by Kate Hardy
Somehow he’d have to overcome those fears. Teach her that he wasn’t like the men she’d dated before: that he saw her for who she was and he liked her just the way she was. And then maybe, just maybe, they’d stand a chance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A WEEK LATER, Emmy opened the thick brown envelope that had just been delivered, to discover an early copy of the glossy magazine that had interviewed her.
‘Ty, look—it’s Aunty Emmy’s feature,’ she said, waving the magazine at him.
Tyler was much more interested in picking up the bricks they’d been playing with, and dropping them.
She built him another tower to enjoy knocking down, counting the bricks for him as she did so, then flicked through the magazine to the article. There was a nice picture of her with Tyler, and they’d really showcased her jewellery beautifully. But her delight turned to dismay as she skimmed through the text.
She’d explained the situation to the journalist. She’d made it totally clear that she and Dylan were Tyler’s co-guardians and they weren’t an item. So why did the article make reference to Dylan being her partner?
Oh, no. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. At all.
She paced the house all morning. What was the best way to deal with this?
In the end, she decided to tell him straight. Sooner rather than later.
She waited until Tyler took his late morning nap, then called Dylan at work.
He answered immediately. ‘Is Tyler all right?’
‘Yes, he’s fine.’
Her shakiness must’ve shown in her voice, because he asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘There’s something you need to know. It’s pretty bad.’ She took a deep breath. ‘The magazine’s coming out next week. They sent me an early copy today.’
‘And they didn’t use your jewellery in the end?’ He sounded sympathetic. ‘More fool them.’
‘It’s not that. They did use my pieces.’ She swallowed hard. ‘But they’ve used a picture of me with Tyler—and they’ve said in the piece that you’re my partner. They actually named you as computer superguru Dylan Harper. And it—well, basically it implied that Tyler’s our child. I told the journalist why we were sharing a house and sharing Tyler’s care. I can’t believe they got it wrong like this! I’m so sorry. If this causes you any problems...’ Her voice faded. If it caused him problems, she had no idea what she could do to fix it. Would it make his divorce more difficult?
‘They got the wrong end of the stick. So what? It doesn’t matter. Stop worrying,’ he said, surprising her. She’d been so sure he’d be annoyed about it. ‘The main thing is that they showcased your jewellery.’
‘They did. And the jet animals.’
‘Good. Now breathe, Emmy.’
‘Thank you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I thought you’d be livid.’
‘It could be a lot worse. Most people know the press exaggerate, so don’t worry about it. Just wait for people to start contacting you with commissions—and then you’ll be so busy you won’t have time to worry about it anymore.’
It was another week until the magazine was in the shops. Although Dylan had told her not to worry about it, Emmy still couldn’t help fretting. If anyone who knew him read the piece, they’d get completely the wrong idea.
The day before the magazine came out Dylan distracted her when he called her from work.
‘Don’t tell me—an emergency project meeting and you’re going to be late?’ she asked.
‘No—and I’m bringing champagne home. I got some good news this afternoon.’
‘You got the Burroughs contract?’
‘I certainly did.’
‘Fantastic.’ Emmy was genuinely pleased for him. ‘Well done.’
‘It was partly thanks to you,’ Dylan pointed out.
‘No, it’s because he recognises your skill. Actually, I have some news for you. Elaine Burroughs rang. She’s bringing her daughter over to see me next week.’
‘For a commission? That’s great. Well done. Got to go but I’ll see you later. Oh—and please don’t cook monkfish.’
She just laughed. ‘For that, I’m ordering a takeaway. See you later.’ She replaced the phone and cuddled Tyler. ‘You know what? This is all starting to work out. It’s not quite how Dylan and I wanted things—we’d both do anything to have your mum and dad back with us. But, as second-best goes, this is pretty good.’
Over champagne, that evening, Dylan said, ‘I want to take you out to dinner to say thanks—being here with us really made a difference to Ted’s decision to give us the project. Do you think your mum would babysit Ty for us?’
‘Probably. I’ll ask her,’ Emmy said.
‘Do you mind if I ask her?’ Dylan asked.
She smiled. ‘You know her number.’ Dylan might not be that close to his own mother, she thought, but he definitely got on well with hers.
The following evening was Dylan’s turn to cook. Over pasta, he told her, ‘I spoke to your mum this morning. It’s all arranged; we’re going tomorrow.’
‘Going where?’ she asked.
‘Out to lunch,’ he said. ‘Except we need to leave really early tomorrow morning, and you’ll need your passport.’
She frowned. ‘Why do I need my passport?’
‘Don’t be difficult,’ he said. ‘I was going to take you out to dinner, but I thought lunch might be more fun.’
‘Lunch is fine, but what does that have to do with my passport?’
‘Surprise.’
She sighed. ‘You do know I hate surprises, don’t you?’
‘I think you’ll like this one.’ Annoyingly, he refused to be drawn on any further details.
‘Are you at least going to tell me the dress code?’ she asked in exasperation.
He thought about it for a moment. ‘Smart casual—probably a little bit more on the smart side. You definitely need shoes you can walk in.’
‘So we’re walking somewhere?’
‘End of information bulletin. No more answers,’ he said, and gave her the most infuriating grin. Worse still, he refused to be drawn for the rest of the evening.
‘I swear I’m never playing poker with you,’ she said. ‘You’re inscrutable.’
He just laughed. ‘I’ve been called worse.’
The next morning, Dylan knocked on Emmy’s bedroom door at what felt like just before the crack of dawn. ‘We’re leaving in half an hour.’
Which gave her just enough time to shower, wash her hair, dress, and check in on Tyler. Her mother was already in the kitchen when Emmy came downstairs, and the kettle was on. ‘Hi, Mum. Thanks for babysitting. Tyler’s still asleep, given it’s the crack of dawn.’ She greeted her mother with a hug and kiss. ‘Coffee and toast?’
‘We don’t have time,’ Dylan said.
She gave him a sceptical look. ‘You know I’m horrible if I haven’t eaten. And why do we have to leave so early if we’re going out to lunch, which won’t be for hours?’
He answered her question with one of his own. ‘You’ve definitely got your passport in your bag?’
She gave him a withering look. ‘I’m not that flaky, Dylan.’
‘Sorry. Old habits die hard.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Let’s go. We have a train to catch.’
So wherever they were going, it was by Tube. She still had no idea why he wanted her to bring her passport; though, knowing Dylan, that could be a red herring. She kissed her mum goodbye; to her surprise, so did he. Together, they headed for the Tube station, a ten-minute walk away.
Emmy noticed that although Dylan was wearing one of his work suits, teamed with a white shirt and highly polished shoes, at least for once he wasn’t wearing a tie. She’d opted for a simple black shift dress teamed with black tights a
nd flat shoes; a silver and turquoise choker; and a turquoise pashmina.
‘You look lovely,’ he said.
She inclined her head. ‘Thank you, kind sir. Actually, you don’t look so bad yourself.’
He smiled back at her. ‘Why, thank you.’
Ten minutes later, they arrived at King’s Cross. The second he directed her through the exit to St Pancras, she realised where they were going. ‘We’re going to Paris for lunch, Dylan? That’s incredibly decadent!’
‘Not really. It’s as quick to take the train from London to Paris as it is to drive from London to Brighton,’ he pointed out. ‘Anyway, I love Paris. It’s a beautiful city.’
To her delight, he’d booked them in business class so they could have breakfast on the train.
‘So this is why you wouldn’t let me have even a piece of toast at home,’ she said, surveying the feast in front of her. Champagne with fresh orange juice, smoked salmon and scrambled egg, fresh strawberries, and good coffee. ‘This has to be the most perfect breakfast ever. I feel totally spoiled.’
He smiled. ‘Good.’
‘I’ve never been in business class before.’ Because she could only really afford standard class. And only then if she booked the seat early enough to get the supercheap rate.
He shrugged. ‘The seats are more comfortable.’
‘Thank you, Dylan. This is a real treat.’
* * *
Dylan watched her selecting what to have next; he loved the fact that she was enjoying her food rather than picking at it, the way Nadine always had.
She caught him watching her. ‘Sorry. Am I being greedy?’
He laughed. ‘No, I was just thinking how nice it is that you enjoy your food instead of nibbling on a lettuce leaf.’
‘This is a lot better than you or I can cook,’ she said with a smile. ‘And if we’re going to Paris, I take it we’re walking, so I’m going to burn all this off anyway.’
The journey to the Gare du Nord was quick and uneventful; a short trip on the Métro took them to the Champs Elysées.
‘It’s too long since I’ve been to Paris. I’d almost forgotten how lovely it is—all that space in the streets, all the windows and the balconies.’ She gestured across to a terrace on the other side of the street. ‘I love that wrought ironwork.’
He smiled at her; he recognised that light in her eyes. The same as it had been at the butterfly house, and he’d seen drafts of designs that reminded him of the metalwork in the old Edwardian conservatory. ‘Are you going to get your notebook out and start sketching?’
She smiled back. ‘Not in the middle of the street. But would you mind if I took some photographs to remind me later?’
‘’Course not. Enjoy.’
They wandered down the street and stopped in a small café. Macaroons were arranged in a cone shape on the counter, showcasing all the different colours available, from deep pink through to browns, yellows and pistachio green.
‘I guess we have to try them, as we’re in Paris,’ he said, and ordered macaroons with their coffee.
‘This is just lovely. The perfect day.’ Her eyes were all huge and shiny with pleasure—and that in turn made Dylan feel happy, too.
This was definitely as good as it got.
And taking her to Paris was the best idea he’d ever had. Romantic and sweet—and this might be the place where he could ask her to change their relationship. Be more than just his co-guardian. If he could find the right words.
‘What would you like to do before lunch?’ he asked.
‘Are you planning to go somewhere in particular for lunch?’
‘Yes. We need to be in the fourth arrondissement at one o’clock, but before then we can go wherever you like. I assume you’d like to go to an art gallery?’
‘That’s a tough one,’ she said. ‘Even at this time of day, I think there will be too much of a queue at the Louvre.’ She looked at him. ‘You said the fourth arrondissement, so that means the old quarter. Could we go to Notre Dame and see the grotesques?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been. It’d be interesting to see them.’ He’d visited most of the art galleries and museums, as well as the Sacré-Coeur and Montmartre, but he’d never actually been to Notre Dame.
‘It’s a bit of a trek up the tower,’ she warned.
‘I don’t mind. I know you said you wanted to walk, but how do you feel about going by river?’
She nodded. ‘That works for me. I love boat trips.’
He made a mental note; it might be nice to take Tyler to Kew on the river, in the spring.
When they’d finished their coffee, they took the Batobus along the Seine to the Île de la Cité, with Emmy exclaiming over several famous buildings on the way. They walked up the steps from the bridge, then across the square with the famous vista of Notre Dame and its square double tower and rose window. The stone of the cathedral looked brilliant white against the blue sky.
‘I love the shape of the rose window, the way it fans out—almost like the petals of a gerbera crossed with a spiderweb,’ she said.
‘Are you thinking a pendant?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Do you mind if I take some pictures?’
He laughed. ‘You really don’t have to ask me every time, Emmy. Just do it. Today’s for you to enjoy.’
‘Thank you.’ She took several photos on her phone, and then they queued at the side of the cathedral to walk up the tower to the galleries.
‘I always think of poor Quasimodo, here,’ Emmy said. ‘So deeply in love with Esmeralda, yet afraid she’ll despise him like everyone else does.’
‘So you cried over the film?’
‘No, over the book,’ she said, surprising him.
‘You read Victor Hugo?’ He hadn’t expected that.
She looked at him. ‘It was one of my set texts for A level.’
‘English?’
‘French,’ she corrected.
He blinked. ‘You let everyone think you’re this ditzy designer, but you’re really bright, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. It kind of spoils the compliment.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m really going to have to make you that jet rhino, aren’t I?’
‘Hey.’ He gave her a brief hug. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. But you do keep your light under a bushel.’
‘Maybe.’
They walked up the hundreds of spiral steps; the stone was worn at the edges where thousands of people had walked up those steps before them. At the first stage, they had amazing views of the square and the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower looming in the background. They carried on up to the next stage and saw the famous chimera grotesques in the Grande Galerie. Dylan was fascinated by the pelican. ‘And that elephant would look great carved in jet,’ he said.
‘For Ty’s Noah’s Ark? Good idea,’ she said.
‘So why are the gargoyles here?’ he asked.
‘Strictly speaking, gargoyles carry rainwater away from the building. These ones don’t act as conduits; they’re just carvings, so they’re called grotesques. These are Victorian ones, done at the same time as the restoration. And there’s a fabulous legend—see the one sitting over there, looking over the Seine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Apparently it watches out for people who are drowning, then swoops down and rescues them.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that something else you learned for your A level?’
‘No. Actually, I can’t even remember where I heard it, but I think it’s a lovely story.’
Emmy liked the brighter side of life, he noticed. Trust her to know about that sort of legend.
They walked across to the other tower to see the bell, then back down all the steps.
‘Did you want to go
inside the cathedral?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please. I love the stained glass,’ she said.
As he’d half expected, she took several photographs of the rose window with its beautiful blue and red glass.
‘Is this a Victorian renovation, too?’ he asked.
‘Most of this one’s original thirteenth-century glass. If I were you, I’d tell me to shut up, now,’ she said with a grin, ‘because stained glass was one of the modules in my degree, and Ally says I get really boring about it, always dragging her off to tiny churches to see rare specimens.’ Her smile faded. ‘Said,’ she corrected herself.
He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You really miss her, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But I’m glad we have Tyler. We’ll see her and Pete in him as he grows up.’
And then he forgot to release her hand. She didn’t make a protest; it was only as they strolled through the streets of the old quarter that he realised he was still holding her hand. And that he was actually happy. Happier than he could remember being for a long, long time.
Maybe he didn’t need to struggle with words, after all. Maybe all he had to do was be.
She insisted on stopping at one of the stalls and buying a baby-sized beret for Tyler. She gave him a sidelong look. ‘I’m tempted to get you one as well.’
‘You expect me to wear a beret?’ he scoffed.
‘Mmm, and you could have a Dali moustache to go with it.’
He shuddered. ‘What next, a stripy jumper and a red scarf?’
She laughed. ‘OK, so a beret is a bit too avant-garde for you—but men can look good in a beret, you know.’
‘I think I’ll pass,’ he said. ‘Though I admit Tyler will look cute.’
As they crossed the bridge she asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Time for lunch,’ he said.
They stopped outside a restaurant in the old quarter right next to the Seine with view of Notre Dame. She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘I know of this place. Zola, Dumas and de Maupassant all used to come here—it’s hideously expensive, Dylan. It’s Michelin starred.’