What chance existed that he had waited for her? She had already let Fred down once by not meeting him after agreeing to do so. A grown man with appointments did not wait to be made a fool of a second time.
AFTER WHAT SEEMED like days, Jane turned down Praed Street in Paddington, red-faced and puffing. A flap of skin came loose from her ankle where Sofia’s leather shoe rubbed it raw. She ignored it and ran forward.
As she moved down the street, she glimpsed the bench she had sat on earlier that day. A man sat upon it with his arms crossed over his chest, shivering. Jane inhaled.
It was Fred. For some reason she could not grasp, he had waited for her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
You’re two hours late,” he said when she reached him.
“Thank you” was all she could reply. She bent over to catch her breath.
“We’ve missed the train,” he said.
“I am sorry. Thank you for waiting. I am glad you did not leave,” she said. She meant it.
“Did you get lost?” he asked. His voice was curt.
“No.”
“It’s fifteen minutes on the tube to St. Paul’s from here. What happened?” A mixture of emotions seemed to dance across his face: frustration, of course, but also something else. Was it relief? “I thought you’d stood me up again,” he said finally.
“No,” Jane replied quickly. But she had more bad news. Her face burned a shade of crimson. “I walked.”
He turned to her. “Why on earth?”
“I misplaced my Oyster card. Your card, really.”
“You didn’t buy another one? I gave you extra money.”
Jane bowed her head. “I lost your money. The ticket to Bath, too. I lost everything.”
Fred stared at her, incredulous.
Jane felt her voice breaking. “I was robbed, do you see? They took the money, your Oyster card, and my necklace. The house was not there. Now I’m stuck here!” Her eyes blurred. Mortification gripped her as tears threatened to emerge. She cared little for Fred’s opinion of the event; she hoped only that others had not seen. She turned and began to run away from him back down the street.
“Don’t run away,” he called after her.
“Go. I shall make my own way,” she said.
“No, you won’t.” He caught up to her and took her arm.
Jane blinked, willing her eyes not to cry. But it was no good. Hot, embarrassed tears tumbled down her face. She waited for Fred’s reproach and contempt. Instead, his face seemed fixed in a look of pain.
“It’s okay. It’s only money,” he said.
She nodded. “You don’t understand,” she said.
He put out his arms—what for, to hold her?—but Jane flinched, and he took them back. He offered her a handkerchief instead.
“Thank you,” she blubbered, and accepted the cloth. Jane dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes. She could not believe she was crying in front of this obnoxious man, to whom she was now indebted for money, for Oyster cards, for basically saving her life. She mopped up as many of the offending drops as she could.
He sat down on a bench and motioned for her to sit next to him. “Any good?” he asked, pointing to the handkerchief.
It was white and made of a strange substance, a cross between cloth and paper. “It does the trick,” Jane said. “Commendable liquid absorption.” She handed him back the handkerchief.
“Keep it,” he said.
“You don’t want your handkerchief back?” she asked.
“It’s just a tissue,” he said. “I have more.” He showed her a small package with five or six of the tissues inside. She shook her head. He must be very rich to own so many.
“Very well,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“What did you buy at Sainsbury’s?” he asked. He pointed to the bright orange bag, which Jane had forgotten she was holding.
“Oh, a bag of sugar,” Jane said. She lifted the package from the bag and showed it to him. “I paid the most extraordinary price for it; I’ve never found sugar so cheap.”
“Do you keep a keen eye on sugar prices?” he asked with a gentle smirk.
“Do you not?” Jane asked him.
“I don’t, but maybe I should,” he said. “Clearly I am missing some bargains.”
“I apologize. I used your money to purchase this. Here, take it, it’s yours.” She held up the package of sweet crystals to him.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare take your sugar.” He seemed always to stare at her with a bemused face, though not unsmiling. She had always interpreted this as some sort of contempt; now she wondered if she was mistaken, if it was something else. She could not put her finger on it exactly, but either his face had softened, or she was looking at him differently.
She blushed. “I’m sorry I made you miss your train,” she said.
He shrugged. “There’s another one in an hour.”
“I’m sorry for wasting your hundred pounds and for destroying your handkerchief,” she added.
“Please stop apologizing,” he replied. He smiled at her again in a way that made her swallow.
“How was your appointment?” she asked him.
“It was a disaster. I was supposed to be doing something clever and failed miserably.”
“What happened?” Jane said. She turned her knees toward him and listened.
He glanced at her knees, then spoke.
