by Ashe Barker
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were in no hurry.” At that rate it’ll take us at least two days, possibly three to reach Orkney. And a further two days, perhaps, to get to Skye.
“No, I wasn’t. I rarely say things I don’t mean. I want us to get there safely and enjoy the trip. So, two hours sound fair to you?”
I have to admit it does. And I’m actually quite touched that he brought the matter up. “Yes. That sounds fine. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Hope. So, next pressing problem we need to resolve. Who gets to pick the music?
“Me. I do. It’s my car.”
“True, but he who pays the piper…”
“Never mind pipers, did you bring any CDs?
“No, but I could pick something up when we stop for gas.”
“Petrol. We stop for petrol here.”
“Whatever. I’m thinking a little classical guitar.”
“And I’m thinking the Kaiser Chiefs.”
“Philistine. Where do you keep your CDs? In here?” He’s already digging around in my glove compartment, checking out the handful of CD cases there. Sure enough, he finds the Kaiser Chiefs, along with Coldplay, Nickelback and Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits. Poor Neil is shoved unceremoniously back into the darkness but the rest seem to find a degree of favor.
We spend the next hour or so in companionable silence as Harry takes command of the CD player. By the time we approach Scotch Corner I’m feeling pretty relaxed and starting to really enjoy myself. The scenery is sort of okay and likely to get even better once we get past Newcastle. Harry McLeod seems like decent company, and he’s certainly no hardship to look at. And for once in my life, I can be sure of paying my next electricity bill without considering selling a kidney.
“There are services a mile ahead. Pull in there please.” Harry interrupts my self-satisfied reverie.
“It’s not been two hours yet.”
“That’s the maximum, not the minimum. I want coffee and the restroom.” His tone is even enough, but I get the feeling he won’t be debating this.
“You’re the boss.” I wouldn’t mind the loo myself actually, though I would have held out till Newcastle. Still, a hit of caffeine wouldn’t go amiss. I keep an eye open for the exit and when I spot it, I signal left.
A few minutes later, our comfort duly attended to, we’re seated at plastic tables outside an overpriced coffee shop. Harry orders black coffee. I go for a latte. I offer to pay but he is adamant. He’s picking up every tab on this trip. I know we agreed that, but I didn’t really expect to hold him to it. With some reluctance I’m thinking that now might be the time for my little announcement, the one I found myself diverted from making outside my flat when he commented on my limp.
I stir the stripes from my coffee and lick the foam off my spoon. I glance up to find Harry staring at me, a warm glint in his eyes. Oh yes, now is definitely the time.
“I won’t sleep with you.”
There, I said it. It needed saying, and I said it. To his credit, Harry hardly turns a hair. He lifts his cup, takes a sip, then places it carefully back on the saucer.
“That’s a blow. Still, I guess I’ll manage. I suppose a fuck’s out of the question.”
I spit out my latte, showering the map that Harry has opened at the Newcastle page. He snatches it up and shakes it.
“Jesus, girl. You’re making a mess.”
“A mess! You talk to me about…” I’m gasping and wheezing, forced to abandon any attempt at conversation for a few moments. Harry pats my back, solicitous in his concern having first seen to the safety of his precious map. At last, with some considerable effort, I’m able to continue. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Can I not? I thought, since you brought it up… Personally I would never have dreamed of being so indelicate.” He returns to his seat and inspects his coffee, no doubt for any sign of stray latte.
“It wasn’t. I mean I just…”
“You have a dirty mind, Miss Shepherd. I’m shocked. Fancy you wanting to sleep with me. We only met yesterday. Still, I’m flattered.”
“I do not want to sleep with you.”
“So why mention it then? Have I propositioned you?”
“No, but…” I heave in another deep breath, my throat still raw. “But, you were looking at me.”
“I’ve been looking at you all day. I’m looking at that sheep over there but I’ve no intention of shagging it.”
“Now you’re just being crude. What I meant was, I’m coming to Scotland with you, but just as your driver. Nothing else. I just wanted there to be no misunderstandings. No awkwardness if, if…” I fall silent, my face burning. I just know my cheeks are bright crimson and I can only blame so much of that on my near death experience with the latte. I study my drink as though it’s absolutely the most fascinating item I have ever beheld.
The silence lengthens. I’m determined not to speak first. I seem to remember my gran had a saying—‘Least said soonest mended.’ That seems appropriate here, so I keep my mouth firmly shut.
“Hope, I just thought you might like to know, in case you were wondering, which of course if you say you weren’t…” Harry cracks first, or perhaps he always intended to have the last word. He pauses.
I remain silent.
He takes that as his invitation to continue, “I find you stunning. Under the sexless hoodies and awful baseball cap, you are quite lovely. I’ve had a more or less permanent erection to contend with since I first saw you at the airport, but I firmly accept that’s my problem, not yours. Still, if you should ever feel minded to reconsider your position on sleeping with me, that would be very welcome news. For now, though, would you just look at me? Please.”
He called me stunning. Quite lovely. Obedient, I look up into his gentle smile. Perversely, and despite his truly wonderful compliments, I immediately I latch onto his remarks about my clothes.
“My hoody isn’t sexless, and my cap’s practical. It keeps the sun out of my eyes when I’m driving.”
“The thing’s completely shapeless and about nine sizes too big. It swamps you. If you need sunglasses, I’ll get you some. Take them both off. Please.”
“I…”
“Please.”
“You’ll stare at me.”
“I’ll stare at you anyway. I think we’ve established that. Please, Hope. The cap first.”
He’s saying please and asking me nicely, but it still feels like a command. I find myself tugging my cap forward and crumpling it in my hands. Harry leans across to ruffle my hair, cropped short into a layered, easy sort of style. It’s a light blonde and very thick. In the past I’ve worn it longer and found it sort of attracts a lot of notice. I prefer to blend in so tend to play things down. Short hair is good, hidden under a scruffy little cap even better.
“Nice. The hoodie now?”
“I don’t have anything on underneath it.”
“No?” Is that a gleam of lust in his eyes?
“Well, just a vest. A bit too skimpy.”
“Is it decent?”
“Of course.”
“Well then, take off the hoodie. Now please.”
I have absolutely no idea why I obey him, but I do. Every nerve ending I possess is screaming in protest, but under Harry McLeod’s warm scrutiny I take hold of the hem of my dark blue sweatshirt and pull it up over my head. I set it on the spare seat next to me. The strappy vest top underneath is decent but only just. It’s a pretty thing, though—one of my favorites in an eye-catching shade of cerise. Too late I remember that I didn’t bother with a bra today. I don’t bother most days, to be fair, and of course my bulky tops usually cover everything up perfectly well.
“I may have been wrong. About this being decent, I mean. Perhaps I should…” I start to reach for my sweatshirt, but Harry stops me with a word.
“No.” He looks at me, makes no attempt to hide his admiration of my nipples, erect and prominent and threatening to take someone’s eye ou
t if I make any sudden movements. What am I thinking? What am I doing?
Harry’s voice is soft and low and very, very sexy as he leans across to murmur to me, “You weren’t wrong. It’s decent enough, just about. You’re beautiful. I knew it before. Now everyone can see it. But you’re with me. Do you want another coffee or shall we get moving again?”
I’m surprised to realize we’ve both finished our coffee. Our one hour break isn’t quite up yet but it’s near enough, and I don’t fancy another drink.
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Harry stands and picks up my discarded cap and hoodie, perhaps to make sure I can’t scuttle back into my comfort zone the moment his back is turned. I have to admit, in the warm June sunshine the light vest is more comfortable. He waits for me to get to my feet, then we stroll back to my car. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s adjusted his speed for me. It’s not that I can’t walk as fast as anyone else, I just prefer not to because that makes my uneven gait more obvious. A sedate pace suits me, and Harry just fits in with it and not a word is said.
* * * *
We stop for lunch at a motorway services on the outskirts of Newcastle. I’m not that hungry given the huge breakfast we shared at the Queens Hotel but Harry insists we both need a break. It’s clear he’ll insist on a one hour stop-over so I excuse myself for a wander round the shops. There’s nothing spectacular here, just the usual travelers’ fare of magazines, paperbacks and confectionery, none of which excites me much. Harry has grabbed his iPad from his case and brought that in with him to take advantage of the Wi-Fi. I can see him across the mall, seated at a table with a cup of his favorite black coffee, tapping away at the screen. He pulls out his phone and makes a call. I wonder who he’s talking to, but of course it’s no concern of mine. It’s probably business. As far as I know, he has no social or family contacts in the UK. I have to acknowledge, though, and despite his protestations on the subject, that what I actually know about Harry McLeod would fit easily on the back of a stamp.
Still, it hasn’t stopped me so far. I watch him from my vantage point beside a passport photo machine. No doubt about it, he’s a treat to look at. I’m not the only woman who thinks so—I spot more than a few female heads turning as they pass on their way to the ladies’ loos. A tiny little girl totters toward him, her harassed mother busy with a tray of juice and sandwiches, and an older child intent on pestering for the cash to spend on a vending machine peddling small rubber balls. As his mother juggles her purse and the tray, the tiny tot, with that unerring cunning even the youngest children seem to be blessed with, sees her opportunity and makes a beeline for Harry. It would seem he’s a magnet for females of any age. It looks to me as though the first Harry knows of it is when a sticky hand clutches his knee. He turns and leans down. I see his lips move but of course I can’t hear what he says to her. Whatever it is, she approves. The tiny pink face splits in a beaming grin as she holds her dummy up for his inspection. I suspect Harry will have declined her offer, but he still catches the lump of plastic as the toddler drops it, preventing it from ending up on the floor.
The harassed mother rushes over, her face flushed as she grabs for her stray offspring. Harry’s easy smile causes my stomach to flip. He smiles at me too, all the time, but there’s more to it when he’s with me. A warmth, a flicker of interest, of something not quite definable but definitely there. I recall the semi-permanent erection he mentioned. I’ve not noticed it, but his jeans are not especially tight and he’s been sitting in my passenger seat all morning, the map open across his lap.
As I watch, the older brother comes trotting over, now with a bouncy rubber ball to add to the chaotic family mix. Harry is briefly surrounded but seems quite unfazed by the interruption. He’s soon alone again, in glorious, grinning isolation as the little family is herded away toward the pay desk. Time to rejoin him.
I may have been a tad hasty in my refusal to sleep with my enigmatic passenger. Is it too late to reconsider, I wonder? My limp is forgotten as I head back across the tiled floor.
Harry puts his iPad down as I approach, his smile pleasant. “We’ll stop again at Berwick, then go on toward Edinburgh. Sound okay to you?”
I slip into the plastic seat across from him. I’ve picked up a latte in a tall polystyrene cup on my way over so I place that on the table. I hope he doesn’t say anything calculated to choke me again. I nod in response to his question.
“Yes, fine. What’s in Berwick?”
“Not a lot, from what I can tell. There’s an arts center, though, with a decent restaurant, specializes in Italian food. We could eat there later.”
“Sounds good. Just a salad and a sandwich for now then?”
“Sure. You go choose something.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his wallet. He takes out a couple of twenty pound notes and tosses them onto the table in front of me. “That should be enough.”
Even at motorway service area prices that’s a lot more than enough. I pick up one of the notes. “Any requests?”
He glances at me, his expression wry. “For a woman who doesn’t want to fuck me, you do insist on living dangerously.”
I pointedly ignore his remark. “Meat or veggie? Cheese?”
He grins and seems to be enjoying the joke at my expense. “I’m easy, honey. Whatever you fancy.”
“Now who’s living dangerously?” I mutter the words under my breath but can’t miss the raised eyebrow as he watches me scuttle off.
I return with a selection of sandwiches and a tray of mixed salad. We polish it all off, and I realize I was hungrier than I thought. I’m looking forward to Berwick, and for the first time today, beginning to properly enjoy this trip.
The next couple of hours up toward Berwick seem to drag. Harry has managed to pick up a couple of classical CDs from the shops in the services—pleasant enough but not my taste really. My mind’s occupied negotiating the road and Harry seems content to watch the Northumberland countryside roll by. He has his iPad on his lap.
“It says here that the castle at Alnwick was the setting for Hogwarts in the Harry Potter movies. Did you know that?” Harry sounds like a small boy suddenly, excited at tales of wizards and magic, elves and goblins.
“Says where? What are you looking at?”
“Northumberland Tourist Board website. Very helpful. Did you know that when you pronounce it right Alnwick rhymes with ‘panic’?”
“I’m English so yes, I did know that. Not about Hogwarts, though.” I shake my head. I was never much of a Harry Potter fan, to be fair, whether in print or immortalized on screen. Now Harry McLeod, I could get interested in…
Christ, where did that come from?
By mutual and unspoken consent I pull into a lay-by with a view across to Holy Island. It’s low tide so the connecting causeway is visible and there are figures hustling to and fro, tourists mostly, I imagine. The priory, castle and harbor look stunning against the clear blue of the late afternoon sky, and I make a mental note to perhaps come back here sometime. I’ve always had a soft spot for castles.
“It’s a pity we don’t have time to go over there, have a proper look around.” Harry leans back in his seat, surveying the turreted skyline.
“Would you like to?” Perhaps he shares my fondness for old ruins.
“Why not? I’m on vacation.”
“There’s a castle in Edinburgh. A huge one, I think.”
“We’ll go there then, for sure.” He returns his attention to the iPad and taps the screen with his customary determination. “Hey, and pandas. They have real pandas at Edinburgh zoo. Do you like pandas, Hope?”
I’ve never given pandas a great deal of thought, but Harry’s enthusiasm is infectious. I can’t help the smile that seems to be always hovering around my face now, ready to break through at the least provocation. “Yes, I expect pandas are just lovely.”
“Right, we’ll be needing tickets to see the castle and the pandas. I’ll call Jill and get her to sort it all
out.”
“Who’s Jill?”
“My secretary, in Winnipeg. I’ll get her to book us a hotel too.”
“Separate rooms.” I’m considerably less convinced of the necessity of this, but feel compelled to make my point nevertheless.
He shakes his head, looks amused. “For now. Yes then, separate rooms.” He taps the screen on his phone—obviously Jill is on speed dial. I pretend not to listen as he issues his instructions for tomorrow’s excursions and tonight’s accommodation.
“Yes, just one night in Edinburgh. We’ll travel on later tomorrow.” A pause, then, “Thanks. If you would.” Another pause. “Perth probably. I’ll let you know after that.”
I surmise that he plans for us to be staying at Edinburgh today, and at Perth tomorrow. I find I have no objections. I start my engine.
Chapter Four
The arts center in Berwick lives up to its reputation as described by the Northumberland Tourist Board. The food is excellent, the service cheerful, the atmosphere vaguely bohemian. The evening’s entertainment could have been rounded off nicely with a Billy Joel tribute act, highly recommended by the lady on the front desk, but it’s not my scene. Nor is it Harry’s. We prefer to press on to Edinburgh. As we get back in the car to leave Berwick, Harry reels off a postcode and asks me to put it into my satnav.
“Our hotel for tonight. It’s about ten miles south of Edinburgh. Should take about ninety minutes. Wake me up when we get there.” With no more ado he props his feet on my dashboard and closes his eyes. He’s asleep in seconds.
I spend the hour and a half of quiet solitude enjoying the soft and lilting Borders landscape and wondering what on earth I’m thinking of, haring off to Scotland at a moment’s notice with a man I met only slightly more than twenty-four hours ago. I glance at Harry from time to time, his breathing light, relaxed, his face softened in sleep. He looks as though butter wouldn’t melt, but I already know better than to trust that innocent exterior. The clues are there. His casual reference to being kinky, his response when I said I wouldn’t sleep with him, his gentle teasing on that subject since. He fully intends to get me into bed.
