Extricating herself out of his grasp proved itself insufficient, so eventually Billie had to put some distance between their bodies and move to another room, where he couldn't stare at her - or stretch and kiss her nape; or tickle her ear with his finger; or say something in Italian, flirty if not plain suggestive, judging by the rumble and the lifted eyebrow. Billie settled with the script and her notes in the dining room. Less than two hours later she felt the familiar tingling sensation on the side of her neck. She looked up and met Dair's eyes.
"I'm b-bored." He smirked. "W-wanna play?"
Billie glared at him. "I am working. Shouldn't you be doing the same?"
"N-no Internet."
He shook his phone in the air.
"I can read the script to you," Billie offered.
He took a few slow steps towards her.
"You, mio cuore," he murmured, "are d-distracting." He bent over, and he was so tall that he reached across Nana Holyoake's massive rosewood table. Supporting himself on his elbows, he covered her hands with his. "I c-can't work near you. And I f-finished my b-book."
"So, am I just an equivalent of you scrolling on your phone?" Billie asked sardonically.
He flipped her hands palms up and rubbed them with his thumbs.
"W-will you have dinner with me?"
Billie gave him a confused look. "In what sense?" she asked. "I might have to, actually. If the storm doesn't let up."
"I m-mean after," he said. "When we leave here. And after w-we visit Alessandro."
"Visit whom?"
"Alessandro. We were supposed to go tonight, but– Uffa!" He pointed at the window.
"'We' were supposed to go?" Billie repeated. "I don't know him." And then she had a suspicion. "It was Phee who went to school with him. He must have mistaken her for me, when he invited me. Did you only mention my surname?"
It was Dair's turn to give her a confused look.
"He didn't invite you. I am."
Billie asked herself if it was something Italian - or simply modern, and consequently strange to her hermit-like self - to invite random people to dinners that one was attending. Thanks to him, she had imposed on his family; which was a double offence, since said family were the Holyoakes; and no one in Fleckney would dare to intrude on them! And now it looked like he was planning to drag her to a dinner with his mate!
He tugged at her hands, and placed a little kiss on each Mount of Venus on her palms. The whiskers of his moustache pleasantly scraped at her skin.
"He's a g-good cook," Dair added - as if that was supposed to tip the scales for her.
"If it's about your stammering, then maybe we could simply meet before you go to his place," Billie grumbled.
His lips travelled onto the Lower Mars of her right hand.
"Sei così sciocca..." He treated her other hand to the same caress. "I w-want him to meet you. And h-he knows exactly who you are."
Billie didn't get a chance to ask who exactly it was Alexander Fergusson thought she was.
"Uncle Fredo!" one of the twins called from the sitting room. "Come watch a cartoon with us."
"Bene! C-coming!" he shouted and met Billie's eyes. "Andiamo?"
"I'll work for a bit more," Billie said stubbornly and pulled her hands back. "I've got a few more ideas for Bondarenko."
He scrutinised her for a few seconds, and then nodded and left.
***
Nana Holyoake came down for lunch; and at the table the conversation was mostly Dair and Clem discussing mutual acquaintances, mostly from the theatre and art scene in London. The girls were noticeably quiet, probably intimidated by the Holyoake matriarch's presence. Billie shared their attitude.
After the meal, Billie used the same excuse and escaped to a study adjacent to the sitting room. It was a small cosy room, three of its walls covered with bookshelves floor to ceiling. Billie was foolish enough to glance at the spine of an especially sexy Bentley edition of an Austen's Abbey - brown morocco over marbled boards, spine with raised bands, gilt titling, and twin gilt rules at foot; oh Billie's in love! - and she was lost to the world for almost two hours.
"There's also a Routledge Emma."
Clem's voice came from the door, and Billie jumped up. She was sitting on the floor near the shelf, several volumes on the luxurious oushak rug next to her hip.
"I was looking for a Jewitt and Hall," Billie muttered defensively.
Clem took a step into the room. "A what?"
"It's a book on stately homes. I've heard that Mrs. Williams had a 1887 edition," Billie explained and rose, picking up the books from the floor. "There was something I wanted to show to Eric's director in it. It's a beauty! Two volumes, a colour frontispiece in each volume, 380 wood engravings in the text, and additional 130 fine plates with tissue guards."
Clem laughed lightly. "I can see now why Eric fancies you. You're so cute when you talk about books."
"He doesn't! I'm just... convenient!" Billie exclaimed - and her cheeks flamed up. "I mean, we just work together. And I'm useful, in terms of– because I know the history of the Hall, and there's the whole plot line in the script that has to do with the library! That's all!"
"Uh-huh." The writer threw Billie a cheeky grin. "Also, you're a ginger. Surely, that should amount to something, innit? He's a Holyoake after all. We're their Kryptonite."
Billie huffed an annoyed exhale, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
"If that was his only criterion, then he made a strange choice," Billie grumbled. "There are quite a few unattached redheads in this county."
"Including your sisters, right?" Clem clicked her tongue. "I've met them. Maybe he isn't into long-legged, lithe goddesses. You see, Billie, the Holyoakes have the most unusual, outrageous kinks. They are into... talking," she continued in a dramatic conspiratory whisper, widening her eyes. "And having shared values. And coparenting. And enjoying each other's company. It's obscene!"
Billie glared at the woman. After all, it was easy to joke about being a Holyoake's paramour when one was a charming sylph with cat-like eyes; and also, a best-selling author, respected and minted; and, on top of it, when a 'kinky Holyoake' they had to deal with was a man who was known to walk out of a meeting with two secretaries of state to accompany his wife to her prenatal ultrasound. Billie, on the other hand, possessed neither of the woman's merits; and conversely, knew nothing about Dair's values and favourite topics of conversation. Also, their adult versions had met three days ago.
"John told me about what happened when you were children," Clem said, the tips of her manicured fingers dancing on the headbands of Les Oeuvres De Monsieur De Moliere. "That you were friends with Federico when he was visiting Fleckney. Before he got ill. And before his accident."
"Before–" Billie choked on her words. "I didn't know– I don't know anything about his past. I didn't even realise that he was the boy that I'd... spent time with then, and then everyone started talking about it."
Billie wasn't sure that what they'd had then could be considered a friendship.
The writer made a surprised noise in her throat. "Blimey. I thought that maybe you kept in touch. Or at least you followed his career, and that's why you wanted to work on this project."
"I didn't! I was–"
Billie stopped herself from loudly admitting that, not only she'd been roped into this pandemonium by her employer, she'd also been behaving most unprofessionally since the beginning: she hadn't researched the material; the biographies of the participants; and hadn't even looked into the script until a few hours ago.
"When you say 'ill,' do you mean– something happened to him?" Billie asked quietly. "I'd google it, but there's no connection."
Clem was studying the volumes in front of her. "I don't know any details. Apparently, when he was here, he caught something. It all happened very quickly. He was alright in the evening, and then in the middle of the night Will woke everyone up, because Eric was burning. John said it was terrifying, the adults were panicking, no one knew what to do. By morning Eric was in critical condition. His Mother was back in Italy, and they flew him there."
The writer threw Billie an askance glance. Billie was once again 'merging' the different aspects of Dair's image in her mind.
"Lynette and Olivia are coeliac too," Clem continued. "But unlike the UK, in Italy and France 70% of coeliac children remain undiagnosed even these days; while their number had doubled in the last two decades. It's an autoimmune, you see. And in most cases people end up with the multiple autoimmune syndrome, the MAS. Some have Hashimoto's thyroiditis; some develop vitiligo. Twenty years ago they didn't know any of it."
"T-took them six months to f-figure it out," Dair said; and Billie whipped her head.
He was standing, leaning against the frame.
"Six months?!" Billie gasped. "You spent six months in hospital?!"
"There were all those other p-problems too." He shrugged. "I was f-fat and tall. C-coeliac children are supposed to be s– s-small, scrawny. P-plus I'm Italian. I c-couldn't possibly be allergic to p-pasta!" He chuckled. "After I ch-changed my diet, I started losing weight and g-got into sports. That's– That's it."
"Except it wasn't it, right?" Clem said and shook her head. "Why don't you two have some time to yourselves? Thank you for entertaining the girls and letting me work." She smiled at Dair warmly and patted his upper arm on her way out of the room. "Oh, and the binoculars are in the blue box on the top shelf," she called to them from the sitting room.
Billie was industriously faking keen interest in the Herbert Jenkins Limited edition of Jill the Reckless. Dair must have moved absolutely silently, because she suddenly felt his presence next to her.
"P-pardon me," he said softly.
He lifted his hand and reached by her. Billie looked up.
"What are binoculars for?"
"B-b–"
She turned - and almost bumped her nose into his chest, catching the familiar citrus scent.
"B-birds– I l-love–"
She slowly raised her face and met his eyes.
"B-bird watching. N-nonna Esther and I–" His gaze greedily danced on her face. "C-can't think straight with you, polpetta. W-what's that about?"
Billie opened her mouth to retort 'How would I know?' - when he cupped her jaw with his scorching right palm and caught her mouth in a deep, almost rough kiss.