Page 103 of A Class Act

‘I don’t know the area, Robyn,’ Fabian said without a smile. ‘Just point me in the direction of a park or a pub or… or somewhere we can sit and talk.’

‘There’s the one pub in Beddingfield,’ I said. ‘Mind you, you’ll have to be on your guard: the barmaid there ran off with Jess’s husband last time he was in there.’

‘Jess?’

‘My sister.’

‘Of course.’

Of course?

Fabian drove too quickly down the narrow winding lanes that led from Little Micklethwaite across to the rather more upmarket village of Beddingfield, following my instructions but saying nothing else. We pulled up outside The Green Dragon, which was already decked out in its seasonal festive best.

‘Pretty pub,’ Fabian said as he got out and looked round.

‘Pretty village too,’ I said. ‘Yorkshire isn’t all mill chimneys andeeh bah gum, you know.’

‘I don’t think I ever thought it was.’

‘Not a patch on Marlow, of course.’

‘You’ll have to show me round some time and let me make that judgement.’ He sighed but didn’t smile. ‘I need a beer. What’ll you have?’

‘Wine gives me a headache at lunchtime, but I’ll have one anyway,’ I said, moving to the back of the pub where most of the tables were free. I sat and watched as Fabian smiled and chatted to the girl behind the bar – not Jill who’d been at school with Jess and who had run off with Dean – loving the way his dark hair curled onto the collar of his denim shirt beneath the navy sweater. I’d never stopped loving this man. I might have tried, tried hard to move on by having a fling with Mason, but sitting here, unable to take my gaze off Fabian’s back, feasting my eyes on his backside in the faded jeans, I knew it had been to no avail. And if he was just here to bring back the cardigan I’d left in his flat, before zooming off back down the M1, at least I could refill my senses with enough of him to sustain me through his absence over the coming months.

‘Are you here to return my cardigan?’ I asked as he sat opposite, taking a long drink from his glass of Budweiser.

‘Your cardigan? What cardigan?’ Fabian pulled a face.

Right, not my cardigan, then.

‘Fabian, why are you here?’

‘I wanted to see you. To explain.’

I sipped at my wine, wanting to cry as I remembered that final message he’d texted telling me not to get in touch ever again.

‘You just couldn’t hack the fact that I was just doing my job, could you?’ Fabian said crossly after a long silence. ‘The job I’d spent years being trained to do.’ He shook his head. ‘Running back home when you found out about the Henderson-Smith case. When I needed you most.’

‘There wasn’t much running involved with my damaged knee.’ I glared at Fabian. ‘And, you never actually told me you were defending him.’

‘I knew what your reaction would be.’

‘You never told me!’ I insisted. ‘I had to find out from that brother of yours.’

‘My half-brother.’

‘Does it make a difference?’

‘Andyounever told me about your grandfather.’ Fabian was equally angry.

‘Do you blame me?’

‘Yes, I do blame you.’

‘Your Marlow set would havelovedknowing that little nugget of information.’

‘We’ve all got something in our families we’re not proud of.’

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