by Fiona Harper
Englishcrumpet: No, I mean…do I act too young?
Kangagirl: You’re fun, Grace! Don’t change that.
Sanfrandani: You know we love you just the way you are.
How did she explain this? It wasn’t about being fun. It went deeper than that—in ways she didn’t really understand. In lieu of precise thinking, she did the best she could:
Englishcrumpet: I know this sounds weird, but I think it’s time for me to come of age.
Noah tried to doze in his first-class seat, but there was too much turbulence and, after five minutes of nodding off then being jolted awake, he gave up and asked a flight attendant for a coffee. When it arrived he wished he hadn’t bothered. It just made him homesick for cobbled streets and wild flowers in enamel jugs.
It made him think about Grace.
He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. Especially when he was away from home. He missed going into The Coffee Bean, missed the waft of butter and cinnamon and ground coffee as he opened the glazed front door and heard the bell jangle.
He and Grace had got into a routine when he wasn’t travelling. He would turn up at the café around mid-morning, after he’d made a dent in his word count goal for the day. It was a great incentive. Suddenly, he was twice as prolific as he had previously been. Grace would just bring him an espresso and whatever cake or muffin she thought he might enjoy. They were always outstanding. He had no doubts that she could have worked at any of the top restaurants in London if she’d finished training.
While he privately lamented her missed opportunities, he also applauded her choices. She’d sacrificed all of that to bring up her daughter. There were many parents who just didn’t get that. The more he knew Grace, the more he was certain his hunch about her was right. She was an amazing woman, possessing all the qualities he could want in a wife. And if he could gift-wrap a patisserie for her and deliver it to her doorstep, he would. She deserved it.
But he was just a friend. And friends didn’t do that kind of thing.
He took another sip of the aeroplane coffee, grimaced and set it to one side. Might as well take his mind off the rest of the journey by sorting out chapter seventeen. Somehow it had gone off course, and the pace had slowed to zero. He opened up his laptop and took a quick look at his emails before he started working. A few had arrived while he’d been sitting in the terminal in Stuttgart and he hadn’t had a chance to read them yet.
There was one from Grace, wishing him a nice time in Germany and recounting a funny Coffee Bean anecdote. He decided in that moment that, when he saw her next, he was going to pull her to one side and tell her who he really was. He trusted her completely. And she definitely wasn’t out to marry him for his money. She wasn’t out to marry him at all. What a pity.
The next email was a reminder from his agent.
Oh, hell. He’d forgotten all about that.
Next week was the British Book Awards and he’d get way too much stick if he didn’t put in an appearance, especially as his latest cold war story had been shortlisted for Best Thriller. Too much of a PR opportunity for his publishers not to nag him senseless about it.
He’d been trawling Blinddatebrides.com for a suitable ‘date-buddy’, but he’d been so busy that he hadn’t actually got past the looking-at-profiles stage. Which meant another ceremony which he would have to treat like a military operation if he was going to keep one step ahead of the glamour vixens. It was all so very tiring.
Could he schedule a date this week before the ceremony? And wasn’t it a bit fast to ask someone he’d only just met to come with him? When he was his alter ego, Noah Smith, women were pleasant and interested, but they were hardly stalker material. What if, when he revealed his secret in a big ta-dah moment, his date turned all bunny-boiler on him? A week just wasn’t long enough to test the waters.
His inner Rottweiler whined and barked.
Yes, yes, there was Grace. But she didn’t want a relationship. She just wanted…
He didn’t need a wife for next Thursday. He just needed a date. Someone to stand by his side, charm the socks off everyone and deflect the Mrs Frost wannabes.
Grace would be perfect. But would she do it? If he asked her nicely?
During her break, Grace took a journey next door to the book shop. She waved at the man behind the counter, who wore a home-knitted waistcoat every day of the year, even on a glorious April day like today.
‘Morning, Martin. How are things going?’
Martin shook his head. ‘What with all the posh shops opening up round here, the landlord wants to raise the rent. It’s not right—all these newcomers pricing the locals out of business. I was only just surviving competing with all those online booksellers as it was.’
‘Will you fight it?’
The old man sighed. ‘No point. The lease is up for renewal next month and I don’t have the cash for all the solicitor’s fees. If my son had wanted to take it on, I’d think about it, but it’s only me now and my wife’ll kill me if I don’t retire in two years’ time.’
A defiant look crossed Grace’s face. ‘Well, I’m spending all my book money here until you go, and I’m going to tell everyone who comes into the coffee shop to do the same. We’ll give you a good send-off and a wodge of money for your retirement.’
Martin went a little red and pretended to attend to a stray thread in his waistcoat. ‘Thanks, love. Now, what were you looking for?’
‘Military history,’ said Grace, feeling a little flutter in her tummy as the words left her mouth.
Now, where would Grace be on a fine morning like this, if she wasn’t in The Coffee Bean? Noah peered through the window. Caz waved madly at him and motioned for him to come in.
She was a character in her own right, that one. Today, she was dressed head to foot in white and rhinestones, from her bejewelled flip-flops to her floaty skirt and the scarf in her hair. If she stepped outside into the sunshine, she was likely to blind someone.
He opened the door and wandered up to the counter, eyeing up the display case. There was a new pink thing in there, with raspberries and white chocolate, and he was itching to taste it. Who cared that he’d had to double the length of his morning runs to make sure his trousers didn’t get too tight?
‘She’s just popped next door,’ Caz said, not even pretending to beat around the bush.
Caz knew. Noah knew she knew. They both smiled at each other.
‘Fine. Could I have a coffee and some of that raspberry thing while I’m waiting?’
Caz just winked at him.
Martin’s military section was completely out of proportion to the size of his shop, Grace thought as she ran her index finger along the spines on yet another shelf. Mind you, he looked the sort to enjoy making up intricate model aircraft kits, so perhaps it was a passion.
She couldn’t find a Noah Smith anywhere. But this was a little book shop on a small suburban high street. Perhaps she’d have to go further afield. Perhaps she’d have to use the Internet to find his titles, even if she ordered the actual book from Martin.
Two women walked into the shop as she emerged from behind the shelves and headed for Martin’s counter.
‘Have you got number four in the Frozen Spies series?’ one asked. ‘The latest is in the window, but my son has just got into them and wants to read them in order.’
‘Let me go and look, madam,’ Martin said and scurried off.
Madam. So quaint. And Grace would lay money on the fact that whatever franchise bought this little shop wouldn’t have staff that said anything but, Huh?
‘Did you see him on telly the other week—on that Friday night chat show?’ the second woman said while she rummaged in her handbag for something.
‘Who?’
‘The author of Frozen Spies.’ She nudged her friend and did a wink that didn’t quite work. ‘Wouldn’t mind a little bit of undercover action with him myself, if you know what I mean.’
Grace stifled a smile as Martin returned with a book and
placed it on the counter. ‘Here we go! Wasteland. Frozen Spies number four.’
The book-buying woman picked it up and checked out the photo on the back as Martin rang it into the cash register—nothing so newfangled as a bar code scanner in this shop, thank you very much.
‘Ooh, yes,’ she said, winking at her friend. ‘I see what you mean! Come to Mama!’
And the pair of them collapsed into giggles like a pair of fifteen-year-olds. Unfortunately, Martin’s prehistoric till was playing up and it looked as if Grace would have a long wait if she wanted to quiz him about military books. She waved at him over the top of the giggling duo’s heads and mouthed, ‘I’ll be back later.’
With a scone, probably. Martin looked as if he could do with a little cheering up.
Out of curiosity, she looked for the book the woman had been talking about as she walked past the window. There was a large display of a dramatic-looking hardback, the jacket in shades of silver and blue and grey.
Silent Tundra by Noah Frost.
Grace ran back into the shop and dived into the window display.
Noah choked on the raspberry thing when he saw Grace striding into The Coffee Bean with his latest book clasped in her hand. She spotted him sitting in his usual spot and he could have sworn he’d seen a wave of static electricity run up her body and leave her hair standing just a little on end.
Part of him was truly worried about what she was going to say; part of him was triumphant at this totally unique reaction to his identity.
‘Oh! Mr Smith. So lovely to see you!’
He tried to swallow the mouthful of pink raspberry mousse stuff and just made himself cough again. Grace whacked him on the back. With the book. He really should try and write thinner ones.
He swallowed hard and managed to clear his mouth of food. His voice came out hoarse and raspy. ‘Grace! I can explain…’
‘I bet you can! But I don’t want any more of your lies.’
‘Grace—’ the voice was low and authorative, and coming from the woman in white with her hands on her hips ‘—you are creating a scene in my coffee shop.’
Grace shut her mouth and looked around. Noah counted at least twenty pairs of eyes staring at them. Not even a teaspoon clinked.
‘Sorry, Caz.’
‘Now, go and have a walk and calm down. Listen to what the man has to say.’
‘I—’
‘Go,’ Caz said and nodded at the door.
Grace stalked out of the shop with the book tucked under her folded arms. Noah followed her. She waved his book at him. ‘I have to give this back to Martin. I didn’t pay for it.’
He just nodded and caught up with her. He could wait a few minutes if he got the chance to explain.
The book shop owner was standing in his doorway, frown lines furrowing his forehead. Noah nodded at him as Grace swept past him and climbed into the shop window. He, the shop owner and two customers watched in silence as she rebuilt a pyramid of books.
‘Oh, my God, it’s you! It’s him, Julie!’
Noah closed his eyes and waited for the ground to open. Of all the times…
‘Will you sign my book for me?’
Grace emerged from the window display and stood, arms folded across her chest next to the door. ‘Yes, Noah. Why don’t you sign the lady’s book for her?’
He couldn’t really do anything else, could he? The shop owner hurried round the other side of the counter and produced a pen. Noah took it from him and scribbled his standard best-wishes-hope-you-enjoy-the-book thing.
‘Can you put “To Julie, with love”?’
Noah compromised and put “To Julie”.
‘I haven’t got a book,’ the other woman said. ‘Could you sign something else for me?’ She hunted around in her handbag as Noah handed Julie her signed copy.
‘Aren’t you tall,’ Julie said, shuffling a little closer. ‘Were you really a spy?’
‘No,’ Noah said, resisting the urge to clench his teeth. ‘I make it up. It’s fiction.’
‘I bet no one’s told you this before, but I reckon you’d make a fabulous James Bond.’
Actually, he’d heard that line so many times he couldn’t count. Next she’d be telling him he looked like—
‘You remind me a bit of Pierce Brosnan,’ the other women chimed in.
Noah looked over at Grace, whom he expected was billowing smoke by now. She was just standing there, her arms by her sides, her quick eyes taking the whole situation in. That was it. He was never going to get any further with her now.
‘I can’t find a bit of paper,’ Julie’s friend said with a giggle. ‘How about this?’
And she leaned forward and parted her blouse to reveal an expanse of crêpey décolletage. Noah dropped the pen. When he stood up, Grace handed him one of his hardbacks that she’d nabbed from the window display. Again.
‘How about I just sign this one for you?’ he said quickly and started writing before she had a chance to disagree.
‘Don’t worry, Martin,’ Grace whispered to the man behind the counter. ‘He’s paying. Full whack too. None of this ‘special offer’ nonsense.’
Martin nodded and busied himself with a pot of rubber bands.
The two women left in a flurry of good wishes and ‘hope to bump into you again’s. Noah turned to look at Grace.
‘Okay,’ she said, her face unusually expressionless. ‘I get it.’
Blinddatebrides.com is running 12 chat rooms, 27 private IM conferences, and 5212 members are online.
Englishcrumpet: You’ll never believe what I’ve got to tell you about Noah! You know I said he was a writer?
Sanfrandani: Yes.
Englishcrumpet: Well, it turns out he’s rather famous.
Sanfrandani: I knew it!
Englishcrumpet: Couldn’t you have told me?
Sanfrandani: I wasn’t sure. I just suspected.
Kangagirl: Hey, girls? Care to fill me in. I don’t know anything about anything, it seems.
Englishcrumpet: Have you heard of Noah Frost?
Kangagirl: !!!!!!!!!!
Kangagirl: Really? That’s him?
Sanfrandani: He’s hot.
Englishcrumpet: Hands off, Dani!
Kangagirl: Thought you were just good friends, Grace.
Englishcrumpet: Sort of. We are. It’s just…Oh, this is getting so complicated!
Sanfrandani: That’s what we’re here for, to help you out.
Kangagirl: Fill us in and we’ll provide virtual hugs and real sympathy.
Englishcrumpet: He’s got a big event to go to and he’s asked me to go with him.
Kangagirl: I knew you two were more than JGF!
Englishcrumpet: JGF?
Kangagirl: Just Good Friends! You’re always mentioning him.
Englishcrumpet: No, I’m not. And, anyway, I see him almost every day. It’s not surprising his name pops into the conversation. And he was the very reason I found you two in the first place…
Sanfrandani: It’s probably more accurate to say that you found us because of Daisy’s prank.
Englishcrumpet: Same thing.
Kangagirl: Not exactly…
Sanfrandani: How is Daisy, anyway? Where is she now?
Englishcrumpet: I had an email from her yesterday. She’s in Athens and doing fine. She had this really funny story about a goat and a moped…
Kangagirl: Don’t think you’re getting away without spilling the beans on your date with Noah! Hunky authors first, goats second!
Englishcrumpet: Honestly, Marissa! Are you this bossy in real life? Poor Rick!
Sanfrandani: Stop evading the issue, Grace. Are you saying that Blinddatebrides.com really did make a good match with you and Noah after all?
Englishcrumpet: We’re just date-buddies. That’s all.
Kangagirl: Deep down, I don’t think you want to love again.
Englishcrumpet: Maybe you’re right. I used to think I couldn’t love anyone the way that I loved Rob. And part of me s
till thinks that’s true.
Sanfrandani: That’s sad, Grace.
Kangagirl: But very sweet.
Englishcrumpet: But recently I’ve been thinking that I could find a nice man to share things with, but it’ll be different. It won’t be the same all-consuming thing I felt for Rob. It’ll be gentler, calmer.
Sanfrandani: Sounds like you mean safer.
Englishcrumpet: Is love ever safe?
Kangagirl: Are you sure you can’t find this gentler, safer love with Noah?
Sanfrandani: Grace?
Englishcrumpet: Stop already with the matchmaking! I’m going before you both attempt to brainwash me. Catch you later!
Kangagirl: Have a great date! Take care!
Sanfrandani: Bye!
Englishcrumpet has left the conversation.
Kangagirl: Hey, Dani? Do you think I’m barking up the wrong tree here? About Grace and Noah?
Sanfrandani: Don’t know, Marissa. You’re right—she does mention him a lot.
Kangagirl: Guess we’ll just have to wait and see!
Sanfrandani: LOL. You’re incorrigible, Miss Bride-to-be!
Sanfrandani: And wipe that goofy smile off your face.
Kangagirl: Busted! How did you know?
CHAPTER FIVE
GRACE let out a shaky breath as the car Noah had ordered for them drew up outside the Regent Palace, one of London’s swankiest hotels. She turned to Noah.
‘Are you sure about this? About me?’
He gave her a look that made her insides melt. ‘Of course I’m sure.’
Right. Okay, then. Part of her had been hoping he’d slap his forehead and mutter, What was I thinking? She was just going to have to go through with it now.
‘Grace?’
‘Mm-hmm?’
‘Relax. You look stunning.’
She gave him the tiniest of smiles. She’d dipped into her savings and bought a cocktail dress that she’d fallen in love with when walking past one of the exclusive little boutiques that had opened up in the High Street in the last couple of years. The fabric was the most amazing silver-grey silk and the dress had a fifties feel about it, with its wide, scooping Audrey Hepburn neck and a soft, full chiffon skirt. It was looking a little creased after the car journey and she smoothed the ridges away with her palms.