Page 54 of Resisting Mr Black

I heave a sigh at the memory that will forever haunt me. “He was driving home late from work one night. It was winter and there was black ice on the roads. A joyrider lost control of a car they’d stolen and ploughed into him. Dad died instantly. The other driver was eighteen. He was drunk and hadn’t even got a proper licence. He walked away with a broken arm.” I muse over something I’ve thought about most days since he died. “That morning Dad left the house, and it would be for the last time. He didn’t know, we didn’t know, but it was, and all our lives changed forever. Life’s funny, isn’t it?”

Seconds tick by and I’m waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. His fingers have stopped stroking my neck. I glance at him, and he’s staring straight ahead at the painting but there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

“Are you okay?”

He shakes his head lightly as if snapping out of a trance, and he removes his hand from my neck. “Yes, sorry, I’ve just remembered there’s something I need to go and sort out. Are you okay to drive into work yourself?”

I frown at the abrupt change in conversation. There’s definitely something odd about him and I can’t put my finger on it. “Erm, yes, of course.”

“Great.” He hastily pecks me on the cheek without meeting my eyes and walks past me.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I call after him as he hurries down the hall.

“Fine,” he throws over his shoulder and with that, opens the door and disappears.

“So, exactly how good are we talking?” Lucy watches me closely as she takes a sip of coffee and places the cup on the table.

I throw a furtive glance at Olly cleaning glasses behind the bar over the other side of the room to check he’s out of earshot. “Very.”

“I knew he would be.” She gazes wistfully through the double doors of the Orangery out onto the sunny terrace. “You can tell just by looking at him he’d be good in the sack.”

Given that it’s mid-week, the hotel is fairly quiet apart from the usual couple of business guests. Lucy and I have seized the opportunity to have an afternoon catch-up in the Orangery and I’m thankful for the low footfall, as she’s been grilling me like a Russian interrogator over my day with Art ever since we sat down at the table for two.

I tap the screen of my phone for what feels like the hundredth time today and nibble my thumbnail. Since this morning I haven’t heard from him and there was something about the way he darted out of my apartment that’s bothering me.

“I think he really likes you.” I look up with a jolt to find my friend giving me a firm look. She’s over-romanticising again.

“Oh come on, think about it,” she carries on in response to the look of disbelief I throw her. “He’s brought you a gift that he knew would mean a lot to you. He asked you to keep some clothes at his place, he’s practically moving you in!”

I wrinkle my nose, uneasy. “I’m not sure. He took off like a shot this morning, muttering about needing to sort something out. I haven’t heard from him all day.” I stir my cappuccino and watch the white froth disappear into the muddy brown liquid. “I suppose us not walking into work together has saved us from the gossips in this place,” I add, raising the cup to my lips.

“Think positive.” Lucy tucks her curls around her ears and sits up. “Have you ever thought he might actually have business to sort out? And you’d just been talking about his dad. Maybe he got a bit upset, you know how men don’t like to talk about their feelings.” She tweaks the collar of her pale blue blouse and shakes her head. “Stop worrying.”

I can’t think positive where men are concerned. My brain automatically jumps to the worst-case scenario. I’m worried he’s too good to be true, and now the novelty of the sex has worn off I’m worried he’s thinking exactly the same thing about me.

Lucy sighs for the tenth time in fifteen minutes and stares out of the leaded window to the terrace.

“So, what’s going on with you and Mark?”

She juts out her bottom lip and shakes her head. “Nothing that hasn’t been going on for a while.”

Not satisfied with her vague response, I push further. Through the five years Lucy and Mark have been together, they’ve had their ups and downs like every couple, but I’ve never seen her like this. “Is everything okay between the two of you?”

“Everything is exactly the same as it always has been,” she says with a despondent shrug of her shoulders. “We go out to work; he goes out to the pub after and comes home late. He plays golf at weekends. We’re like two lodgers living in the same house. Our paths barely cross.”

“You don’t think there’s anyone else, do you?”

Lucy gives a high-pitched laugh but there’s no humour in her eyes. “I don’t think he’s got enough about him to do anything like that.”

“You’ve been together a long time; things are bound to get a bit…” I pause. “Stale. And you’ve got the wedding in a few weeks. It’s a lot of pressure for you both. Loads of couples have a wobble before their big day,” I say, reassuringly.

“I know.” Lucy picks up the white paper napkin from off her saucer and twists it in between her fingers. She looks outside. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

There’s doubt in her voice which doesn’t leave me convinced, but we’re interrupted by a flustered-looking George hurrying up to our table.

“Ah, there you both are. No Art again today, I see?” His eyes dart from me to Lucy questioningly.

“No, doesn’t look like it, and I’m on my break,” Lucy replies before he can ask.

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