myself that I have to find a way to get on with this man because we’re going to be sharing a home for the next few months, and really because I want him to like me damn him. He likes everyone.

  I stand back and he brushes past me gifting me with the scent of coconut and a light trace of sweat. I gesture to his battered leather holdall. “Let me take that,”

  “Thanks mate.” His deep voice still bears the trace of North London where I think that he and the other men grew up.

  “Let me show you to your room. I think you’ll like it. It’s got a wonderful view of the sea.” I’m babbling. I never fucking babble.

  I become aware that he’s stopped moving and I turn back to him raising my eyebrow queryingly. “I think that we should talk,” he says, not perturbed by the eyebrow raise. Damn that’s one of my best weapons.

  “Oh yes?” I put his bag down.

  He smiles and it looks almost nervous but then I dismiss that thought. “I think that we got off to the wrong start,” he says abruptly.

  “You do?”

  “Yes and so do you.” I smile involuntarily and his lips quirk. “Listen I know you think that I don’t like you.”

  I cover up my jerk of reaction with a shrug. “Well you don’t.” I stop talking, aware that the thought hurts my feelings in some way. This man likes everyone. How unlikable must I really be
if he doesn’t like me? I have very few friends and perhaps that’s why. Perhaps his reaction is the true one. I feel my face close in the cold façade that I wear a lot to hide my soft side, but I’m amazed by his next words.

  “I don’t make snap judgements John but I did that night so I’m sorry. It was a tense night and you came in so composed and controlled that it rubbed me up the wrong way and I decided that I didn’t like you.” I don’t think that my wince is covered up because his eyes sharpen and then he shrugs. “But that was more about me than you.”

  “It’s not me, it’s you then?” I ask wryly and he gives a startled laugh, making his eyes crinkle and his whole body relax.

  “I’ve used that one a few times but in this case it’s the truth. I disliked you on sight because I mistakenly thought that you were fucking Mabe, and it solidified afterwards because I’m usually the one that sorts everything out and you stepped on my toes with your take charge attitude.” He shrugs. “Your porn joke didn’t help.”

  I groan. “Oh shit I was so embarrassed by that. I wanted to punch myself in the throat to stop talking.” He laughs. “No, I really did. I’m not that sort of person at all and I knew that you didn’t like me and for some reason my mouth decided to cast me as an immature wanker.”

  He laughs, his teeth gleaming white in his tanned face. “I knew that afterwards when I had the chance to think about it. You looked far too horrified for it to be true. The boys all really liked you as soon as they met you.” I warm inside at this and give him a small smile which his eyes seem to stick to for a long second, and I wonder whether I’ve ever smiled at him before. He clears his throat. “I didn’t really give you a chance which was a shitty thing to do, so I’d like to give us a second chance to become friends. After all we’re going to be spending a lot of time together and it would be a lot easier if it’s not in conditions that would have made Stalin uncomfortable.”

  I give a startled bark of laughter throwing my head back and when I straighten it’s to find him staring at me his face curiously blank. I quickly offer my hand for him to shake and then swallow hard as his long fingers encircle mine. Something about the feel of his warm dry skin makes this seem almost portentous.

  Dismissing this thought I smile. “Okay we’ll give it another shot. Now how about I show you around the villa and then to your room? You can have a shower and freshen up and then meet me downstairs and I’ll make you something to eat and we can go over the paperwork.”

  He nods and follows me out and through the villa like a lithe, blonde shadow.

  Matt

  I follow him through the villa marvelling at the size and also the comfort that it exudes. If you’d asked me a few months ago what furnishings he’d favour I’d have said leather and steel, practical and functional and cold. But that’s not in evidence here. Instead I pass light oak furniture, a huge beige sectional sofa with deep cushions and comfortable chairs and massive modern art hanging on the walls. Everything is done in shades of sand and cream and blue echoing the colours of the sea that can be seen from nearly every window.

  I pass light oak shelves stuffed with books and not just the heavy legal tomes that I’d expected. They’re there of course, but they share space with battered paperbacks of thrillers and biographies.

  We go up a marble staircase to a long hallway lit by large picture windows looking down on to the garden where I see the turquoise of an infinity pool and I whistle under my breath. A house this big takes some serious cash but I know that he’s loaded, not just from his job as a lawyer but also through his family who have a lot of money. If I remember rightly Bram told me that his dad was something big in the city and his mother’s family are landed gentry.

  He shows me to a big white door which he opens and gestures to me to precede him and I edge past him feeling the incredible heat that his tall body is giving off. I inhale subtly, smelling the scents of suntan oil and sweat. It makes my head swim and I concentrate on the room. “It’s lovely,” I say simply. “Your home is gorgeous John.” He grins the same wide grin that he gave me earlier which makes creases appear at the sides of those piercing blue eyes and the whole of his face light up.

  I clear my throat. Concentrate on the room I chant inwardly, not on how much you’d like to lick him. Luckily the room is beautiful. A massive bed with a tall petrol blue fabric covered headboard is made up with masses of pure white sheets and big fluffy pillows. It faces a pair of patio doors that let out onto a balcony and when I wander over I see that it runs the length of the house. I look down at the view of the sea sparkling in the sun with boats skipping along it with their sails out.

  “Bathroom’s through there,” he says, his rich deep voice making me jump at his nearness.

  Turning I almost overbalance as he’s standing very close behind me staring out at the view. I put out my hands to steady myself and swallow hard as I feel the sleek satin of his skin still heated from the sun and slick with sun lotion. I move my hands away quickly but the slickness of the lotion makes the gesture more of a caress that I’d intended and I swallow hard as the atmosphere for a second seems to thicken.

  Then his eyes crease in confusion and I make myself laugh carelessly and stand back. It’s harder than I anticipate because he draws me like a magnet. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a klutz sometimes.”

  He clears his throat. “No problem. I’ll leave you be shall I? Come down when you’re ready and we’ll have a drink.”

  The door closes behind him and I fall back against the whitewashed wall, looking out at the sea but seeing instead that beautiful body clad only in navy checked swim shorts. He’s broader than me with big shoulders and a heavily muscled stomach leading to a mouth-watering ‘v’ and cut hipbones from which his board shorts hang. They’d been tight enough to be able to see the length of his cock occasionally.

  My mouth waters and heat flushes through me at the thought and without thinking I reach down into my jogging bottoms, digging into them and withdrawing my cock which is embarrassingly hard, drawn tight and throbbing with a drop of pre come already glossing the mushroom head. Feeling like a total creeper but unable to stop myself I spit into my hand and shuttle my hand firmly along my length. Just that one touch and the thought of his wet hot body and I feel my balls draw up and a jolt of electricity in the base of my spine, and it only takes a few rough strokes and then my back arches and with a muffled grunt I come into my cupped hand, long and hard.

  For a second I lean against the wall panting like I’ve run a race and feeling the slickness of my come cool in my hand and then I sigh. Wanking over my very straight housemate is never a good way to start things off.

  ***

  John

  The next morning I sit under the veranda by the pool reading a newspaper and drinking coffee while listening to the distant sounds of Odell bustling about in the kitchen. I think back to last night. Matt had come downstairs after an hour, hair loose and still wet from the shower, smelling of something citrus sweet and dressed in khaki shorts and a navy v neck t-shirt.

  He’d unloaded what looked like reams of papers tied up in red string from a leather document folio. I’d pushed my finger into the pile, tracing one document which bore the stamp of the French government, and indirectly the scent of endless bureaucracy. I’d looked up at him and his lips had twisted into a wry shape. “Have at it,” he’d announced blithely and then thrown himself down in the chair opposite me and poured himself a glass of rose from the bottle sitting next to him.

  He’d then proceeded to chatter away about anything and everything making me laugh quite a few times, and so the evening had gone over dinner and another bottle of wine until we were left with a potential hangover emerging, several neat piles of documents spread over the dining table, a battle plan for the weeks ahead and what I feel to be the start of a tentative friendship. I hope so because he draws me to him the way that certain people do when you meet them where it’s an instantaneous feeling of kinship. I don’t have enough friends I think with a
sense of sadness and I’d very much like him to be one.

  My thoughts stray to that moment in his room when his hand had slid down my arm and I’d felt instant scalding heat spread down in the path of his fingers and his eyes had seemed to darken. I dismiss the thought as soon as it enters my head as it did all last night lying in my bed. I know that he’s gay I have no problem with that, but apart from a few incidences of shared jerk offs at my exclusive boys’ boarding school I’m definitely not gay so I’ve decided that it must be due to my recent dry spell.

  In my desire to win Bella back I’d recognised that sleeping with other women would be counterproductive, and so I’ve had several months of keeping company with my right hand and obviously that’s backfiring on me. Bella will be back home soon I tell myself. Just wait.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a husky voiced ‘good morning’ from behind me. Putting my cup down I turn and nearly swallow my tongue at the sight of him. Wearing only a pair of orange and white checked shorts and carrying a black t-shirt his long body is on display.

  He has a runner’s physique, lean and tightly muscled with well built, long legs dusted with golden hair and surprisingly elegant feet. Becoming aware that I’m staring at his body I resolutely look at his face. “Do you run?” I ask inanely but he smiles, throwing himself down in the chair opposite me and pouring himself a cup of coffee from the cafetaire.

  “I do.”

  “I thought that you must. You don’t have the body of someone that sits in an office.”

  He laughs. “Unfortunately that’s all I have done lately so this job is a nice change.” He flicks a quick look at me. “Anyway you can talk, your body is insane.”

  I look down at myself, oddly flattered and pleased that my daily gym workout is working. “I go to the gym every night,” I admit. “I feel ratty if I don’t get any exercise.”