She stopped off at Waitrose on the way and picked up supplies of flour, eggs and butter because the last time she’d visited Hamilton’s kitchen all it had contained was a loaf of sliced white, two bottles of champagne and a fridge full of lager. But, with the remains of the afternoon at her disposal, she quickly put on the percolator and set to the first task. She needed to make a list of foods upwardly mobile men and women around London would like to eat; food that could be eaten at the desk, quick bites that wouldn't take long to make but would give her a good return on her investment. Mini bacon rolls were a must after the way the one in Glasgow had revived her for the rest of the journey, but bacon rolls made with designer bread and the best rashers she could afford, topped off with home-made tomato ketchup and Dijon mustard. She'd remembered at the last minute to nip down to the castle kitchen and rescue her jars of yeast and that's where she’d start. Her plan was to create a range of goodies Hamilton could be bribed to take into work. The first would be samples, free samples and with a bit of luck she'd end up getting some orders.
The afternoon flew by and before she knew it, Hamilton's key was turning in the lock. She’d ordered an Indian from the local takeaway at the end of the road and, with a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge and plates warming in the oven, she was all ready to launch into her new business model. Hamilton’s job was working for a bank, taking on new business and what was she if not a new business?
Funnily enough it was her bacon rolls that were the most popular. After that first day when she'd followed Hamilton with trays full of warm, moist bread filled with succulent rashers she had more orders than she knew what to do with. Hamilton's kitchen went from bare bachelor to professional kitchen in less than a day.
Before she knew it, she had three floors on The Shard covered with interest from two others. She was considering looking around for premises in addition to employing at the very least a KP. Whilst Hamilton was the most accommodating, living together would soon start to cause a strain on their usually friendly relationship. It hadn’t happened yet but only because she’d ensured she had a home cooked meal for him each evening. There was nothing wrong with takeout food but not every night of the week, as she’d told him on that second evening when he’d come home to beef and ale pie with his favourite cherry trifle for afters. The problems would start when he wanted to bring a girl back…
The issue at the moment was the increasing fraught and frantic phone calls he was getting from their parents. They still had no idea where she was and that's the way she wanted it to remain because, as soon as they found out, they’d be throwing Tor back down her neck; the one thing she couldn't allow.
The days rolled into weeks and before she knew it, she’d been back in London a month and her life, if not back on track was heading that way. She had a job. She had somewhere to lay her head and she had money in her pocket; money she’d earned. She worked. She ate. She slept. That was all. It wasn't enough but it would do.
As soon as she left the apartment, she was looking over her shoulder for anyone that might recognise her. She still hadn't changed her hair colour back from black to blonde and she didn't think she was going to now the roots were starting to grow out at an alarming rate. Funnily enough she quite liked it and, with a dab of hair mascara to blend in the ends, she just said she had a balayage if anyone asked. She continued with the disguises but now, instead of just a woolly or baseball, she had a whole stand of hats in addition to her trusty D&G sunglasses that she wore whenever she left the building. In her new uniform of jeans, boots, hats and sunnies, bearing in mind it was still only April, she certainly got a second look and even the occasional third as she strolled down the street, but never from anyone that recognised her as Lady Titania.
The one person she dreaded meeting, the one person who wouldn’t be thwarted by her attempt at disguise was Tor but, after a month, she was getting complacent and even left her hair to fall down her back like the old days not really thinking about where she was or who would see her. Notting Hill wasn't her usual stamping ground and, anyway, word was getting around that Hamilton’s sister was play-acting at being a working girl. Only yesterday he'd passed her the phone and she had the first conversation in over a month with her mother. There were tears but not on her side because she had nothing to apologise for. She wasn't the one trying to force her daughter into an arranged marriage. She hadn’t stopped her daughter from accessing her bank account. None of it was her fault but, she was left believing it was all her fault; only hers.
The next morning, after an early start, she made her way back to Hamilton’s apartment, her basket full of fresh ripe tomatoes for the latest batch of home-made ketchup, only to find it taken out of her hand. Looking up, she expected to find herself staring into the face of a stranger, a stranger desperate to get his hands on her vegetables. Instead she found herself staring at Tor, not that she recognised him.
The man standing clutching her basket was a very different man to the one she'd met in Scotland. In fact, if it hadn't been for his perma-scowl tattooed to his forehead, she doubted she'd have recognised him. No, that wasn't quite true. She'd always recognise him. But - up in Scotland he'd taken little care of his appearance, favouring instead the scruffy student drop-out look over all else. There he'd worn jeans and tatty jumpers and even that day in church he’d opted for a tweed jacket and chinos with an open necked shirt. The one time she’d seen him in a tie he’d been like a tortured soul, moaning under his breath even as she felt her cheeks heat as another memory intervened; the memory of that first kiss.
She examined the bespoke grey three piece suit and white shirt with cuff-links just peeking out from his sleeve with a frown as she allowed herself to take in his paisley tie in muted shades of blue, pink and green. No man had the right to be so bloody perfect. He’d even had his hair cut so now it wasn’t too long or too short, just top of the collar length the way she liked it. The question, of course, was what he was doing standing on her doorstep?
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing. I thought you were going back to your parents?’
‘I never said I was going back to my parents.’
‘No, you didn't, did you? You just let me assume you were.’
She watched him running his hand through his hair, a frustrated look on his face as she hid a smile. She didn't know what he was doing here or what he wanted but she didn’t have time for guessing games. She was due to deliver seventy sausage rolls and bacon baps in less than two hours and that meant she had things to do. Picking her keys out of her pocket she let them jangle from her fingers while she stretched her free hand for the basket only to find he'd moved it out of reach.
‘Well, I do have to get on. It was good of you to pop by but…’
‘You're not going to ask me in for coffee,’ he interrupted, ‘and after I've come all this way to see you?’
She paused, one foot over the threshold. ‘You’ve come all this way to see me, what did you want to go and do that for? I'm sure I gave you my telephone number and, even if I didn't, you know how to get in touch.’ She stared up at him, her mouth open. ‘Did I leave something behind?’
‘No, you took something with you,’ he said, before pushing the door open and gesturing for her to go first. ‘I’ll carry this upstairs while you make coffee and I'll explain.’
Sitting around the designer metal and glass table in the kitchen was nothing like sitting around the stripped pine one at the castle but she was reminded of it all the same. She was reminded of their early morning tea and even that night she’d thought he was a burglar. She remembered it all; every word, sentence, gesture and smile. She even remembered the frowns as she tried to start up a conversation.
‘Have a cake why don't you?’ They're a new range and I’d appreciate a second opinion.’ She set a plate in front of him with a napkin on the side before lifting the lid of the tin and pushing it towards him.
‘New range?’ he asked, looking from
her to the tin with another beetling of his eyebrows.
‘Yes, strawberry and vanilla with chocolate drizzle. It’s an alternative to bacon for those that need their afternoon chocolate fix.’
‘You've lost me?’
‘I've set up a new business,’ she said, selecting a cake with care. ‘I’m supplying The Shard and other local companies with home baked goodies.’
‘You'll make a killing, these are delicious,’ he replied, through a mouthful of cake.
‘That's what I'm hoping…’
‘But why would you be hoping…? Why would you be in need of money with your parents…?’ he continued, as he chose another cake from the box with a smile that transformed his face from good looking to heart wrenchingly desirable. She felt herself melt under the weight of his eyes, his stare, his smile. She was just weighing up the pros and cons of leaping across the table when he continued speaking.
‘I thought now you were back you'd be slotting into your former life?’
‘My former life?’ She blinked, shaking off any lingering desire for this inconsiderate git. He’d labelled her a society sweetheart. One of society’s leeches who spent all day pampering and preening and all night partying. He might as well have laid the gauntlet in the middle of the table alongside the cake tin. ‘That's a joke for a start,’ placing her half-eaten cake back on the plate. ‘What would you know about my former life? You’re a man who spends most of his time looking through a microscope or scrabbling around hillsides collecting samples for… Well, I have no clue what for. You have no idea what it's like being me. You have no idea at all. This is my way of making my mark and I don't care what you think.’
‘Whoa. I didn't mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset.’ More like disappointed but instead of getting involved in a conversation that would take them absolutely nowhere, she excused herself before pushing her chair back and heading for the sink. Whilst she’d love more than anything to spend time sitting with him staring at her from the other side of the table there was little point. The tomato sauce wouldn’t make itself and neither would the rolls.
‘I thought I could take you out for lunch?’
‘That would have been lovely but, as you can see, I'm a little busy.’ She lifted her head from the pile of garlic she was peeling. ‘Lunchtimes have really taken off in the last week and I have tons to do if I'm ever going to meet my orders.’
‘What time do you deliver?’
‘Twelve, why?’
‘If I help, you'll be finished on time and then I can take you out for lunch,’ he said, slipping off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the chair before removing his cuff-links and rolling up his sleeves. ‘Right, I'm all yours. What would you like to do with me for the next couple of hours?’ he added, a playful smile on his lips.
She dragged her gaze away from his strong arms before turning back to the garlic and smashing the cloves with the back of her knife. ‘How are you at kneading…?’ she asked, after a brief pause.
‘Kneading I'm good at. Kneading bread - It can't be that difficult, surely?
She had no intention of accepting his help but not doing something just out of sheer pig-headedness would've been stupid, or that's what she kept telling herself as they assembled piles of mouth-watering savouries. She finally left him for a few minutes while she headed upstairs for a quick shower. He wouldn't tell her where he was planning on taking her but jeans wouldn’t hack it. And, anyway, a little part of her wanted to show him just what it was like going out with Lady Titania; he was in for a shock.
Rifling through her wardrobe, she pulled out a plain midnight blue calf-length dress and matching high heels, which would take her from lunch at McDonald's to a meeting with the Queen, not that she expected to be meeting the Queen any time soon. The dress wasn’t low cut or high cut, but with its fitted bodice and gently flared skirt accentuated by a thick belt, it whispered sexy and desirable to any man within five hundred yards.
‘You look beautiful.’
She glanced at him from under her lashes. She was used to compliments, she was always getting them. And she knew she was a beautiful looking woman but for the first time in a very long time she realised he meant it. She also realised he'd think her beautiful in jeans with ratty hair falling over her shoulders instead of the messy bun she’d opted for. His next comment confirmed it.
‘I thought that the very first time I saw you,’ as he helped her into the car. ‘I thought just how beautiful you were with the kitchen poker in your hand and temper in your heart.’ He threw her a look. ‘Are you angry with me or just resigned to your fate, Tansy?’
Just how the hell was she meant to answer that? ‘I'm resigned to a good lunch but that's all I can commit to at the moment.’
‘That's fine by me. All I ask is you keep an open mind,’ he added, reaching in the back before presenting her with a bouquet of twelve long stemmed yellow roses.
‘We’re eating here?’ They were in the lift after delivering the trays but, instead of pressing the button for the ground floor, he pressed the button for the 31st and The Aqua Shard. ‘They’re booked up months in advance. How could you..?’
‘I used to go to school with the manager; he pulled a few strings.’
Of course he did. She smoothed her hands over her dress before lifting a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear. She was glad she’d chosen the dress because they sure as hell weren’t eating at McDonalds.
‘Come on,’ he said as the lift pinged. ‘He's slotted us in so I don't want to be late. Have you been here before?’ he added, grabbing her elbow and directing her towards the bar before ordering a bottle of Chardonnay.
‘Only for drinks and it was a very long time ago.’
She’d been here with her parents and her two brothers the evening before she'd moved to Paris. She frowned. She didn't want to think about Paris on a good day. She didn't want to think about Paris any day. Paris was ruined to her. One man's actions had ruined it.
‘Are you alright,’ his voice concerned as he settled her on a stool. ‘I've said something to upset you?’
‘No really, I'm fine.’
‘No you're not; something about your last time at The Shard?’ he questioned softly, his arm shifting from where he had it on his knee to the centre of her back. She could feel the reassuring warmth of his fingers filter through the thin silk of her dress and before she knew it she was telling him.
‘Last time I was here was the evening before I went to Paris.’
‘Where you learned to cook?’
‘Yes, I spent some time with a Michelin chef but it didn’t work out.’ She picked up her glass and took a large sip. ‘I was meant to stay there a year but I came back after a few months…’
‘There’s something you're not telling me, Tansy,’ he said, increasing the pressure on her back slightly. ‘Now I wonder what it could be, a love affair gone wrong, perhaps?’
‘It wasn't like that. I'm not like that. I was only eighteen for God’s sake, straight out of school with no A Levels and…’
‘And?’
‘And I really don't want to talk about it,’ she said, twisting the stem of her glass on the varnished wood. ‘Let's talk about something more interesting. So, what brings you to London?’
‘Okay, if that's the way you want it,’ his eyes boring into hers. ‘But you'll have to forgive me if I come up with my own conclusions,’ he said, as they followed the waiter to their table. ‘I came here to see you. Remember, I did promise. In fact, I was expecting to meet you at your parents a few weeks ago but you weren't there when I visited.’ He lifted a hand to tuck the same stray curl behind her ear, his palm lingering on her neck. ‘Such beautiful hair, although such an unusual colour; blonde, black and then blonde again, most unusual. I take it you're a natural blonde?’
‘What a question, of course I'm a natural blonde.’
‘Just like, of course you have 20:20 vision and don't need to wear glasses then?’
She blushed. ‘I didn't want you to recognise me.’
‘Now I wonder why that was? Not that I'd ever seen you before that day.’ He smiled. ‘I don't really get much time to read the kind of magazines you appear in, although I am learning. Both Hello and OK have been a revelation, I can tell you.’
She laughed. ‘That, I would like to see. I thought people like you only read scientific journals and the like.’
‘I do, I did, but needs must.’
‘So, you came here to see me?’ Her voice soft. ‘How did you..?’
‘How did I find you, is that what you were going to say?’ he interrupted. ‘I asked the person I thought who’d know. I asked your nanny.’
‘Of course you did, although I didn't tell her where I was staying,’ her eyes widening.
‘You should know better than that, Tansy. Nannies know everything. She'd put two and two together when your brother, Hamilton is it, came to pick up your clothes. Nice bloke that, we have quite a lot in common.’
‘I didn't know you knew him?’
‘I didn't. I met up with him last night for a beer.’
So that's where he’d gone, she thought, remembering the way Hamilton had shot off on some pretext straight after dinner with no explanation only to return in the small hours.
‘So, what would you like to eat then?’ he asked with a smile.
I'm not sure, although I quite fancy the porridge.’
‘Porridge? Are you sure you're not looking at the breakfast dishes?’
‘No, look.’ She tapped the menu with a finger. ‘Cornmeal porridge with mushrooms and cheese.’
‘I think I'll pass and go for the ribs.’ Leaning an elbow on the table he reached across and filled up her wine glass. ‘So, tell me, what's next on the agenda for Lady Tansy?’
The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan Page 30