Page 72 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
And before I could even answer, Matthew was asleep, his breathing a gentle rhythm, accompanied by the movement of the trees in the breeze. I, however, was nowhere near to falling asleep. And the longer I lay there, the worse it got. My body felt awake and alert and taut; I was excruciatingly aware ofhisbody, so close, yet oceans away. I started to feel a bit annoyed with him. He did this. Bringing me here. Turning me on. Going to sleep. The longer I lay there, the crosser I felt. How did he always screw me over? Now, instead of enjoying being here, I was focused on what I didn’t have, what I couldn’t have.
I stared at the skies and then at his face, bathed in the silver glow of the reclining Capricorn moon; both looked touchable in this light, but neither was in my reach.
Having spent most of the night not sleeping, predictably I had to be woken up by Matthew when it was time to leave. When we arrived at the helicopter, we were greeted with steaming coffee by a properly hot (and diminutive) pilot, and despite being knackered, I stayed awake for the whole journey, determined not to waste a second of travelling the way the rich and famous do. Imagine if that were my daily commute:
What temperature would you like your helicopter cabin set at, Ms Carver, and can I offer you a coffee?
Yes, you flipping-well can, Captain Helicopter. And maybe pilot with your shirt off, today.
Right away, ma’am.
Matthew worked for some of the journey, his brow furrowed as he concentrated, but when I pointed out it was actually Sunday morning, he did play I-spy over London. For a bit. Until someone called him again. I guess that’s the problem with being in a line of work where you travel by helicopter: people keep expecting you to do work even whilst you’re on said helicopter. Matthew seemed preoccupied and told me sometimes the worst part of his work was making big decisions. I assumed he was talking about the other part of his business, rather than hotel napkins, or cocktail menu choices. A town car – similarly deluxe to the one that brought us – was waiting to collect us in Ham; and as the houses rapidly passedus by, I began to long for a traffic jam or two, just to prolong the experience.
‘What’s up, Alice?’ said Matthew, without taking his attention from his phone.
‘Nothing! Why do you think there would be?’
He looked up then, raised his eyebrows at me and waited.
‘Okay,’ I admitted. ‘I’m kind of not ready for this to be over.’
I knew that would make the grin appear. ‘Is that right? What are you going to miss most: my fantastic body, or my privilege of being chauffeured around?’
He is possibly the most irritating man I’ve ever met. But you can’t miss what you’ve never had. ‘The chauffeuring thing,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to take the tube to work tomorrow.’
I saw his grin get wider. ‘But then, at the end of the tube journey, you get the reward of seeing your lecherous, hirsute love interest.’
‘What makes you think he’s lecherous? And he’s actually very attractive. FYI.’
‘He’s your boss. He shouldn’t go there.’
‘Okay.’ I folded my arms. ‘Well,somepeople find me attractive. FYI.’
‘Stop saying FYI. And I’m not saying you’re unattractive. I’m saying he shouldn’t be abusing his position of power.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s not. I want it.’
‘Sure you do,’ said Matthew, patronisingly. ‘It makes complete sense that a beautiful woman like you would want old hairy knuckles. With any luck, he’ll have a hairy back too. You’ll be able to cling on to it in bed… ’
Despite trying to stay cross, I could feel my mouth twitching into a smile. Matthew Lloyd just called me beautiful.
‘Do you often do this kind of thing?’ I asked.
‘What? Discuss other men’s body hair?’
‘Take, um… people… off to treehouses on a Saturday night.’
Matthew scratched his jaw. ‘Er, no. Not often.’
I turned and looked out of the window in case my face looked too pleased.
Matthew’s phone buzzed. The screen was reflected in the blacked-out glass. Ebba. He answered. I shamelessly listened to his side of the conversation, which went:
Hey.
No, I had no signal.
Dartmoor.
