Since You've Been Gone

by Anouska Knight

  “Well, Sunday’s really my only guaranteed day off.”

  “All right, well, how about Sunday at one-thirty? I could pick you up, or we could meet there?”

  “Meet where?”

  “I was thinking Atlas. Seems appropriate for someone unsure of the existence of whole continents.”

  Atlas was one of the most established eateries in the city. Even I’d heard of it, which said a lot as to the kind of reputation the place had earned itself. It was just the kind of restaurant I could see Ciaran in, enjoying fine foods I probably couldn’t spell let alone identify, and drinking wine so expensive it must have been bottled somewhere near the fountain of youth. Just the kind of place I would never have gone to with Charlie. Just the kind of place I would never have set foot into with anyone, actually. I didn’t want to go to Atlas. I needed something that resembled a comfort zone if this, whatever this was, was going to happen. What would Boudica do?

  I can’t believe I just asked myself that. I am officially going nuts.

  “I know a place. It’s closer than Atlas, and the views are better, too.” Finally, cohesion. Talking to Ciaran was like being lost in the fog, trying not to lose focus on the glow of distant light. Finally taking some degree of charge over a conversation with him was like finding a flashlight in my pocket. “If you don’t mind me choosing?”

  The phone went quiet. He was thinking.

  “Sure. You choose, I pay?”

  “You’re offering to pay before you even know where I’m suggesting?”

  “It can’t be more expensive than Atlas. Nowhere in the city is.”

  “Actually, it’s not in the city. But you’re right—it won’t be as eye-wateringly overpriced as Atlas.”

  “You don’t like Atlas?”

  “I don’t know. But no food costs that much to make.”

  “No, you’re right. But it’s not just the food you’re paying for—it’s the surroundings, the experience of dining there. I think you’d like it, Holly.”

  My name sounded softer when he spoke it and it made the tiny hairs on my neck react. I breathed the sensation away. He was probably right about Atlas, but it would only be the spectacle of it that I enjoyed. And that wouldn’t last.

  “I’m sure I would, but I happen to know somewhere whose surroundings can’t be topped. And I think you’d quite like the experience of dining there.” I wasn’t actually convinced he’d like it at all. In fact, he’d probably hate it, but there was no point in pretending to be something I had never been or would never be, and Atlas was all about the pretence.

  “So, are you going to tell me where this fantastic restaurant is, or are you going to surprise me?”

  I hadn’t thought very far into my own plan. “I think a surprise would be better.”

  “Then I’ll need to pick you up?” I hadn’t thought that far ahead, either. “Shall we stick with one-thirty, then? Your place?”

  I was thinking on my feet. “Make it eleven-thirty. It can be difficult to get to. We don’t want to leave it too late...in case we lose our reservation.” If we left at one-thirty, we wouldn’t be eating until after three.

  “It must be good. I’m intrigued. Do I need to worry about a dress code?”

  “It’s better than good. There’s nowhere else like it around here. But the best seats are alfresco, so remember your coat.”

  “My coat?”

  “Yeah, and wear something comfortable.” I knew exactly where I was going to take him, and couldn’t help but smile as I remembered how much I loved it there.

  chapter 21

  The adrenaline rush at making the morning’s mad dash to Hunterstone General had peaked and crashed on the journey home, yet there I was after our conversation, lying on my bed unable to relax into sleep.

  By eight-thirty, I’d given up altogether and opted for a shower and work instead.

  Ciaran was right—I had been singing. Loud and wildly with blissful abandon.

  Under the hot pattering of the shower, I found myself singing again. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered again so soon, but smoothing my legs off with the razor, I reminded myself of my mother’s words of wisdom. Always wear clean knickers and have cleanly shaven legs; you never knew when you might be knocked down by a bus. There weren’t many buses around Brindley’s Nook, but lately I’d found that you couldn’t be too careful with the unexpected coming your way.

  Jesse was singing, too, banging out Bill Withers’s “Lovely Day” when I let myself into the shop half an hour earlier than I would have done normally. Jesse wasn’t ready to accept what my garden already showed, singing his way to a more summery state of mind. Even Jess wasn’t usually this chirpy on Mondays. Saturday night must have set him up for the week.

  “Hey,” I said, dumping my things on the side.

  “Hey yourself,” he said, casting expectant eyes on me.

  “What?”

  “What?” he mimicked, shrugging shoulders that didn’t fool me.

  “What?”

  Jesse threw me the same look I’d seen his mother throw him. The don’t-give-me-that look.

  “Well, I could start with the reason-you’ve-come-in-to-work news but I’m going to cut straight to the what-happened-to-you-Saturday-night news instead.” Whatever information Jess thought he had, I was about to stick a pin in it.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m in because I can’t sleep, and you know what happened to me Saturday. I said goodbye to you and then went home.” Which was all true.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “That’s it? You just went home? Nothing to tell?”

  “Nothing to tell about what, Jess?” I could already feel my cheeks reddening.

  “You’re really going to play it this way? I tell you that Aleta dragged me into the ladies’ room with her and showed me just how high those legs of hers go, and you’re keeping your secrets to yourself? That’s cold, Hol.”

  “You didn’t! You did not have sex with our client in the loos. Tell me you didn’t, Jess.”

  “I didn’t, not in the conventional sense. But you could say that we’ve been properly introduced now.” Jesse’s face said it all. I didn’t need to know what they’d got up to, and neither did Modesto Benini.

  “What were you thinking, Jess? Modesto will go crazy if he finds out, and what about the work? Cinder Events won’t touch us if Nat hears about it.”

  “Nat knows,” Jesse said, grinning those perfect teeth of his at me.

  “What? Nice one, Jess. That’s that door closed, then.”

  “Relax, Hol. The only door that’s been closed was the door to the powder room. And both the lovely Aleta and Natalia were on the same side of it with me.”

  I looked at Jess and realised what had put him in a good mood. “Both of them?” I asked. “At once?”

  “Yeah, right? They hadn’t got that down in the papers about Aleta. To be fair, Aleta wasn’t all that surprising, but Nat?” Jess whistled at the surprises she’d shared with him. “Now that girl’s a dark horse. We’ll be getting a lot of work through Nat in the future.”

  “Don’t tell me any more,” I said, walking past him with my fingers in my ears. He was making cut-out hearts from a layer of rolled hot-pink fondant. “Have you washed your hands this morning?” I asked him.

  “Clean as a whistle, boss.”

  “Wash them again, dirty boy.”

  Jess started chortling in that throaty way men do.

  “So, anyway, boss. How clean are your hands?” He wasn’t making chit-chat; he’d turned and braced his arms behind himself on the ledge of the counter.

  I felt my eyes narrow.

  “Spotless. Thanks.” Jess’s eyebrows rose, inviting me to convince him further. “Perfectly spotless. Why?”

>   His bottom lip arched up then, questioning my honesty.

  “A little bird told me that Penny flipped out after you left. Something about a certain super-fly double agent ditching his own party and taking you all the way home?”

  “Well, you shouldn’t trust little birds, Jess. They might not have their songs straight.”

  “Trust me, when a woman is in the position Nat was in when she told me why Penny had sent her looking for me, I’m telling you she had her song straight. She was too preoccupied for anything else.”

  “Penny sent Nat after you? To find out where Ciaran had got to?”

  “Yeah, man. Nat busted us big-time. I thought I was in for the sack, until she started peeling herself out of her knickers. Man, that was some party.” The giggle was back.

  I just shook my head. It had been a long time for me. I couldn’t imagine walking into a room with anyone and just dropping my knickers. I wasn’t sure I even owned any nice knickers anymore. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things.

  Jess was enraged when I told him what had happened after I’d left the club. He was a different creature when he’d digested the behaviour of Ludlow and his friend, so much so that I sped into the ins and outs of Ciaran’s time at the cottage just to calm him down. It seemed to appease Jess, to know that Ciaran had stayed the night, despite there being no knicker-dropping involved.

  I told him about the lunch I’d agreed to, and, strangely, Jess didn’t give me any of the hoo-ha I’d expected him to.

  * * *

  The week trundled by without any fuss and, come closing time Saturday, Jess simply told me to have a good day. Jess seemed to know how to play me, always. For his sake he’d better be as good at keeping Nat and Aleta on side.

  It didn’t matter how good Jess was, though—once we’d broke for the weekend and I was back at the cottage, there was nothing to chase away the butterflies from my stomach.

  I was going to make everything fresh in the morning, but my fingers were tempted to send Ciaran a coward’s text, telling him my excuses for cancelling on him, so I put them to work on the food instead.

  Dave sat turning his head from side to side like a dysfunctional pendulum, watching as I chopped and bagged my way through a cucumber, a bunch of celery, cheeses, tomatoes, peppers, before making a start on my long-forgotten pièce de résistance, home-made coleslaw.

  It was late by the time I set everything in the fridge to chill before tomorrow’s picnic. Everything was done, bar the quiche and bread rolls, which I’d finish baking in the morning. Dave had lost interest, leaving me to survey the pile of food I’d created spanning nearly the entire breadth of the breakfast bar.

  I fell back onto the same stool I’d fallen off last weekend, and in one huge surge all of the butterflies suddenly materialized again, only this time they were wearing steel boots.

  My head felt hot in my hands as I sat staring at the small area of breakfast bar between my elbows. I’d spent nearly two hours making enough food to feed the forest lads, and all for one man who was used to dining at Atlas. A man who was going to hate my idea of a pleasant Sunday afternoon. A man who had been documented enjoying more women more times than I’d enjoyed home-made coleslaw. This was ridiculous. I was being ridiculous. What the hell was I hoping for here? What could possibly happen? I slid my phone open and pulled his number up on my text screen. A mail symbol flashed silently in the corner of the display. Please be Martha. The baby’s coming and she needs me there tomorrow. All day.

  No such luck. Jesse had messaged me. I touched the icon to open the text. His text was simple and concise: Don’t cancel. Have fun.

  I let my head bump off the breakfast bar, groaning all the way down as I went. “What are you doing Holly?” I whispered to myself, the left side of my face squished against the cool wooden surface. “Ciaran Argyll is a player.”

  chapter 22

  Four changes of clothes and things were getting out of hand. I’d already smashed a glass in the sink, snapped at Martha because she didn’t need me over and trodden on Dave’s paw. Now I had the insurmountable task of picking out which of three sweaters I was going to wear hidden under my jacket all day, where no one was even going to see it.

  This was ridiculous.

  Stones skittered across the yard outside and my time was up. Eleven-thirty on the nose.

  He’d come.

  The voile drapes turned out to be good for something. It wasn’t spying when it was your property, was it? No, I wasn’t spying on Ciaran Argyll as he strode across the yard to my front path. He had sunglasses on, and I realised what a beautifully sunny November morning it was. His hair looked blonder in this light, but it was a trick. I knew it was more brown than blond. He looked up at the window before disappearing from view under the porch.

  The knocker rapped against the door and a battalion of butterflies skipped down the stairs with me to open it. Even in the shade of the porch, the sunlight still clung to his hair.

  “Morning.” He smiled, cocking his head to one side. “Nice sweater.” He nodded towards the very boring berry-red sweater I’d just pulled over my checked shirt.

  “Hi. Thanks.” We stood for a moment, appraising one another’s outfits. I should’ve realised that Ciaran’s idea of comfortable was going to be sharp enough to attend a job interview.

  “Am I, er, a little overdressed?” he asked, taking in my jeans and polka-dot socks. He looked awkward, which immediately relaxed me.

  “No, you look great. It’s just that tailored trousers might get a bit messed up. It’s my fault. I should have been more specific.” I’d already cocked up. He couldn’t wear brogues where we were going. We were going to end up at Atlas. I knew it.

  “Well, I have a change of clothes in the car. Mary suggested it. I have jeans and I think she threw some boots in there, too.”

  Hold the phone.... We weren’t at Atlas yet.

  “That sounds ideal. Do you want to get changed while I finish packing the lunch?” I asked. I hadn’t even invited him in yet.

  “Sure, give me a minute.” And he was already walking back to his car.

  “Just come on in. Dave’s out back,” I called after him, then nipped back to the mirror sat over the console table in the hallway and quickly smoothed back the wisps of hair I’d disrupted with my sweater. A nervous sweat was trying to break out as I made it back to the breakfast bar to put the last few items of food into the top of the cool bag.

  “A picnic, then?” came that soft Celtic lilt from the doorway. “You should have said. I make a decent asparagus-and-prosciutto sandwich.”

  I stopped packing the cherry tomatoes. “Asparagus-and-prosciutto sandwiches?”

  He pulled the sunglasses from his face, revealing the still very sore-looking cut over his right eye. I felt my breath catch.

  “Sure. But only when the Marmite’s run out.” He grinned.

  “Well, no Marmite, I’m afraid, or asparagus. I have ham and mustard, though?”

  “Ham and mustard is my favourite.” He was still smiling as he moved over to help me put the last two foiled packages and plastic cups into the bag. His hand showed a few grazes now, just over the knuckles. “Anyway, I thought we’d agreed I was paying for lunch. You must have been working all morning on this.”

  I zipped up the bag and tapped the top of it. “You are going to be paying for it.... You’re carrying it.”

  “So do you mind if I go and change?” he said. “Or I could just whip my things off here while you finish up?”

  “No! You can go upstairs!”

  It was plenty hot enough in here without Ciaran whipping off anything. I listened as he creaked upstairs and into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him. A few moments of rustling later and the stairs were creaking under heavier shoes. I pretended to be busy when he appeared in the doo
rway again.

  “Is this more suitable?” he asked.

  Ciaran looked good in a suit, but I liked him even more so in his casual gear. Heavy dark blue denim sat over battered brown leather boots, and a cream cable-knit sweater rode high over his neck to greet the lower edges of his hair.

  “Much better.” I smiled, hoisting up the bag off the side. Ciaran automatically reached to take it from me, and I was hit by the fronds of his aftershave, sweet and fresh as the morning.

  Despite his change in clothes, I looked no less plain beside him when we walked out to the car. I looked plainer still when he opened the door for me to slip into the front passenger seat. It was hard not to be wowed by the luxurious interior of the car, a paler cream than Ciaran’s sweater and every bit as immaculate. Behind my head, the wings of Aston Martin’s logo were stitched, probably by vestal virgins, into the headrests of the seats. It was like sitting in the cockpit of a very nice spaceship.

  Ciaran slumped the boot closed with a cushioned thud and came around to the driver’s door. Please don’t let anything leak in his boot, I wished as he got in beside me.

  “So, where to?” he asked, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. Every time he moved, a waft of his cologne teased my nose.

  “Do you know Ellard’s Covert? On the far west road of the forest?”

  “Sure I do. My mother used to take me riding there when I was a kid.”

  “You’ve ridden? Well, that’s going to save time, then.”

  “Are we going to the old trekking centre?” he said, breaking into a grin. “I didn’t realise it was still there!”

  “Is that okay? I thought we could take the trail up onto the ridge and have lunch up there?”

  The car growled to life underneath us and Ciaran seemed to take on a new eagerness to get on with the day.

  “That sounds great. I haven’t ridden for years, though. I can’t guarantee the safety of the ham sandwiches.”

  Ciaran rolled the car out of the yard. Just past him I could see Mrs Hedley, placing an empty glass vase back in her front window. She smiled and gave a small nod as we passed. My hands felt clammy as Ciaran negotiated us through the rotten wooden gateposts and over the potholes in the track. Rob had warned me of people suing owners of private property for damage incurred on ill-maintained paths. I wondered how many cakes an Aston Martin claim would set me back.