Chapter Sixteen

When they’d gone, I kicked off my shoes and sat on the bed, leaning back against the cushions. From here, through the window with its cheerful red curtains, I had a good view of Jack’s cottage. It looked well-kept – the paintwork new, the garden tidy – and I liked the style, more workmanlike than chocolate-box. I wondered how long he’d lived here, how much it was troubled by memories of Karina, whether I’d ever have the opportunity to displace them. I must have been so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t hear the approach of a car. It was only when the door of the motorhome swung open that I realised he’d returned. As he saw me, I watched his expression flick from friendly curiosity to barely contained anger.

‘What the—?’ He stepped inside and, as always, the motorhome seemed to shrink. ‘God knows how you got here – well, I can guess – but it won’t do any good.’

Not the start I’d been hoping for. I said, as evenly as I could, ‘We need to have a proper talk, and I’m not leaving until we do.’

‘Then you’ll be here a very long time.’ His face radiated hostility, his tone was curt – as if there’d never been anything between us.

‘I’ll wait,’ I said, crossing my arms.

He frowned. ‘Where are Midge and Bill? They must have had a hand in this.’

‘On their way home. Yes, they’ve been very helpful, even after they found out about our little deception last weekend.’ A wry smile. ‘I was astonished to learn that Bill would have been fine about talking to me as your coach. Instead, we had to go along with your ridiculous plan—’

‘My plan was for public performances only, not that I’d need the willpower of a saint. I meant it when I said you’d be safe with me. I didn’t know we’d be shacked up together in the same bed, I thought we’d get away with separate rooms, remember?’

‘So why did you really want them to think I was your girlfriend?’

He took a couple of paces towards me. A shaft of sunlight glinted through the window onto his face, accentuating its angles and shadows; more of them than usual, as if he hadn’t slept all night. Yet, when he looked at me, something flickered in his eyes – then he blinked and glanced away. Rightly or wrongly, what I interpreted as desperation gave me hope.

‘If you must know,’ he said, staring down at the floor, ‘it was to prove a point about us. Bill was just the easiest way of getting through your defences.’

My lips tightened. ‘And what point was that?’

His head jerked up. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that, surely? It was obvious to me from the moment we met that we both … that what happened on Friday night was just a matter of time.’ It was the black-velvet voice, but rubbed the wrong way.

Had I been that transparent? Maybe he knew I was in love with him even before I knew myself. Maybe the role play was simply a test, to see how far I’d go. Did I pass – or did I fail? To cover my confusion, I got up from the bed and twitched the duvet straight, tears stinging at the back of my eyes. He was close enough to notice, if he wanted to; but I didn’t care – I had nothing more to lose.

‘So is that it?’ I said, dully. ‘You’ve proved your point, had your fun and it’s time to move on?’

‘Isn’t that what you’ve just done? Slept with me one night, that American bastard the next—’

I lunged at him, hand raised. ‘How dare you!’ The adrenaline ebbed, and I slowly lowered my arm. ‘If you’d stuck around long enough, you’d have known that didn’t happen.’

He didn’t seem to be listening. ‘What’s that?’ He took hold of my wrist, surprisingly gentle, turning it over to examine the punctured skin. ‘It wasn’t there before.’

I swallowed. ‘Troy did it, accidentally, during the panel discussion.’

‘Accidentally or not, if he was here now I’d punch his lights out.’ His grip tightened imperceptibly, while our eyes met. For the first time since he’d arrived, neither of us looked away.

Deep breath. ‘Jack, please let me explain about him.’

‘You don’t have to.’ His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘It was obvious from everything he said – everything he did – who he was, what you’d been to each other. And when I changed my mind and came back – there he was, all over you—’

‘He knew you were there and made it look as if we were kissing – but we weren’t. I got rid of him a few minutes later and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t want – I’ve never wanted – anything more to do with him.’ My voice faltered, in spite of – or perhaps because of – a desperate need to convince him; I stumbled on, the final confession. ‘But until I met you, I hadn’t realised how much he was still in my system. Like a poison – and you’re the antidote. You’ve got to believe me – please.’

Silence, while I watched the struggle in his face: head against heart, past against future, doubt against trust. A struggle that, in recent weeks, had become all too familiar for me, too. At last he said quietly, ‘I’m doing my best.’

Then he lifted my wrist and pressed his lips to the red mark. A small gesture, yet hugely significant. I held my breath and waited.

With great deliberation, he released my arm, placed his hands on my hips and drew me close, his gaze steady and direct. ‘You see, that argument between you and the American, about ethics and boundaries, it really got to me. I started to doubt all the good things that had happened between us … And I got angry, when I should have been sorry.’

My eyes widened. ‘Sorry? Whatever for?’

‘Always pushing you to be less professional and more personal – and then the role play.’ A weary-sounding sigh. ‘That could have been a disaster, I just didn’t think—’

‘Except it wasn’t a disaster, for either of us.’ A tremulous smile. ‘And now that we don’t have a professional relationship, there’s no conflict of interest. I could be your girlfriend in a heartbeat.’

‘A heartbeat? I was hoping it wouldn’t take that long.’ Then he bent his head and kissed me; light, brushing kisses on the mouth, each one more lingering than the last – a perfect blend of passion and affection.

I think – I know – this means that everything’s going to be all right.

When the kisses stopped, we linked hands – as though, now that we were reconciled, we couldn’t bear to break the physical connection.

‘How long can you stay?’ he said, softly.

It was tempting to say, ‘Forever’; but I confined myself to the short term. ‘I have a meeting tomorrow afternoon – shall I make it a conference call?’

‘Definitely. And then?’

An airy shrug, designed to tease. ‘Oh, I’m between clients, and the last one was particularly troublesome – so I think I’m entitled to some time off. What about you?’

A wide, wicked, wonderful grin. ‘Oh, I’m between coaches, and the last one was – ouch!’ – as I used our joined hands to prod him in the ribs – ‘a real handful.’ He slipped his other hand inside my shirt. ‘Still is, in fact. Plus I need to get into training for the World Black Pudding Throwing Championship—’

‘You’re kidding – aren’t you?’

‘Nope, it takes place in Ramsbottom every September and I usually start my preparation about now. So I think I’m entitled to some time off, too.’

I giggled. ‘Are you comparing me to a black pudding?’

‘If I was, it would be a very interestingly shaped one.’

‘Is that the best you can do – “interestingly?” Not much of a compliment.’

‘Okay, then – beautifully shaped.’ He removed his hand from inside my shirt and tilted my face up to his. ‘If I can clear my diary, shall we go back to the Lakes?’

‘You mean take Hermann home?’

‘I don’t think he deserves to go home just yet, do you? Maybe we could go the long way round to Threlkeld, walk up some of the western fells, the ones we saw from Latrigg.’

‘I’d like that.’ From outside came the muffled slam of a car door; over his shoulder, I watched a grey-haired woman walk briskly up to the cottage with the blue door. ‘Are you expecting a visitor?’

He turned his head to follow my gaze. ‘Uh-oh, that’s my mother. Still, I suppose you’ll have to meet sometime.’

I stared at him in alarm. ‘You’d better go and talk to her while I – no, wait!’ With panicking fingers, I adjusted my shirt, smoothed my hair. ‘Do I look presentable?’

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. ‘You’ll do,’ he said, with what I hoped was typical northern understatement. ‘Not that it matters. Once she’s got over the fact that you were born south of Stockport, I’ll mention the words “marriage” and “children” – and she won’t care about anything else.’

He’s going too far, too fast. And yet … it’s a vision of our future together that, amazingly, I can relate to completely. Is there a catch somewhere? I can’t see one, unless—

‘Jack, please say this is not another role play.’

He smiled and said, ‘This is for real, Alicia. This is for real.’

* The End *

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