Page 8 of A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
‘AndIsaid that I wasn’t going to give you an opportunity to cart my treasured collection of Chalet School books to the nearest charity shop,’ Posy replied. ‘And I don’t want tea because I’m cold, I want tea because I’m thirsty.’
Sebastian dropped to his knees in front of his wife, uncaring that he was wearing a suit that probably cost more than Mattie earned in a month before tax. ‘Are you dehydrated? Are your kidneys hurting? Is the baby pressing on your kidneys?’
Posy patted his hand fondly. ‘I can be thirsty just because it’s about an hour since my last cup of tea.’
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ Mattie said and though she found Sebastian quite overbearing, he did dote on Posy and seemed to make her ridiculously happy. He also wasn’t even dressed remotely appropriately for the occasion. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a suit would be practical if you’re lugging boxes of books about.’
Sebastian’s haughty face looked even haughtier. ‘I don’t lug,’ he said, as if Mattie had accused him of a little light breaking and entering. ‘I pay people to lug. In this case, Sam and his young friend, the unfortunately named Pants.’
Right on cue, Sam and Pants emerged from the shop laden down with a big box each.
‘They have a free lesson last thing on Wednesdays, so it’s all worked out rather well. You’re doing a great job, boys,’ Posy called out encouragingly and Mattie hurried over to the tearooms to provide refreshment for the labouring masses.
By the time the last box of books was carried out, she’d made a second round of tea and a quick batch of chocolate chip and hazelnut cookies, which she brought out as Verity left the flat for one final time with her most prized possession. In a special carrier, mewling unhappily, was Strumpet, her immense British blue short-hair cat. He might be going to live in five-bedroom splendour in Canonbury with a massive back garden, but that couldn’t even begin to compete with living round the corner from a fish and chip shop and a Swedish deli with its own smokehouse for curing salmon.
‘You’re an ingrate, Strumpo,’ Verity said, as she struggled under the weight and heft of her enormous feline. Her boyfriend Johnny hurried over to relieve her of her precious burden.
‘I’m sure he’ll settle in once we get back to mine.’ He paused. ‘Not mine. Ours. When we get back toourhouse.’
Generally, it could be quite hard to read Verity unless she was going through the petty cash receipts, in which case it was clear that she was very stressed indeed and it was best to leave her well alone. But now she smiled up at Johnny, with his ridiculously chiselled good looks like he spent his spare time modelling for Burberry.
‘Not our house,’ she corrected him. ‘Ourhome.’
It was all very lovely and heart-warming, Mattie thought, but her heart refused to be warmed. It stayed just where it was, beating out a steady rhythm, which in itself was miraculous, considering all the traumas she had endured.
‘I hate to spoil the moment,’ Pippa said bluntly, because there was only so long that Verity and Johnny could stand there making googly eyes at each other while everyone else was on a clock. ‘But according to my spreadsheet, you two should have been out of here twenty-seven minutes ago.’
Of course, by this point Tom and hisfriendshad all disappeared, leaving their van blocking the entrance to the mews, so Verity and Johnny and Posy and Sebastian couldn’t get out. After several texts from Posy, he eventually reappeared with his little posse, all of them clutching breakfast paninis from the Italian café round the corner, even though it was now gone five on a Wednesday. Mattie clenched her fists.
‘These areamazing,’ one of them said and then they all doffed imaginary caps.
‘Top marks to the professor!’
Mattie had no one to roll her eyes at because Pippa was glued to her spreadsheet and Guy had abandoned her for the delights of Rochester Street. Despite numerous texts, he eventually turned up twenty minutes later, once Mattie had carefully manoeuvred the car as close to the entrance of Happy Ever After as she could get, and after telling Tom in no uncertain terms to stop trying to box her in with his rent-a-van.
It very quickly became apparent that you couldn’t have six people going up and down the narrow stairs, ferrying boxes and bin liners and laundry bags and suitcases, without bottlenecks and chaos. Pippa decided that Mattie should stay in the flat and have her stuff brought to her, and Mattie agreed profusely.
‘That sounds like an excuse to get out of all the fetching and carrying,’ Guy grumbled.
‘If you stop whinging, I’ll make you both dinner when you’ve finished fetching and carrying,’ Mattie said tartly, which sped him on his way.
That still left all three of Tom’s helpers getting in the way, giving her curious looks as if they’d never seen a real live woman before. Maybe they hadn’t. Who was to know what Tom and his friends got up to?
‘Are they your people?’ Mattie asked Guy when he brought up the holdall with all her bathroom paraphernalia in it.
Guy raised one impeccable eyebrow in horror. ‘With those T-shirts? God, no, they are nothing to do with us. Your gaydar is worse than useless.’
By now, one of Tom’s friends was lingering in the kitchen where Mattie was unpacking a box of cooking utensils: it seemed that Verity had taken pretty much every last teaspoon with her.
Said friend was small and wiry and quite incapable of standing still, bouncing on the soles of his boxy trainers.
‘I’m Phil or the Archbishop of Banterbury,’ he said at last, holding out his hand.
Mattie shook the hand. ‘I think I’ll stick with Phil,’ she said. ‘I’m Matilda. Mattie.’
‘A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,’ Phil said and they heard a pointed cough from the hall.
‘Don’t even bother,’ said Tom as he passed the doorway with a couple of tweedy suits over his arm. ‘She’s not interested and she’s way out of your league.’
