Chapter Thirteen

I awoke to sunlight framing the dark panel of the curtains, and to the heat of Jack’s legs entwined with mine; I lay for a while, basking in the lingering warmth of the night’s recollections. Then I turned my head towards him and noted – as I’d done once before – the way that his hair stuck up at the front. I was just reaching out to smooth it, when he opened his eyes.

That smile – wide, wicked and beloved – lit up his face. ‘Pinch me, I’m dreaming.’ When I obliged, he responded with an exaggerated howl of pain. Then, pretending to scold, ‘You’ll have to be punished for that.’

‘But I was only doing what you—’ His mouth blotted out my words, while his hand followed a teasing trail down my body. Oh … if, during the act of love, deferred gratification can be considered exquisite torture – then what followed was certainly a form of punishment.

A long time later, I glanced at the clock and sat bolt upright. Eleven forty – wasn’t I meant to be somewhere? Ah yes, there was a conference going on. Since I’d already missed most of the morning sessions, I decided to wait until the programme re-started at two o’clock. If I wasn’t due to speak until half past three, it would give me an opportunity to acclimatise. It would also give me time for a leisurely lunch beforehand, with the man lying beside me.

Funny how standing in for Judy at the conference had turned from job ammunition into an inconvenience. As if reading my thoughts, Jack laced his fingers through mine and said softly, ‘Do you really have to go?’

I sighed away my regrets. ‘Yes, but not yet. Fancy something to eat?’

‘You know me, the way to my heart is through my—’ He stopped, and gave a low chuckle. ‘Actually, there are two ways to my heart and you know both of them.’

‘Mmm.’ I smiled as I thought of the memories we’d been building. ‘But not as well as I’d like to.’

‘Sounds like I’ll need a nap this afternoon, to gather my strength for tonight.’ He lifted our joined hands briefly to his lips. ‘Shall I book somewhere for dinner?’

‘That would be lovely. For lunch, we can just get a sandwich.’

‘Or two,’ he added, grinning.

In the event, it was three, and they were quite substantial; we shared them under the trees in a nearby park. Predictably, he ate more than I did – and, just as predictably, we got covered in the newly mown grass. Not that it mattered; after showering earlier, we’d just thrown on what we’d worn yesterday. I had a different outfit in mind for the conference, and he was planning to buy a change of clothes.

‘Get yourself a razor, too,’ I reminded him, running a finger across his chin. ‘It’s like kissing Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.’

He laughed. ‘Did you like your souvenir of the Lakes?’

‘Loved it.’ A pang of conscience as I remembered where I’d put it. ‘You know, you’re far nicer than I gave you credit for earlier in the week.’

His eyes held mine in a searching look. ‘You know why I sent that email?’

‘I think I do now, although I didn’t realise at the time.’ Another pang as I recalled how, driven by self-preservation, I’d assumed he was giving me the brush-off.

‘I had to end our business relationship so that this could happen. Because I want – I need a different relationship with you, and more than a physical one. Not that I’m complaining,’ he added, linking my hand with his.

‘You certainly weren’t complaining last night – or this morning.’ I settled myself in the crook of his shoulder; being away from the bedroom was certainly more conducive to talking. ‘But I wasn’t expecting to see you at all, ever again. I took your email as a “thanks, but no thanks” – to the girlfriend as well as the coach.’

‘What the—?’ He recovered himself and went on, with a rueful chuckle, ‘I chose my words carefully – for once! – because I didn’t know if your colleagues would read it. And I thought your snotty little reply was for the same reason – to put everyone else off the scent.’

‘Snotty little reply?’ I gave him a dig with my elbow. ‘It was a masterpiece of restraint, compared with what I wanted to say – and do – to you.’

‘Mmm, that could be fun,’ – a playful nip at my ear – ‘we’d better explore it in our next … session.’

A pleasurable pause, while I allowed my mind to wander. ‘Don’t make promises when you don’t know the ask,’ I said, at last. ‘But there’s something else you need to explain. If this trip to London was planned, why didn’t you pack a bag?’

He pressed his lips to my hair for a moment, then let out a sigh. ‘I kept bottling out, because I still wasn’t sure whether I’d got the wrong end of the stick. By Friday, I knew I’d have to do it on the spur of the moment, so I just went straight from the office to the station. Crazy, really, when I’d been thinking about it all week … Although in fact I didn’t make any definite plans until the Wednesday – Celia was very helpful, as always.’

‘Celia?’ I twisted to face him, wide-eyed. ‘You mean she knew you were coming to London?’ He nodded. ‘That explains a lot,’ I went on. ‘Her unusual interest in doing her job, for a start. And how you knew exactly where to find me.’

‘Don’t give her a hard time over it, poor kid.’

‘If anyone’s going to get a hard time, it’ll be you,’ I said, with mock severity.

‘Don’t make promises when you don’t know the ask,’ he said, teasingly; and he folded me in his arms, making me breathless and grass-stained all over again.

Back at the hotel, I freshened up and slipped into a pair of fitted stone-coloured trousers and my sunflower top. Too formal for a laid-back life-coaching crowd? Definitely. So I left my hair loose instead of in the usual French plait, and brushed it until it shone.

‘Beautiful.’

I spun round, relishing the admiration in his voice and in his eyes. He was standing close enough to touch and, since last night, I could reach out and touch whenever I wanted. I said wryly, ‘That’s reassuring. At least if I mess up my talk, I’ll look good doing it.’

He tilted my face towards his. ‘Why would you mess it up?’

‘Lots of reasons. It’s someone else’s talk and I’m not as comfortable with the subject matter. I haven’t done my usual preparation on the audience, or the venue, or the other speakers – which makes me even more nervous. And, most of all, I just want to be here with you.’

‘Take this as a souvenir.’ He bent his head and kissed me. ‘What time do you think you’ll be finished?’

‘I’ll leave as soon as the panel discussion’s over – shouldn’t be any later than five. You’ll be back from your shopping trip by then? There’s only the one key card.’

‘I’ll be here waiting for you, Alicia.’

I gave a ragged sigh. ‘Look, if I don’t go this very second, I won’t go at all.’

‘Let’s go together, then, and I’ll get my shopping out of the way. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Downstairs, in the crowded lobby, we parted with nothing more than a lingering look and a touch of the hand. I watched his retreating back until he disappeared from view. Then I squared my shoulders and followed the signs for ‘Aspire and Inspire: International Life Coaching Conference’.

A printed name badge lay in splendid isolation on the registration table; needless to say, it was for Judy. I waited, serene and unquestioning, while one of the organisers corrected it with a handwritten label. Somehow, this persistent refusal to accept me as a replacement no longer mattered. In fact – I smiled to myself – maybe it was a sign that I wasn’t meant to be here at all, that I should’ve gone shopping with Jack.

I was shown to a seat on the low stage, one of five in a shallow semi-circle. To my left – a blond man wearing jeans, sandals and a startlingly black beard; I judged him to be around Jack’s age, and he introduced himself as Lionel. On my far right – two women. Di, the one nearer to me, was perhaps in her late thirties; pretty, with long flowing hair and a long flowing skirt. The one further away, Wanda, looked older and more formal. Her hair was scrunched into a tight little bun that gave her rather a severe air; I was glad I’d left mine loose.

The seat next to mine, the centre of the group, was empty. I was about to ask who we were waiting for, when the announcer – a large, untidy woman whose bracelets jangled without any apparent effort on her part – summoned Wanda to the middle of the stage as the first speaker. Lionel went next, and then Di. I listened to them in my new frame of mind, benevolent to all. Especially Di, who interspersed her basic message of ‘oneness’ with whale music and meditation. Instead of contemplating a deserted beach scene, however, I let my mind drift to Jack …

Finally it was my turn. I kept to Judy’s notes, which I knew more or less by heart. Using anonymised case studies, I explained that, whereas in life coaching the client was an individual, executive coaching was different: the contract was with an organisation and the people being coached were usually its senior managers. As with life coaching, the reason for the intervention was often some sort of change or transition. However, contracting with an organisation introduced a greater emphasis on formality and professional standards, which could help avoid some basic pitfalls.

The audience seemed unimpressed; no doubt the style of coaching I’d described was far removed from what they were used to. So far removed, in fact, that a lecture on the art of vegetable sculpting would probably have been greeted with more enthusiasm. As I surveyed the room one last time, I saw a man at the back step forward, clapping more loudly than anyone else. My heart lurched. It was Jack, in a new checked shirt and chinos, looking ridiculously handsome and proud and – and happy. I couldn’t resist giving him a beaming smile and a thumbs-up.

One last session – then I could go to him. Dinner, followed by a stroll through the London streets, back to the hotel. Perhaps a nightcap in the bar, delaying the inevitable. Finally, when we couldn’t hold off any longer, we would go to bed. I glanced at my watch. Only four or five hours to wait. Unless, of course, there was time before dinner …

I had hesitated a moment too long. Now the announcer was between me and my seat, introducing the panel discussion. We would be joined by the keynote speaker, one of the morning sessions that I’d missed. A man who’d apparently held everyone spellbound with a mantra that captured the very essence of our conference title ‘Aspire and Inspire’: to be better at life coaching, you have to be better at life.

I raised my eyebrows; a snappy slogan – but what did it actually mean? My immediate conclusion was that it promoted the very opposite of professional detachment, which was the mainstay of executive coaching. An interesting approach that could provoke a more intense debate … Maybe the next hour would be time well spent after all.

‘And here he is,’ the announcer continued, her tone exultant, ‘from the Golden State of the USA, with his unique brand of coaching wisdom, please welcome once again Troy – Randall – Travers!’

Somewhere inside my head, a drum started its throbbing beat. My face froze in a grimace of shock and confusion. In the midst of thunderous applause, I found myself trapped in an embrace that had once meant more than anything else in the world.

‘Aleesha.’ A voice not heard for three years – but never forgotten – caressed my ear. ‘What an unexpected pleasure! At least, it’s a pleasure for me. Let’s hope you can say the same.’