Promised
Page 38

‘It’s fine,’ Miller replies quietly, keeping his eyes on me.
Nan is silent, I’m silent, and Miller is saying very little, but then the woman steps out from behind him, stroking the tie and the silence is broken. ‘What do you think?’ she asks Nan, who nods, not giving the tie a glance, instead keeping her eyes on this beautiful woman who has appeared from nowhere. ‘And you?’ She directs her question at me, toying with the diamond-encrusted cross that’s always suspended from her delicate neck. I can see a threatening look through the layers of expensive make-up. She’s marking her territory. She’s no business associate.
‘It’s lovely,’ I whisper, dropping the basket and deciding to abandon my nan in favour of retreat. I’m not being held to ransom in front of my old grandmother and I’m not being subjected to looks of inferiority by that perfect woman. Every corner I turn, he’s there. This is hopeless.
I weave my numb body through the various departments until I break free of the confinements of the colossal store and drag in some fresh air, resting my back against the wall outside. I’m angry, sad and irritated. I’m a jumbled bag of mixed emotions and confusing thoughts. My heart and my head have never disagreed or battled so furiously.
Until now.
Hyde Park sorts me out. I sit on the grass with a sandwich and a can of Coke and watch the world go by for a few hours. I think about how lucky the people wandering past me are to have such a beautiful place to roam. Then I count at least twenty different breeds of dog in less than twenty minutes and think how lucky they are to have such a wonderful stomping ground. Children are squealing, mothers are chatting and laughing, and runners are prancing by. I feel better, like something familiar and desired has successfully eliminated something unfamiliar and undesired.
Undesired, undesired . . . completely desired.
I sigh and unfold my seated body from the ground, swinging my satchel onto my shoulder and throwing my rubbish in the litter bin.
Then I take the familiar journey home.
Nan’s frantic by the time I fall through the front door. Really frantic. I feel guilty, even if I should actually be feeling rather mad with her. ‘Oh my goodness!’ She dives on me, not giving me the chance to dump my bag by the coat stand in the hall. ‘Livy, I’ve been so worried. It’s seven o’clock!’
I embrace her hold, the guilt taking a firmer grip. ‘I’m twenty-four years old,’ I sigh.
‘Don’t disappear on me, Olivia. My heart can’t take it.’
Now guilt is crippling me. ‘I had a picnic in the park.’
‘But you just left!’ She separates us and holds me at a distance. ‘It was incredibly rude, Livy.’ I can see from her sudden annoyance that her earlier panic has completely diminished.
‘I didn’t want to have dinner with him.’
‘Why not? He seemed like such a gentleman.’
I resist snorting my disgust. She wouldn’t think that if she knew the ins and outs. ‘He was with another woman.’
‘She’s a business associate!’ she gushes, almost excited to clear up the misunderstanding. ‘Nice woman.’
I cannot believe she bought that. She’s too cute. Business associates don’t shop for silk ties together. ‘Can we leave it there?’ I drop my bag and skulk past her, making my way to the kitchen, getting a waft of something delicious as I enter. ‘What are you cooking?’ I ask, finding George at the table. ‘Hi, George.’ I sit next to him.
‘Don’t turn your mobile telephone off, Livy,’ he scolds quietly. ‘I’ve endured hours of Josephine repeatedly dialling and cursing in between cooking supper.’
‘What is it?’ I ask again.
‘Beef Wellington,’ Nan chirps up as she follows behind me. ‘With dauphinoise potatoes and steamed baby carrots.’
I throw a confused look at George, but he just shrugs and picks up his paper. ‘Beef Wellington?’ I ask.
‘That’s right.’ She doesn’t give my questioning tone the attention it deserves. What happened to stew and dumplings or a chicken roast? ‘Thought I’d try something new. I hope you’re hungry.’
‘A little,’ I admit. ‘Is that wine?’ I ask, clocking two bottles of red and two bottles of white on the worktop.
‘Oh!’ She flies across the kitchen and grabs the white bottles, shoving them quickly in the fridge before opening the red. ‘These need to breathe.’
Shifting in my chair, I chance a glance at George, hoping to get something from him, but he’s undoubtedly doing what he’s been told by sitting still and shutting up. He knows that I’m looking at him. I can tell because his eyes are running too quickly across the text of the paper for him to truly be reading it. I knock his knee with mine, but I’m flat-out ignored, Nan’s male companion choosing to shift his legs to avoid another purposeful nudge.
‘Nan—’ The doorbell interrupts me, my head swinging towards the hallway.
‘Oh, that’ll be Gregory.’ She opens the oven and sticks a long metal stick in the middle of a huge chunk of pastry. ‘Will you answer it, please, Livy?’
‘You invited Gregory?’ I ask, pushing my chair away from the table.
‘Yes! Look at all of this food.’ She removes the rod from the meat and purses her lips as she checks the temperature on the dial. ‘Nearly done,’ she declares.
I leave Nan and George and jog down the hallway to let Gregory in, hoping Nan hasn’t been gossiping with him again. ‘Am I missing a special occasion?’ I ask as I throw the front door open.
My smile falls away immediately.
Chapter 11
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ That damn irritation flares dangerously.
‘Your grandmother invited me.’ Miller’s arms are filled with flowers and a Harrods bag. ‘Are you going to invite me in?’
‘No, I’m not.’ I step outside and pull the door shut so Nan can’t hear our conversation. ‘What are you doing?’
He’s completely unruffled by my ruffled state. ‘Being polite and accepting a dinner invitation.’ There’s no humour in his tone. ‘I have manners.’
‘No.’ I step closer, my shock and exasperation crossing the line into anger. My damn conniving grandmother. ‘You have a nerve, that’s what you have. This has to stop. I don’t want you for twenty-four hours.’
‘You want longer?’
I recoil. ‘No!’ How much longer?
‘Oh . . .’ He looks unsure of himself and it’s the first time I’ve seen this in him. It straightens my back and makes my eyes narrow questioningly.
‘Do you?’ I whisper the question on a skip of my heartbeat, my mind going into overdrive.
His uncertainty flashes to frustration in a nanosecond, making me wonder if it’s directed at me or whether he’s frustrated with himself. I’m hoping it’s the latter. ‘We agreed no personal.’
‘No, you declared that part of the deal.’
His eyes fly up, shocked. ‘I know.’
‘And does it still stand?’ I ask, trying so hard to appear confident and strong, when I’m crumbling on the inside, bracing myself for his answer.