Page 9 of One Summer Weekend
‘That wasn’t the kind of preparation I meant—’
‘Walking boots or heavy shoes, wellies, waterproofs and some warm clothes. You never know with the Lakes, even in summer.’
‘I don’t know, I’ve never been.’
An incredulous laugh. ‘You’ve never been to the most beautiful part of England?You ’aven’t lived, lass, you ’aven’t lived. Lakes and trees and proper hills, not those pimples you have in the South. You’ll think it’s wonderful, everyone does.’
I said waspishly, ‘You’d probably describe Grimshaw as the Venice of the North simply because it has a canal. So I’ll reserve judgement on your lyrical waxings about the Lake District.’
The laugh softened to a chuckle. ‘Goodto know you’ve got a sense of humour, even if it is at my expense.’ Then, in a more serious tone, ‘Is there anything else I need to tell you about the weekend?’
There was – but whether he would be a reliable source of information was debatable. I decided to throw down one last gauntlet, and lowered my voice to a steely whisper. ‘I want to make something perfectly clear. If I consider thatI’m being put in any sort of compromising situation, I will take appropriate action immediately. Do you understand?’
‘Nope. I have a feeling that whatever you think of as compromising I’d call completely reasonable. Let’s put it another way: you’re safe with me, and you have my word on that.’
Safe? I felt anything but! Despite my attempt to take the moral high ground, he’d out-manoeuvredme. As for him giving me his word, how far could I trustthat? I brought the call to a close as quickly as I could, and found my gaze flicking back to the map on my computer screen. Blue for water, brown for hills, green for forests – a familiar enough representation; but the territory beneath was totally unknown.
A tingle of anticipation ran down my spine; the thought of seeing the LakeDistrict for the first time, no doubt.
