‘No. But thanks for looking quite so surprised at the possibility.’
‘No offence.’
‘Some taken.’
I bumped my head on his arm as we sat on the bench, absorbing the sultry atmosphere of the late evening. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re too nice to have a reputation.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, flatly.
‘You’re welcome,’ I replied, completely missing the inherent sarcasm. And then I fell asleep.
* * *
Sunbeams tickled my face and I opened my eyes. Too bright! Quickly, I closed them again. Rolling over, I breathed in the smell of clean linen. Now facing away from the window, I tried again with the whole eye-opening procedure. This time it was a little easier, although my head still pounded whichever way I faced. I took a deep breath, pushed myself up a little and let out a groan. It might smell like clean linen but it certainly didn’t look like it. Almost half of the pillowcase was smeared in what had once been my make-up. I hardly dared look at my face.
I pushed the duvet back and swung my legs off the bed, bending my body up to follow in such a manner that kept my head from moving until the very last moment. I looked down. The fabric of my dress was all crinkly anyway so at least it didn’t look as if I’d slept in it, even though I clearly had. I had absolutely zero memory of going to bed and, as I was still fully dressed, could only assume Charlie had deposited me there. Peering sideways and hesitantly in to the mirror, I let out a squeak. The same could not be said of my hair and make-up. Both positively shouted ‘slept in’. I flopped down on the dressing-table stool and glanced around. My bag was on the bedroom chair. Leaning over, I snagged the strap and pulled it towards me, plopping it on my lap. I rummaged inside and found a hairbrush. A few minutes later, having argued with some knots and tangles, my hair looked slightly more presentable. My face, however, was another matter. I looked around the room and noticed the door on the far side of it ajar. Getting up, I crossed the room and gingerly pushed the door open a little more. En suite. Charlie, you star.
* * *
‘Good morning,’ Charlie said, as I poked my head out of the kitchen doors.
‘Well, one of those is right,’ I replied, shading my eyes from the sun.
He was sitting on a Penguin Paperback deckchair, reading the business section of a newspaper. The rest of it was strewn in various directions around the bottom of the chair.
‘Bad, is it?’
‘It’s not the chirpiest I’ve ever felt, I have to say.’
‘I know how to fix that. Come on.’ He got up and walked past me back into the kitchen. ‘Here,’ he said, pointing to a glass of orange juice on the counter. Next to it stood two small tablets. ‘Take those and drink that for a start, then we can get some breakfast sorted.’
‘I’m not sure I’m up for breakfast, Charlie, thanks all the same.’
‘Yes, you are. It’ll do you good. Soak up the alcohol. Believe me, I know from personal experience.’
‘I’ve never seen you drunk. I can’t even imagine it.’
‘You’ve only known me a short while. Give it time. And why can’t you imagine it?’
I finished the juice and walked to the sink to rinse the glass. ‘I don’t know. You just don’t seem the type.’
‘The type?’
I lurched for one of the bar stools that stood in a military line against the large central island. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Charlie. It just seems like you wouldn’t like losing that studied control you have about you.’
He pulled a face. ‘You think I’m a control freak?’
I shook my head. That was to say, I rolled it from side to side as I’d now laid it on my folded arms on the worktop. ‘No,’ I said, my voice muffled. ‘You’re just… Charlie.’
‘I see. That, of course, makes it a lot clearer.’
I pulled my head up from the counter and squinted at him.
‘It’s a good thing, though.’
‘Uh huh.’ He gave a little head-shake. ‘Come on. You need some food inside you.’
‘I’ll throw up.’
