Page 102 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
“Oh my fucking God!” There were three different pairs of Converse, some Vans, trainers, two pairs of boots, and some shoes.
“I wasn’t sure on the boots. You can exchange anything you don’t like. Tony thought you might be annoyed I’d chosen them, since women love shopping so much.”
“I hate shopping, and these are all perfect. You can shop for me any day!”
I picked a blue dress from the rail, some cotton knickers, and a matching bra. I dressed and then tried on various pairs of shoes to see which ones suited the outfit. “I need some handbags,” I said.
“Those, I thought you might like to choose yourself.”
We were ready at the same time. Before we left the closet, he placed his hands on my cheeks. He gave me a brief kiss on the forehead, and then one to my cheek.
“Thank you, Ruby, for being here. I understandyour need for some space, and I will honour that, but I hate it.”
“I hate it, too. I don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re you. You’re tough and courageous. You’re beautiful and sassy. You care and love passionately, and despite our age gap, I’m grateful to have you by my side.”
I stared at him. His intensity was comforting, it instilled his words in my brain. I meant something to him, really meant something. My chest swelled.
“What’s the time, Mr. Wolfe?” I asked.
“Time for dinner, Ruby,” he replied and chuckled. He took my hand and led me downstairs.
The Bentley and Ferrari were lined up outside. “Don’t you garage them?” I asked.
“Normally, but only if I know I’m not going out again.”
“What did Tony drive?”
“A van, unmarked, unregistered, then it’ll be burnt.”
“That’s a waste of money, isn’t it?”
“If it had been bought in the first place, yes, I guess so.”
“Car theft as well as assault and battery. Mmm, Mr. Wolfe, you have quite the reputation.”
“Vigilante leader, don’t forget that.”
He winked and for a moment I felt proud of him.Not for the battery and assault or the car theft, but for his morals being so strong that he felt the absolute need for action.
“What?” he asked, as he held the passenger door open.
“I’m proud of you, Sebastian.” He stilled. “I really am. All those things you said about me, the same applies to you.”
I climbed into the car, and he gently closed the door.
Sebastian drove us to a restaurant in Kent. It was small and tucked away in a village high street. It was wonderful. We ate, and we talked. We held hands, and we drank a glass of wine each. We talked about the funeral arrangements, and I mentioned the black dress he’d bought would be perfect. We purposely didn’t talk about what had happened at the house.
“Do you need hair and nails, or whatever, done? I can arrange for someone to come to the house,” he said.
“I guess so. I haven’t had a decent hair cut in years. As for nails...” I held up my hands and showed him my bitten down fingertips.
“You need jewellery,” he said. I folded my hands back in my lap.
“No, I don’t. I need to stop biting my nails, though. I might get some fake ones.”
“So you don’t want this?”
