Abandoning the tripod and bag, Travis darted forward.
His boots crunched on the shards that had exploded all over the tiles. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine but you be careful of this glass,’ she warned, her pulse still racing.
‘I don’t care about me. I didn’t mean to startle you but I heard the singing and …’ His eyes widened. ‘What are you doing here, Freya?’
‘I could ask you the same.’ She glared at him ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well, it appears that I’ve rented this place.’ His thinly disguised sarcasm riled her instantly.
‘You’re three hours early. The instructions for guests clearly state there is to be no access until three p.m.’
‘Ah, but the cabin owner said I could turn up earlier if I liked – in view of the circumstances.’ His cocky grin maddened her further – because it hadn’t changed one bit from their youth.
‘What circumstances?’ she said icily. ‘What makes you different to every other holiday guest? Don’t you know we need time to prepare the place without guests under our feet, making a mess and causing trouble?’
His eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘I didn’t mean to cause trouble and – forgive me, but I’m not the one who’s made a mess.’
Her jaw dropped.
‘I accept that I might have caused it, however. I’ll help you clear up the glass.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said haughtily. ‘That’s my job – as you’re on holiday.’
‘Holiday?’ A deep frown bisected his forehead. ‘I’m not on holiday. I’ve taken the cabin on a long-term let.’
Freya tried to compute the meaning of his words and failed miserably. ‘You mean, you’re back in Bannerdale?’ she exclaimed.
‘It seems like it, doesn’t it?’ he said, adding with a mocking smile, ‘though I can see I might not be welcome by everyone.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ she shot back.
‘You didn’t have to.’
It had been several years since she’d even glimpsed him in person and fourteen years since they’d had an actual conversation. The last one of those had been bitter and hurtful.
Travis had never tried to contact her on his occasional visits to see his family in Bannerdale and she’d never wanted to speak to him anyway. This was exactly the reason why: because the moment they did have the misfortune to spend time in close proximity without anyone around, they were facing off like two warring kids again.
His eyes – deep brown flecked with amber – held hers without flinching. His chin and jaw were set in a determined line, yet she would not be the first to look away. She wasn’t sure she could, drawn to that annoying, handsome face like iron filings to a magnet. He was even better looking in the flesh than on his Instagram feed and she’d been checking that out for the past three years.
She let out a snort of derision – at him and at herself for even noticing his good looks.
‘I didn’t mean to be rude,’ she said, ‘but this is the first I’ve heard of anyone moving in here long-term. Actually, I wasn’t meant to clean the cabin today, but we’ve a temporary staffing crisis so I had to come in on my day off. If I’d had time to check, I’d probably have seen your name on the booking list and realised you were on a long-term let.’
He raked a hand through his thick mahogany curls. ‘Look,’ he said in a slightly more conciliatory tone, ‘it was a bit of a last-minute decision. I’ve taken over the lease on a gallery in the village and I needed somewhere to stay. There’s not much to rent as you know, but Hamza heard about this place from a mate.’
‘Hamza?’
‘A friend from uni. Anyway, I only heard about it a few days ago and – well, here I am.’ He shrugged and held out his hands as if to say: and what are you going to do about it?
The gleam of challenge in his eyes set off an annoying gymnastics routine in her stomach. No matter how many times she might have rehearsed this meeting, she wasn’t prepared for his impact in the flesh. Whenever she’d fantasised about what she might say to him when they met again, she’d imagined making brief, polite conversation before moving on again.
The problem was that all these scenarios had taken place in a public place, a pub, a shop, the street … not in the intimate space of a tiny cabin where moments before she’d been making a bed – his bed, she realised.
‘Shall I help you clear up the broken glass?’ he said, softening his tone. ‘As it was me who caused you to drop the vase.’
‘You didn’t. I just didn’t expect anyone to waltz in at that moment,’ Freya shot back then regretted being so snarky. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll get the dustpan and brush and try and find an old newspaper.’
‘I’ve got one in the car. I’ll fetch it.’
Returning with a crumpled copy of the London Evening Standard, he crouched down next to her to pick up the slivers of glass from the floorboards.
His fingers brushed hers as they both went for the same piece of glass at the same time. Freya snatched back her hand and let him retrieve the shard. He dropped it into the newspaper.
She really wished he’d let her take charge of the clear-up so she wasn’t forced to be so close to him. Briefly, her hand skimmed against his woollen sweater and she couldn’t help catching a subtle hint of his aftershave, a warm, woody fragrance.
With relief, she straightened up and murmured, ‘I’ll get rid of these.’
Scuttling outside, she sucked in fresh air and emptied the shards into the bin. Travis was unloading another large bag of camera equipment into the cabin. The stuff looked very heavy, and his Insta had shown him in so many remote, mountainous places, it was no wonder he’d beefed up from the teenager she’d once known.
Tearing her focus away from his broad shoulders, she marched inside, meaning to turn off the music and leave. ‘I’ll be out of your hair soon. You’ll want to unpack.’
‘It’ll wait. My camera equipment is the only thing I want safely in the house, not that I think Bannerdale is a hotbed of crime, though you never know.’
Did she detect a touch of acid in the comment? She’d no idea if his father was still in jail or had gone straight.
‘The cabin looks good,’ he said, directing a smile her way as if he regretted his cynicism, though she couldn’t be sure with Travis. ‘Thanks for making it so welcoming.’ His gaze slid to the flowers in their new vase, lips twitching in amusement. ‘You really shouldn’t have bought roses.’
‘I wouldn’t if I’d known it was you.’ She laughed. ‘That was a joke by the way.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I couldn’t tell.’
She sighed. ‘Look, they’re not roses. They’re alstroemerias and they’re standard in all the properties we manage. You’ll find tea, coffee and biscuits in the hamper – also standard – and milk in the fridge too.’
He nodded. ‘It’s been a long drive. I could do with a coffee.’
Freya wondered if that was a hint for her to leave which she was on the verge of doing anyway, when he added: ‘You must be desperate for a drink too after cleaning this place?’
Her dry throat was testament to that, but she ignored it. ‘I really should be getting back to work.’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I thought it was your day off.’
‘It was.’
‘Then you’ve more than earned a cup of coffee. I’ll make it,’ he added with a grin.
Cleaning was thirsty work and the thought of some of the dark roast in the welcome hamper was very tempting. ‘I wouldn’t mind … I had a late one last night.’
He quirked an eyebrow in interest. ‘Hot date?’
‘No! It was Roxanne’s hen night.’
‘Roxanne Jameson? She still lives round here?’
‘Yes. Why wouldn’t she?’ Freya was piqued by the surprise in his voice.
‘She was always boasting that she couldn’t wait to get away from here when we were at school. She wanted to be an actress, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but she’s a paralegal now, at Beresfords.’
He made an ‘o’ of surprise. ‘That place is still going too?’ he said with a curl of the lip. ‘I bet Jos works for his dad, doesn’t he?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. He’s a partner now.’
Travis snorted. ‘Well, I could have predicted that one.’
‘It’s a good job,’ Freya said haughtily, already rueing how easily she’d caved in and agreed to some coffee. What happened to her plan to make polite conversation and move on? ‘I need to make a few calls while you make the drinks. Like I said, I can’t hang around long.’
She carted the empty linen crate and slung it into the car. Travis could probably hear the boot slam from inside the cabin, but he’d touched a raw nerve with his comments about Roxanne and Jos Beresford. He made it sound strange that anyone would stick around in Bannerdale … just because he’d gone off to have an exciting lifestyle in exotic places.
She was on the verge of jumping in the car and driving off, but that would have seemed childish, and the last thing she wanted was to revert to their schooldays. Travis had caught her off-guard, and, she reminded herself, he was a guest, so she ought to at least be civil, and find out exactly why Travis had deigned to return to Bannerdale after so long.
Before she went back inside, she made a quick call to Mimi, who informed her that ‘everything was in hand’. The flooded guests had been accommodated in another property and Mimi had helped retrieve some of their possessions.
Back inside, she found Travis had placed two steaming mugs on the coffee table and was opening the complimentary biscuits.
Finally, she felt she could breathe a little, apart from the fact she was sitting in Travis Marshall’s new home, enjoying a cosy cuppa with him. He seemed to have rapidly made himself at home in the small space. She thought of the pine bed with its end boards and doubted it would be long enough for him, then regretted thinking of him in any kind of bed.
He lounged on the sofa, resting one jean-clad leg on the other, annoying Freya who perched on the edge of her chair, feeling as if she’d woken up in a parallel universe. Was it really him? Was it really her? Perhaps the answer was ‘no’, because they were very different people than the two lovesick teenagers who’d parted with so much anguish half a lifetime ago.
‘I – um – saw you followed my Instagram account,’ he said, taking a great interest in his coffee.
‘Your photos are very good. I enjoy looking at them,’ she replied, trying to sound appreciative but not too enthusiastic. He had so many followers on Insta, she’d been amazed he’d even noticed her or followed her back. ‘Cottage Angels has a long way to go to match up,’ she added, attempting a joke.
He smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I like a bit of towel art.’
Was he teasing her? ‘It’s a business account to showcase our services,’ she said, then regretted her haughty tone. ‘It can’t compete with a snow hare in the Cairngorms.’
He laughed. ‘Cute animals and beautiful landscapes are what Insta was made for, but where would we be without a place to stay?’
She slurped her coffee. Maybe it had been a bad idea to stay.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to patronise you. I really admire how you’ve grown the business, building it up from nothing. I admire anyone who makes a go of things on their own.’
He turned his brown eyes on her, with the intense gaze that used to make her melt, but Freya refused to thaw. Romantic notions were for teenagers.
‘I never liked having a boss,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s why I left the holiday marketing agency to set up Cottage Angels. It was a big risk but if it all went wrong, it’s down to me and that’s fine.’
‘Same here. Photography’s a cutthroat business and you’ve no guarantee of success but at least you know you’re alive.’
It was said with an intensity he couldn’t hide under a veneer of cynicism. He’d given her a glimpse of the Travis she’d – long ago – fallen for. The one whose wild and crazy plans she’d allowed herself to be caught up in.
Even now, so many years later she felt that Travis ran at life full tilt. Under the bravado and laddish exterior, he had the soul of an artist: intense and romantic. No wonder he’d been so successful in a career that required creativity and obsession. She’d always been the sensible one, the practical one – perhaps, a small voice whispered, too sensible at times …
‘Exactly. I like to make my own decisions; I don’t have to answer to anyone else.’
Deep lines appeared between his brows. ‘Shame that wasn’t always the case, was it?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped. He must be referring to her mother, and her influence in Freya’s decision to break off their engagement. Stung by the barb, Freya folded her arms defensively.
He shrugged. ‘Nothing. Forget I said it.’
‘No, Travis, I won’t. If you’re referring to what happened when we were at school? We were eighteen. There was no way that we should have even contemplated a serious relationship, let alone get married.’
‘Of course. You’re right. It was … crass … of me to bring it up. We’re grown-ups now and in hindsight, you’re right, it would have been a huge mistake.’
‘Exactly,’ Freya declared. ‘A massive mistake. Look at us now: running our own businesses, doing what we love.’ She thought back to the flat earlier, her hands encased in Marigolds, trying to help Joe clear up after the dogs, but wasn’t mentioning that. ‘That might not have happened if we’d ended up married at eighteen. You’d have had to get a proper job. I might have had three kids by now.’
‘Three?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Or one or two,’ she said, embarrassed at the idea – her own – that they’d have been at it like rabbits.
‘In that case, I’d probably have had to get two proper jobs,’ Travis said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice. ‘I couldn’t have swanned off round the world doing what I loved and making a name for myself.’
He folded his arms.
She bridled, resenting his tone. ‘Well, clearly I’d have held you back so you should thank me for deciding not to run away with you to Gretna Green!’
‘We never actually made it to Gretna Green. Your mum put a stop to all of it, didn’t she?’
Freya thought back to the moment she’d told her mum that Travis had asked her to marry him and that they were engaged. She’d shown her mother the ring he’d bought her from a catalogue store.
Her mother had been on the verge of tears. ‘A ring? You’re both serious, then? Oh, Freya, you can’t be! You’re far too young to tie yourself down. You haven’t even left school yet and nor has he. Please tell me that you’re not going through with this?’
Before Freya could start to defend Travis, her mum had landed another blow: ‘Darling, you may think that he’s the only for one for you now, but trust me, you’ll be making a massive mistake. His family life is far from ideal. You’ve no idea how he might turn out in the future. What if he drags you into a life of crime?’
‘That’s ridiculous, Mum!’ Freya had cried.
‘Well, having such a chaotic upbringing is going to have a bad effect on him, you can’t deny that. It’s a terrible way to start a life together and I worry you’ll be trapped in a miserable situation, regretting marrying him and bitter about all the things you’re missing out on. Come to think of it, is that really fair on Travis too? Tied to a partner who resents him?’ her mother added, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘I know your dad would say the same if he was here.’
Freya had almost walked out of the house and gone off with Travis in that moment, but she’d held back. She couldn’t leave her mother alone, Freya was all she’d got and a tiny voice had nagged at her: what if her mum was right? What if she was taking a disastrous step in marrying Travis at such a young age. What if it was better for both of them to rein back?
In the intervening years she’d come to terms with her decision to break it off, but now he was back, she’d allowed a sliver of ‘what-if’ to enter her mind. That moment of doubt, however brief, made her feel queasy before she reminded herself that her hangover and lack of sleep were to blame for her light-headedness, rather than being confronted with one of the most painful moments of her life.
‘Freya?’
His voice jolted her back to the present.
‘We were different people then,’ she said firmly. ‘Just kids. Let’s not rake up all those bad memories.’
‘Bad memories?’ he echoed. ‘Of course. They were all bad ones.’
She knew what he wanted. He wanted her to soften her statement, say there had been good times too. The amazing, heart-stopping, spine-tingling rush that came with the intensity of first love.
She snatched up her coat and bag and held them to her defensively. ‘Goodbye. I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.’ She opened the cabin door. ‘If you do need anything, our office number is in the welcome folder.’
‘I know that. Freya! Please don’t run away again.’
‘“Run away”?’ She snorted. ‘You’re surely not still pissed off that I bailed out of that stupid school wedding?’
‘I’m not talking about the first one,’ he said coldly. ‘I’m talking about the second.’
Her stomach turned over. Surely, he couldn’t still be hurt, after all these years? He must have moved on by now and got over her? She felt a sudden rush of anger, however unfair, that he’d thrust himself back into her life and dragging up emotions she’d buried long before.
‘That’s not fair,’ she said, marching off to her car and climbing in.
Travis followed her to the car and shouted through the glass of the driver’s window. ‘Wait, Freya, I’m sorry.’
‘Goodbye,’ she muttered, pressing her foot down on the accelerator. With a tortured groan, the wheels spun in the slush.
Travis banged the window. Ignoring him, Freya’s foot hovered above the gas pedal then stopped. If the van did lurch forward sharply, she might run over him and no matter how annoyed she was with him, she didn’t want that.
She turned off the engine and pressed the window button. ‘I don’t need your help.’
He leaned down to her level. ‘Good, because I only came out to finish what I was trying to say.’
She gripped the wheel. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Can I please leave now?’
‘Sure. I’m not stopping you.’ With that, he marched off to the cottage.
Praying the van would behave, she turned on the engine and gently let the clutch out while pressing the gas. If the worst came to the worst, she’d have to get out and chuck some grit under the wheels from the bag she kept in the boot. If the very worst came to the worst, she’d have to ask Travis for a push but she would rather clean up after the incontinent dachshunds every single day of her life than do that.
The van moved an inch. Come on, baby, do this for me …
The wheels turned, slipping a little, giving her hope.
A little bit more …
Yes.
The car slithered away from the cabin, with Freya praying it didn’t do a Bambi on the steep track to the main road. She risked one fleeting glance in the rear-view mirror to see if Travis might be taking pictures, but the door was closed and there was no sign of him or his long-range lens.