Page 22 of One Summer Weekend
‘Oh.’
‘But I swear this isn’t a set-up, Alicia. For all I know, she could be coming up the drive right now.’
I tilted my head to one side, as if giving the whole idea serious consideration. ‘Let me get this right … You signed a contractfor executive coaching. Perhaps you could show me where it specifies duties such as’ – I checked them off on my fingers – ‘pretending to be romantically involved … protecting you from your exes turning up inconveniently, which I imagine could be a full-time job in itself … and, last but by no means least, planning when we can set up home together!’
He stared down at me for several long seconds;then, before I could protest, he placed his hands on my shoulders. Firmly, so that I could feel their heat through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. ‘Last night, at dinner, you said that reading up on my personal life gave you an insight into how I do business – remember?’ I gave a non-committal nod, wondering where he was taking this. ‘Well, I’m asking you – as my coach – to give me some supportwith a personal matter, only if it’s needed, and only over the next two days. Will you do that, Alicia?’
I looked up at him, disconcerted. When he put it like that … well, how could I refuse? ‘Okay, then,’ I heard myself say slowly. ‘But my warning about compromising situations still applies—’
‘So does my word that you’ll be safe with me.’ As if to emphasise the point, he lifted hishands from my shoulders and stood back from the door to let me through. ‘Come and meet Hermann.’
He walked off and I followed, struggling to match his long strides. ‘I still don’t see why we need to keep up the act in front of Bill and Midge,’ I said in a stage whisper, as if they – or, heaven forbid, Karina – might be stalking us. ‘Surely, if we explain, they’ll understand?’
A frowningsidelong look. ‘They will – but, as I’ve said, you won’t get as much out of them. And this weekend is important for my coaching, isn’t it?’
And for mine. The warmth of his touch, in the car and just now, was a poignant reminder of a time when I’d taken that sort of thing for granted. A time when I’d wholeheartedly embraced the instinctive intimacies, the unspoken permissions, of being inlove. A time when …
I squared my shoulders, shook off the memories, pulled myself together.
Okay. This is for one weekend, no more than a couple of days – then I can disengage from coaching him, professionalism and dignity intact. So what if I also use it as a kind of physical and emotional ‘rehab’, an opportunity to clean old wounds in the hope that they’ll finally heal? As for theman cast in the role of my lover, isn’t it a no-brainer? Most women would give their right arm to be in my shoes …
We turned a corner – metaphorically perhaps, as well as literally – and arrived at a wooden-framed carport, its fresh blue paint decorated with red roses and yellow daisies in the style of a traditional narrow boat. A lovingly constructed shelter for the motorhome parked beneathit, large and white and – even to my untutored eye – eccentrically retro. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to call it Hermann; the name implied approval, even affection – and I was a long way from either.
But, as I went up the two steps and through the open door, that proved to be the least of my worries. After the sunlight, it took more than a moment to adjust to the relative gloom. Or wasit because my eyes were immediately drawn to a bed that occupied almost the full length and width of the vehicle?
I suppressed a shiver and attempted a calm assessment of the situation. With its crisp white sheets and red-and-white patterned duvet, the bed looked almost inviting – and, more importantly, spacious enough to avoid unwanted familiarity. In fact, I reckoned I could constructa sturdy little wall down the middle, using the plump red cushions that formed an unofficial headboard. No chance of him ‘accidentally’ invading my half, with that in place.
I stepped down from the motorhome. ‘It’s okay, I suppose. We shouldn’t be on top of one another.’ An unfortunate turn of phrase, and I blushed.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Only if we both want to be.’
‘You knowthat’s not going to happen,’ I said, frostily.
‘But it helps to imagine it could, since we’re supposed to be in a physical relationship.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let’s at least pretend we’ve kissed and made up before you meet Bill – he’s the main reason we’re here, after all.’
I stared at his hand with its clean long lines and no rings.Deep breath. And another.Oh, for God’s sake –just do it!On impulse, I let go of my misgivings and slipped my hand into his. More yielding than our business handshakes, but I steeled myself against the spark. So far, so good. I looked up, and tried out a doting smile.
‘Wow, an Oscar-winning performance.’ That wicked grin resurfaced, transforming him into someone I might actually enjoy spending the weekend with.
Which isn’t thepoint at all.
We strolled into the garden – a tangle of shrubs and roses, their colour and profusion contained by a network of gravel paths and low walls. Birdsong rippled through the sultry air, pure and mellow. Before us, tawny red in the evening sun, a steep hillside rose to a high serrated ridge.
Jack’s grip on my hand tightened as he steered me towards the murmur of voices, throughan arch of wide-eyed white roses and onto a slate patio. Here we found Midge at a wrought-iron table contemplating two bottles of wine, and Bill – a tall, bulky man with a greying beard – tending a barbecue.
‘At last,’ she said. ‘I was about to send a search party!’ An appraising look. ‘You’re friends again, thank goodness. Let me get you both a glass of wine.’
Bill put down his tongsand came towards us. A hearty clasp of hands with Jack, a hug and kiss for me. Ironic, wasn’t it, that I was allowing more affection from his friends than I would ever allow from him?
‘Sit here, Alicia.’ Midge patted the seat nearest to her. ‘White or red?’
I hesitated – wasn’t I working? But it seemed churlish to refuse, and I resolved to make one glass last all evening. ‘White, thankyou.’
Jack sat down on my other side. ‘Are you warm enough, love?’
It took a moment to realise he was talking to me. ‘Oh – yes.’ To disguise my embarrassment, I blurted out the first thing that came into my head. ‘What a lovely place, I wish we were staying for longer.’
His arm snaked along the back of my chair. ‘So do I.’
