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‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said, a bit taken aback but still refusing to take the scarf.
Freya rolled her eyes.Men. They can be so dumb sometimes, she thought.She glanced at him a couple more times before finally quickening her pace and turning around and stepping right in front of him. He stopped dead in front of her. ‘We’re not there yet.’
‘I know.’ She stood on tiptoes and wrapped the scarf around his neck.
He just stood there, staring at her.
Freya tied the scarf in a loop. ‘There.’ Her eyes caught his. ‘What? I’m fed up with you looking so cold. It’s stupid. I know the scarf is pink, but it’s better than being cold.’
Freya expected him to take it off or protest that she would be cold without it. Instead, he just stood there staring at her, a look of bemusement on his face. She guessed why. Most of the time, she was distant and aloof. She wished she hadn’t confessed to Jolene how much she enjoyed his company. But she’d kept it strictly professional – making sure Tarek never guessed how very fond of him she’d become in such a short space of time. Now showing concern by giving him the scarf might have given her away. She hoped not.
She found his silence a tad disconcerting. Sometimes she couldn’t get a word in edgeways. ‘What?’
Freya stared into his chocolate-brown eyes. And there it was again, that funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. One day soon, she’d never look into those eyes again. He would only be there for a short time, a matter of weeks, before he flew home.
‘You have beautiful eyes.’
‘Oh, right,’ Freya said in a deadpan voice. That wasn’t news to her. Everyone who knew her commented on the beautiful, and rather exotic, almond shape of her eyes.
‘I think you have some Middle Eastern in your family tree.’
Freya laughed, falling in step with him as they walked. ‘I don’t think so.’
He glanced at her. ‘But how do you know? Have you researched it?’
‘My family tree?’ Her first thought was,why would I?There would be nothing interesting to discover. But now she wasn’t so sure. That woman and her child whom they used to meet in the park came to mind.
She looked at Tarek. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘You should. It might raise some interesting possibilities.’
Freya looked at him sharply. Had he been talking to Jolene? But his expression, one of polite inquiry, didn’t indicate that he had a clue what she and her best friend had been talking about. Besides, she couldn’t see Jolene getting into much of a conversation with Tarek.
‘If you look, who knows? You might find something interesting in your past.’
‘By interesting, you mean like a long-lost relative from some far-flung distant shore?’
‘Yes.’ Tarek came to a halt on the pavement. ‘Here we are.’
‘Where?’ asked Freya, looking about her. They’d just passed a very nice café, which she had never ventured into because there was always a queue of people waiting to be seated. She had briefly hoped he might be taking her there, but she knew they wouldn’t have time in their lunch hour to wait for a table. And it wasn’t just that; the café was waiter service only, and she knew it was expensive.
‘It’s right here.’ He pointed at some stone steps beside a church called St. Michaels.
‘We’re going into a church?’
He nodded and smiled before turning for the steps. She had walked past the church on Trinity Street countless times, but had taken no notice of the steps – or the small billboard outside encouraging people to go inside for refreshments.
She followed him down the stone steps and through a pair of double doors, then stopped in surprise. Inside, straight ahead of them, was a small counter with two people serving home-cooked meals and soups, along with the usual cakes and scones you’d find in most cafés. But what set this apart was the venue. It might have been the church crypt at one point. The soft yellow stone walls made it feel like the refectory of an old castle. And the room was quite cavernous. The place was packed, with hardly a spare seat at the small plastic tables.
‘This place is called Michaelhouse Café. There’s a mezzanine level up there.’ Tarek pointed to a spiral staircase. She could see people sitting at tables, looking down over the room. ‘It’s got a marvellous view of the college if you get a table by the window.’ They stopped in front of the counter. ‘What would you like to eat, Freya?’
Freya saw the person ahead being handed a plate of lasagne. It looked delicious. She suddenly felt ravenous and realised that her bracing walk in the fresh air had built up at appetite. ‘I’ll have lasagne.’
He smiled. ‘Perfect. Me too.’
Emily headed for the spiral staircase while Tarek waited in the queue. Up on the mezzanine level, there was a table by the window. But Freya fancied one that looked out over the impressive interior of the church. She pulled out the chair, took a seat, and marvelled at the stonemasonry.
A moment later, Tarek had joined her. ‘This place is amazing,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe in all the years I’ve lived in Cambridge, I’ve never discovered this place.’
