Fairytale Christmas: Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto / Her Holiday Prince Charming / A Princess by Christmas. Liz Fielding

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       Chapter Six

      ‘YOU’RE making a total idiot of yourself,’ Nathaniel said obligingly, ‘but it’s okay. You’re scared. I don’t know why and you don’t have to tell me. And I had the people following you escorted from the store.’

      ‘You did? But how did you know?’

      ‘They weren’t discreet.’ The muscles in his jaw tightened momentarily. ‘Of course it’s likely they were replaced but you should be safe enough now that the store is closed. They’ll have to accept that you aren’t inside and go away.’ He continued to examine the shelf. ‘Be glad to in this weather, I should think.’

      ‘I suppose.’

      ‘As for me, I was just doing my afternoon round of the store. It was pure chance that I happened to be following you up the stairs. What’s your favourite cereal?’ he asked, looking back at her.

      ‘Mr Hart…’

      ‘Nat. This one looks interesting,’ he said, taking a box from the shelf. ‘It has fruit pieces and something called clusters.’

      ‘Nathaniel…’

      ‘What are “clusters”?’

      ‘Not one of your five-a-day,’ she snapped, beginning to lose it. No. She’d lost it the minute he’d looked at her. He was looking at her now and her mouth dried. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve never bought fancy breakfast cereals in my life. I always have porridge.’

      ‘Always?’

      ‘It’s cheap, filling and good for you.’ And, even when you had a platinum credit card with your name on it, old habits died hard.

      ‘It also requires a saucepan and heat,’ he pointed out.

      ‘I was quite content with the crisps and the chocolate.’

      ‘You’ve eaten the chocolate,’ he reminded her, replacing the fancy cereal with its fruit and clusters on the shelf. ‘Porridge it is.’

      ‘No! I don’t want anything.’

      But he’d tossed a smart tartan box into the trolley.

      It bore about as much similarity to the jumbo pack of own-brand oats she bought from the supermarket as the Lucy B version of the cashmere dress she’d abandoned, and she was sure the packaging reflected the price.

      ‘And, just so there’s no misunderstanding,’ he continued, scanning the shelves as they moved on, ‘the only thing I was asking Frank to keep an eye open for was anyone else showing signs of the bug that laid Pam low.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘The last thing I need at this time of year is an epidemic. Staff passing it on to the children visiting the grotto.’

      She looked up at him, searched his face. He submitted patiently to her scrutiny, as if he understood what she was doing. He looked genuine but so had everyone else she’d met in the last few months. All those nice people who had been lying to her.

      She could no longer trust her own judgement.

      ‘Can I believe you?’

      ‘It doesn’t really matter what I say, does it? If I’ve called Henshawe to tell him where you are there is no escape. If I haven’t, then you’re safe. Only time can set your mind at rest.’

      ‘So,’ she asked, a wry smile pulling at her lip, ‘is that a yes or a no?’

      His only response was to reach for a bottle of maple syrup and add it to the trolley.

      ‘Suppose I insisted on leaving?’ she persisted. ‘Right this minute.’

      ‘I’d find you some warm clothes and then drive you wherever you wanted to go.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because, interesting though that outfit is, I imagine you’d rather leave wearing something that doesn’t look as if you’ve escaped from a pantomime.’

      Lucy discovered that she couldn’t speak.

      ‘Because you’re under my roof, Lucy. Staff, temp, customer, you’re СКАЧАТЬ