‘I … er … I fell asleep.’ The voice is vaguely familiar and, if he’d just put that torch down, I might be able to see his face …
He laughs as if he can’t believe it. ‘Who are you? Bear Grylls? There are better places to catch up on some shut-eye.’
I swallow hard.
Oh, God. It’s him. Last time we met I accidentally revealed Toby’s penchant for sex in unusual footwear. But hopefully, he won’t remember …
He shines the torch on my feet. ‘No wellies today, I see.’
‘No, but I’m wearing my apron under here, if you’d like to take a look!’ I shoot back, as my cheeks heat up like a sauna. I’m hoping to flatten him with my quick-fire riposte.
But it backfires spectacularly when he runs his eyes over me, smiles lazily and remarks, ‘That’s the most exciting offer I’ve had in a long time.’
Unaccountably stuck for words, I feel heartily glad to be under cover of darkness. Then the torch travels upwards, revealing my flushed face in all its glory.
‘I presume you got lost,’ he says brusquely.
I grit my teeth. I’m probably more lost than those people in that TV programme, Lost, but I’m not about to admit that to him. I’m not sure why but he makes me feel uncomfortable. It’s as if I become magically transparent whenever he’s there and he can see right into my head.
‘I know exactly where I am, thank you very much. I was just – er – having a rest before I headed back.’
‘Ah, right. Well, in that case, I’ll leave you to it.’ He turns away and panic sets in immediately.
‘Stop!’ I try to swallow but my tongue appears to be stuck to the roof of my mouth. ‘I mean, could you wait a moment, please?’
He swings round and I’m flooded in light again.
‘If you could just turn that torch off!’ I snap.
He shakes his head. ‘I wouldn’t advise it.’
I shield my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘Just turn it off! Please?’
‘Okay.’ He snaps off the torch and we’re plunged into darkness so thick, I can no longer see my hand in front of me, never mind find the path to get me home. I guess he’s proven his point, which is so bloody infuriating.
But whether I like it or not, I’m totally at this man’s mercy if I want to get out of these woods and back to the glamping site.
I heave a sigh and say politely, ‘I’d be grateful if you could point me in the right direction for the glamping site, please? And a spare torch would be useful.’
He switches the light back on but trains it on the ground. ‘I can do better than that. I can give you a lift.’ He motions with the torch for me to follow him.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll walk.’
‘All right. I’ll come with you. I’m not going to be responsible for you coming to grief because you’re too proud to accept help.’
‘I’m not too proud.’
‘Well, take the lift, then.’
I take a deep breath in. The thought of walking all the way back to the campsite, trying to keep up with this obnoxious man’s giant stride, is not an attractive thought.
‘Fine. Where’s your car?’
‘You can trust me. I’m not a serial killer.’
‘I expect that’s what they all say. Serial killers, I mean.’
‘You’ve got a point.’
‘Why are you lurking in the woods at night?’
His mouth twists with amusement. ‘I’m not lurking. I’m camping out here for a few days.’
‘Really?’ That explains the week-old stubble.
‘Yes, if you’d walked just a few hundred yards further before you decided to have a kip, you’d have stumbled across my ridge tent. Come and take a look if you don’t believe me.’
I give him a deadpan look. ‘Actually, it’s your driving I’m more worried about.’
He fishes in his pocket. ‘You take the wheel, then,’ he says and lobs something at me that I actually manage to catch.
I give a snort of surprise to find his car keys in my hand. ‘No, you’re all right. I’ll risk it.’ I throw them back at him with a little more force than I intend.
He catches them easily and holds out his other hand. ‘Jake Steele.’
‘Daisy Cooper.’ For a second, I feel my hand captured firmly in his and a funny little tingle shivers its way along my arm.
‘Come on, then.’ He lets go of my hand. ‘My car is parked by the lake just beyond the woods.’
‘So we’re taking a path right through the woods to the other side?’
‘Yes, we’re tracking the shores of the lake, which is just over there through those trees.’ He points to our left, although all I can see is more ghostly shapes.
Toby would say I was putting myself in grave danger, being alone at night in the woods with a strange man. But there’s something about Jake Steele that makes me trust him to carry me out of danger.
‘Almost there,’ he says, probably guessing my thought processes. ‘The woods aren’t actually that big once you get to know them.’
‘Have you been here a while already, then?’
‘A few days. Sometimes I come here to work. I like the peace and quiet and the thought that no one will disturb me.’
I make a guilty face. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a writer.’
‘Wow. Really? With a publisher and everything?’
‘Yes, the whole works. I’m contracted to write a book a year.’ He sounds less than pleased about this.
‘What are you writing about at the moment?’ I ask curiously, wondering why he sounds so down. If I had a contract with a publisher, I’d be dancing a jig every day of my life!
‘I’m not. Writer’s block.’
‘Oh.’
There’s a heavy silence and when I glance at his profile his jaw is set and he’s staring broodingly into the distance. He might even have forgotten I’m here.
‘Maybe … maybe being out here in the woods will help?’ I venture.
He grunts. ‘Nothing can help me right now,’ he says, and I blanch at the roughness of his tone.
We walk on in silence, crunching over twigs and bracken, and I wonder what could have happened to stifle Jake Steele’s creativity. Is there something more than writer’s block plaguing him?
He shines the torch to our left. ‘My temporary home.’
Sure enough, the light reveals a green ridge tent in the centre of a small clearing. There’s evidence of a campfire that’s now just smouldering and a folding chair sits beside a small table.
‘The car is this way.’
I follow him through the clearing and out into the woods on the other side. Just a hundred yards further on, the trees thin out and the lakeside road comes into view. There’s a car parked on the verge. Jake’s presumably.
He shines the torch across the lake. ‘See where we are?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve walked right through the woods and come out the other side!’ I laugh. ‘I’m amazed. I had an awful feeling I might be just walking round and round and getting totally lost.’
‘You probably were,’ he says bluntly.
‘Yes. Well, thanks for rescuing me.’
‘A pleasure.’
We get into his car and he starts the engine. ‘Did you manage to contact your … boyfriend? Or should that be husband?’
‘Boyfriend. Toby. And no, I couldn’t get a signal.’
He grimaces. ‘Let’s hope Toby hasn’t called the police to report you missing.’
I groan. ‘God, I hope not.’ I fumble for my phone as we drive along the lakeside before remembering it’s dead.
‘Want to use mine?’ Jake hands me his phone.
Toby picks up on the first ring.
‘Hi, love, I’m so sorry I couldn’t contact you. I fell asleep in the woods and my phone ran out of charge but I’m on my way back now. You must have been really worried.’
‘Daisy?’ There’s the sound of voices and music in the background. He shouts above the noise. ‘Daisy? Did you get my message?’
‘No, I told you. My phone went flat. Where are you, Toby?’ I ask, puzzled.
‘In the bar of the Crown Hotel in Guildford. I’ve booked a room and I’m just going to stay over tonight and come back tomorrow. Is that okay?’
I swallow and glance at Jake.
‘Yes, that’s fine. Um … see you soon.’ I disconnect the call.
Jake frowns. ‘Isn’t he there?’
I paste on a smile. ‘Yes, yes. He was just … over at the owners’ house getting some pastries for breakfast.’
‘Was he worried about you?’
‘No, no. I – um – told him I might be late back, so …’ I shrug as if I’m not concerned in the slightest about Toby’s lack of concern.
Jake nods slowly. ‘He’ll be glad you’re back, though.’
‘He will.’ My cheeks are starting to ache with all the forced smiling.
We pull in outside Clemmy’s house and Jake turns the car around. It’s a narrow road but he executes the manoeuvre with ease. I can’t help but think that it would have been a twenty-six-point turn if I’d been behind the wheel.
He leaves the engine running. ‘Right, well, enjoy the rest of your holiday, Daisy.’ He sits back, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite fathom in the dim light.
‘I will. And thank you again for rescuing me. God knows what I’d have done if you hadn’t. Stayed there till it got light, I suppose.’
‘Hey, it was no problem.’
‘I hope your writer’s block goes away soon. That must be awful, especially if your publisher is expecting you to deliver a book soon.’
‘It’s not the best situation,’ he murmurs.
‘When’s the deadline?’
‘I need to get the first draft written by November.’
I nod. ‘I suppose your work doesn’t end there, though. It’s a long process, publishing a book. You’ll have more drafts to do, then all the edits and the final proofread. And then there’s all the marketing and promotion to be planned.’
I’m aware I’m stalling, keeping Jake Steele talking. But I’ve never met a real live writer before. That’s probably why I have this sudden urge to stay in the car and carry on talking to him.
He looks surprised. ‘You seem to know a fair bit about how publishing a book works.’
I smile ruefully. ‘I’m a frustrated writer myself. Well, not a writer. A writer is someone who’s been published and I haven’t even dared show anyone my manuscript yet.’ I swallow. ‘Except my mum.’
‘Did she like it?’
‘She loved it. But she’s my mum.’
‘Why haven’t you shown it to anyone else?’
‘I’m scared it’s not good enough and they’ll think I’ve got ideas above my station.’
‘Isn’t it worth taking that risk, though? If you don’t put it out there, you’ll never know how good it is.’
I sigh. ‘You’re right, of course. But it’s … I don’t know. I’ve wanted it for so long. To be a published writer. I suppose I’m worried that if I start trying to make it a reality, I might be rejected and then all my lovely dreams of making it as an author will go up in smoke.’ I give a mirthless laugh. ‘And then I’ll have nothing to dream about.’
‘It took me seven long years of trying and failing and getting more knock-backs than anyone should ever have to deal with. The secret is to keep going.’
‘And now you’re a success.’
He shrugs. ‘Well, my books sell. And that’s all I ever dreamed of.’
‘Me, too,’ I say softly.
‘If you go by my experience, being a published writer is ten per cent talent and ninety per cent persistence. So you need to keep going, Daisy Cooper. And show that manuscript to someone.’
‘I will.’
‘You’d better go in. Toby will be wondering what’s keeping you,’ he says.
‘Yes, of course.’ I’m taking up too much of Jake’s time. He’s here because he wants to be alone to get his writing inspiration back – not to have me bending his ear for ages about being a writer! But when I get out of the car, it’s with a feeling of reluctance. I’d love to talk to him some more …
As I get out, Jake glances across at the campsite and frowns. ‘There don’t seem to be any lights on in any of the tents. Are you sure Toby’s there?’
‘Oh, yes. He, er, said on the phone he was really tired and he was going to bed,’ I bluster, wondering why on earth I’m lying about Toby being there, when he’s miles away, tucked up in a comfy Guildford hotel for the night! I suppose I don’t want Jake thinking my romantic glamping holiday is already teetering on the brink of disaster …
He nods. ‘Well, if you need any advice on the route to getting published, you know where I am. Not that I’m anything of an expert. But it helps to hear of other people’s journeys.’
‘Thank you.’ I duck down and smile at him. Our eyes meet and that funny little shiver runs through me again.
‘And if you get lost in the woods again, just scream and I’ll know it’s you.’
His handsome face breaks into a smile, which makes me feel a little breathless for some reason. Then he reaches across and pulls open the glove compartment. Drawing out a book, he hands it to me.
‘Have you read it? Every writer should,’ he says.
‘On Writing. Stephen King. No, I haven’t.’
‘Borrow it. You’ll learn a lot. I certainly did. And it’s a great read.’
I smooth my hand over the cover and smile at him, touched that he should trust one of his favourite books to me. ‘Thank you. I’ll … bring it back.’ I shut the door and give an awkward little wave.
He raises a hand and drives off.
*
As soon as I get inside, I grab my phone, flump down on the sofa and search on-line for ‘Jake Steele, author’.
A photo of him appears – making my heart miss a beat with surprise – and after studying it for a moment, I click on the books he’s written. There are three of them, all thrillers, and although they’re not my usual taste in books, I can’t resist ordering a paperback of the first in the series.
Later, I lie in bed, thinking about Jake in his ridge tent.
He’s so tall and broad, there definitely wouldn’t be an awful lot of room in there for anyone else. But I suppose that’s the whole point of his wild solo camping experience.
I don’t know why, but I get the feeling he’s here to escape from something. Or someone? Why else would you choose to sleep out in the forest with only woodland creatures for company?
I think about Toby, wondering how he’s getting on in his hotel room. I picture him lying on a massive bed, head propped against a dozen pillows, enjoying the luxury of Egyptian cotton bed linen. Padding across the thickly carpeted floor to run himself a bath and soaking there for ages, before calling room service to deliver a haute cuisine dinner.
It seems funny to think of Toby languishing in such luxury, while Jake, in his ridge tent, has all the creature comforts of a night in the jungle.
Where would I rather be right now?
The thought of squeezing into the ridge tent with Jake rushes into my head. It would be an intimate experience, no doubt about it. Would there even be room for more than one sleeping bag …?
But that’s far too disturbing an image and makes me feel oddly restless, so I get out of bed to make some tea. Which is when I find there’s no milk left.
Damn! I glance at my watch and peer out of the tent in the direction of Clemmy and Ryan’s house. It’s after ten but the place is flooded with light, and Clemmy did say I could call in any time if I needed anything.
So I slip on some jeans and a top, slide my feet into flip-flops and walk over the grass to the house.
Ringing the bell, I feel slightly guilty. But then Clemmy comes to the door and all reservations fly right out of my mind. Her eyes are red and puffy. She’s obviously been crying.
‘Clemmy? What’s wrong?’
She dashes the tears away and pastes on a smile. ‘Oh, I’m just all on my own tonight and being ridiculous. It’s nothing really. What can I do for you, Daisy?’
‘I just need some milk if you have any?’ I really don’t want to disturb her if she’s feeling down.
‘Yes, of course. Come in.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nods and I can see she’s trying to hold in the tears. ‘Where’s Toby?’
‘He’s staying in Guildford tonight.’
‘Fancy a hot chocolate? I could do with some company.’
‘Definitely.’ I step over the threshold and follow Clemmy into her big, cosy kitchen.
‘Sit down,’ she says, and I slide onto a chrome stool at the pale wood breakfast bar, watching as Clemmy takes milk from the fridge.
‘So … how are the wedding plans?’ I ask hesitantly. Looking at Clemmy’s swollen eyes, I immediately wish I hadn’t asked.
She sighs. ‘Fine. Everything’s organised. The venue, the ceremony, the flowers, the cars, the rings.’
I nod. ‘Great. So now all you have to do is look forward to being the blushing bride and making Ryan cry when he first glimpses you walking down the aisle!’
She smiles and nods.
‘You’re going to look beautiful. Will you wear your hair up or loose?’
She seems about to answer. Then as I watch in alarm, the façade slips and her face crumples.
‘I haven’t even thought about it, Daisy.’ A single tear rolls down her face. ‘To be honest, I’m not even sure there’s going to be a wedding.’
‘Clemmy, what’s happened?’
I jump off the stool and go over to her, but she turns her back on me and concentrates on pouring milk into a pan and setting it on the hob. After several failed attempts at lighting the gas, she cries out in anguish and thumps the side of the cooker. Gently, I move her aside so I can help.
‘Is it Ryan?’ I ask, and her shoulders start to shake.
I abandon the milk and lead her back to the breakfast bar, where she slumps on a stool, resting her head in her hands, her gleaming red hair tumbling forwards.
‘Maybe I’m just being silly but I don’t think I am,’ she mumbles. ‘Ryan and I – we had the perfect relationship. But everything’s changed.’
She looks up at me. Mascara is mixed with her tears.
‘How have things changed?’ I ask gently.
She throws up her hands. ‘We used to tell each other everything. I mean, of course the relationship wasn’t perfect. No relationship is. But we seemed so utterly right for each other and I always knew that he felt the same. He used to tell me he couldn’t believe his luck having me in his life and that I made him feel whole.’ She laughs sadly. ‘I know it sounds corny but it was one hundred per cent genuine. And I knew it because I felt exactly the same.’
I squeeze her hand. ‘It does sound perfect.’
She dashes away her tears. ‘It was. And then it wasn’t.’
I fish in my pocket and manage to find a clean paper hanky. She takes it and blows her nose loudly, and we exchange a little smile at the trumpeting sound.
‘So what happened?’ I ask.
‘He’s just … distant. That’s the only way I can describe it. And he’s working late so often. Tonight, he’s staying over in London and he never used to do that. However late his meeting went on, he always came home afterwards. I used to suggest he book into a hotel instead of having to make the journey back here after an exhausting day, but he was always adamant. A day wasn’t right, he used to say, if he didn’t start it and end it by my side.’
A lump rises to my throat. ‘Aw Clemmy, that’s so romantic!’
I can’t imagine Toby saying something like that to me. Well, actually, I can. But it would be: A day isn’t right if I can’t start it and end it with a phone call to the office!
Clemmy sniffs and gives me a watery smile. ‘I know. Isn’t it? But these days, it’s as if all the enchantment has gone out of the relationship. For him at least. I feel exactly the same as I ever did about him. Ryan will always be the only man for me.’
‘Maybe he’s just stressed about the wedding? It is one of the biggest stresses, after divorce and bereavement. Or so they say.’
She nods. ‘Maybe. I hope so. Because the alternative is that he’s got cold feet and doesn’t know how to tell me he doesn’t want to get married.’
I shake my head. ‘I think you’re jumping to massive conclusions there. Honestly, I do. I mean, he’s never said anything to that effect, has he?’
She shakes her head.
‘Well, there you are, then. And he’s given you no other cause for concern, other than that he’s maybe been a bit preoccupied and has to work late?’
She sighs. ‘I know. And until yesterday, I kept telling myself not to be so silly. Of course he wants to be with me. But now …’
‘What happened yesterday?’ I ask in alarm.
She stares down at her hands. ‘There was a message on his phone. You were here when I looked at it, actually. He was upstairs and his phone was lying on the table, and I know I shouldn’t but sometimes it’s impossible not to look at a message that pings through for someone else …’
‘What did it say?’
She looks up, her face ashen. ‘Of course it might be totally innocent. But it said: Can you get away tonight and meet me later?’
I stare at her, my mind reeling with possibilities.
‘That could mean anything,’ I say at last. ‘It doesn’t mean Ryan’s up to anything … with anyone. Was there a name?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Well, it might be a mate suggesting the pub, or a relative wanting to – um – give you a wedding present?’
‘But surely if it was family or a friend, the name would have come up.’ She’s right, of course.
‘Why not just tell him the truth, Clem? That you saw the message by accident and you were wondering who he was meeting? There’s probably a perfectly innocent explanation.’
She nods and attempts a smile. ‘You’re right. I’m probably over-dramatising it and reading something into the words that isn’t even there!’
‘Precisely,’ I say, forcing myself to sound certain.
Because how awful would it be if Clemmy’s instincts about Ryan are correct?