Page 16 of Too Busy for Love

‘Well, if I stand with my back to the breeze, you could stand in front of me and take shelter.’

‘What, and then we swap over after a bit? I don’t think I’m going to make a very good shelter for you, somehow.’

‘You’re right. It wasn’t the best analogy, but I don’t mind staying on the outside. This is tropical weather compared to some of what I grew up with.’

Although we’ve spooned and held hands already today, they were both strictly accidental, to begin with at least. Consciously snuggling into his chest feels too intimate. However, I have to admit that the warmth coming off him as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close is very welcome. After a moment’s hesitation, I snake my arms around his back and squeeze him tight in return. I can feel myself relaxing as I breathe in the comforting scents of soap and fabric conditioner, and I can’t help feeling a slight pang of disappointment when the bus finally arrives and he lets go so we can scramble aboard.

‘You know what would make today absolutely perfect?’ I ask him. The bus is crowded so we’re having to stand, but I don’t mind.

‘No, what?’

‘A glass of wine in a pub somewhere. Not just any old pub, but one overlooking a river, where we can sit outside because they’ve got those outdoor heaters.’

‘That does sound nice, I agree. I don’t think we have time before the curfew kicks in though.’

‘I’d forgotten about that.’

‘Yeah, it’s a pain. Bloody curfew.’

‘It’s better than the alternative, I suppose.’

He sighs. ‘You’re right, but it’s still a pity. The rest of the world is getting ready to kick back with a drink after a long day in the office, and we’ve got to skulk back to the hotel of shame, running the gauntlet of Robin bloody Bugg on the way.’

‘Who?’

‘The journalist from this morning. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said his name was.’

‘He’s got to have lost interest by now, hasn’t he?’

‘We can hope. It’s an unfortunate name for a journalist, isn’t it?’ he observes. ‘Bugg – kind of implies he’s squashable. I wouldn’t mind squashing him. Maybe I will, if he’s still there.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure the police won’t take a dim view of that at all,’ I say, nudging him in the ribs.

‘I’ll threaten him with harassment then.’

‘I’m not sure you can do that either, if it’s in a public place. What a loathsome way to earn a living.’

‘He probably thinks that about us, to be fair to the little rodent.’

‘You have to choose. Rodent or bug, you can’t have both.’

‘And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the pedantic Beatrice we all know and love.’

‘You’re not funny.’

He grins. ‘Only kidding. Oh, I think this is our stop.’

We’re both on high alert as we make our way along the street to the rear entrance of the hotel, but thankfully there’s no sign of the journalist, and we make it inside unmolested.

We’re in the kitchen debating what to have for dinner when the rear door buzzer sounds again. The CCTV shows a uniformed policeman, and my heart is in my mouth as I hurry to open it. Has he come to take us back into custody? Maybe they’ve found some piece of incriminating evidence.

‘Good evening, miss, sir,’ he says officiously when I’ve let him in. ‘Can I just check your names, for the record?’

‘Beatrice Fairweather and Andrew McLaughlin,’ Jock tells him.

‘Excellent. Just checking you are where you’re supposed to be. I’ll leave you in peace. Have a good evening.’

‘Are they going to check on us every day?’ I ask Jock incredulously once the police officer has gone. I glance at the clock. ‘It’s only ten past seven. Talk about jobsworth.’

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