AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Well, going to the Tower was the plan. But she ended up having to pick up a tour group from another guide. I’m sorry I won’t meet the Ravenmaster. Now we can go for a pint and a pie.”
ChapterTwenty-One
Cress
I spend some time this morning thinking about a possible new project if the Munro Innes book isn’t going to work. Max’s cousin Colin calls to invite me out to lunch and we meet a Pret-a-Manger not to far from City, one of the colleges of the University of London, where he taught and still has an office. He tries to assure me that everything will work out, but I’m noncommittal. Graciously, he walks me the short distance to the Guildhall Library.
The library is a treasure trove of London history and my mind whizzes with possible ideas related to crime and livery companies. Immersed in the riches on offer time gets away from me and now I’m going to be late. Max told me he wanted me to meet him at Heal’s, a famous furniture store, at six p.m. I have no idea why he wants to look at furniture, but I’m game. Afterwards we will meet the family for dinner, even though I’d rather just have room service and a quiet night alone.
I walk out to Aldermanbury Street. Not a cab in sight. In the end I walk to Bank Tube station to catch the Central Line to Tottenham Court Road. It takes longer than the usual six minutes because I keep glancing at the windows of the buildings lining the street, worrying that someone might be following me. With the bustle of pedestrians, I can’t really tell, but I make sure my purse is slung securely crossbody with my hand on the top as I try to check out people around me. Pickpockets are not uncommon.
I take care to stand well back on the platform and when the train pulls in, quickly find a seat, scrutinizing the few people who push on behind me. My muscles are tight as adrenaline runs through me at each stop. At this time of day, the Tube is crowded with commuters and relief washes over me when I get off at Tottenham Court Road. As far as I can tell, no one follows me out of the station. I hurry down the busy shopping street, breathless by the time the blue-and-white awnings ofHeal and Soncome into view. When I’m a little closer, I glimpse Max, who loiters on the sidewalk, glancing between his cellphone and the crowded sidewalk. When he catches sight of me, which is much more difficult since I am short and frequently hidden by other pedestrians, he waves his arms like a semaphore.
I smile at the vision of a guy, six-foot-five, in sober city attire, making a spectacle of himself outside a furniture store on a busy London street. When I am close enough, he grabs my arm, pulls me out of the mass of humanity, and presses me against him.
“Sorry I’m late,” I tell him, still gasping for air.
“Are you late?” He teases, the skin around his eyes crinkling in amusement.
I stand back and drink him in while he makes a show of checking his watch. “I don’t think that six minutes really counts as late.” Max hugs me again.
My skin tingles from the warmth of his body, grateful that he hasn’t asked why I didn’t take a cab. The buckle fastener from my purse digs into my abdomen. “Ouch.”
Max moves back. “What’s wrong?”
I adjust the bag to move the offending piece of hardware. “Let’s try again.” I move back into his arms, heedless of the shoppers milling around us.
“Ah, la mia stellina. I missed you the whole day.”
I snuggle in a bit more, not caring we are cuddling in full view of gawkers and hecklers. “I missed you too.”
“Did you write?”
“No. I had lunch with your cousin Colin to tell him I was dropping the project. He begged me not to give up and promised to set me with interviews and access to the family archive.” I’m mumbling into his chest. “And he told me Des will come around—or at least won’t make trouble. I hope he’s right. But if not, I have another idea. I spent the afternoon at the Guildhall Library and I’m kind of excited.”
“Colin’s a good bloke. Des is an arsehole. But he usually comes right in the end. After he’s had his fill of mischief-making.” Max makes it a pronouncement.
Distantly, passersby emit the usual clichéd cries.
“Nice.”
“Clear off the pavement.”
“Disgusting.”
“Damned Americans.”
“Come on.” Max releases me, then slips my arm through his, then leans over for another kiss. “You’ve never been to Heal’s?”
I shake my head no. “I’ve passed it many times, but I’ve never gone in. Never needed to buy furniture when I was in London. Are you looking for something for the London house?”
“We’re not here for the furniture.”
“Then why are we here, Max?”
“I wanted a little time alone with you. And I wanted to give you a treat. Except for our dinner Clos Maggiore, we’ve been accountable to other people.”
“I suppose we can’t blow off dinner?
