Escape for Christmas: A Novella (The Escape Series Book 2)
Page 21
“OK, that does sound daft.” Looking abashed, Susie returns her attention to her lunch. “So, if you’re not coming shopping I suppose you’re going to blow me out tonight as well?”
“I’ll be there,” I promise, rashly. “It just might be a bit later, that’s all. I promised Simon I’d go through some notes this evening.”
Susie’s eyebrows shoot into her fringe. “Sexy Dr Simon? Is there something I should know?”
“Simon’s just a colleague.” I say, as I do an impression of an Edam cheese. Drat. Why do redheads blush so easily? It’s so unfair. As if corpse-white skin and freckles aren’t enough to contend with.
Susie stretches out her hands and pretends to warm them on my scarlet face.
“Wow! Look at the colour of you! You really fancy him, don’t you?”
“What are we? Fifteen?”
“Don’t change the subject, Cleo Rose Carpenter. This is me you’re talking to, remember? You looked just like that when you fancied Duncan from Blue!”
That’s the problem with having a best friend who’s known you since you were eleven – you can’t get away with anything. I’ve spent years trying to live down my embarrassing teenage crushes and fashion errors, or at least live them down as much as I can when I have Susie on hand to remind me. Thanks goodness I never told her about my Christmas stranger. She’d still be on about him now.
Unable to meet her gaze, I look down at the table, suddenly fascinated by the muffin crumbs scattered across the sticky surface. If Susie takes one look at me now she’ll know the truth – the painful, awkward, unprofessional truth: I do indeed fancy my newest colleague. Since he arrived I’ve struggled to focus on anything else. This is most unlike me. Normally I’m entirely career focused and, give or take a few dates now and then, pretty happy with being single. Life might be a little lonely sometimes but at least it’s under control. Usually my pulse never races, and I certainly don’t find myself checking my hair and make-up in the display cases every five minutes just in case I bump into a particular person. Until now, I’ve never regarded my colleagues as anything other than respected academics, probably because they’re only slightly younger than some of our exhibits – so to suddenly be working with an Egyptologist who’s not only brainy but also sex on a stick has thrown me completely.
“You do fancy him!”
I sigh. Right. I admit defeat. Of course I fancy our new Egyptologist – not that there’s much mileage in it, given that every female with a pulse in the Henry Wellby Museum fancies Simon Welsh.
“Come on, babes, ask him out!” Susie urges. “He sounds perfect. After all, what are the chances of you ever meeting a fit guy who’s as obsessed with dead Egyptians as you are?”
She has a point. The odds of my winning the EuroMillions are probably higher – and I don’t even buy tickets. But ask Simon out? No way! Never! Imagine if he said no? Just thinking about how humiliating this would be makes my skin prickle with horror.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Chicken,” says Susie.
She’s right. I’m such a chicken it’s a miracle Colonel Sanders hasn’t coated me in eleven secret herbs and spices and served me up in a KFC Bargain Bucket. When it comes to guys I’m useless. Unlike Susie, who can flirt for England, I just get quieter and quieter. Men probably think I’m aloof, when the truth is I’m just shy.
Dr Simon Welsh is the newest addition to our department. I don’t think anyone’s arrival has ever caused such a stir at the Wellby. Not only does he have very recent field experience and an impressive list of published papers behind him, but he’s also exceptionally good-looking, in a dishevelled, stubbly sort of way. When Simon was introduced at his first department meeting, our Departmental Assistant, Dawn, was practically drooling all over the minutes and her eyelids were batting so much she looked deranged. Even our secretary looked flustered and gave him all the custard creams. I’d kept my face impassive and listened intently to Dr Welsh’s presentation – but I hadn’t heard a word because I’d been far too busy sneaking glimpses at those sleepy denim-blue eyes and that slow, sexy smile. When a lock of corn-coloured hair flopped across his face I’d had to practically sit on my hands to stop myself leaping forward to brush it away.
So for the past few weeks I’ve been a nervous wreck. I’ve done my best to avoid Simon, but on the few occasions we have met, my tongue’s turned itself into a pretzel and I’ve hardly been able to say a word. Which is ridiculous. I’m twenty-nine! Surely I’ll be back to normal soon?
“Anyway, never mind Simon,” continues Susie, who knows me well enough not to push the issue. “I’m your oldest friend and deserve some quality time. You even blew me out on my birthday last week, so you have some serious grovelling to do.”
“I was working!”
“That’s a crap excuse, but because I love you I’m going to let you off. On one condition.”
Susie’s conditions are not for the faint-hearted. The last one involved me tackling a pile of ironing so high that NASA could have used it for the Mars mission.
“Which is?”
My best friend reaches into her bag and pulls out two tickets. Passing one to me, she says quickly, “Annie from work got them for my birthday but she’s going away and I really don’t want to go on my own. Please come with me, Cleo! Please!”
“Lilac Delaney: An evening of clairvoyance and mediumship,” I read. “You have got to be joking.”
“Come on, Cleo, please! You’re always letting me down.”
“Just because I don’t always want to join in your social whirl doesn’t mean I’m letting you down. I pay all my bills and the rent on time, don’t I? And who bailed you out last month when you’d forgotten to pay the council tax and spent the money on some ridiculous new bag?”
“It was really funky,” mutters Susie sulkily.
“So you get a brand new bag and I get to pay the council tax? I think that makes me the world’s best flatmate.”
“You’d be an even better one if you came to see Lilac Delaney with me. What have you got to lose? It’s not as though you actually believe in any of it.” Susie narrows her blue eyes thoughtfully. “Unless you’re scared that something’ll happen and you’ll be proved wrong, Mrs I’m-Such-a-Sceptic.”
“Hardly,” I snort. “I just don’t want to see you get ripped off, that’s all. And before you say it, I know you believe this woman’s genuine, you poor deluded girl.”
“So prove me wrong? If we go and it’s total bollocks I promise I’ll agree with you, forever. I’ll never ever mention paranormal stuff again!”
Because this sounds too good to resist, I find myself agreeing to accompany her to see the famous psychic. All in the name of research, obviously. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I’ll be proven right.
In twenty-nine years, the only thing that hasn’t let me down is my research.
Ruth Saberton is the bestselling author of Katy Carter Wants a Hero and Escape for the Summer. She also writes upmarket commercial fiction under the pen names Jessica Fox, Georgie Carter and Holly Cavendish.
Born and raised in the UK, Ruth is now based in Grand Cayman for two years. What an adventure!
And since she loves to chat with readers, please do add her as a Facebook friend and follow her on Twitter.
www.ruthsaberton.co.uk
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21