Page 95 of The Love Letter
‘Marcus! Just tell me what you want,’ Zoe snapped. ‘Well, would you mind if Jo and I went down to Dorset and had another go at the boxes in the attic?’
‘I don’t see why not. But don’t throw anything away until I’ve seen it. Okay?’
‘Sure. I’ll divide it into “worth it” and “worthless” piles.’
‘Okay.’ Zoe had no time to argue. ‘I’ll speak to you soon. Love to Jo. Bye.’ As she made her way downstairs, Zoe briefly wondered whether it was sensible to let her brother loose in Dorset, but then pushed the thought aside. She was looking forward to a quiet weekend spent in Art’s arms.
Marcus put down the receiver, and stepped out of the phone box, looking around him to see if anyone was watching. Ian still hadn’t been in touch, but Marcus was certain it was him that had been behind the bugs.
He picked up coffees and bacon rolls from the bakery and went up the stairs to his flat, where Joanna was just stepping out of the shower, her wet hair sleek over one shoulder.
‘I called Zoe,’ he said. ‘She’s given the okay to go down to Dorset and have another rifle through all that stuff in the attic. Do you want to come?’
‘Oh Marcus, I can’t this weekend. I’m on shift at the office.’ She began to dry her hair with the towel.
‘They work weekends on Pets and Gardens?’
‘Yes! Lots of country stuff happens at weekends, like dog shows, winter poppy sales and snowdrops coming out.’
‘Wow, I’m riveted.’
‘Well, some of us really do have work to do, Marcus. I’d have no flat and nothing to eat if I lost my job.’
‘Sorry, Jo.’ Marcus could see he’d upset her. ‘Do you mind if I go down to Dorset?’
‘Why would I mind? I’m not your keeper.’
‘No, but I want you to be.’ He walked over and held her in his arms. ‘Don’t be cross. I’ve said I’m sorry.’
‘I know, I just . . .’
‘I understand.’ He pulled her towel off and kissed her, and Joanna forgot everything else.
When the car reached the front entrance of the grand Georgian house, Simon helped Zoe and the Prince out, then removed their luggage from the boot.
‘Thanks, Warburton. Why don’t you take the weekend off? My man is here. Any problem and we’ll call you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘See you on Sunday evening, Simon.’ Zoe smiled sweetly over her shoulder as the Prince led her inside.
Two hours later, Simon arrived back at his flat in Highgate with a sigh of relief. It was over a week since he’d been home and had some time to himself. He listened to his messages; four of them were from Ian, sounding drunker and less intelligible each time, cackling about a great ‘number’ he’d pulled on ‘them upstairs’. Simon had no idea what the hell he was talking about and wondered whether he should have a quiet word in the right ear about Ian’s drinking and erratic behaviour.
He dialled Joanna’s number and left a message suggesting she come round for supper tomorrow night so they could have a chat.Probably in Marcus Harrison’s bed, thought Simon, as he put the receiver down. He showered, prepared himself a Spanish omelette and salad, then sat down to watch a film. The telephone rang a few minutes later.
‘Simon? You’re home.’ It was Joanna.
‘I am.’
‘I thought you might be off back to Auckland for some sheep-shearing.’
‘Very funny. I called to see if you were free for supper tomorrow night?’
‘No.’
‘A hot date with Marcus?’
‘No, a hot date at some agricultural event in Rotherham. A new form of revolutionary weedkiller is being premiered. As you can imagine, it’s hugely exciting. I’m not going to be back until late tomorrow, but I can do Sunday lunchtime.’
