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He pulls a face but says, “All right.” Then he grins. “Want to take a walk along the river?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He has a mouthful of the whisky, and then says, “I’ll finish that when I get back.”
Leaving my glass beside his, I undo the sliding back door and head out into the balmy late afternoon.
“Phew,” I say as we start walking slowly along the path beside the river. “It’s so warm.”
“Very Kiwi,” he says. “Do you miss the weather?”
“It does rain a lot here. But I don’t mind.”
“Have you seen much of the rest of the country?”
I tell him a little about my trip to Kent and Sussex in the southeast, mainly to visit the remains of the Roman Saxon Shore forts, the site of the Battle of Hastings, and the medieval castles like Leeds and Bodiam.
“I’d like to go to Wales,” I say, “and see Harlech Castle, and Caernarfon, and up to Hadrian’s Wall, and Stonehenge, and all the sites I didn’t see in London. There’s so much history here.”
“Should keep you busy for a while,” he says.
I smile, but he looks away, across the river. We walk quietly for a while. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach. For the first time, I wonder whether he was secretly hoping that when we go back to New Zealand, I’d stay there? It’s a big presumption. I know he likes me, but he’s only been in Devon for three days. It’s hardly the love of a lifetime. I wish I had the courage to ask him to kiss me, or to just kiss him, but I don’t.
He’s a mogul, for God’s sake; a billionaire businessman who does keynote speeches at top conferences. I know he has an IQ of 159 because Oliver teases him that he’s thick because it’s less than Einstein’s. He might want to get in my knickers, but he’s not going to be interested in having a relationship with a primary school teacher, I’m sure.
Besides which, he’s a guy, and guys tend to be able to sleep with girls without forming emotional attachments. The only person likely to get hurt if we were to have a fling would be me.
I sigh. Part of me wishes I’d said no to coming here with him, especially now we’re supposed to act like a couple for a few days. It’s just a bit of fun. But I have to make sure my heart stays locked away, because I’m pretty sure that if I let Lawrence Oates get anywhere near it, he could easily shatter it into a thousand irreparable pieces.
Chapter Twelve
Titus
Heidi sighs, and my stomach gives a strange flip. I can’t deny that, deep down, I was hoping she’d had enough of England, and that when we go back to New Zealand, she realizes how much she misses it, and decides to stay.
But she speaks about the history here so passionately, and she loves her job, and I know she’s not ready to go. I can’t expect her to leave for a guy she barely knows, just because he thinks he sees the seed of something worth nurturing. It’s hardly strong enough to build a future on.
I glance across at her. She’s studying one of the moorhens that’s gliding on the river, and she looks sad. Is it because she’s also thinking that she doesn’t want to leave here? Does she feel the same way I do—that there’s a spark of something between us? Or is she thinking about Jason, maybe wondering whether she should try again with him?
Anger flares inside me. She wouldn’t go back with that idiot, would she? No, of course she wouldn’t. She’s sad because she likes me, and she has feelings for me, and she can’t bear the thought that our time together is limited. That’s what I’m going to assume, anyway.
“Talk to me about your school,” I say, because I want to return the smile to her face. “What does your typical day look like?”
Sure enough, she brightens as she starts telling me about her pupils, and how her day progresses. When she’s laughing and joking around, it’s easy to think of her as a young woman without a care in the world, but when she talks about her work she speaks knowledgeably and passionately, telling me about teaching standards, statutory assessment requirements, and differentiation—how she adapts her teaching to respond to the strengths and needs of pupils.
“They’re very lucky to have you,” I say, holding up a branch of a tree that’s leaning across the path.
“Thank you.” She ducks under it, then holds it up for me so I can pass beneath.
We continue on along the magical pathway that makes me feel as if we’re miles from civilization, surrounded by bird calls and the occasional splash of a fish jumping out of the water. At one point, she stops with a gasp to point at a kingfisher sitting on the bridge crossing the water, its turquoise feathers glinting in the sunshine. As we go over it and start to head back, we spot a small mammal darting through the shallows that she tells me is a water vole. Ducks swim past, looking at us with interest, and elegant dragonflies with their diaphanous wings skim along the river’s surface.
It’s a beautiful vista, but it’s still not as beautiful as the girl walking by my side. It’s warm and humid out here, and her English-rose complexion glows. Her blonde hair gleams in the sunlight. It’s the perfect length to draw attention to the soft, pale skin of her elegant neck. It makes me want to kiss it.
“Titus,” she scolds.
“What?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
