Covent Garden in the Snow

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Covent Garden in the Snow Page 20

by Jules Wake


  Nope, I deleted it. Go with the flow I told myself, type what comes into your head and then edit it.

  Hi Marcus

  Gosh, feels funny typing your name. I wanted to apologise for being ungrateful today. You were right, I realise now I was being very careless. And thanks for being so nice with Alison and covering for me.

  And what was with that KISS!!!!!

  I couldn’t send that one.

  Hi

  You’ll be pleased You were right, I’ve been a complete flake

  Dear Marcus

  Today has been a bit of a revelation, realising that you were

  Dear Marcus

  Today wasn’t the best day. Thank you for caring enough to get so mad at me. I can see now that I’ve been a bit of an idiot. I’m sorry … we still have to work together which is probably going to be a bit awkward, so I wanted to clear the air.

  All the best

  Tilly

  It had taken me two hours to get to that point. It still wasn’t perfect but …

  The front door bell rang, sharp and shrill. Pushing aside my tablet, I jumped up to get it.

  A glow of yellow bloomed through the frosted glass, the shape and colour sharpening as I neared the door. When I opened it a delivery woman handed me a dozen yellow roses saying, ‘Someone loves you.’

  I gave her a nod, trying not to snatch at the card tucked among the furled blooms.

  As soon as I closed the door, I ripped open the envelope.

  I was out of line today. I’m sorry. Redsman.

  My eyesight blurred a little. Out of line for shouting at me or out of line for kissing me. And which was he sorry for?

  I peered down at the card again. Redsman not Marcus. Suddenly it seemed easy, he was my e-male again.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Flowers

  Gorgeous flowers have just turned up, with an apology. You didn’t need to do that. You were probably right (not probably, you were right) and I hate admitting it, (and it might never happen again) but I might have been a tad flaky on the e-safety side. OK, totally flaky in this instance only.

  Tilly

  I wasn’t going to add a kiss.

  His email came back within seconds.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Flowers

  Have just picked myself up off the floor. Flaky or not, I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Again, I’m genuinely sorry, it wasn’t very professional. Must be the theatre rubbing off on me! I’m going over to the dark side.

  Can we just forget about today and start again?

  Marcus

  P.S. Dare I say the offer of the lift still stands. I’ve got to go up to this conference anyway and I’d be glad of the company on the trip.

  On paper, screen, whatever, it seemed we were back to normal but I couldn’t help wondering when I saw him again, how easy it would be to forget that kiss.

  Chapter 24

  It was only as the tube rattled through the tunnels up to Baker Street, that doubts began to surface. Scrub that, they’d been circling like vultures since I’d woken up but I’d ignored them as I hurriedly stuffed things into my bag. What would we talk about? Did we mention that kiss? What if I bored the pants off him? What if he drove like a lunatic? What about that kiss? What if his car was held together with gaffer tape and string and we broke down and had to spend hours on the roadside waiting for the AA? No, that was ridiculous. This was Marcus.

  And just what about that kiss?

  I was pulling faces at the memory when a black Golf GTI pulled up. He must have thought I was a right idiot.

  ‘Morning,’ called Marcus through the open window. He wore another one of those dazzling white shirts but this must have been the casual version as it was open at the neck, revealing a dusting of hair at the bottom of the vee. My heart went thunk and I could almost taste the Sahara Desert in my mouth. All I could think of was the feel of his lips pressed against mine. A zing of lust hurtled downwards. I stared for a moment. It was as if every time I saw him, I forgot how utterly gorgeous he was.

  ‘Hi,’ I said suddenly very shy. What on earth was I going to talk to him about all the way up the M1?

  ‘Tilly? Are you alright?’

  I realised he’d said something and I hadn’t responded.

  ‘Are you going to get in or have you decided I am a serial killer?’

  ‘Yes … I mean no,’ I finally managed to spit out.

  ‘Stick your bag in the back. The boot’s full of stuff.’

  I opened the back door and hefted in my enormous holdall and skipped around to the front. Maybe this wouldn’t be so nerve-racking after all.

  ‘Can I say something before we set off?’ Marcus turned to me. His face held the familiar grave, serious look.

  ‘Can we forget the other day and work? Perhaps we could just be two football fans who read a lot.’

  I relaxed into my seat. ‘Thank you … that sounds … a good idea. And thank you so much for putting in a good word for me with Alison. I’m not sure I deserved it.’

  ‘Hmm, you owe me then. Right.’ His face lightened. ‘Just the one bag?’ he asked, looking pointedly at the huge holdall in the back seat as I strapped myself in, grateful for the heater blasting out hot air. No wonder he was only wearing a shirt, it was lovely and toasty in the car.

  ‘Yes. Why?’ Immediately I went on the defensive.

  ‘Are you helping the costume department out? Going on tour?’

  The minute I realised he was teasing, without a second thought I leaned towards him and poked him in the ribs. He smelt clean and fresh, his hair slightly damp, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. Thank goodness for that spritz of perfume I’d put on just before I got off the tube. I hoped I smelt as good to him.

  ‘Very funny. Don’t tell me. You’re one of the toothbrush-and-clean-boxers-in-your-pocket brigade.’

  ‘Not quite, but you have to agree that is quite a bag.’

  ‘I prefer to be prepared. It might snow, so I needed another pair of boots, plus a pair of shoes in case my boots get wet, and another pair of boots which go with the other skirt I packed and I’ve got a waterproof coat in there but I wanted to wear a nice coat to travel in. And of course Christmas presents.’

  ‘I get the picture.’ Marcus shook his head, laughing but keeping his focus fixed on the road.

  ‘And I’ve got books.’

  ‘What? You’re the travelling library now?’

  ‘You can never have—’

  ‘Too many books.’ He nodded his head in wry agreement. ‘Yes, I know but what about your e-reader?’

  ‘Well yes but what if it breaks or the battery dies. So, I popped two books in. Just in case and then another one because it’s on my to-be-read pile.’

  There was a pause as he did the calculation. ‘For two nights away, you’ve brought two coats, four pairs of shoes and boots and three books!’

  ‘That’s about it. If I was going up on the train, I promise you, I would have made do with one coat, two pairs of boots and two books.’

  ‘Of course.’ The dry long-suffering amusement in his deep voice sent a quiver through me.

  ‘And,’ I said with a flourish, ‘I’ve brought supplies.’

  ‘Oh God, you’ve brought several gallons of coffee in a thermos flask, foil-wrapped home-made sandwiches, a shovel and several tins of beans. Have you got your travel rug?’

  I burst out laughing. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

  Twisting to reach my bag in the back, I hauled out a Tesco carrier bag. ‘I had no idea what you ate, so I bought a selection.’

  Delving into the bag, I produced a bright red packet. ‘Maltesers, old man’s Werthers’ Originals, Walkers crisps and wine gums. And Jelly Babies but they’re mine.’

  ‘Christ anything else? I’m travelling with Mary Poppins.’

  ‘Of course, on the sweet front, I’m practical
ly perfect in every way.’

  ‘Apart from being an Arsenal supporter.’

  I paused. It needed addressing. ‘You know that is the only reason I responded to your first email. You threw down a challenge. Although,’ my voice slowed as I remembered the pinch of sadness when I realised he hadn’t been the friendly e-male correspondent I’d first thought. ‘I realise now you were deliberately trying to reel me in.’

  Marcus’s ears turned bright red and his fingers gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter.

  ‘Ah …’ For the first time ever I saw him look discomfited. ‘I didn’t mean what I said the other day. I meant to teach you a lesson but you were fun in the emails, a lot more approachable, it made a pleasant change. It was nice being liked for a change. I’ve come up against a lot of resistance since being at the London Met.’

  A horrible tug of guilt made me turn to him.

  ‘God, was it really that bad?’

  He let out a self-deprecating laugh. ‘No, I’m a big boy, but it did get a bit wearing in those first few weeks. I’d come in full of confidence knowing exactly what needed doing and suddenly no one wanted it doing.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I crossed my legs, trying to look nonchalant.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he added, ‘you didn’t say anything too bad about me.’

  ‘What, you’re a mind reader now?’

  ‘No, but the agonies contorting your face were too much to bear, so I thought I’d relieve you of that worry.’

  ‘Very good of you,’ I said, still unable to completely relax. We’d exchanged a lot in those emails.

  ‘Well apart from calling me the Prince of Darkness, His Royal ITness. That was quite amusing.’ He shot me a wicked look. ‘Although I don’t think you meant it to be amusing.’

  ‘Serves you right for not saying anything.’ I turned to look out of the window to hide some of my mortification. Thank God I’d not mentioned my hormones misbehaving every time he came onto the scene. That would have been so embarrassing.

  He laid a hand on my forearm and tugged. I turned to face him, although it was his profile because he was the sort of driver that kept watching the road. ‘I enjoyed our exchanges. You were funny. We enjoyed the same sort of books … and how could I say anything. Especially not when you clearly hated me.’

  ‘I didn’t hate you!’

  ‘Sorry bit strong, clearly dislike what I stand for. Although I quite like being His Royal ITness.’

  His quick grin made me feel embarrassed and more than a bit ashamed.

  ‘I might have changed my mind a bit. You don’t seem quite so … corporatey now.’

  ‘Aw thanks. Nothing like damning with faint praise.’

  ‘Well be honest, you thought I was some bohemian hippy chick.’

  ‘Point taken, although … to be fair,’ he grinned, ‘some are flakier than others, the jury’s still out on Vince, but I have to admit now I understand more about what goes on … well.’

  ‘You think we’re the bee’s knees?’ I teased.

  ‘I wouldn’t go quite that far, no you still drive me insane. I mean how difficult is it not to open an attachment with a ruddy great virus piggy backing it?’

  ‘How was I to know it had a virus on it?’

  ‘How were you to know it didn’t?’

  ‘Ok, you win that one. But no harm done.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘There could have been though.’

  ‘I am sorry and I learned my lesson. I’m getting quite good now … you’ve got to admit.’

  ‘Quite good? Tilly you’ve deleted that spreadsheet three times now.’

  ‘See that’s why the card index works so well, impossible to delete.’ I grinned at him.

  ‘I will get that system set up even if it kills me.’

  ‘It might well–’ My phone burst into song and Marcus raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Snow Patrol? I had you down as a Carmina Burana girl.’

  Laughing, I dug my phone out of my bag. ‘That’s so last week’s ring tone.’ I looked down at the screen. It was Felix.

  My heart plummeted. He’d obviously come home to find my note. The last thing I wanted was him trying to make yet another grovelling apology and I didn’t dare attempt a one-sided conversation in front of Marcus. I scowled at my phone.

  Marcus looked amused. ‘What’s wrong? Bad news?’

  ‘No. Nothing important.’ I switched it off and slipped it into my pocket.

  We’d been travelling for a couple of hours and I’d started to get fidgety. The time had passed easily, as we’d chatted about so many things including books and football.

  ‘Want to stop?’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind,’ I said trying to stretch my legs. ‘You must be ready.’

  ‘Yeah, if you’re not in too much of a hurry to get home, we could come off the motorway and find somewhere a bit better than a service station.’

  ‘I’m in no hurry to get home, I promise you.’

  ‘You don’t get on well with your family?’

  I sighed. ‘We’re just completely different. My mother is French. Hence my name.’ He still looked nonplussed. ‘Not just French – Parisian.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. Matilde sounds quite sexy when you say it with a French accent.’

  ‘Doesn’t everything. What other language can make my little cabbage sound sexy – ma petite chou?’

  ‘So, cabbage face, what’s wrong with your mother?’

  I wheeled round and stared at him. He was certainly perceptive.

  ‘She might be from Paris but there’s not one cell of Latin blood in her, I’m pretty sure she was hatched from an ice cube tray.’

  ‘Sounds chilly.’

  ‘It was. She didn’t want me to be a make-up artist.’ I stared at the opposite carriageway barely registering the cars flashing past. ‘The morning I got my GCSE results, all hell broke loose. I wanted to go to college to do hairdressing and make-up and they’d assumed I’d stay on in the sixth form and then go to university like my sister.’

  No matter how many teenage strops, and I threw some humdingers, my parents were not for turning.

  ‘What happened? You got there in the end.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I nodded. Those two years in the sixth form had not been endured stoically. I made my parents pay with small but satisfying rebellions – a taste for scruffy, vintage clothes, which infuriated my ultra-smart mother and full-scale hair warfare. Every couple of weeks I would arrive at the breakfast table sporting a different hair shade, combination of colours or a style more outrageous than the last.

  ‘My parents insisted I went to university.’

  ‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’

  ‘Yeah. OK, I loved it because I got involved in loads of student productions.’ Which stood me in good stead. ‘Maybe they were right after all,’ I said with a burst of sudden realisation.

  ‘What parents, being right?’

  ‘OK, you don’t need to rub it in.’ I didn’t want to think about it too closely. ‘Oh, look Chatsworth House.’ I pointed to one of the brown signs. ‘I’ve always wanted to go there. I love Jane Austen, especially Pride and Prejudice. I think they filmed some of it there.’

  Marcus shot me a look. ‘Shall we visit now?’

  ‘What now, now?’

  ‘Is there any other type of now?’

  Stepping out of the car, a fresh wind whipped at my curls tossing them into my face. It immediately felt colder than in London but after the stuffy warmth of the car, the chilly air with its scent of the moors was wonderfully invigorating. I took in an exaggerated breath.

  ‘Hell, it’s cold.’ Marcus wrapped a stripy scarf round his neck twice. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe I’ll just stay in the car.’

  ‘It’s perfect. You’re just not used to real temperatures. I love it.’ And I meant it. Tugging my hat down past my ears, and hoping it wasn’t too unflattering, I pulled on my favourite dark green leather gloves.

  ‘Come on then Miss Burke.’ Marcus bowed and offere
d an arm. ‘Let me escort you and take a look at this house and see what all the fuss is about.’

  ‘Bennett, in Pride and Prejudice, it was the Bennetts,’ I said quite charmed by his unexpected willingness to get into the spirit of the visit.

  ‘Begins with B. It’ll do,’ he muttered into his scarf.

  I was quite happy to let him link his arm through mine, it seemed perfectly natural to play along. Being there made everything else seem a long way away. ‘If I’m Miss Bennett, who are you then?’

  ‘I’m the kindly uncle that takes Elizabeth to Derbyshire and gets to fish in the pond. Uncle Ted.’

  I giggled. ‘He wasn’t called Uncle Ted. That’s far too informal, he was Mister something or other. And how do you know about the Uncle and the fishing?’

  ‘Call yourself an Austen fan?’ Marcus gave me a wide-eyed look of mock horror and then scrunched his face up in a horrible grimace. ‘Had to study it for GCSE English. I didn’t get it then, not sure I will now.’

  ‘It was Mr…’ I searched my memory. It was buried in there somewhere.

  He tutted and shook his head. We carried on in companionable silence, our feet scrunching on the gravel.

  ‘Do you want to visit the Christmas market?’ Marcus nodded to the orderly lines of stalls and kiosks that lined the driveway. I looked at the deliberately bland expression on his face.

  ‘I’d love to.’ I grinned cheerily at him, enjoying the tiny wince he thought he’d hidden. ‘But,’ I nudged him, ‘I think it would be torture for you and I’d rather get some fresh air. I don’t miss being outdoors when I’m in London, but now we’re here I want to make the most of it.’

  He heaved an obvious sigh of relief. ‘Phew. I remember you and shopping.’

  ‘You got off lightly that day,’ I teased.

  Despite the cold wind there were plenty of walkers out, muffled up against the crisp wind, some with dogs and others in organised groups identifiable by the maps in the plastic wallets around their necks.

  When we came to the first magnificent view of the house, we stopped.

  It was so vast. Both of us stood quite awestruck, gazing at the imposing façade with countless windows.

 

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