The boot slams behind me, and Luke comes round, a quizzical look on his face.
“You’re driving, are you?”
“Part of the way, I thought,” I say carelessly. “Just to take the pressure off you. You know, it’s very dangerous to drive for too long.”
“You can drive, can you, in those shoes?” He’s looking down at my clementine sandals — and I have to admit, the heel is a bit high for pedaling. But I’m not going to let him know that. “They’re new, aren’t they?” he adds, looking more closely at them.
And I’m about to say yes, when I remember that the last time I saw him, I had new shoes on — and the time before that, too. Which is really weird and must be one of those random cluster things.
“No!” I reply instead. “Actually, I’ve had them for ages. Actually…” I clear my throat. “They’re my driving shoes.”
“Your driving shoes,” echoes Luke skeptically.
“Yes!” I say, and start the engine before he can say any more. God, this car is amazing! It makes a fantastic roaring sound, and a kind of screech as I move it into gear.
“Becky—”
“I’m fine!” I say, and slowly move off across the car park into the street. Oh, this is such a fantastic moment. I wonder if anybody’s watching me. I wonder if Emma and Rory are looking out the window. And that sound guy who thinks he’s so cool with his motorbike. He hasn’t got a convertible, has he? Accidentally on purpose, I lean on the horn, and as the sound echoes round the car park I see at least three people turning to look. Ha! Look at me! Ha-ha-ha…
“My petal,” says Luke beside me. “You’re causing a traffic jam.”
I glance into my rear mirror — and there are three cars creeping along behind me. Which is ridiculous, because I’m not going that slowly.
“Try moving it up a notch,” suggests Luke. “Ten miles an hour, say?”
“I am,” I say crossly. “You can’t expect me just to whiz off at a million miles an hour! There is a speed limit, you know.”
I reach the exit, smile nonchalantly at the porter at the gate, who gives me a surprised look, and pull out into the road. I signal left and take a last glance back to check if anyone I know has just come out and is watching me admiringly. Then, as a car behind me starts to beep, I carefully pull in at the pavement.
“There we are,” I say. “Your turn.”
“My turn?” Luke stares at me. “Already?”
“I have to do my nails now,” I explain. “And anyway, I know you think I can’t drive. I don’t want to have you pulling faces at me all the way down to Somerset.”
“I do not think you can’t drive,” protests Luke, half-laughing. “When have I ever said that?”
“You don’t need to say it. I can see it coming out of your head in a thought bubble: ‘Becky Bloomwood cannot drive.’ ”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” retorts Luke. “The bubble actually reads: ‘Becky Bloomwood cannot drive in her new orange shoes because the heels are too high and pointy.’ ”
He raises his eyebrows, and I feel myself flush slightly.
“They’re my driving shoes,” I mutter, shifting over to the passenger seat. “And I’ve had them for years.”
As I reach into my bag for my nail file, Luke gets into the driver’s seat, leans over, and gives me a kiss.
“Thank you for doing that stint, anyway,” he says. “I’m sure it’ll lessen my risk of fatigue on the motorway.”
“Well, good!” I say, starting on my nails. “You need to conserve your energy for all those long country walks we’re going to go on tomorrow.”
There’s silence, and after a while I look up.
“Yes,” says Luke — and he isn’t smiling anymore. “Becky… I was going to talk to you about tomorrow.” He pauses and I stare at him, feeling my own smile fade slightly.
“What is it?” I say, trying not to sound anxious.
Luke exhales sharply. “Here’s the thing. A business opportunity has arisen which I really would like to… to take advantage of. And there are some people over from the States who I need to talk to. Urgently.”
“Oh,” I say, a little uncertainly. “Well — that’s OK. If you’ve got your phone with you…”
“Not by phone.” He looks straight at me. “I’ve scheduled a meeting for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I echo, and give a little laugh. “But you can’t have a meeting. We’ll be at the hotel.”
“So will the people I need to talk to,” says Luke. “I’ve invited them down.”
I stare at him in shock.
“You’ve invited businesspeople down on our holiday?”
“Purely for the meeting,” says Luke. “The rest of the time it’ll just be the two of us.”
“And how long will the meeting go on?” I exclaim. “Don’t tell me! All day!”
I just can’t believe it. After waiting all this time, after getting all excited, after all my packing…
“Becky, it won’t be as bad as that…”
“You promised me you’d take time off! You said we’d have a lovely romantic time.”
“We will have a lovely romantic time.”
“With all your business friends. With all your horrible contacts, networking away like… like maggots!”
“They won’t be networking with us,” says Luke with a grin. “Becky—” He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away.
“To be honest, I don’t see any point in my coming if it’s just you doing business!” I say miserably. “I might as well just stay at home. In fact—” I open the car door. “In fact, I think I’ll go home right now. I’ll call a taxi from the studio.”
I slam the car door and begin to stride off along the street, my clementine sandals making a click-clack sound against the hot pavement. And I’ve almost got to the studio gate before I hear his voice, raised so loud that several people turn to look.
“Becky! Wait there!”
I stop and slowly turn on the spot — to see him standing up in the car, dialing a number on his mobile phone.
“What are you doing?” I call suspiciously.
“I’m phoning my horrible business contact,” says Luke. “To put him off. To cancel.”
I fold my arms and stare at him with narrowed eyes.
“Hello?” he says. “Room 301, please. Michael Ellis. Thanks. I guess I’ll just have to fly out and see him in Washington,” he adds to me in deadpan tones. “Or wait until the next time he and his associates are all together in Britain. Which could be a while, bearing in mind their completely crazy schedules. Still, it’s only business, after all. Only a deal. It’s only the deal I’ve been wanting to make for…”
“Oh… stop it!” I say furiously. “Stop it. Have your stupid meeting.”
“Are you sure?” says Luke, putting a hand over the receiver. “Absolutely sure?”
“Quite sure,” I say, giving a morose shrug. “If it’s that important…”
“It’s pretty important,” says Luke, and meets my eyes, suddenly serious. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.”
I walk slowly back to the car as Luke puts away his mobile phone.
“Thanks, Becky,” he says as I get in. “I mean it.” He touches my cheek gently, then reaches for the keys and starts up the engine.
As we drive off toward a set of traffic lights, I glance at him, and then at his mobile phone, still sticking out of his pocket.
“Were you really phoning your business contact?” I say.
“Were you really going home?” he replies, without moving his head.
This is what’s so annoying about going out with Luke. You can’t get away with anything.
We drive for about an hour into the countryside, stop for lunch in a little village pub, then drive for another hour and a half down to Somerset. By the time we reach Blakeley Hall, I feel like a different person. It’s so good to
