Page 22 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘No problem.’ He loosened his collar. ‘Very spicy, all this Thai food.’
‘Yes! Anywaaaay.’ Right, what was the rest of it? ‘Maybe I could blog about home makeovers.’ She glanced towards the house. ‘Gorgeous images to make you Insta-worthy and pinnable.’ Great, she was back on track.
‘Right. Well, I can do without the earache from the old fox if you start tarting up her precious walls.’
‘Maybe you could introduce me to clients who’ve done big makeovers with your paints?’
‘I’m not sure I want to … ’
‘It’s important!’ She watched as he wrote it down with three question marks next to it.
‘You also need to keep me up to date with the industry, so I have plenty to shout about on social media.’
He looked pensive for a moment. Was he dreaming up more excuses?
‘Well, there is an event coming up, but you would thoroughly hate it. I’ll update you afterwards, if you’re desperate.’
‘Afterwards is no good; social media wants the gossip as it happens. Don’t push me out.’ She took a swig of her beer and clopped the bottle down on the table for effect.
He sighed. ‘It’s the Paint Association weekend conference in London in a few weeks. It’s generally a room full of balding old dullards wittering on about the latest technology in coatings. It’s unlikely to be your scene.’
‘Sounds perfect. I’ll take loads of photos and jazz it up somehow. That’s my job.’
‘I wasn’t inviting you.’
‘Oh.’ She sank backwards in her chair. This was exhausting. ‘Are you always going to put up a fight? I can’t do this if you’re not with me. I thought you took your business seriously.’ She was beginning to learn he responded best to a challenge – much like herself.
‘I just can’t see us … ’ He appeared to be picking his words carefully. ‘Spending a weekend together without murdering each other.’
She glared at him across the dimly lit van, still not sure when he was exercising his dry sense of humour or when he was just being a pompous twat.
‘There are at least two reasonably sharp kitchen knives in this camper van and I haven’t killed you yet.’
Was the edge of his mouth trying not to twitch into a smile?
‘Anyway, it would be the perfect chance for you to tell me all about your mother’s matchmaking,’ she dared to quip.
The twitchy smile turned flat. ‘I’d rather extract my own eyeballs with a curry-covered fork.’ He pushed his plate away, knocking the bag of prawn crackers so its jagged contents began to spill. ‘That nosey brother of mine is as bad as our interfering mother. He should start wearing Chanel No. 5 and palazzo pants.’
‘Is it true? You need to marry a suitably rich woman by the end of the year, if you want your mother to hand over the business rather than sell it to a stranger?’
‘Right. So you know all of that.’ His neck was starting to redden. Maybe he thought it was ridiculous too. ‘Well, I don’t want you blogging about it.’
‘As if I would. I mean, as long as you keep me in the loop on the world of balding men wittering on about topcoats, I won’t need to delve into anything too personal.’
It was cheeky, but she got the feeling she would have to be. And if she could just topple this small domino …
‘You actually want to come to the paint conference?’
‘Why not? We can get networking and show off the new branding. You’ll have updated business cards by then, and … ’ She could feel the wind beginning to lift her sails again, in the chilly damp of the van. She stopped herself mid flow, concerned he might try to snatch it.
‘Branding.’ He let the word hang. ‘Did I agree to that?’
She grabbed a handful of prawn crackers and filled her mouth before she swore at him. And why was he looking at her like that? She thrust the bag back in his direction. Two shiny blue foil packets rolled out.
He looked at the packets and then back up at her eyes. ‘You say branding is all about consistency?’
‘Yes,’ she replied carefully.
