By the time the six finished their meal with petit fours and something called kokekaffe, which involved a shiny copper pot that boiled coffee at the table, Cassie was dying to return to Alys's. She hated herself for it, knowing she'd eaten a superb meal that she could never afford on her own (and she would have been unlikely to snag a table anyway, without Cameron's presence), but the truth was she longed to be on Alys's safe couch, watching something absolutely mindless on TV.
“Did you have a good time?” Plum asked her as the group rose, ready to leave.
“Yes, lovely,” Cassie lied, knowing Plum could see straight through her.
“That's good,” she said, moving on. As Plum passed by, she placed her hand on Cassie's arm, and Cassie tried hard not to flinch at her touch.
Cassie speedily said her goodbyes and made for the restaurant door. Just as she thought she was home free, Cameron caught up with her. Despite the evening spent worrying about this and that, she found that as he caught her hand and she turned back toward him, her body was caught up in his presence. Slightly drunk, with his suit disheveled after the evening spent with his friends, she couldn't help but smile as she looked at him. “I'm glad you had a good celebration,” she said, always surprised at how easy it was for Cameron to steal her breath from her. For a flicker of a moment, she imagined going home with him. Peeling that suit from his body and having her mind taken off . . . well, everything.
“I hope we didn't bore you too much,” he told her, his eyes not leaving hers.
“No, of course not,” Cassie replied. “And the food was amazing.” Really, for a writer, she needed a better vocabulary.
“Tomorrow, then.” Cameron released her hand and kissed her on the cheek, dangerously close to her lips, grazing them with his stubble. The kiss lasted just that second too long, as did his gaze when he pulled back.
They stood, in the moment, both thinking the same thing. Cassie was sure of it.
And then she turned. “Yes, tomorrow,” she said with a wave, and headed for her waiting car.
Everything seemed relatively normal the next day as the tension between Cassie and Cameron dissipated when work took over once more. Safely ensconced back in Cameron's studio away from the eyes of the city, Cassie felt more at ease.
As she raced back from the long day's session to Alys's apartment in order to get ready for her date with James, Cassie recalled James's words: “Wear something warm”. She began to wonder exactly what she should wear. How “warm” was “warm”? She really hoped they weren't going ice-skating at the Rockefeller Center. She'd been ice-skating last year in London, to the Natural History Museum's outdoor rink—and she'd been hopeless. She'd spent almost the entire time clutching at the walls of the rink in fear, and to be honest, after the many hours she'd spent twisting and turning at Cameron's studio today, she didn't know if she had the strength to do anything energetic this evening.
Compared to their start, which had seen her in tears and recalling hospital rooms she'd really rather never remember, sitting for Cameron today had been a breeze. When she'd arrived at his studio, Marianne had taken her up once more to the room they'd been in yesterday, and the day before—the whiter than white room she'd lost the plot in. When she'd entered the room today, however, she'd burst out laughing at first sight.
Cameron had magically transformed the room. Now the walls were painted baby pink, and the long windowless wall was wallpapered with daisies—a reference to the comment she'd made about Plum, she supposed. The only remaining white was a huge white paper backdrop, like ones photographers used, that stood in the corner she'd been seated in yesterday.
It was a different experience entirely. Now, when she looked out into the room, all she saw was a sea of pink and daisies. There was nothing at all left to remind her of what had happened that first day, which left Cassie free to be poked and prodded and told to keep still, to have photos taken from every imaginable angle, to be weighed, and have her fat ratios noted.
During the day, Marianne had also taken her aside and asked her if, what, and how she would like to be paid, which had taken her by surprise. Not being exactly flush with money, Cassie had immediately wanted to say she wasn't interested in being paid, but had then paused to think about it. In the end, she'd told Marianne that she was fine for the moment, but if the project ran over the two weeks they'd been talking about, then she might have to reconsider, and that also, she might be needing a hotel soon as she didn't want to overstay her welcome with Alys. Marianne had told her not to be shy about asking for what she needed.
Now, as Cassie freshened up her makeup back at Alys's apartment, she wondered if she should have asked Marianne for the one thing she did need—for James to get his interview and leave the country before he found out who her father was and why she was here. She'd thought about it yet again as she'd stood in front of Marianne. She’d even tried to form the sentences in her head that she needed to utter for Marianne to make it all happen. But in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it. If Cameron didn't want to do interviews, then he shouldn't have to. She'd come across something in one of those many articles she'd read initially after meeting him about how his attitude toward the media tended to be all or nothing. He either avoided media commitments completely or devoted weeks at a time to them. Cassie had understood this—she knew how annoying it could be to be dragged away from the creative process. Sometimes interviews needed to be scheduled well in advance, or you could easily lose track of your work and where you were going with it. So, in the end, she hadn't brought up James and his interview at all.
Cassie paused a moment, mascara wand in hand, to inspect herself in the mirror. Honestly, what was she doing? There was part of her that felt that she'd been wrong to agree to going out with James. Not just because of his ties to Cameron and the UK media, but there was something else as well—something that felt more personal, though she couldn't quite figure out why that would be. After all, it wasn't as if she and Cameron were an item, not to mention the fact that Plum had turned turn up at his studio the other day, unannounced . . . Well, she'd be foolish to think they weren't sleeping together, or that there wasn’t still something between them, wouldn't she? And it wasn't as if she were skipping out on sitting for Cameron, either; he'd needed to finish early today as he had a charity event on this evening. Still, she couldn't deny their dancing around each other. Their mutual attraction. She'd felt it again last night, and knew he had, too, just before she'd left the restaurant. It would have been so easy to go back to his apartment with him . . .
As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, there was a nagging doubt in Cassie's mind. A feeling that she was doing the wrong thing by Cameron. And by James. Which she wasn't, of course, so she pushed the thought aside and returned to applying her mascara.
When the doorbell finally rang, Cassie was holding up two scarves. Flinging one back on the bed, she knotted the other around her neck and ran for the front door.
“I'll be down in just a second,” she said, grabbing her bag with her other hand, then pulling on her boots as fast as she could.
Cassie ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator, and waved at James, who she could see standing on the other side of the thick, glass and steel door.
“Hi,” she said, on opening the door. “I've just made it back in time . . .”
James came in closer to give her a kiss on one cheek, then the other.
“It's great to see you again,” he said as he pulled back, looking almost as uncomfortable as Cassie felt. “But you only just got back? Do you need a minute, or are you right to go?”
“No, it's fine. I think I've managed to pull together everything I need. Is this going to be warm enough?”
“Sure. You'll be fine.” James nodded, running that hand through his hair again, Cassie noted. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” Cassie said. “You look . . . not quite as tired as the other day,” she ended up saying with a laugh.
James nodded. �
��It's not because I got my interview. I'm just masking it better now with a steady supply of decent coffee and excellent bagels.”
Cassie smiled. “Well, whatever works, I guess.”
“So, should we . . .?” James turned sideways, pointing his two index fingers down the road.
“Yes, let's,” Cassie said.
“Okay, then. This way. We need to take the subway to Canal St. I have it all worked out,” James told her as the pair started off.
“That's good, because I'm still kind of scared of the subway. Which is ridiculous, because I'm absolutely fine when it comes to working my way around London on the Tube. But stick me in Paris, or New York, and I completely lose the plot. Plus, I find New York difficult. With the one big park in the middle, I never seem to be able to work out if I'm going uptown or downtown. I don't think I'll ever get it.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” James replied, nodding his head as Cassie spoke. “And it makes no sense, because London makes no sense, does it? I mean, it's sort of devoid of town planning, right? Whereas New York is all laid out in nice grids, with numbered streets and so on. But I still get lost every time I come here. And I've come a lot now.”
“I'm glad someone knows what I'm talking about,” Cassie smiled.
The pair walked in silence for a moment.
“I've got a confession to make,” James said, his eyes swiveling to meet hers.
For just a moment, Cassie held her breath.
“I read one of your books today,” he continued on.
Cassie found herself slowly exhaling. “Really? Why?” she finally replied.
James gave her an odd look. “Well, it would have been weird if I hadn't read one, right?”
Cassie thought about this for a second. “Not really. Most of my friends haven't read any of them. I mean, you're not exactly the target audience, after all.”
“No,” James said. “But I could hardly ask you out without knowing what it is you write about.”
“Well . . . that's nice. If you hated it, don't tell me.”
James paused in his step. “Hated it? That would be difficult. What's to hate about a badger and a hare?”
Cassie laughed. “You'd be surprised. I had a reviewer once who said that Badger and Hare came 'flat-packed' like IKEA furniture.”
“Wow.” James whistled. “That's harsh.”
“I consoled myself with the fact that people seem to like IKEA.”
“Yeah, right. Well, that's certainly true. Anyway, I did have one question.”
“What's that?” Cassie caught his eye.
“Are they gay? I mean, not that I mind either way. I was just interested to know.”
At first, Cassie thought he was joking. And when she saw that he wasn't, she had to stop in her tracks she began laughing so hard. “Are you serious?” she said, when she finally managed to catch her breath. “I've never thought about it. They're a badger and a hare in a series of books for small children. They're kind of asexual.”
James smiled. “Well, you know, there was all that talk about Ernie and Bert a couple years ago, which got me to thinking . . .”
“You should think less.” Cassie laughed again as they started off once more. “Really. And stick to journalism, because I don't think children's publishing would be a good area for you to get into. You know, for the children's sake.”
The pair exited the subway at Canal St, and James took a moment to check directions on his iPhone. “This way,” he said, starting off again.
As they walked, Cassie realised James had been right—the temperature was dropping. And fast. She reached up and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. It was only then that she realised she'd chosen to wear the scarf identical to the one she'd been wearing all day—the same one she'd worn that day in Père Lachaise. She wondered for a moment if it had been a subconscious choice. She had, after all, stood there, not half an hour ago, and held two scarves in her hands. Was there a reason she'd chosen this one? Not for the first time, she wondered again about Cameron's sculpture and how it was shaping up in his head. She really had no idea what he was thinking of doing. There had to be something else. There just had to be. Like Freya facing the wall. The coat and the scarf just weren't very . . . well, weren't very Cameron Callahan. He had to have something up his sleeve that he wasn't telling her about.
Cameron, Cameron, Cameron. She really needed to stop thinking about him. “Can I ask where we're going to yet?” Cassie said, focusing back in on James. She was certainly happy that they were well away from the Rockefeller Center and the ice-skating rink.
“Pier 25,” James glanced over at her.
“What's Pier 25?” Cassie asked. “Apart from perhaps being a long skinny thing sticking out into the water?”
“How did you guess?” James chuckled. “You'll see in a minute.”
Soon enough, they reached Pier 25. And when it finally became clear where they were going, Cassie was ecstatic. “Oh, wow, you are going to be sorry.” She laughed, as she saw the sign for the eighteen-hole mini-golf course. “My sister and I are practically mini-golf pros.”
“There are so many things I could say about that. But I'll only say one of the things I'm thinking.”
“And that is?” Cassie tilted her head.
“You're on,” James challenged.
James watched as Cassie sunk the ball at the tenth hole. “You're going to have to slow down.” He shook his head. “I was planning on this taking more than fifteen minutes.”
Cassie propped her elbow on top of her club and grinned. “What can I say? I did warn you. They've all been par-one holes so far.”
“For you,” said James.
“The truth is,” Cassie added, looking around, “it's a little bit classy, as far as mini golf goes, isn't it? I'm still waiting for a windmill. Or a pirate ship. Or something outrageously tacky.”
“And spoil the view?” James ran one hand out in a large arc.
“I suppose,” Cassie said, slowly. “But it's not mini golf without the tacky windmills and pirate ships, is it?”
“Next time I'll bring some from my personal collection. And, before you ask, no, I don't have a personal collection. Anyway, we'll see how you go from here on in. It gets trickier from the eleventh hole.”
Cassie turned and took in the course, quickly realising James was right—it did get a bit harder from here. In order to reach the next hole, they would have to negotiate a hill and get the ball through a hole, when it would then fall down and be dropped near the real hole. It was at least a par-two. Maybe a par-three. The hole after that included a clover-leaf ramp, but it was the fifteenth hole up ahead that she knew would be the most difficult, where a narrow bridge over water needed to be navigated
“You're really over-thinking this, aren't you?” James told her, watching her intently.
“Shhh . . .” Cassie scolded him, taking a last, long look at the course. “Okay.” She turned back to him again. “Let's do this.”
“The word shameless comes to mind,” James said as he and Cassie handed their clubs back in. “I thought you were going to push that small child out of the way back there.”
“Me?” Cassie was all innocence.
“Yes, you.” James laughed.
“Well,” she huffed. “Really, his parents should have told us to play through.”
Now James really laughed. “Play through? It's mini golf! Alys didn't tell me you were so competitive.”
“Oh, I'm not. It's just when it comes to mini golf.” The wind blew some of Cassie's hair into her eyes, and she pushed it back behind her ear.
“Because mini golf is sacred.” James nodded sagely.
“It is!” Cassie laughed.
“Are you hungry after all that exertion?”
“I'm generally hungry, even without exertion.”
James nodded. “That makes two of us. Do you fancy a burger? I know this great place. It's probably about twenty minutes’ walk, if you're not too exhausted.”
>
“Sounds perfect. I'll work up an appetite.” Cassie rubbed her hands together.
“Well, you'll need it.” James smiled back at her. “Because the onion rings are compulsory.”
They started down the street, Cassie taking in the sights and sounds of the city as they went—taxis hurtling past, people having loud conversations. The differences between London and New York always came as a bit of a shock to the system. New York was brash and unafraid of the spotlight. It was a city that displayed its wares and apologized for nothing, unlike London, which shunned the limelight, preferring to hide marvelous treasures around corners in drizzly rain.
Not having had much of a chance to talk during their mini-golf tournament, Cassie and James caught up on their walk.
“So, how are your meetings with publishers going?” James asked her as they strolled slowly toward their destination, James occasionally checking his phone for directions.
“Oh,” Cassie said. “You know . . .” She shrugged slightly, hating herself for lying to James, who seemed lovely. She really needed to get him that interview somehow.
“Alys mentioned that you were trying your hand at writing something else.”
Cassie groaned. “Trying and failing dismally, more like it. I haven't written anything in . . .” She attempted to count the days. “. . . forever. I have no idea what I'm doing.” She knew she really needed to have a good think about this, and soon. “Have you ever tried writing a novel?” she asked James. She knew many journalists who had.
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