Oh,for fuck’s sake.
I texted Jim earlier to tell him I was coming to the party after allandbringing a friend. I reasoned that if he knew I was coming with an actual date, he – being Henry’s best pal – would come up with an excuse as to why I shouldn’t come and then the plan would be ruined before it had even begun. I’d intended to reveal that River and I were ‘dating’ in much more of an elegant way. Like taking Jim aside, apologising for the awkwardness, over-explaining, apologising again. You know, standard British stuff.
I grimace. ‘Sorry for the surprise, Jim. I probably should have mentioned that River and I are … involved.’
Bless Jim and his impeccable breeding – the shock on his face only lasts for half a second before returning to his usual warm graciousness.
Jim waves me away. ‘Ah. I’m happy for you, of course.’ He smiles kindly at me. ‘We’ll make it work. The aim of this weekend is good old-fashioned fun, and River here looks like he knows just how to do that.’
When Jim places his hand on River’s shoulder, Riverslowly looks down at it in shock, as if no man of Jim’s diminutive stature has ever dared to touch him before.
‘But I should say … you chaps are in the room next to darling Henry,’ Jim tells us, patting River’s hulking bicep three times. ‘And not that it’s any of my business really, but perhaps you might, uh, keep any, uh, smooching,discreet. For Henry’s sake.’
‘Why? Do you think he’ll be jealous?’ I blurt out before immediately trying to settle my face into something a little less gleeful at the prospect of Henry’s jealousy.
‘Okay then!’ Jim says, avoiding my question. ‘I’ll see you two later for the literary quiz in the hotel bar?’
‘Definitely!’ I say brightly. ‘Can’t wait.’
River’s soulful eyes squint in the golden blaze of the late-afternoon sun as he looks out onto the horizon. Then he gazes down at me with an over-the-top, tender expression on his face. ‘Let’s go get to know our digs a little better, my sweet owl.’ He throws a wink at Jim. ‘Discreetly, mind you.’
When he grabs all the luggage from the car and strides off towards the hotel lobby at such speed that I have to jog to catch him up, Jim can only stare open-mouthed after us.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The hotel – being listed and built in the 1700s – doesn’t have a lift. So when River insists on lugging all of our bags up to the top floor on his own, I don’t complain.
We head down a thickly carpeted corridor towards our room and I look around in astonishment at how gorgeous this place is – even just the hallway! The walls are filled with delicate framed illustrations of plants and fauna, and even though this corridor only leads to two rooms – ours and Henry’s – it’s dotted with low polished wood tables filled with extravagant fresh flower arrangements of roses and peonies. Henry loves peonies.
Opening the door to our room, I gasp at the majesty of the space. It is truly, truly beautiful. High-ceilinged, dark forest-green painted walls, chic amber lamps, all lit even though it’s only 5 p.m., a huge four-poster bed covered in crisp cotton blankets and cream silk pillows and … Wait … One bed? Jeez. How did I, as a dyed-in-the-wool romance writer, not consider this possibility? When Jim said we were in the same room, I stupidly assumed that it would be a twin because I’d told him about River and I being just friends. I dart over to the bed to double-check it’s one of those zip-and-link thingamabobs we can pull apart into two beds. It is not. Damn.
‘Um, River?’ I start. ‘The thing is—’
‘This’ll do,’ River declares, dumping our bags onto the luggage rack, opening the double French doors at the end of the room, and striding out onto a whopping balcony that overlooks the stunning rolling hills of the Buckinghamshire countryside. He puts his hands on his hips like he is king of all he surveys, breathing in the air and making an ‘aaaaaah’ noise.
‘Oh wow,’ I gasp, stepping out into the sunshine and admiring what might be the most beautiful patch of countryside I’ve ever seen – lush rolling hills in shades of gold-green and sunflower-yellow, big feathery yew trees that carve out the borders of the river. Oh my God, there are the alpacas in bow ties!
‘Everything’s so tiny in England,’ River muses. ‘It’s like a fairy-tale picture book painted by Hockney.’
‘Itislike a fairy-tale picture book painted by Hockney,’ I grin. ‘That’s the exact right description.’
‘Yeah?’ River looks oddly pleased by the compliment before arranging his face back into its resting nonchalance.
‘Regarding the bed,’ I start, ‘… back at the flat you were sleeping on the sofa, so …’
I trail off, not quite knowing how to broach it without offending River about not wanting to share a bed with him, while also not implying that I think he’d make a move on me. I needn’t have worried, though, because as I’m still trying to construct a more diplomatic sentence, River returns to the room, grabs the chaise longue from the end of the bed, and carries it beneath one arm through the double doors, onto the balcony where he drops it down with a clang.
‘Uh, why are you moving the furniture outside?’
‘I like to sleep beneath the stars.’
‘Youwantto sleep outdoors?’ I ask, befuddled.
‘Beneath the stars,’ River corrects me, immediately lying down on the chaise longue, the length of him meaning his crossed feet dangle over the edge. ‘My favourite place to snooze is under this big old tree in a meadow near the ranch. It’s covered in hundreds of etchings, you know,Sue loves Ezra,Minnie and Charlie forever; I like to read them.’
‘That sounds awfully romantic,’ I say in surprise.
‘Oh, I read them because they’re so boring they help me to fall asleep.’
