'Where's Frank?'
And how are you this morning, Yancie? Not suffering nightmares from the time I almost seduced the pants off you, I hope. Calm down, calm down. `He and his wife have gone into premature labour,' she replied, and set the car in motion.
Thomson ignored her, and undid his briefcase. My stars, to think she'd been overjoyed to get this unexpected assignment today! She drove out onto the main road, flicking a glance into the rear-view mirror. Their eyes met; she loved him, but last Saturday night could never have been-and she hated him.
She flicked another glance at him. `Keep your eyes on the road!' he rapped.
Pig! `I didn't know you still lived with your mother,' she observed sweetly, glanced in the mirror again and saw he'd nearly cracked his face there for a second.
But no, he was determined, it seemed, to be as sour as she'd just thought him, and there was not so much as a glimmer of a smile about him when he barked, `My mother's staying for a few days while the decorators are at her place.'
Yancie opened her mouth to make some sort of a reply, but saw, as his head bent, that he was already regretting having explained anything at all to her, and that he was more interested in the contents of his briefcase than in any further conversation with her. Well, see if she cared; he'd speak before she did!
And so it was in silence that she drove, exchanging the M I for the M6, and, while the sun in her life started to grow more and more clouded over, the murky, bitterly cold day turned into a foggy, bitterly cold day the further north they went.
Kevin had told her that Mr Wakefield had a meeting at two o'clock-she did her best to get him there on time, but all the odds were against her. For not only was the fog becoming denser and denser by the mile, causing her to drive with extreme caution, but that day seemed to be the day for roadworks being in progress every other half-mile.
Knowing how Thomson's work seemed to be his lifeblood, Yancie started to feel a little desperate that she wouldn't be able to get him to his meeting on time. And yet, in these ghastly conditions, she didn't want to drive any faster.
If he'd been at all affable she might well have apologised. But, although he was no longer concentrating on his papers, and had his eyes on the road, he didn't have anything to say. Which could mean, she supposed, that he fully appreciated anyhow that nobody but an idiot would speed in these conditions.
Yancie got him to his venue at ten to three. She felt exhausted, her eyes tired and gritty from strain. 'I'm going to be later than planned,' he said as he snapped his briefcase shut.
'I'll cancel my date,' she replied pleasantly-she who was never going to lie to him again.
Without another word Thomson left her to go and chair his meeting. Yancie guessed she wouldn't see him again much before seven, but she was feeling down again and went and parked the car and then went and had something to eat. She calculated as she fed her inner person that if Thomson's meeting ended around seven, then he was going to miss his dinner. He could, of course, have been planning to stop for dinner somewhere on the way back. But now that she was driving him she somehow didn't think he'd bother. In normal times Yancie thought she would probably have got him home in three hours or so. But if the fog was still around tonight, then who knew what time they'd get back?
She wondered whether to take him a bun or something else to eat, then scolded herself for being an idiot. Thomson was a grown man, for goodness' sake. He was as capable as she of working out the chances of him ending the day dinnerless. If he felt in the slightest hungry he was more than able to send somebody out for some nourishment.
That settled tidily in her head, Yancie went and purchased a couple of packages of sandwiches anyway. Which, because she had her larger-capacity bag with her today in anticipation of the shopping she'd intended doing during her lunch break, went neatly inside. If he didn't mention food, then she wouldn't either.
Yancie had a walk around and then later she went and collected the Jaguar. She listened to the news on the car radio-the road traffic report was not good. At half past six she pulled up outside the venue, and prepared to wait. She had waited only twenty minutes, however, when the doors opened and Thomson and several businessmen came out. There were handshakes all around, then he was coming over to the car.
She'd wasted a `Good morning' on himm earlier-she didn't bother with a `Good evening', and he was likewise as talkative. The fog had worsened, grown denser instead of clearing.
Should she tell him now that the motorway was closed, or save it?
She started up the car and steered into traffic, and still hadn't told him when, a few miles later, `Pull over,' ordered a voice from the back. They were still in a built-up area, but there was no mistaking that the weather had deteriorated-soon visibility would be down to nil. Yancie drove on until she found a safe stopping place-perhaps he'd forgotten something and they needed to go back for it. But nothing so simple. `I'll drive,' he stated crisply. The sauce of it!
'No, you won't!' she argued-but she was wasting her breath; he had come round to the driver's door and had it open, and was waiting-not very patiently-for her to get out. She guessed he was tired and didn't want any argument. And normally that wouldn't have bothered her. But love did funny things to you, and she found she had pared her marshalled argument down to a minimal, 'Driving's my job!'
Unthinkingly she went and occupied the front passenger seat-it was getting to be a habit. Well, she wasn't going to ask him to stop so she could get in the back. He wanted to drive; he could put up with where his passenger chose to sit.
'Er…' she began when she saw he was heading for the motorway. She had his attention; he was listening. 'I'm afraid we're going to have to take the scenic route.' In this fog? You wouldn't see the proverbial hand in front of you! But he was waiting for the rest of it. `I tuned in to the news earlier-there's been a pile-up on the motorway. The motorway's closed.' A grunt was all the reply she got. Perhaps if she behaved herself he'd allow her to do some of the driving when his overconcentrating eyes got tired and gritty.
However, it didn't come to that. They were out of the built-up area and had been driving at a snail's pace for some while when the dim entrance lights of a hotel appeared out of the gloom. `It's ridiculous to go on any further!' Thomson announced curtly.
Yancie couldn't have agreed with him more. At the pace they were travelling, if they reached London by midday tomorrow they'd be lucky! Thomson steered the car cautiously up the hotel drive and pulled up. When he got out of the car Yancie got out too and went inside with him. Though they were out of luck when Thomson tried to book them a couple of rooms-everyone else on the road that night had given up driving as being hopeless, apparently, and there wasn't a room to be had.
'There's the Gainsborough Hotel about a mile down the road; they might be able to help you,' the receptionist, working hard because of unexpected influx of guests, tried to be helpful.
'Do you have their number?' Thomson asked, giving the receptionist the benefit of his charm.
'Shall I ring them for you?' she offered, as busy as she was.
A few minutes later, the last two vacant rooms at the Gainsborough Hotel reserved for them, they went out into the dreadful night. `Would you like me to drive?' Yancie offered; in her view he'd done a fair enough stint already given the filthy weather.
'No,' he grunted.
Get on with it, then, she fumed. He could be charming to everyone but her! Her mutiny soon faded, however; it was really treacherous out here. She knew she was a good driver, but she couldn't fault his driving. And, if she had to be driven by anyone on such an evening, she couldn't think of anybody she would have chosen other than him.
Eventually they made it to the drive of the Gainsborough Hotel, where it seemed the car park area was full to overflowing. `Go in while I find somewhere to park,' Thomson instructed, pulling up outside the entrance to the hotel.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say a cheery `Don't get lost' but she thought he wouldn't appreciate i
t. So, obediently she got out of the car and went into the hotel, and found it was packed with people thronging about. Given that some of the guests couldn't have anticipated not sleeping in their own beds that night, they seemed to have quickly adjusted, to the extent there was even a faint feeling of a party atmosphere about the place. There were two receptionists on duty. One was busy dealing with a guest, and Yancie gave preference to an elderly couple who had just come in and were enquiring about a room for the night. Then the other receptionist was free.
'You've two rooms reserved in the name of Wakefield,' Yancie began, and when the receptionist placed a couple of room keys on top of the reception counter and passed over a couple of registration cards Yancie saw no reason not to begin filling them in.
She had already made a start when she heard the elderly man next to her cry anxiously, `Oh, dear. No rooms! My wife's only recently had a hip replacement, and I really don't think I'm up to driving any more tonight!'
I shouldn't think so either. Yancie stopped writing while she waited for the receptionist to conjure up a room out of thin air. But no, even though the woman's tone was most sympathetic, she couldn't, it seemed, perform this particular trick. `I'm sorry,' the receptionist apologised, `every room is taken; we're even allowing people to sleep in the lounge areas, but I just haven't got another room.' But, prepared to go to extraordinary lengths in the circumstances, she added, `The lounge area's going to be crowded, but there's a chair in the office if…'
Yancie couldn't take any more. She pushed one of the keys across to the man, and also handed him one of the registration cards. `I only need one room,' she smiled. Well, she did, and she was sure Thomson wouldn't mind when she told him he'd be perching on an office chair that night. She smiled in acknowledgement of their gratitude and finished completing the one registration card and, endeavouring to think in advance, certain there would be the usual toiletries in the room, she asked the receptionist if there was any chance of being given toothpaste.
'Nobody's got round to thinking about that yet,' she smiled, clearly very pleased that the elderly couple would be able to get a good night's rest. `I can do better than just toothpaste,' she said cheerfully, and went away, to return with a sample tube of toothpaste, and a couple of toothbrushes.
Yancie thanked her, discovered the kitchen staff were going flat out, but that there'd be some sort of a meal for everyone that nightthough since the hotel was bursting at the seams where they were all going to sit might take more organising.
She came away from the desk, to hear another hopeful trying to get a room. With only one key in her hand she moved over to a spot where she could watch for Thomson to come in. And suddenly she began to experience a few anxieties of her own-about having given his room away. She didn't regret it. How could she? She was sure that she would only have to explain about the elderly couple, about the lady's recent operation… Besides, no one would make anybody drive on a night like this-least of all an elderly gentleman.
With her eyes glued to the door, Yancie saw Thomson, briefcase in hand, come in. Whimsically she felt she might have done him a favour. If he intended to work through the night, wouldn't a chair in the office be ideal?
He saw her at once and came through the scrum to where she was standing. And Yancie knew then that it wasn't whimsy, but nerveshe was going to kill her; she knew it for a fact. `I've filled in the registration form,' she said hurriedly when it looked as if he might go from her and over to the reception desk. Tell him, tell him. He can't kill you while all these people are about. `I've got the keys,' she added, and quickly made for the lift area. Had she said keys, plural?
Thankfully there were other people going up with them in the lift. Then the lift doors opened, and she stepped out-and so too did Thomson. She went along to her room-he went with her. She stopped outside her doorand knew she could delay telling him the glad news no longer. Especially when, her key already inserted in the door lock, Thomson waited for her to open the door, and held out his hand for his key. She turned to face him.
'The thing is…' she began. His eyes narrowed-oh, grief, he knew something he wasn't going to like was coming.
'The thing is?' he prompted grimly when her words seemed to have got stuck.
'I gave your room away!' she said in one blurted-out mouthful.
He stared at her. Disbelievingly, Thomson just stood and stared at her. A second ticked by, and then another, and when his voice came it was dangerously quiet. `You did-what?'
She was going to have to repeat it. 'I-ergave your room away,' she managed bravely.
For perhaps another three seconds Thomson still continued to stare at her as if he just couldn't believe his hearing. Then, without wasting words, he was moving her to one side, and was turning the key in the door, opening up the room, and stepping inside.
'What…?' she gasped, following him in, her eyes taking in the chair, the table, the double bed.
He turned and looked down on her from his lofty height. `Correction,' he stated. `You gave your room away.'
'Oh, come on, Thomson.' She was tired, and she knew he was; it had been a long day; she was too tired to `Mr Wakefield' him anyway. 'You'd have done the same.'
'I wouldn't.'
'There was this elderly couple-she'd just had her hip done. They offered her the office chair… You'd love the office chair. You could work all ni…'
He was not even tempted, she could tell. 'I'm having that bed,' he butted in.
'No, you're not! I am!' she insisted-and didn't like at all the way when, looking testily at her, a gleam of something other than irritability suddenly entered his eyes.
He transferred his gaze from her to the double bed, then back to her again, and his glance was definitely mocking, she realised when he suggested silkily, `We could always share it, I suppose.' And Yancie wanted to hit him.
'You toad!' she berated her employer. `You know what you can do to me, and how I don't want you to.'
He smiled an insincere smile, and she knew then that that was precisely why he'd made the offer to share-because he knew that she would never take him up on it. Not that he would again kiss her the way he had before. Well, she certainly wasn't going to ask him ever again for a goodnight kiss.
But she could be as crafty as him. `If you insist, I'll go as far as sharing the room with you,' she called his bluff.
'No way!' he snapped curtly, as she had thought having no intention of sharing either bed or room-but oddly that made her angry suddenly.
'I'm not likely to want to have my wicked way with you!' she snapped.
He didn't answer for some seconds but was obviously weighing up his options. He must know, Yancie was positive, how the hotel was cram full with unexpected guests, and the possibility of getting a room elsewhere-should one care to go out again into the dreary, cheerless night-hopeless.
His mind was made up, apparently. `You start anything and I'll sack you!' he threatened nastily-and Yancie's emotions were in an uproar.
She had only meant to call his bluff-but he had accepted! But-that aside-it made her furious that he should remind her she had been the one to start `things' the last time. `You should be so lucky!' she erupted, and thought for one weird moment that he was going to burst out laughing. Must be the weather affecting my brain terminals, she decided a moment later, because he was more glaring at her than laughing.
And then, as Thomson went and put his briefcase down on the table, Yancie all at once realised that-oh, heavens-she must have just agreed to share the room with him. She put her brain into overdrive mode. Her bluff to call his bluff by offering to share the room with him hadn't worked! While he'd initially decided it was out of the question, somehow she had talked him into changing his mind. Oh, crumbs!
While Yancie wasn't thrilled with the arrangement, she accepted that perhaps it was the only logical thing to do. But, while she felt that she knew enough of him to know she could just as well be sleeping on the planet Mars for all he was likely to come closer than he
had to that night, she also felt it important that they get everything else settled here and now. Number one being that if anybody was going to have that double bed it was going to be her, not him. She looked at the one dumpy little chair in the room-if he thought she was going to sleep in that while he had the bed, did he have another think coming.
'Actually, Thomson-' she attracted his attention, wishing she'd missed off the `Thomson,' but too late now `-I asked at Reception about dinner-but apparently they've had a run on food and there isn't any left.' She lied nicely. `But I could swap you the bed for a cheese sandwich if you like?'
He studied her for long seconds. Then, `Done,' he said, and, suddenly awash with guilt, Yancie gained the impression that Thomson had intended she should have the bed anyway.
She looked away from him, finding the bedside phone of much interest. 'They'll probably have handed out all the spare blankets too,' she said. `It might be an idea to bring the car rug from the boot.'
'Anything else?'
Was he being sarcastic? She rather thought he was. `Don't forget to ring your mother!' she snapped, and went storming off to the bathroom, certain that was a hastily smothered laugh that followed her. No wonder she hated him.
She rinsed her face and, for something to do, cleaned her teeth as well, and was soon in love with him again, hate having small chance of staying around for long when she loved him so much.
She went and listened at the door; all seemed silent in the next room. She opened the door and went in. Thomson wasn't there. No doubt he'd gone to get the car rug, and possibly to drown his sorrows with the rest of the herd at the bar.
Yancie took the sandwiches from her bag, opened one packet and ate a sandwich, leaving a packet and a half for him. She looked at her watch, and could hardly believe that it was half past nine already. She'd better ring home.
The Feisty Fiancée Page 11