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“Hey,” I say softly. “Long time no see.”
She stares at me for a moment, and I wonder whether I’ve changed as much as she has. Then she smiles, which lights up her whole face, and says, “Titus! Oh my God, it’s good to see you! I didn’t realize you were in the UK. Chrissie told me this morning.”
“Yeah, I’m over here on business.” Behind her is a series of bookshelves. She looks as if she’s in a study, or maybe a living room. “Are you at home?” I ask.
“Yes. I’ve got the tiniest cottage in a little Devon village called Briarton. It’s wonderful—it has oak beams from the Armada, and a coffin hatch in the ceiling.” She tilts the laptop up to show me the square shape above her head. “It’s so if you die in your sleep, they don’t have to get your stiff corpse down the spiral stairs.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s actually a converted Saxon longhouse. It’s made from cob—straw mixed with cow dung. You can’t smell it though.” She grins, then says, “Where are you? In London?”
“Yeah, I’m staying at the Rosewood Hotel in Covent Garden.”
“Ooh, snazzy. Where are you right now?”
“Just outside. It has a garden terrace.” I turn the laptop to show her.
“Jesus,” she says, “that must have cost you a fortune.” Then she grimaces. “Sorry. Oliver’s always telling me not to mention money.”
I grin. “I think you’re the only person apart from your parents that calls him Oliver.”
“Well, technically you can call me Huxley too.”
“Ah no,” I reply mischievously, “I’ll always think of you as Your Royal Highness.”
That makes her laugh, and her eyes dance. “Eight years,” she says, “and I still blush when I think of that afternoon. I can’t believe you kissed me.”
“You asked me to,” I point out.
“I did. You could have said no.”
“I absolutely should have.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Nope.” I smile, and she giggles.
“This is a bolt out of the blue,” she says. “What made you contact me today?”
I scratch my cheek. “Actually, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“You’re not leaving for the wedding for another week, right?”
“Yeah. I fly out on August the third.”
“Well, the reason I’m here is to meet with a company called Acheron Pharmaceuticals.”
“They’re the ones offering funding for your IVF project, right? Chrissie told me this morning.”
“Yeah. The CEO, Alan Woodridge, lives just east of Exeter, and he’s invited me to stay for the weekend. He’s holding a cocktail party on Friday night, a murder-mystery evening on Saturday night, and then on Sunday morning he’s organized a hot-air balloon ride across Devon.”
“Wow, sounds great.”
“Yeah. Monday I’ll get a tour of the company, and we’re meeting with the board in the afternoon for a more formal discussion. But anyway, so I’ve got to go to these events, and… well… I’m on my own, and I don’t know anyone else here. And so I was wondering whether you’d like to come with me.”
She stares at me. Her lips part, but no words come out.
