Chapter 49
Rose felt like an old hand, showing Zac’s father the sights of London. Having hopped off the bus at Trafalgar Square, she and William made their way down to the Thames and began walking across the Hungerford Bridge. Ahead of them on the other side of the river, the Millennium Wheel glinted white in the sunshine. William’s face fell when he saw it.
‘What rotten luck. Not working.’
Rose, who had thought the same thing the first time she’d caught sight of the wheel, felt wonderfully superior. ‘It is. Look, it’s just moving really slowly. You expected to see it whizz round, didn’t you? Like a ferris wheel.’
‘I’m just an innocent country bumpkin.’ William’s eyes fanned into creases at the corners. ‘I’ll never be a smart city slicker like you.’
Rose experienced a warm glow in her stomach, not because of the compliment but because it was so nice to be in the company of such a gently humorous, genuinely nice man.
‘More often than not, smart city slicker types don’t have any manners. They just elbow you in the ribs and shove you out of the way. You have lovely manners,’ said Rose. ‘And you grow all your own vegetables. How many city slickers can say they do that?’
‘How many city slickers can knit?’ countered William.
‘Heaven forbid.’ Rose smiled, picturing an all-important board meeting with everyone in their smart suits sitting around a polished table, furiously knitting away as they discussed unit trusts or whatever it was that people at important board meetings discussed.
‘And how many have ever sneaked out of their fancy offices in the middle of the day to ride the Millennium Wheel?’ said William.
‘Well, to be fair some of them may have done that.’
William raised his bag. ‘With homemade ham and pickle sandwiches and a thermos of tea?’
‘Probably not,’ Rose agreed.
‘There, you see, they don’t know what they’re missing.’ Linking his arm companionably through Rose’s, William said with satisfaction, ‘Country bumpkins win over city slickers every time.’
Four hours later they made their way home, William having gallantly insisted on escorting Rose back to her door even though it was out of his way. As they meandered through the gardens of Fitzallen Square, enjoying the emergent signs of spring and breathing in the smell of damp earth and greenery, footsteps on gravel sounded ahead of them.
Next moment Brigadier Brough-Badham rounded the path, hesitating when he saw who he was about to pass. Something in his expression changed, the habitual grimness giving way to uncertainty verging on panic.
As they drew closer he slowed his pace. Above the collar of his white shirt a blotchy flush materialised and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a stuck table tennis ball. Mesmerised, Rose watched it bob.
Finally Brigadier Brough-Badham nodded in acknowledgement, cleared his throat and said, ‘Good afternoon . . . ah, Rose.’ Bob, bob, bob-bob went the Adam’s apple. ‘And . . . er, how are you today?’
Rose was speechless. If she’d been wearing heels she would have toppled off them. Fighting the urge to laugh she nodded carefully and said politely, ‘Good afternoon, um, Geoffrey. I’m very well, thank you.’
Heavens, it was like something out of Pride and Prejudice.
‘Well, good. Very good.’
‘And you, Geoffrey? Are you well?’
The Brigadier cleared his throat again. ‘Yes, yes, very well thank you. Marjorie and I are both extremely, um, well.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’ Rose smiled. ‘Hasn’t it been a beautiful day?’
Bob-bob, bob-bob went the Brigadier’s Adam’s apple, like a tiny dinghy cast helplessly adrift in a wild ocean. ‘Very nice, yes, very nice day indeed. Well, better be getting on . . . off to the newsagent to pick up Marjorie’s magazine.’
‘Enjoy the rest of your afternoon,’ Rose said pleasantly.
‘Friend of yours?’ said William when the Brigadier was out of earshot.
‘Next-door neighbour.’
‘Good to get along with your neighbours. Well, within reason.’ William’s tone was rueful. ‘At least he doesn’t want to get you into bed like mine does.’
‘No danger of that,’ Rose said with amusement. ‘I wouldn’t imagine I’m the Brigadier’s type.’
‘Then again, did you see the way his Adam’s apple was going up and down? You never know,’ William gave her a nudge, ‘you may have more of an effect on him than you think.’
‘Either that,’ Rose said lightly, ‘or his shirt collar’s too tight.’
Rennie had a plan and it was about to be put into action. He’d waited long enough; now he had made up his mind to act. Rose had gone out for the evening with William. Thanks to the recent surge in demand for Zac’s handbags, Nancy was working overtime at the shop frantically processing orders and wasn’t expecting to be home before midnight. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Carmen was upstairs in the bath. Any minute now she’d come down and be hugely impressed to find him preparing dinner.
Well, taking the just-delivered pizzas out of their boxes. And opening a decent bottle of wine.
Hearing the faint creak of her footsteps on the stairs, Rennie felt his throat constrict and his heart begin to quicken. Ridiculous; he’d never even experienced stage fright, let alone been nervous at the prospect of declaring how he felt about a woman to her face.
Except, come to think of it, he never had. Had never needed to do that. They’d always made their own feelings so absolutely clear, it hadn’t been necessary.
And what if Carmen didn’t feel the same way? What if she turned him down flat, or burst out laughing? Or screamed in horror and locked herself in the bathroom? Oh shit.
‘My God, I’m having a hallucination.’ Having padded barefoot into the kitchen, Carmen stopped dead in her tracks. ‘This can’t be happening. What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?’
She was right. It was without doubt a startling sight. Out of sheer blind panic, and without even realising what he was doing, Rennie had grabbed the J-Cloth and a bottle of spray kitchen cleaner and was frenziedly scrubbing the worktop.
‘I was just . . .’ he forced himself to stop scrubbing, but clung on to the cloth and spray for security, ‘um, cleaning up.’
Carmen narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Why? What did you spill?’
‘Nothing! Just crumbs. All done now. Right.’ Pulling himself together - Jesus, how could one small female with wet spiky hair terrify him more than a stadium packed with screaming fans? - Rennie said, ‘Take the wine through to the living room. I’ll bring the pizzas.’
‘Stop!’ shouted Carmen as he chucked the J-Cloth into the sink and reached for the plates.
Rennie froze. ‘What?’
‘Kitchen spray, you idiot! You have to wash your hands after using that stuff or the pizza will taste of bleach. And probably poison us.’ Tut-tutting, Carmen said, ‘Honestly, you are such a hopeless case.’
Which, Rennie felt as she disappeared with the wine and he washed his hands, wasn’t the most promising of starts.
Carmen’s choice of TV viewing didn’t improve matters. Having generously allowed her to decide what they watched, Rennie was soon regretting it. Much as he loved EastEnders, you couldn’t call it conducive to seduction at the best of times. And tonight’s, needless to say, was an extra shouty, extra extra angst-ridden episode.
‘Hit him!’ Carmen bellowed at the screen. ‘Go on, really wallop him - he deserves it, the bastard. Yay, and again!’
Rennie looked at her, stretched across the sofa with her legs resting on his lap. Five feet two inches tall, luminous dark eyes, expressive eyebrows and a complexion like Snow White. She was wearing white flannel pyjama bottoms and a pink and white polka-dotted strappy top that would have looked sexy if she hadn’t added a hideous chunky Starsky-type cardigan in shades of virulent purple and elephant-grey.
Dammit, she still looked sexy. Even if she was currently yelling at the TV like a deranged wrestling fan.
At long last the end credits rolled and Rennie shifted Carmen’s legs off his lap. ‘OK, film next. I’ve got a great—’
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Carmen grabbed his arm as he made to get up. ‘Hold your horses, Mr Bossy. I think you’re forgetting something here.’
‘What?’
‘It’s not your turn. You chose Brigadoon the other night, remember. Tonight I get to choose.’
‘But I’ve already—’
‘I know you have.’ Carmen rolled her eyes. ‘But we’re not watching it, whatever it is, OK? Because the world doesn’t always revolve around you. For once we’re watching what I want to watch.’
‘Which is?’ Rennie’s heart sank; he’d lined up Brief Encounter specially for tonight. An all-time classic. All that erotically charged suppressed emotion - what could be more conducive to his cause?
‘Ta-daaa.’ Having rolled onto her side and groped under the sofa, Carmen resurfaced with a DVD in her hand and a look of triumph on her face. ‘Mia lent it to me. I haven’t seen it for years. We can join in all the songs, do the dances - now you can’t say this isn’t a brilliant choice!’
Bloody can, thought Rennie, because The Rocky Horror Show might be a cult classic but it wasn’t what you’d call romantic.
Then again, a fight now wasn’t likely to help.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to watch Brief Encounter?’ He gave it one last desperate shot.
‘Hmm, let me think,’ said Carmen, clambering off the sofa and heading happily over to the DVD player. ‘Does everyone do the Timewarp in Brief Encounter? Do the men wear stockings and suspenders? Does Brief Encounter have Meatloaf on a motorbike in it? Excuse me, but I don’t believe it does. So how about . . . no?’
Steam trains, stiff upper lips and men in unfeasibly high-waisted forties-style suits lost out to bawdy double-entendres and transvestites in make-up and unfeasibly high heels. Having completely geared himself up to the fact that Tonight would be The Night, Rennie was now feeling like a pressure cooker left on an increasingly high heat. This wasn’t fair. How could everything be going so wrong? He’d even planned - more or less - what he would say to start the ball rolling, but it simply wasn’t possible when a bunch of pouting, pelvis-gyrating transsexuals from Transylvania were leering at you from the TV screen.
One hundred minutes, that was how long it lasted. Back in position on the sofa with her legs draped comfortably over Rennie’s and her plate of pizza resting in her lap, Carmen jiggled her feet, wiggled her toes and sang raucously along while Rennie counted down the minutes to the end of the film. They’d started watching at ten past eight. Allowing for one bathroom break and one fetch-and-open-another-bottle-of-wine break, normal service would be resumed at around ten o’clock. Since Rose was expected home at eleven and he’d prefer to say what he had to say to Carmen without an audience, this meant he had a window of opportunity of an hour at most in which to say it.
Oh God, he’d never felt like this before.
Twenty minutes of the film left.
Ten minutes.
Three minutes to go . . .
‘See? Didn’t I tell you it was great?’ Carmen demanded when the film ended. Reaching for her glass of wine, she spilled a bit on Rennie’s denim-clad thigh. ‘Whoops, sorry. Lucky it’s only white. There now, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.’
Only Carmen could mean the film and not the fact that she was rubbing at the damp patch on his jeans with a tissue.
OK, no more shilly-shallying about. Down to business. Reaching for the remote, Rennie pointed it at the screen.
‘Oh no, don’t turn it off.’ Carmen let out a wail of protest. ‘We’re watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory next.’
‘For crying out loud, what’s the matter with you?’ Rennie raised his eyebrows in despair. ‘You’re a girl. Girls are supposed to like soppy romantic films. Four Weddings, Sleepless in Seattle, that kind of stuff. Willy Wonka isn’t romantic.’
Carmen grinned. ‘You don’t know that. He might be. Ask Mrs Wonka.’
Wrong, wrong, all going horribly wrong. And he hadn’t even started yet. Rennie heaved a sigh.
‘What’s the matter?’ Tilting her head to one side, Carmen said incredulously, ‘Do you want to watch Sleepless in Seattle?’
‘Yes. No. It’s too late now. I’m just saying it might have been . . . oh God.’
‘What?’ Carmen was by this time thoroughly confused.
‘Helpful.’
‘Helpful how?’
He had to do it now, had to.
‘OK, there’s something I need to say to you. About how I . . . um, the way things have . . . well, it’s just that . . .’
‘Rennie, you’re making no sense.’
Rennie closed his eyes. He was making no sense and time was running out. Terrific.
Actually, keeping his eyes closed was helping a bit.
‘Right. The thing is, we’ve always got on really well. I’ve always liked you. But things have changed now. Since I’ve been back . . .’
‘You don’t like me any more?’
‘No, it’s not that.’ Rennie shook his head.
‘Your eyes are shut.’ Carmen sounded worried. ‘Open them,’ she ordered.
‘I can’t.’
‘Rennie, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.’
Rennie took a deep breath, wondering if she could hear his heart thudding against his chest. ‘I love you.’
Silence.
Followed by more silence.
At least he hadn’t had his face slapped.
