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‘I figured,’ he said huskily, swinging into the driver’s seat and starting the engine, which roared into life, ‘That if Mohammed wasn’t going to come to the mountain, then the mountain would have to come to Mohammed.’
‘What do you mean?’
Maude shifted to look at him to find him gazing at her, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel and an amused half-smile on his face.
‘I mean,’ he said softly, ‘We haven’t had a proper conversation about what happens next, and I was beginning to get the feeling that if I didn’t do something about that then I’d be hanging around for ever, phoning you every day and waiting for you to open up the dialogue.’
Maude reddened.
‘That’s not true,’ she protested. ‘I just thought that you might need to have some breathing space to digest what’s happened.’
‘And that’s very thoughtful of you but now, for me, sufficient digestion has taken place.’
She felt frustration, bewilderment and restless dissatisfaction butting up against the brick wall of her stubborn refusal to see where he was coming from.
She was no pushover, and Mateo had known to back off, to retreat back into an easy familiarity, because war was not the answer and was not going to get either of them anywhere. He could never give her that one big thing she insisted on.
He eased the car away from the kerb and along the narrow street. It soon became clear that, wherever he was taking her, it was out and away from London because she recognised the artery that led out to the M25 and M4.
Curious, Maude settled back as the fast car picked up speed, clearing the London traffic and heading out. It was a familiar route but, instead of taking the junction to get to her parents’ house, he instead began navigating a series of side roads, passing through a couple of small villages which she didn’t recognise.
When she glanced across at him, her heart fluttered.
‘You’re eaten up with curiosity, aren’t you?’ He half-smiled, glancing at her, but not for long, because the roads were now small and windy.
‘I hope I’m dressed for whatever restaurant we’re going to.’
‘What makes you think I’m taking you out for a meal?’
‘Where else?’ Maude sighed. ‘And you’re right. We need to have a conversation about, well, the details...and I’m guessing you wanted somewhere quiet where you can hear yourself think.’
‘Londonisan extremely noisy place, now that you mention it,’ Mateo murmured. ‘Noisy...cluttered...polluted. Actually, I’m not taking you to a restaurant—although, of course, wewillneed to eat at some point. I suggest we wait and see where we land.’
‘Where are we going, in that case?’
‘Ten minutes and all will be revealed.’
There was something thrilling about this mysterious trip. The car passed through a bank of lush, green trees with fields in the background and through yet another quaint town, big enough for a pretty square with a pond in the middle, white houses jostling in a ring around it with a church dominating the parade.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ Maude observed, drinking in the detail and loving what she saw.
‘No? I thought you might have explored this part of the world. You know, family days out?’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Glad you like it.’ He swerved away from the town centre, but only for a few minutes, before taking another left and there, in front of them, was a cottage.
It was pink with beams and an upper storey that curved in an arch and glinted with leaded, stained-glass windows. On all sides there were fruit trees and it was protected by a low brick wall, behind which a tangle of hedge seemed to be staging a takeover.
‘What on earth is this, Mateo?’
Eyes glued to the picturesque property, Maude let herself out of the car and stood for a few seconds, taking in the sight.
‘A recent acquisition, although not finalised, but it’s fair to say I see no obstacles.’
‘A recent acquisition?’
‘Come tell me what you think.’
