Page 88 of One-Hit Wonder

“Uh-huh.”

“When?”

“Oh. On a pretty regular basis. When she’s drunk usually. When Gill’s drunk she turns into a complete raving nympho. I mean—don’t get me wrong—I do like Gill. You know, I’ve known her half my life. But when it comes to sex, she’s a bit fucked-up. I wouldn’t pay too much attention to anything she says—she’s got a skewed vision of sex. She seems to think it’s an Olympic event.”

Flint took a sip of tea and looked at Ana. “Here’s a question for you,” he said, “how come you’re only asking me about all this right now—why didn’t you ask me last night—before… you know?”

Ana grinned at him. “Because,” she said, “last night I wasn’t really in the mood for talking.”

Flint smiled and took another sip of tea.

“You must think I’m dreadful,” said Ana.

“What?” laughed Flint.

“Last night. I don’t really know what happened. I was just… overcome. Not that I didn’t want to, before, or anything. I’ve been wanting to since I first saw you… oh.” She put her hand over her mouth and looked embarrassed.

Flint laughed. “And I thought you were such a nice girl.”

“I am,” she insisted, “I’m a very nice girl. In fact, you’re only the second man I’ve slept with.”

“I know.”

“What! How?”

“The delightful Hugh told me. He told me that he taught you everything you know. And I have to say that as much as it makes me want to hurl to admit it, or even to think about it, for that matter—he did a fine, fine job.”

“Last night,” said Ana, “had nothing to do with Hugh, I can assure you.”

“Oh no?” said Flint, putting his tea down and grabbing Ana by the waist.

“No,” said Ana, passing her hands over his buttocks. “What happened last night was the inevitable result of being driven around London in a stretch limo at midnight by a large handsome man in a suit while drinking champagne and listening to good music. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“Is that what I’ve got to do every time I want to do this with you, then? Take you for a drive?”

“No,” she said, looking confidently and directly into his eyes, “only the first time. After that all you have to do is ask.”

Flint stared into her eyes. Who was this person? This person with sparkling eyes and ready lips? This person whose body he could feel underneath his, long and taut and accommodating? This person who was like Ana only different? Whoever she was, he liked her, liked her even more than the other Ana.

“Please may I have sex with you, Ana?” he said.

“You most certainly may,” she said, guiding him on top of her and, as she pulled his face toward hers and put her lips against his, Flint just wanted to punch the air and shout, “You’ve come a long way, baby…”

chapter thirty-four

They set off for Ashford at about eleven o’clock. As they headed across the M25, the sun blazing through the windshield and turning the leather seats to the consistency of warm flesh, Flint kept his hand on Ana’s knee and thanked God for automatic gears. He glanced at her briefly. The air-conditioning was ruffling the fine fringe of baby hair that grew from her hairline and she was smiling serenely. She looked across at him and squeezed his thigh and grinned, pulling a strand of hair off her cheek.

Now, thought Flint, this feels right. This feels really, really right.

Usually when he woke up in bed with a girl, a little something inside him sort of died. Almost like that feeling you get when you go back to your car and see a ticket on the windshield. You knew you were parking illegally, you knew there was a good chance this was going to happen, but that space—well—it was just there and you wanted it and you took it anyway. Waking up with Ana had been more akin to leaving his car on a red route and coming back to find someone giving it a full valet and Turtle Wax—for free.

Ashford was about twenty miles from the M25. High Cedars was just outside Ashford, on the outskirts of a smart commuter village.

“Wow,” said Ana as they approached a Jacobean mansion up a gravel driveway. They drove through ornate stonework gates and grounds planted with cedars and fir trees. “This looks more like a five-star country club than a children’s home.”

A shiny-faced receptionist wearing a cardigan smiled welcomingly at them as they entered. “Good afternoon.”

Flint looked at Ana, who looked nervous for a moment before stepping forward confidently to the desk. “Good morning,” she said, “my name is Ana Wills. My sister—well, my half sister actually—she was related to one of your… er, children. To Zander Roper.”