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‘No, not really,’ she replied honestly, glancing over at him as he turned his head to face her. She saw something flicker in his eyes but it was gone too fast for her to read it. ‘Of course there are some things I miss. Fish and chips, proper football, marmite on toast, queuing.’
He gave her a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘If that’s all you miss, it’s no wonder you haven’t been back since—’
‘The funeral,’ she finished for him. ‘I haven’t thought of it like that. To me it’s not the country you miss, but the people. With Robert and my parents no longer here—’
‘There wasn’t any reason to come back.’
This time he finished the sentence for her. And this time she recognised the look in his eyes. Hurt, plain and simple. ‘That’s not quite what I meant.’ And it wasn’t. If only he knew. ‘Of course, it would be great to come back and see you.’
Another smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Sure.’ Immediately he started to clear away the picnic things.
Thoughtfully Lizzie got to her feet, the champagne sloshing around her bloodstream quite nicely. Her words had been ill-chosen, but his reaction to them seemed out of proportion.
She shot him another glance, but he avoided her eyes.
‘I’m bound to come to London with work at some point. When I do, I’ll give you a call. And with more notice than the day before,’ she told him pointedly, though she smiled to take some of the edge off her words.
He stiffened, then acknowledged her dig with a nod of his head. ‘Touche.’
They walked back to the boat in silence, but it wasn’t as comfortable as it had been before the picnic. Briefly she wished she hadn’t drunk so much. It was hard enough to read Nick when she was sober, but being mildly pissed made it almost impossible.
* * *
On the journey back down the river Nick cranked up the stereo, hoping the calm of the classical music would hide his lack of conversation. It was high time he learnt not to ask questions he didn’t want to know the answer to. What had he expected her to say? Yes, of course I miss England, because I really miss you. Furtively he glanced over his shoulder at her. Glass of champagne in her hand — she’d not wanted to waste it and he was driving them home so couldn’t drink any more — she was absorbed in her book. It gave him another chance to study her. She’d tied back her hair with a multi-coloured scarf and hidden both beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. Large designer sunglasses hid most of her face. Despite this, it was impossible to hide her sex appeal. From the brim of her hat to the delicate sandals on her feet, she oozed a poise and glamour that other women simply didn’t have. She’d casually knotted her shirt at the waist, exposing a hint of tanned, flat stomach. Her shorts were pink and very . . . well, short.
He gritted his teeth and looked away. There was a limit to the number of long runs and cold showers a man could take. Spending all this time with her was slowly driving him crazy.
As he helped her off the boat, Lizzie swayed a little.
‘Oops, I think I might be the teeniest bit piddled.’
‘Piddled?’
‘You know, slightly sloshed. Not quite three sheets to the wind, but definitely two.’ She lost her footing and giggled. ‘Maybe two and a half.’
‘You’re a lightweight.’
She arched him a look. ‘No way. I could drink you under a table.’ Another laugh bubbled out of her. ‘Oh, that sounds a bit funny, doesn’t it? As if I can drink you, which I can’t. Well, not all of you. There are bits of you I could drink, maybe.’
‘We need to get you into the car,’ he interrupted quickly. Saints alive, his overactive imagination had no problem thinking of the bits of him she could drink. No problem at all.
Once he’d bundled her in, Lizzie turned on the radio and proceeded to sing every song the station played, whether she knew the words or not.
‘Come on. I shhhouldn’t sing alone,’ she slurred. ‘My voice is bad. Very bad.’
‘Mine is superb,’ he lied, ‘but I prefer to keep it under wraps. You know, British reserve and all that.’
Lizzie stuck out her tongue, turned the volume up even higher. And carried on singing.
When they arrived back at the barn, she was still raring to go. ‘Come on outside, Nick, and bring another bottle. I want to party.’
He took one look at her soft, slightly unfocussed blue eyes and knew he was heading for trouble. It didn’t stop him from pulling a bottle of white wine out of the fridge, grabbing two glasses and going to join her.
‘What a stupendous day,’ she said with a sigh, leaning back against the wooden steamer chair. Squeezing his arm, she winked at him, sending his blood pressure through the roof. ‘You know, it’s been lovely to spend time with you again. I missed you these last few days.’
‘Yes, well, as I already explained . . . I was busy.’
She laughed, the sound husky and deliciously sexy. ‘Come on, Nick. Wasn’t it you who told me I may be blonde, but I’m not dumb? You stayed away because you were embarrassed we kissed.’
