Page 106 of Save Us
I stroke my thumbs over the backs of his hands. “For the way I reacted.” I look up and meet James’s eyes. “Just in case I wasn’t clear: I’ll back you in whatever you do. And we’ve got this. We can’t let your dad come between us again. OK?”
James seems to have been holding his breath as I spoke. He stares at me, and it takes him a few seconds to respond.
Slowly, he lifts my hands to his lips and kisses them briefly. “Thank you,” he says, his voice choked.
I lean forward and pull him into a hug. I spread my legs so that he can step between them. For a minute, we hold each other. I breathe in his familiar scent and stroke my hands over his back.
“Why did you want to meet me here in particular?” James asks after a while, right into my ear. His hand is on the back of my head, and he’s holding me close to him. But I pull away slightly and take a deep breath.
“I wanted to show you that even on a day like this, when you have to go to London, nice things can still happen. So I thought I’d finally give you that kiss you wished for.”
James’s brows are furrowed, but at these words, his pensive expression clears and a spark of life comes into his eyes. His hand roams down my back until he’s almost reached the base of my spine. Then he pulls me forward, until I’m sitting right on the edge of the table and have to rest a hand on his chest for balance.
“You have great ideas, Ruby Bell,” James murmurs.
I don’t know which of us moves first. The next moment, our lips melt together. I hold fast to him, and he presses against me, his mouth feverish against mine. James grips the back of myneck, and I give way completely to the feeling that he creates in me. I notice that nothing has changed between us.
And I resolve that things are going to stay that way in the future—whatever tricks his father comes up with next.
James
It’s really hard to concentrate on brainstorming for the new Beaufort’s catalog or labeling regulations, when I can’t get Ruby out of my head.
“James?” Edward Culpepper asks, his voice shattering the image of her on the table in the library.
Everyone here addresses me by my first name. After all, there can’t be two Mr. Beauforts. The board make an effort to treat me as an equal, but I can still sense that they’re skeptical. Plus, I don’t even know two-thirds of the people in this room—Dad must have changed most of them in the last few weeks.
“Yes?” I ask, leaning both elbows on the conference table to fake interest.
“I asked if you had anything to add?”
I stare at him. My throat feels as dry as dust, and I suddenly notice how quiet it is in here all of a sudden. I look into the critical faces of the men and women around the table. I bet they’re thinking that I don’t have a clue what they were just talking about. But my dad’s been indoctrinating me with this shit since I was a kid. I could chair a financial-year planning meeting for Beaufort’s in my sleep. I know how this company operates, even if a few things have changed since Mum died.
“Yes. I’d prefer it if we evaluated the figures monthly, not half-yearly, from now on. Then we’ll be able to react more quickly if some unexpected event crops up. And I think the directors should be present for that, not just the heads of department.”
Culpepper’s mouth gapes slightly, but he instantly snaps it shut and nods curtly. Then he makes a brief note on his iPad and looks at my father, at the head of the table. Dad now starts to speak, babbling on about the measures taken to date. All kinds of figures and graphs are projected onto the screen, and I spend the next forty-five minutes pretending to listen and take notes. But all that appears on my paper are wild circles. The pen in my hand feels a thousand times heavier the minute I even attempt to write down any of the stuff Dad and the rest of them are discussing. Once, I catch the old bloke next to me glance at my open notebook, and his mouth twitches disapprovingly. I shut it and stare straight ahead, not even touching the pen again.
The longest ninety minutes of my life eventually come to an end. Two board members go up to Dad and get into a conversation with him, while I stand and stretch my arms over my head, trying to get the stiffness out of my limbs somehow. Dad glares sternly at me, so I lower them again. Then I wait for him, facing away, my notebook in my hand. My father nods to his colleagues to hold on a moment and comes over to me.
“Get Percy to drive you home. I have a dinner meeting with Edward and Bancroft. We’ll be late, so I’ll stay in London tonight,” he says, nodding curtly at me.
I’m dismissed. I give the briefest of goodbyes and take the lift down twenty floors. An incredible sense of relief washes over me as I step through the revolving doors and inhale the fresh eveningair. Percy is leaning against the Rolls and straightens up as he sees me. He holds the door for me, and I drop onto the back seat. Now that I’m behind the tinted windows and nobody in the building can see me, I can finally loosen my tie. It’s been choking me for hours.
“Everything all right, sir?” Percy asks as our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.
I can only shrug. I have no idea how to answer that question. It feels like I’ve been on holiday for months, and now I have to go back to a life that depresses me deeply all day long.
I lean back and shut my eyes. When I open them again, sometime later, they feel dry and tired. I must have nodded off. I rub my face with my hands and look out of the window. We’re just passing the sign for Pemwick, but instead of taking the exit, Percy drives on.
“You missed the turn, Percy,” I croak, leaning forward to take one of the little bottles of water out of the minibar. I drain it in one, in the hope that it’ll stop my throat from feeling like sandpaper. Then I look out again. Percy takes the next exit, but then turns left. The next two turns are definitely not headed toward High Street either.
“Percy,” I say again, checking the light on the ceiling of the Rolls. It’s on, so he must be able to hear me.
But I get no response. Instead, he turns into the parking lot of a small pub. I frown as I study the yellowish light shining out of the windows.
I want to ask Percy what the hell we’re doing here, but he cuts in first:
“I need to talk to you about something, Mr. Beaufort.”
