Buying the Virgin novel Chapter 23

My Master grins wickedly. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re going to enjoy our evening together.”

“Where? What?”

“I’ve booked the lodge up in the mountains again.” he grins. “But this time I’ve arranged that it will be decked up for Christmas when we get there.”

“Christmas tree?” I ask, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Yup.”

“Log fire? Candles?”

“Yup.”

“Mince pies and crackers?”

“Yes, and Michael has packed up a few treats into the back of the wagon here.” Michael beams at this, looking smug.

I look again at the vehicle. “That’s not your usual car, is it? I don’t remember you driving a station wagon.”

“No, not usually, but the weather forecast isn’t all that good. I thought if we’re going up the mountains, we’d go in something with four-wheel drive and a decent engine, just in case the snow comes down.”

Squinting up at the brilliant sunshine in a peerless blue sky, this does not seem very likely, but I am not about to argue about it. Changing the subject, I turn to Michael. “So, what are these ‘treats’ you have packed up.”

Michael seldom says much, but always, his eyes speak volumes. Eyes slightly cast down, but smiling, he simply says “Wait and see.”

“Come on.” says my Master, rubbing his arms with his hands. “Snow or not, it’s a bit brisk just standing here. Let’s get going.”

The three of us pile into the cab of the wagon, with me in the middle, sandwiched between the two men. It feels like coming home.

Above us is a matchless vault of blue, and the sun is warm. Driving through and out of the city, nothing seems less likely than bad weather, but as we get out into the countryside there is the sparkle of frost on grass, and leafless trees stand silhouetted naked against the sunlit sky.

Up into the mountains, and the weather is colder. Climbing up into the pine forests, the firs are coated with a thick rime and the car crunches over ice-rimmed puddles. A little further along the route and there is patchy snow on the ground, still sparkling in the sunshine.

But now, the clouds gather and lower, becoming darker, more threatening. Fat snowflakes begin to splat onto the windscreen. At first, they melt, to be swept away by the wipers, but as we drive further along the now, rough track, they stick and stay, simply being pushed to one side by the wipers, gathering on the bonnet before melting away from the heat of the engine. Ahead of us, the track vanishes under a deepening white layer.

My Master smiles at me reassuringly. “Nearly there now. It’s only about another five miles.”

But as he speaks, the wind is beginning to wail and the snow falls ever thicker. Our headlights simply reflect back from the white-out ahead of us, and as my Master drops into four-wheel drive, I hear the engine crank up harder.

Michael, with worry in his voice, “James……”