Weddings Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ the subject, uncertain of her reaction. Self-preservation had kept his mouth shut, even when he’d wanted to pour out his heart and soul.

      He lifted one brow, to let her know that he was on to her. ‘Is that it? End of interrogation?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. And her acceptance, reluctant though it was, left him oddly disappointed. He wanted her to demand answers, insist on them. But why would she? She had another life all planned out. One that didn’t include him.

      No, Willow thought, chasing a prawn about the plate. He’d told her nothing. But maybe it was too late to fill in the gaps. They should have been doing that weeks ago, except that when they were together he hadn’t wanted to tell her.

      Now they were apart she was damned if she was going to betray her regrets by asking questions he had no intention of answering.

      ‘I am sorry, Mike…’ she made one of those helpless little gestures that she so loathed in other people ‘…about messing up your takeover of the company. Will your father still be prepared to go ahead and transfer the paper to you?’

      ‘I’m afraid so. Armstrong Publications is more important than a little public embarrassment. He’ll need a week or two to convince himself that you were to blame for what happened today before he’ll admit it, but it shouldn’t take longer than that. He’s good at deluding himself.’

      ‘Don’t be cruel! He loves you.’ Then she said, ‘A week or two? That’s all it’ll take?’

      ‘He has an infinite capacity for self-deception.’ Maybe it was hereditary. He’d followed Willow in the belief that it was possible to win her back. He wasn’t doing much of a job, probably because he understood so well what was driving her. All his life people had wanted him to do what they wanted. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to her. If she really wanted London, the Globe, then she must have it. He wanted his life in Maybridge. Somehow he had to find a way to fit them into a life they could share. ‘Do you want some more of this, or shall I finish it?’

      About to apologise again, try and make him see why she hadn’t been able to go through with the wedding, Willow stopped herself. He was as much to blame as she was for his fall from grace. He’d asked her to marry him. She hadn’t twisted his arm. Her only mistake had been to say yes. Everyone knew you shouldn’t say yes straight away—not that it would have made any difference. If she’d thought about it for a second or a year, her answer would still have been the same.

      ‘Willow?’

      ‘What? Oh, no, go ahead. Finish it all. I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. In fact, I think I’ll take a shower and then try and get some sleep.’

      ‘Will you be all right up there on your own?’

      Mistrusting the concerned note in his voice, still sure that he was would try and move the ‘just good friends’ goal posts a little—this was the jilting man, after all, who’d suggested they could still go on honeymoon—she rounded on him, determined to put him right about that. But he looked so serious that she stopped pushing the food trays back into the carrier bag.

      ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

      ‘No reason.’ Then he added, ‘Just give a shout if you need me to evict that spider from the shower room.’

      She swallowed. ‘Spider?’

      ‘A big black one with hairy legs. I noticed it in the girls’ showers when we did that whistle-stop tour.’

      ‘Then I’ll use the boys’.’

      ‘Willow—’

      ‘And your room is the one at the far end.’ Just in case he had any lingering hope that she might be prepared to share hers.

      ‘Willow—’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Nothing, sweetheart.’ His slow smile was an essay in the art of teasing. ‘I’ll lock up.’

      She swept up the stairs—or she would have if she hadn’t been wearing jeans and a T-shirt stiff with paint—convinced she could hear him laughing. Let him laugh, she was damned if she would yell for help. She could cope with a spider. If she had to.

      But she bypassed the girls’ shower room and when cautious inspection revealed that the boys’ was a spider-free zone, she turned on the water in the first stall, adjusting the temperature. She’d stripped down to her underwear when she realised she had a bigger problem than spiders.

      No soap. And no towel.

      She’d thrown a change of clothes into her bag thinking… No, that was an exaggeration. She hadn’t been thinking. She hadn’t been thinking for weeks.

      She fetched a clean T-shirt from her bag and pulled it over her bra, then went to the top of the stairs. ‘Mike!’ His face appeared below her. ‘Could you throw up that bar of soap on the kitchen sink.’

      He didn’t throw it, he brought it up. ‘It’s a bit basic,’ he said, sniffing at it.

      ‘Basic is fine. I need something capable of shifting paint.’ Then she asked, ‘I don’t suppose you thought to bring a towel with you, did you?’

      ‘Sorry, I’m a man on the run. I didn’t get beyond a razor and a change of clothes. To be honest, I envisaged staying in an hotel tonight.’

      ‘You could try the pub. They do rooms.’

      ‘Sounds inviting. What about you?’

      ‘I’m happy where I am…’

      ‘In that case I’ll dry myself with a spare T-shirt.’ He grinned. ‘You can share if you like.’

      ‘Thanks, but I’ve got my own.’

      ‘Mine’s bigger.’

      ‘Don’t brag, Mike.’ She took the soap from him. Then she demanded, ‘What are you doing?’ as he peeled off his T-shirt, unhooked his belt. He dropped his trousers, kicked them off and stepped into the end stall, so that only his head and shoulders were visible. ‘Mike, you can’t do this!’

      His boxers joined the rest of his clothes on the floor. ‘When you use the boys’ room, honey, you have to be prepared to share.’ And he turned on the water. ‘Take your pick. Spiders or me.’

      She knew she was being silly. What difference did a day make? A hell of a lot. ‘Mike, this is impossible. You jilted me.’

      ‘The words “pot” and “kettle” spring to mind, but I’m not whining. Nobody says you have to look.’

      ‘I’m not looking!’ She stamped but, shoeless, she might as well not have bothered.

      ‘Pass the soap, will you?’ He extended his hand and she passed it to him. ‘And next time you stamp your foot, watch that beetle. He hasn’t done anything to you.’

      ‘Beetle? You expect me to fall for that?’ Then something with scratchy legs ran over her foot and she screamed and leapt in the shower stall with him. ‘Where did that come from?’

      ‘In СКАЧАТЬ