Page 10 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
I opened my mouth to protest.
“Don’t tell me you weren’t, Scarlett, because I know that look on your face. God knows I’ve seen it often enough.”
I folded my arms. But I couldn’t deny what he was saying. And OK, yes, I may be a bit of a daydreamer—but I wasn’t a liar.
“It’s not so bad when you’re a bit bored; I suppose we all have our own ways of passing the time when life becomes dull, and trying to live your life like a movie is certainly different. It’s when it starts to encroach on our lives together that I have a problem with it.”
“I have no idea what you mean, David,” I said haughtily. Even though I had a feeling I knewexactlywhat he meant. I turnedaway from him and began to clatter mugs and spoons about on the kitchen worktop in an effort to deflect the conversation.
But David wasn’t going to be so easily distracted by a mug of hot chocolate tonight. “So then,” he continued, “how many times do we watch a movie together and you sit there comparing me to the hero, Scarlett, hmm? I can’t be Tom Cruise or Daniel Craig or whoever else it is that night. I’m me, David, not some superhero in tights.”
It was a good job I wasn’t facing him just then because I almost laughed out loud at the image of David prancing about in tights. Luckily I managed to suppress my laughter, and as I turned back to reply to his accusations, another thought occurred to me. If David knew me well at all, he should have known that those were the two least likely Hollywood actors I’d have been comparing him to; they were hardly my favorites.
“David, I can honestly say I’ve never wanted you to wear tights,” I managed to say with a straight face. “And yes, maybe I have compared you to the odd film star on occasion, but that’s not a crime, is it? I bet most women do it when they’re watching a movie.”
“When they’re watching the movie, yes, but not later that day when their man is washing up or shaving or…well, do I have to spell it out for you?”
I swallowed hard. He knew about that?
“So,” I said, desperately grasping at something to change the subject with and to use as ammunition. This argument was becoming decidedly one-sided. The boiling kettle not only made me jump, but also helped me with my task. “How do you think it is for me living in this…this skip of a house?”
David looked blank.
“Well, I’ll tell you. It’s like living in a permanent episode ofDIYSOS, without the hope that a bunch of purple-shirted experts are going to come along and rescue me from this Homebase hell.”
David looked completely shocked at my outburst.
“But I thought you liked our house project?” he asked in a small voice, as though I had just come along and knocked down all his sandcastles. “I thought youlikedus doing up the house together?”
“No,youlike doing it, David. You’re the one who likes the DIY and makeover programs, not me. I’d just have got someone in to do it all up for us if I’d had my way.”
“But that would have cost a fortune. We’re saving ourselves so much money doing it this way.”
“Are we?” I asked, looking round me. “Take that wall for instance. How many times have you re-tiled it now because it keeps going wrong and the tiles aren’t on straight or the grouting’s not right? We’ve had to buy at least three new lots of tiles that I know of. We might as well have just paid someone to do it right the first time.”
“But I haven’t done tiling before,” David said, smoothing his hand over the tiles. “It isn’t easy to get right the first time.”
“All the more reason to get an expert in then.”
“But they charge so much, Scarlett. It’s just money down the drain.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, David, for someone who has money, you’re so tight with it!”
“I am not tight. I’m just careful. That is one of the first rules of good business, Scarlett. Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves. You should take note of that and then maybe one day your little business might be as big as ours.”
Whether he’d meant to or not, with that one comment he’d now got me completely riled.
“No, David, you are not justcareful.Youare the Ian Beale of the cinema industry. What about our holiday last year?”
“Yes, and what about it? We had one, didn’t we? After I’d been made to sit through yet another of yourgirliefilms.” David folded his arms and looked at me meaningfully as if he’d scored yet another point.
“David, we’d been watchingThelma& Louise, and I seem to remember you promised me a road trip?”
David nodded. “Yes—and?”
“And we ended up taking a dilapidated motor home around the Peak District for a week.”
“I got a good deal from this chap I know.”
