‘If you won’t take my shirt, will you please take my coat? You can hardly go about like that and I really need to help here.’
‘Your coat will be great.’ Anything to stop him removing his shirt in front of … She saw their looks. The hussies!
‘Please put it on before you catch your death,’ he urged, taking his mobile and wallet out of his pockets and holding it out to her.
‘What about you?’
‘Honestly, I’ll be fine. Please.’
Susie pulled on his coat and was immediately engulfed by his scent and enveloped in his body heat. This was such a bad idea. How the hell was she supposed to be Miss Morris wearing this? Her whole body was … Oh God! And he was grinning that grin … She gulped again and attempted to shake herself free of the heated haze that could only result in her doing something really stupid.
She looked down at herself. That would cure her. And sure enough the arms went at least four inches below the end of her fingers and the coat was floor length on her. She looked like a damned hobbit! She was rudely reminded they were in company as she heard laughter, sniggering, excited chattering, whispering and heckling coming from her class. She was never going to live this one down. And she was going to be walking the streets of Canterbury looking like this.
She hated being the centre of attention at the best of times and today was evidently going to be a day of public humiliation. Another day of public humiliation.
She looked at George with a grimace and flapped her arms up and down.
‘Cute,’ he said quietly. ‘Very … cute.’
And that look in his eyes. There was heat there. But there couldn’t be. She had to be reading him wrong. There’s no way he could be looking at her like she thought he was.
But she was a goner, she realised as she wallowed in his scent and body warmth. And that grin. And his kindness. She’d never had a hope of denying her reaction to him, no matter what her head shrieked at her. Although her head was unexpectedly quiet at present. Intoxicated, no doubt, like the rest of her. It was just too powerful a pull. And a simple choice between heaven and hell. Yes hell would invariably result, but at least she’d have taken as much of heaven as she could get.
This was ridiculous. He had no doubt come to his senses. This was George Silbury for pity’s sake. And one look at her today and he would have been shocked back to reality.
‘Ummm. Thank you again. I’ll obviously get your coat back to you. I don’t know the best way of doing that. But if you let me know what’s best for you then—’
‘Susie?’
He’d taken a step forward and almost completely closed the gap between them. Her body … But he’d lost that earlier look and was frowning. Her heart seemed to stop. Here we go.
‘Tell me please. I said it how it was last night. I very much want to spend time with you, to get to know everything there is to know about you. To earn your trust. I am more sorry than I can put into words for the position I put you in with the press, but I am not sorry for what happened between us. I think we have something here. A spark and a connection, which I don’t want to abandon. But if you don’t feel it, if you aren’t interested in finding out how we could be together, tell me now.’
Her heart made up for all those lost beats.
She vaguely heard another male voice. ‘Guys … unless you want to give the game away here, start acting like you’ve just met. And hello. My name’s Graham. George forgot to introduce us. ’
Susie blinked. George cursed and she was aware of him taking a step back because she felt the loss.
She shook her head and forced herself to focus for a moment on the blond-headed man who obviously owned the voice. ‘Susie. Sorry. Good to meet you.’
He was still interested? She couldn’t not do this. She couldn’t. She raised her voice slightly, for the benefit of any audience. ‘You’ve been incredibly kind and thank you. I saw you on the telly last night and I’m one hundred per cent sure she’ll call. She’d be mad not to be interested. She may just be a little … scared and need to take things a day at a time perhaps?’ Who was she kidding? Her head wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that one. She knew what she’d just signed up for. But she couldn’t say no to heaven, however short it lasted.
She dared a glance at his face and it took her breath away. His eyes were dancing again. And the smile he gave her went straight to her heart … and lower. She forced herself to look away. ‘Well, I’d better get … going. And thank you.’
‘It was a pleasure meeting you Susie Morris. And … she should know, I’m more than a little scared, too.’
‘Cute,’ Graham said, as they walked back. George turned to glower at him. Graham smirked. ‘I believe I’ve twenty grand in my sights.’
George took a deep breath. Graham was one thing. But the last thing they needed were any of those women helping out with the kids suspecting and calling the press. George would not have Susie hunted down. ‘I saw you talking to them, what did you say?’
‘I didn’t lie.’
George came to a full stop and stared at him in horror. ‘What the hell did you tell them?’ he hissed.
‘I said we’d been looking for a café but don’t know Canterbury very well and ended up there. Oh and that we responded to a damsel in distress who is borrowing some clothes. Silly not to when we have a wardrobe department on hand and all that crap.’
George closed his eyes for a moment and let himself calm. That actually sounded pretty good. ‘I’m impressed. Thank you.’
‘No problemo.’
Walking again, George said, ‘Twenty grand to keep shtum, twenty grand for keeping out of the way, twenty grand for sorting out the women. Umm. Jeannie still hasn’t got her kitchen extension, and you’re in her bad books because of me, and then you could also take her away for that “respite romance” so let’s make it a round hundred grand and—’
‘George! I was jesting about the twenty grand!’
‘I know you were. But I’m in a good mood and if we hadn’t been hunting down your cup of tea, I’d never have known Susie was in Canterbury and—’
‘I’m not taking your money! While the mad dash through the streets of Canterbury nearly gave me a coronary, I’m glad to have helped.’
‘Fine. I’ll give it to you and Jeannie for your tenth wedding anniversary. I owe you, Graham. And if you won’t accept the cheque, then I’ll schedule the builders and book up the romantic break myself.’
One-handed, Cassie added milk to her tea, picked up her mug and, walking to the sofa, began reading the letter in her other hand.
Friday morning
My dear Mr Montague,
It is with horror that I write, knowing in what a wretched state you have just seen me! The full extent of my appearance only became clear upon my return home. I am putting pen to paper post-haste, before my maid has even had a chance to remedy matters, as I am anxious to apologise.
Should this morning’s debacle have resulted in a retraction of those sentiments so beautifully expressed in your letters of yesterday (they were truly wonderful letters Mr Montague – or may I call you Freddie, as I am more than happy for you to address me as Hannah? – and I now hold them to my heart and treasure), I would fully understand. Coach travel, it would appear, is most disagreeable to the youngest of my brothers and he was upon my knee when he took so violently ill. You obviously came upon us as we attempted to provide him with refreshing air.
But Freddie, should your sentiments remain – oh my dearest Freddie – should you still think of me as you did when you penned your glorious letters, then sing it from the rooftops. And I will join you. I would cry, ‘I am the luckiest woman alive, for Freddie Montague adores me!’
But we must not. If we could wait until the interest in our firework display dies down, Mama and Papa need never suffer the knowledge of
my indiscretion.
It was not your fault alone, Freddie, and being in your arms was the most wonderful moment of my existence so far. For should you still hold me in the esteem of which you wrote, then I truly feel the rest of our lives will be as wonderful, if not more so.
However, I cannot but question why you should see me thus – if indeed you still do. Miss Prudence Argylle is extremely beautiful and with family connections I lack. But Freddie, I would have you any which way I could.
Your riding coat, so gallantly lent, will be cleaned before being returned to its most knightly of owners. It is still upon my person as I write. It holds your scent and reminds me so of being within your arms. I shall hold it close upon my pillow as I sleep. For I dream too, Freddie. Would that my dreams come true!
I intend to walk tomorrow to the north of the meadows. I will be there at around four of the clock and very much hope to encounter you there.
I am yours, Freddie, if you will still have me – and for as long as you wish.
Hannah
Cassie quickly retrieved the next letter from the pocket of her cardigan …
Friday evening
My dearest Hannah,
Of course I will still have you – and forever, my darling!
As an aside, may I be so bold as to ask that you keep my coat upon your pillow, until I have the honour of taking its place? As for your own cloak which fared so ill today – it must be replaced. But, my dearest darling, my wish is that you wear the new garment publicly whilst upon my arm! I beg you will go to the draper’s and choose a suitable fabric. Or would you allow me the honour of surprising you? If so, please give me the name of your dressmaker and I will have her make one to your measurements as soon as possible.
Yours,
Freddie
Chapter Sixteen
‘Will you get that goofy look off your face and stop that dreadful sound? I definitely preferred suicidal.’
Susie ignored Rachael’s words and continued humming as she made her morning coffee.
‘The least you can do is tell me why you are acting distinctly “un-Susie” like. I know it’s to do with George Silbury, you lucky, lucky cow. I’m your best friend and deserve an explanation. May I remind you, it was moi that introduced you?’
Susie continued to hum.
‘I won’t beg, you know. You’ve been like it since you got home on Monday night. And I know it’s to do with him because you came home dressed like a victim of some kind of deranged shrinking experiment. Or worse. A hobbit.’
Susie’s humming suffered a momentary glitch.
‘It was his coat. There’s no question. Not that I’ve studied his physique of course, but it was a very good match. And it was Versace, whom we know he models for, because I checked the label. Then there were the pockets. Did you know there was a serviette in one of them from Café de Paris, with the words “Call Me” on it? The signature could not have been from the lady it purported to be because that would be beyond sensational.’
Susie’s humming died a death.
‘But he’d evidently used it as a tissue. Very evidently, but it was a useful clue.’
Susie began humming again, albeit a little less self-assuredly.
‘How you managed to go on a school trip to Canterbury dressed in one thing, and come home dressed in George Silbury’s clothes is mind-boggling. You were in charge of children, Suse. I don’t get it. Cassie and I have our theories. Of course, the things she’s heard in the press room – unsubstantiated reports that his manager keeps suppressing – add to the intrigue. That stuff about sprinting after a coach …’
Susie stopped humming. But immediately started up again in order not to betray her interest. He ran after the coach? He’d not told her that. They’d talked. And they’d talked. And they’d talked. Every night on the phone. He was stuck in Canterbury with a punishing schedule; never off set before 10.00 p.m. He was quite prepared to head back to London in order to meet up, but by the time he got back it would be at least 11.30 p.m. and he had to be back in Canterbury by 6.00 a.m. It wasn’t fair on him, and neither would it give her time to do him justice, of that she was sure.
So they’d talked every night, conversations they never wanted to end. From childhood television programmes through to politics and the humanitarian conflicts in the world. They’d talked of her day at work. All those things it was good to unburden or simply share, but which Peter had never shown any interest in at all. And George was interested. Genuinely interested. And they’d talked about his day. A world she couldn’t begin to imagine, yet he somehow made her feel a part of it. And so much else. They’d speak for hours and she’d look back and not necessarily remember the specific content of what they’d been saying, but just the sheer pleasure and sense of joy at their interaction. On Monday they’d obliviously talked through the night, their only being alerted to that fact when George’s alarm clock went off. The other nights they reluctantly, but practically, imposed a curfew. But then had never kept to it. How either of them was still functioning, she had no idea. It must be the high. Because George’s beauty was most evidently not just skin deep. And it felt as though she had known him forever.
But it was Friday today; hence her exceptionally good mood. There was no filming or school tomorrow. And he was back in London tonight. And … She sighed as she contemplated her evening. But she’d got somewhat distracted. He ran after the coach?
‘I’ve told you something you didn’t know,’ Rachael cried.
Not good.
‘Ha ha! You tell me and I’ll tell you!’
Did she honestly think she was that stupid?
‘There was talk of Porsche having a hissy fit?’
Oh for goodness sake. That really wasn’t fair. Susie aborted humming. There was no point in keeping up the pretence. She turned to face Rachael. ‘He ran after the coach?’
‘Oh yeah, if the unsubstantiated reports are to be believed. Cassie’s questioned George and she’s convinced it’s for real, although he’s being as obstructive as you. She even went over to Canterbury to interrogate him, but he was like a clam. But I’m not telling you any more until you tell me what happened.’
‘I’ve ten minutes before I go to work. Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what happened when I get home.’
‘No deal. What do you take me for? You give me the potted version and then I’ll tell you what I know – all in ten minutes. And then you can give me the juicy details when you get home.’
‘Cassie,’ George muttered into his mobile, silently cursing at the thought of yet another interrogation.
‘Susie spilled.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Susie spilled the beans. Do you know how that makes me feel? She tells her friend, not a blood relative, all about what happened, before you – my brother, my own flesh and blood, my favourite brother at that – even acknowledge the existence of a dicky bird!’
George sighed and rubbed his brow, before quickly removing his hand. He mouthed sorry to the woman currently touching up his make-up. ‘What did she say?’ He wondered what ploy Rachael had used to get it out of her.
‘No. You’ll end up telling me you’ve got to be back on set before you utter a word. We’re lacking the details. And then I’ve some questions I need answers to. So come on! Spill!’
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘No. I refuse to let you—’
‘Goodbye Ca—’
‘Mum’s coming to see you!’
Cassie now had George’s full attention as she had known she would with those words. He signalled the make-up artist away and sat forward in his seat. ‘When?’
‘She’s really worried about you. I know you’ve been putting her off, but ever since she saw you on The Jonathan James Show she’s been frantic. She says she has to see you’re ok
ay. She’s worried you’re attempting to put a brave face on—’
‘When Cassie?’
‘This weekend.’
George groaned. ‘Where’s she planning on staying?’
‘At yours, of course. You’re the one with the six-bedroomed house. I’ve a one-bedroomed flat. Well two, as you know, but she doesn’t need to know that. I keep that door firmly closed. And if you tell her I will never forgive you.’
‘When is she arriving?’ He had a horrible feeling.
‘Tonight.’
‘No way! She’s not coming tonight. I mean it. There is no way—’
‘Anything planned then, George?’
Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.
‘You spill and answer my questions, and I’ll keep Mum away tonight,’ Cassie bargained. ‘But I’m not having her for the weekend. Neither am I giving away the existence of a second bedroom. So I need your credit card number to foot the bill for a hotel. And a meal. Throw in a show, too. And then I’ll keep her out of your hair. But for that you talk to me. And right this very minute!’
‘You were vomited on?’
‘Will you stop saying that, please,’ Susie urged, feeling queasy at the recollection. ‘And I really don’t appreciate you getting straight on the phone to tell George’s sister our conversation.’
‘By Ronald Wittering?’
‘Why do you think I think twice before telling you anything? Now will you please tell me about Porsche?’
Susie was finding it hard to digest what Rachael had already said of George chasing the coach through the streets of Canterbury. There seemed to be enough independent reports from stunned onlookers to make it possible. The description of the clothes he was wearing matched, too. But why would he …? It was … it was … The very idea was beyond lovely! It was totally unbelievable, but beyond lovely! It made her feel … Oh God. Trouble didn’t begin to go there.
Romancing the Soul Page 15
