According to my phone, Eaton Square was in Belgravia, not far from Sloane Square. It was going to be a nightmare heading further towards the centre of London, but I had to do it. My hands were clammy and my mouth dry as I figured out what route I needed to take. Once I’d squeezed myself back onto another bus going in the direction of Oxford Circus, I sent a quick text message to Lisa to let her know I’d been delayed. I didn’t want to her to worry but I didn’t go into detail. They’d probably think I was having some ill-advised hook-up with Peter. Shudder. I’d explain it to them later.
As the bus juddered on through the traffic, my elation took a dip and the musty atmosphere of the bus, along with its stop-start motion, started to make my belly roll with nausea. By the time I’d reached my stop, I was desperate for air.
Sloane Square was bustling with a mellow, mid-evening vibe. Late enough that people were enjoying themselves but not so late that it was getting rowdy. I made my way into the centre of the square and sat on one of the benches, letting the fresh air revive me. The trees had been dressed with pretty white blossom lights and down the rows of shops large snowflakes were lit up like banners draped between the buildings. I took that moment, sitting on the bench and watching everyone going by, to remind myself that I’d already reconciled myself to the fact my chance with Nick was gone. I hadn’t thought I’d get this opportunity at all. So, if all that happened was that he listened to my apology and said goodbye, it would be okay. I’d be in no worse situation than I had been this morning, when I was travelling up to London, getting misty-eyed over the video of us dancing at the festival. (Yes, okay, I’d watched it one more time when I was on the train.) The phrase ‘the one that got away’ was coined for a reason. Sometimes, those slippery little hotties did get away from you.
Once I’d given myself that pep talk, I started walking again, following the directions on my phone. Eaton Square turned out to be more of a rectangle that stretched on and on, an endless line of stately cream buildings with thick pillars and windows shielded from a central main road by two long, narrow, fenced-in gardens parallel to the houses. I felt like I couldn’t even afford to stand on the pavement outside some of those buildings.
Gratton House was on the corner of one of the roads that led onto the square. It was part red brick, part stone, and smaller than most, so a smidge less intimidating when I stepped up to its oversized red door. There was a small intercom panel with the apartment numbers, only six in the whole building.
I adjusted my guitar across my back, squeezed my eyes shut for a second, and then pressed the buzzer for 2a.
‘Yes? Cartwright residence.’
‘Hi Stephen, it’s Beth.’
‘Excuse me, who?’
‘It’s Beth, from the hotel in Loganbury. Can I come in?’
‘What? No – no you can’t—’
‘Who’s that?’ I heard Nick’s voice in the background, distant but unmistakably his and I leaned closer to the intercom as though I might be able to reach in and yank him out.
‘No one. Just a neighbour.’ My mouth fell open as Stephen’s muffled voice lied to him. ‘Look, I’ll come down and talk to you about it,’ he said over the intercom again and then it cut out.
I pressed my hand to my forehead realising I might have made it to the final level in this game, but I still had the small boss to dispatch before I reached the big boss and the final showdown inside. I paced across the smooth stone step waiting for Stephen, heels clicking, one-two-three-four, turn, one-two-three-four, turn.
The light in the entrance hall beyond the door flicked on, glowing through the door and the surrounding windowpanes, and then Stephen appeared. Before I had a chance to join him inside though, he stepped out and closed the door behind him again.
He rubbed his arm against the chill that must’ve been cutting through his long-sleeved polo shirt and half laughed, shaking his head. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you hated London.’
‘Yes, ha-ha, very clever. You know why I’m here. I want to see Nick.’
‘He’s not here.’ Stephen gave me an innocent smile. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted trip.’
‘I just heard him over the intercom, talking to you. You’re lying. Again,’ I added dryly.
‘What was I supposed to have lied about the first time?’ He took a sip from the glass of clear liquid he’d brought down with him. The picture of nonchalance. What was it with me and doorsteps and arrogant men tonight?
‘You lied about Nick being the hotel reviewer.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ He chewed on his lower lip, releasing it with a slow scrape against his teeth. ‘Well. The thing is. I thought it was for the best. I couldn’t convince him to leave you alone, so I needed you to back off.’
‘Why? Did it really dent your pride so much that I picked him over you?’
‘No,’ he answered a little quickly, frowning. ‘Of course not. I wasn’t jealous.’
‘Oh, I know you don’t like me that way. When you asked me out, I was just a way to pass the time right? Did it make you feel inadequate or something though, that he got further with me than you did? Was it some stupid sibling rivalry thing?’
‘No. I told you. It wasn’t that.’ He stood up straight, rubbing a hand roughly over his head. ‘Believe me. I know he’s got his fair share of female admirers – and he isn’t clueless about his appeal either by the way – but heisa soft touch. He’d helpanyone. Give them anything… And he was clearly besotted with you. The last thing he needs is someone taking advantage of him at the moment.’
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. ‘How did you think I was taking advantage of him?’
‘Helping you out with running the hotel. There was nothing going on between you when we first arrived. And then suddenly there’s a staff shortage and he’s your favourite companion.’
‘It wasn’t like that. I kept telling him he didn’t have to help. But he said keeping busy helped keep his mind off losing your mum.’
He paused halfway to taking a drink. ‘He talked to you about her?’
