The True Love Travels Series Box Set

by Poppy Pennington-Smith

  Sam shook his head and laughed, the way he always had, with a twinge of arrogance. “I’m afraid not. I’m doing pretty well though.”

  Lottie smiled thinly, suddenly at a loss for what to say and feeling keenly aware of the paint remnants she hadn’t managed to dislodge from under her fingernails. This was how it had always been between her and Sam. He had never particularly liked her. In fact, he’d spent most of the three entire years they’d lived together giving Lottie the cold-shoulder if she so much as asked him to share a pizza with her when the rest of the house was out. It had become even worse in their second year, when Lottie had begun dating Sam’s best friend Richard. And while Lottie had ramped up her efforts to make Sam warm to her, he had made it very obvious that he didn’t approve of Richard’s choice.

  They were nearing the front of the line and, thankfully, the server behind the counter waved and asked for their order, interrupting the uncomfortable lapse in conversation.

  “I’ll get them,” Sam said, already reaching for his wallet. “What are you having?”

  “No thanks, I can get my own.”

  “I insist,” Sam replied, waving a wedge of cash at her.

  Reluctantly, Lottie returned her purse to her bag and asked for a skinny latte. She never usually had skinny anything and wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to request one, so when Sam handed it to her and stepped away from the cart she pocketed three sachets of sugar and a little wooden stirring stick.

  They stepped out of the queue and lingered for a moment. Sam cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. “So, where are you headed?”

  Lottie looked up at the arrivals board for the time. It was already six thirty. “I’m here to see Soph. I’m meeting her at seven – Leicester Square.”

  “Sophie? I didn’t know she lived in London.”

  “Pretty much since we graduated.”

  Sam tapped his fingers on his takeout cup and glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m meeting some colleagues in Covent Garden, so it looks like we both need the Piccadilly Line. Shall we…” He glanced in the direction of the Tube entrance.

  “Sure.”

  As they walked, Sam slowed his pace to match Lottie’s smaller strides and offered to carry her bag.

  “Thanks but I’m okay. I travel light.”

  When they reached the platform, Lottie stepped forward and peered over the edge at the tracks below.

  “You’re a little close, Lottie.”

  “It’s good luck to see a rat on the underground.”

  “Who told you that?” Sam was looking at her so quizzically that she felt her cheeks start to flush.

  “Soph did, it’s an old saying…”

  “I think she’s been winding you up.”

  “No, it’s–” Lottie didn’t get a chance to finish because the train hurtled into the station, the force of the air swallowing her words. Behind her, the crowd of waiting passengers surged forward. This was the bit she hated. She’d much preferred to have done it alone, because if it became a bit too much she could have ducked out and waited for the next one. But Sam was there and he was jostling her too and then she was crammed in.

  Sam, along with every other tall person, was holding on to the ceiling rail so that when the train jolted into motion he remained upright and flat-footed. But Lottie was caught in limbo. She was too short to reach the rail and too far away from anything solid to cling to. So, while everyone else handled the movement with grace, she found herself toppling forward and ending up tucked under Sam’s armpit.

  Sam looked down at her. He could have moved his arm and steadied her with it, but he didn’t. He just said, “What are your plans for the weekend?” and pretended he hadn’t noticed that her boobs were pressed up against his rib cage.

  Lottie suddenly felt hot and sweaty and a little bit dizzy. “Theatre tonight, then Sophie’s got something elaborate planned for tomorrow. She won’t tell me what it is. Which is a dangerous sign.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “It’ll be something extravagant.”

  Sam creased his brow as if he didn’t understand why extravagant was a problem.

  Lottie didn’t reply, but as they tumbled onto the platform and started to make their way out into the open, she surprised herself by saying, “I don’t really fit in – with Sophie’s work colleagues. They’re… different. Or maybe I’m the one who’s different.” She shrugged. “I don’t know…”

  Sam didn’t reply, but when they reached the top of the escalators and stopped to go their separate ways, he said, “It was nice to see you, Lottie.”

  “You too.” She didn’t ask him for his number so they could stay in touch. If he’d wanted to, he’d have opened up a Facebook account years ago. But to her surprise, just as he was about to walk away, Sam stopped and looked at her.

  “Lottie, fitting in is over-rated. You’re great as you are.”

  2

  Sophie was late. Lottie had been so worried about being on time that she ran the entire way from the Leicester Square tube stop to the theatre. When she arrived, her thick blonde hair had plastered itself to her forehead, her cheeks were flushed, and she was struggling to catch her breath. But Sophie was nowhere to be seen; she checked both inside and outside the foyer of the theatre, thoroughly irritating the waistcoated bag-checking man who had to keep letting her past. But Sophie wasn’t there.

  Normally, she’d have gone in and found their seats; she couldn’t bear being late for things and the thought that they might walk in after the show had started made her feel twitchy and a little nauseous. But Lottie didn’t have the tickets. Sophie had booked them. So, she waited.

  At seven twenty, Sophie came sauntering down the street as if there was simply no way the cast would dare to begin acting before she got there. Her shiny brown hair hung neatly over her shoulders and she swayed like she was on a catwalk. When she reached Lottie, she wrapped her in a hug that made her keenly aware of her own roundness.

  “So sorry I’m late,” she said, reaching for the tickets and clip-clopping up the steps. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, the hours I’ve worked this week. They’ve been putting me up in a hotel, you know?”

  “A hotel?” Sophie lived only a fifteen-minute tube journey from the city centre.

  “Mm. Well I was at the office until midnight three nights on the trot so…” she shrugged, as if staying in a pricey hotel was the obvious solution.

  As they sideways-shuffled past the already-seated theatre goers and slid into their seats, third row back from the stage, right in the middle, Lottie said, “You’ll never believe who I bumped into at Kings Cross…”

  Sophie raised an intrigued eyebrow at her and took out a compact so that she could reapply her lipstick.

  “Sam Burrows.” As Lottie said Sam’s name, she felt her cheeks flush. How could he still manage to make her feel awkward, even now?

  “Sam?” Sophie snapped the lid back onto her lipstick and looked at her blankly.

  “Sam… our roommate?” They’d lived together for three years. Sophie couldn’t possibly have forgotten him.

  “Oh gosh – that Sam! He’s still alive then.”

  “Soph,” Lottie chided, tutting slightly – the way her mother would have done.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Sorry but it was a bit odd wasn’t it? The way he just disappeared after graduation.”

  “I guess.”

  “Did Richard ever hear from him?”

  Lottie shuffled in her chair. The mention of Richard’s name still made her skin prickle – and not in a good way. “I don’t know.”

  Sophie shrugged, then bit her lip. “Did you swap numbers?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just thinking...”

  Lottie narrowed her eyes; it was always a bad sign when Soph started ‘just thinking’ but before she could ask, Thinking what? the lights began to dim and Sophie turned away from her to face the stage.

  Shaking off the irritatingly sharp image of Richard that had
lodged itself in her brain, Lottie nestled herself into her chair and reached for her best friend’s hand. Sophie squeezed it and smiled, performing one last check on her phone before turning it off and paying attention to the show.

  At the interval, Lottie attempted to join the queue for the toilet but it was taking forever and Sophie was buying them drinks, so she abandoned it, hoping her bladder would hold for another hour, and went to the bar instead. Sophie had sweet-talked a man and his wife into sharing their table and waved excitedly. “Lottie, over here.”

  “Champagne?”

  “Of course! It’s my birthday weekend.”

  Lottie smiled as they clinked glasses. “What’s on the agenda?”

  “What makes you think I’ve planned anything?”

  “You always plan something elaborate. It’s like it’s your mission to cram more and more into your birthday every year.”

  Sophie chuckled. “Well, this year I’ve excelled myself.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “Yes,” Sophie whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially and grinning. “Well, tomorrow morning we’re having brunch with the guys – of course – and then tomorrow evening…” she was fizzing with excitement but it was making Lottie feel nervous. “We’re going to a super-amazing, super-classy, super-exclusive party on the Thames.”

  “A river cruise?” Lottie was trying to make herself sound intrigued but was already feeling woozy at the thought of it. She did not do well with boats.

  “Even better – a yacht!”

  “A yacht?”

  “It doesn’t move or anything. But it’s like – a super yacht. The kind that usually moors in Monaco or the South of France.”

  “Monaco is in the South of France.”

  “It’s very exclusive.”

  “You said that.” The remark escaped her lips before she could stop it and Lottie kicked herself as she watched Sophie’s face crumpled into a disappointed frown.

  “I thought you’d be excited.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lottie squeezed her friend’s hand. “I am.”

  “Great. So, after brunch I’m thinking – shopping.”

  Lottie groaned and flicked her index finger against her palm. Quietly, she said, “Sophie, I’m not sure... I mean - I don’t really have the cash to...”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Sophie tutted, as if Lottie was a fool for even mentioning money. “It’s my treat.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Listen. It’s my birthday. I like spoiling you. And I guarantee that whatever outfits you’ve got crammed into that tiny bag won’t be suitable for tomorrow night. So, I insist.”

  Beside them, the couple whose table they were sharing exchanged an exaggerated glance and rolled their eyes at one another. Sophie hadn’t always had such an upper-class lilt to her voice but, the more years she spent working in the city, the plummier it became.

  “Alright. But nothing too outrageous. Ok?”

  Sophie grinned and wrinkled her nose. “Deal.”

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER

  After five minutes of intensive scrubbing, with an old toothbrush and some nail-polish remover, Lottie had managed to clean her fingers of the paint residue that had accompanied her from home. She’d only just finished and was staring proudly at her naked nails when Sophie presented her with a set of expensive stick-on talons that were far too long and far too fake-looking for Lottie’s taste. But she didn’t argue.

  She’d suffered through brunch with Sophie’s work colleagues, trawled around most of the designer stores on Oxford Street - ending up in Selfridges because they were more likely to sell a dress above a size zero - and allowed Sophie to spend in excess of four-hundred pounds on her. Not content with buying Lottie a black-cocktail dress, Sophie had added a new pair of heels, a matching clutch bag, a make-up session at an ‘exclusive’ – Sophie loved that word – salon, and a session with her hair stylist. The nails had been an oversight. But now they were fixed, and Sophie admired her handiwork as if Lottie was a mannequin she’d dressed for a shop window.

  “You look, stunning,” she breathed, clapping her hands and jigging up and down.

  Lottie tugged at the dress. She was wearing a pair of stomach-sucking in underpants that were causing an odd amount of static to build up between the dress’s lining and her thighs. She had to admit though, Sophie’s version of Lottie was much more attractive than the usual version. This Lottie was preened and plumped and had curves in the right places. Artist Lottie, who spent pretty much all day in overalls and a long, knitted cardigan, was frumpy and uncoordinated. Not the kind of look that would have endeared her to Sophie’s yacht-going friends.

  “So, who’s coming?” Lottie asked as they climbed into an Uber and headed towards London Bridge.

  “Oh gosh, too many to count. We could have shared the yacht with other parties, but I didn’t really want people we don’t know milling about so I just hired the entire thing.” Sophie paused and bit her lip as if she was trying to remember the guest list. “I mean, my PA dealt with most of it but I know there’s my colleagues from Bareham’s, the gang from Ingram & Co., some clients I need to sweeten up a bit, oh and Dale’s bringing some friends from Tanner’s – you remember Dale? I want you to chat with him actually. I think you’d really hit it off.”

  Sophie was rambling now and Lottie found herself starting to drift off, staring out of the window at the slow-moving London traffic and the drizzle catching in the headlights. It was going to be a long night.

  3

  “Dale!” Sophie waved her arms, strutting onto the super-yacht as if she owned it and air-kissing a short, thick-necked man in a tuxedo.

  “Sophie, darling.” Dale’s voice oozed in a way that made him sound like an exaggerated comedy version of himself as he air-kissed her back and then turned his eyes on Lottie. He was American but sounded like one of those almost-British Americans from an old Carey Grant movie. “This must be the gorgeous Charlotte.”

  No one called her Charlotte. Not even her parents. “Lottie,” she said, extending her hand and trying to remember how to keep her balance in the ridiculous shoes Sophie had bought her. Dale clasped her fingers tightly between his own and shook them enthusiastically.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you at last. I rather think Sophie’s been trying to set us up. She says you’re an artist? I just adore art.”

  Lottie glanced at Sophie, hoping that her eyes imparted, Please God don’t leave me with this guy. Or, at the very least, What are you doing to me Soph? But Sophie seemed utterly oblivious.

  “Great,” she said, patting Lottie’s arm. “I’ll leave you two to chat for a bit while I circulate. I need to find my PA. She must be around here somewhere.”

  And then she was gone, disappearing into the throng of black-tie wearing yacht-goers and leaving Lottie cornered.

  Lottie turned to Dale and smiled thinly. “So you like art?”

  “Adore it,” Dale replied, nodding.

  “Any art in particular?” She was trying to keep the impatience from her voice but wasn’t sure she was doing a very good job.

  Dale chuckled, then snorted, and mumbled something about Van Gogh. “And you, Charlotte, what kind of artist are you?”

  “I’m an illustrator.”

  “Oh… that’s…” Dale frowned as if he wasn’t really sure what that was.

  “I illustrate picture books for children.” Lottie folded her arms across her chest then, aware it was making her dress expose a little too much cleavage, unfolded them and fiddled nervously with her hair. The way it had been curled was making her scalp feel hot and she was dying for a drink. “Dale, do you know where the bar is?”

  Dale’s eyes lit up, clearly relieved to have been given some purpose. “I’ll fetch us a drink. You wait there.”

  He didn’t ask what she wanted but, at this point, Lottie would inhale pretty much anything with even a drop of alcohol in it. So she watched him weave into the crowd and then leaned back against
the smooth, cool wall behind her.

  “Twice in two days, are you following me?”

  Lottie looked up, immediately un-leaning herself and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sam… what are you doing here? Did Sophie invite you?” She thought back to Sophie’s comment at the theatre: Did you swap numbers? She knew she was up to something.

  Sam frowned. “This is Sophie’s party?”

  Lottie shrugged, looking around at their luxurious surroundings. “I told you she always has extravagant things planned when I visit.”

  “I had no idea,” mused Sam. “My colleague Dan invited me. It’s not really my scene but…”

  “Charlotte!” Dale’s drawling tones interrupted them. “I’m sorry it took so long. The queue was horrendous. I really must tell Sophie to have a word with her PA. It’s a very rudimentary error – not making sure there are suitable members of staff to…” Dale trailed off, suddenly noticing Sam and broadening his shoulders as he took in his six-foot-five frame. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Sam.”

  Dale raised an eyebrow at Sam’s curt response and handed Lottie a glass of champagne.

  “Sam, Sophie and I were roommates at Durham. The whole three years. We go way back,” Lottie said, patting Sam on the arm and moving a little closer to him and a little further away from Dale.

  Dale performed a half-blink, half-squint and reluctantly shook Sam’s hand. “Ah. I see. Well, very nice to meet you, sir.”

  Sam shook back, but Lottie was sure she noticed him stepping a little closer and making himself a little taller.

  “Dale,” she said, as sweetly as she could manage. “I’m so sorry but… I don’t drink champagne. If you’d asked…”

  Dale looked at the champagne glass, then at Sam, then at Lottie, clearly not wanting to leave them alone. “Oh, I, of course. I’m so sorry Charlotte.” He took the glass back, not sure what to do.