Page 19 of A Colourful Country Escape
By some fluke she’d managed to catch Ben off-guard, otherwise he surely wouldn’t have agreed to it. As a small concession she was gathering non-disgusting plates, as all of hers were chipped and unmatching.
‘Your camper van?’ Mrs Moon raised an eyebrow. ‘That’ll be cosy, dear.’
‘No, it really won’t.’ The spotty orange upholstery was almost threadbare, and Ben didn’t seem like a man who appreciated bunting. Or indeed much.
‘Ooh, what’s that pong? Is something off in those sweaty bags of yours? The bin’s over there.’ Mrs Moon pointed a helpful finger.
Lexie laughed. ‘It’s Thai food; it’s meant to smell like that. Does Ben eat Thai?’
Mrs Moon looked at her strangely.‘Food from Thailand? Hmm. I’m surely it’s lovely if you say so, dearie. But do you know Ben? He’s about so high, dark hair, usually wears a suit.’ The elderly housekeeper’s puzzled look lingered.
Lexie put her bags down in dismay.
‘You can give it a go, but it’s as much as Cory can do to persuade him to touch takeaway pizza. And he’ll only have a number five Margherita; not too much cheese. He won’t even entertain a chunk of pineapple. Even Mr Moon isn’t scared of a Hawaiian. Pineapple’s good for your bones, they say.’
Urgh. Stuck-in-the-mud in all areas of his antisocial life. This did not bode well for their evening of discussing change.
‘Well, he’s got Tom Yum, green curry and sticky rice.’
Mrs Moon looked doubtful. ‘Best of luck, lovey. There’s a nice cottage pie in the Aga if he pooh-poohs your sticky green Tom.’
Mrs Moon edged her way around the contentious steaming bags, plucked her coat from its peg and shuffled off into the night.
Ten minutes later and Ben was knocking at the door of the vintage orange camper van, which was parked on the driveway of Nutgrass Hall.
The purposeful banging made Lexie jump, and she edged open the fraying floral curtains to double-check it was him. She still hadn’t encountered his mother, Mrs Carrington-Noble. She was apparently living in a Cheltenham town house with her toyboy, Carlito, but she’d surely get wind of Lexie’s existence any day and blow in like a formidable gale. Lexie gave a sigh of relief when she saw Ben’s square jaw through the darkness. The lesser of two evils.
She screeched open the cantankerous sliding door and Ben winced and shook his head.
Lexie jutted out her chin. ‘Are you coming in?’
He paused for a moment before folding his reluctant limbs into the vehicle. Lexie tried not to cringe as she saw him adjusting his eyes to the bright colours and sunflower pictures that Aunt Jasmine had découpaged everywhere. Then his nose took over and screwed itself up against the smell of Thai curry. She busied herself with plating up as he grappled with the door, gritting her teeth against his lack of appreciation.
‘Right. I thought we were having a meeting.’ He’d finished with the door and was staring at her zebra-print slippers. His eyes moved up to the two plates of food on the counter.
‘And I thought it was Friday night.’ She gave his formal grey suit and briefcase an equally quizzical look and grabbed a plate. ‘Help yourself.’ She pointed to the other plate as she sank into one of the spotty bench seats either side of the rickety table. ‘If it’s not too far outside of your comfort zone.’
They eyed each other across the cramped interior of the camper van like two cats in a chintzy orange standoff. Perhaps she should be less spiky – this wasn’t even like her. But for some reason, Ben always got her prickles up. She tried to ignore the steam from her defiant breath dancing across the cold air in his direction.
He straightened his jacket as though trying to assert some authority, before grabbing the second plate and establishing himself at the table opposite her. A bag of prawn crackers made a greasy barrier between them.
Lexie winced. Ben was taller than her; of course he was. When he sat down, the socks hanging from the makeshift washing line above their heads dangled right in his line of view. Ruddy typical. She’d had the sense to quickly dry her knickers with a hairdryer and shove them into a drawer before he arrived, but socks took ages. Living in a rusty old van was becoming a pain in the arse, but she wasn’t going to admit it.
He cleared his throat and rearranged his position so the socks weren’t touching skin.
‘You’re welcome to use the tumble dryer in the house,’ he said quietly, as though mentioning unmentionables wasn’t entirely polite.
‘No, thank you. I’m managing perfectly well.’
‘So I see.’
Lexie tried not to cringe as she saw him do a quick visual sweep. Maybe she should have organised things better before he arrived, but there just wasn’t room. Boxes of junk she couldn’t be bothered to deal with were stacked precariously on every available surface, most of her clothes were still stuffed into her battered suitcase that just wouldn’t shut and … oh God … had he just noticed the moss that was growing on the window frame? She hadn’t had the heart to make it homeless.
But all this was fine. Just fine. She wasn’t here to prove she could organise her own life, after all.
As though trying valiantly to cut through the silence, the room’s one dim lamp began buzzing and flashing like it wanted to die.
‘And I’ll pay for any electricity I use.’
