Page 66 of After Felix
Our gazes meet and hold, and it’s as if the busy London street fades away. I want to look away, but what I see in his eyes keeps me stuck. There’s humour, but also something that looks like desperation.
“Felix,” he says.
“Excuse me.” A voice breaks in, and we both spin around to find Connor.
“What the hell is itnow?”Max snaps in an irritable and highly unusual manner for him. To my amazement, Connor just smiles and hands Max a large envelope and his jacket.
“The signing is finished. Taxi’s waiting and your luggage and everything else you asked for has been delivered to the destination.” He hands me my rucksack and my jacket. “I’ll see you both in a few days.”
“In a fewdays?” I echo, looking after Connor as he walks away. I turn back to Max. “What’s happening? There's a gap in your diary which I presumed was so you could have a break from being charismaticfor a bit. I imagined myself doing something ridiculous like, oh, I don’t know, going back to my own home.”
For a second, I think he’s going to continue our interrupted conversation, but then humour returns to his gaze and he says, lightly, “So you think I’m charismatic then, Felix? I knew it.”
“Does charismatic mean twatty?” I say in a worried voice. “You know how I get my words mixed up.”
He shakes his head. “You have never got anything mixed up. You’ve got the sharpest brain of anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Not always,” I mutter.
“Yes,always,”he says stubbornly, something dark crossing his face. He catches my arm as I go to walk past him to the waiting taxi. “You always saw things much more clearly than me, Felix. I wish…”
“What do you wish?” I ask sharply.
“A hell of a lot, but it’s not the time to discuss my regrets.” He shrugs into his leather jacket and walks towards the cab. I think of what Xavier said and my stomach clenches. Did he mean it? I shake my head and grab my bag.
Don’t be ridiculous, Felix. You’ll be believing in Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny, and fairies next.Max was very clear on who he loved, and that has never changed and probably never will.
Max directs the taxi to St Pancras station, and I wonder if we’re going back to the cottage in Chipping Camden. I suppose that makes sense, but when we get to the station, he refuses my kind offer of what platform the Cotswold train is on and instead steers me in a different direction.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hurrying to keep up with his pace. I’m a little breathless because the man has legs that go on for a century.
“You’ll see,” he throws over his shoulder.
The station is as packed as ever, and I wheel around the tourists who are everywhere, keeping a close eye on Max’s broad shoulders showing over the crowd. He turns and looks around in consternation until he spots me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement colouring his voice. “You’re bright red.”
“I’m just trying to keep up with your jog through the station. There’s got to be better routes for a run,” I gasp.
“I wasn’tjogging.” He laughs. “I was walking at a quick pace.”
“Which to a normal person is jogging,” I mutter.
“You need to get fitter,” he calls over his shoulder, charging forward again.
“I am fit,” I say indignantly. “I get tons of exercise.”
“Lifting your pint glass to your mouth isn’t exercise.”
“Neither is sex,” I say sweetly. “Just in case you were thinking that counts as an energetic activity.”
“Then I’m not fit either.”
I stare at his back. He keeps throwing about comments like this, but I refuse to bite. I say no more, and his sidelong glance tells me he knows his lures aren’t working on me. I break my silence when we get to the platform.
“The Eurostar?” I ask, turning to him. “Are they running to the Cotswolds now, then?”
He grins and ushers me onto the platform where the train is waiting. “They’d have to knock down a few antique shops and pubs to make that possible. Never going to happen.”
