Page 82 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“The good stuff?”
“Yep.”
“Shit, you do feel bad.”
Harriet hugged Emma before she got out of the car. “You’re the best,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Call me before, if you need to.”
When she climbed into bed, fingers and toes sufficiently pruned after a good soak—she’d wondered why it hadtaken her so long to use Maisy’s good bubble bath—she checked her phone for messages. She had two from Maisy, alongside a picture of her and Savannah wrapped in winter woolies on an ice rink. She smiled and tapped out a reply. She’d just hit send when another message came through, this one from James.
Harriet, I’m sorry. I understand that my actions have hurt you. Thank you for not making a scene at Lyra’s exhibition, even though you would have been within your rights. If you’ll let me, I’d like to explain everything but not over the phone. Breakfast tomorrow? Before you start work. 7:30 at the little café you like on the corner? I hope to see you in the morning. x
Harriet read the message three times. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth. He still wasn’t giving anything away. She didn’t reply to his message. Instead, she pulled the duvet over her head, and let sleep roll over her, which it did for a full hour and a half before her body decided that was quite enough sleep for one night.
Twenty-two
It was the first ofDecember and the café on the corner was fully Christmas ready. The long bar that ran the length of the window was decorated with a poinsettia garland, the red petals pressed against the glass soaking up the condensation as it rolled down the window. The counter area was hung with brightly colored pompom swags and the tree was a jazzy mix of glitter coffee cups and cake slice decorations.
James sat at a scrubbed pine table in the corner looking conspicuous in his expensive suit. He oozed discomfort, and Harriet would have felt sorry for him if she weren’t still raw.
Her heart was beating fast, and her stomach churned with a mixture of apprehension and hurt. She knew that things were about to change and she wasn’t confident about which way the pendulum would swing. James looked up and met her eyes, and she saw him swallow before he closed the book he’d been reading and stood up. It was a pity, she thought, that his old-fashioned manners didn’t stretch to telling the truth. He pulled out her chair and she sat but didn’t say thank you. He sat back down. Crossed his legs and uncrossed them, laid his hands flat on the table and then folded them in his lap. He was uncomfortable. Good.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he said.
“Neither was I.” Who was she kidding, she was always going to show.
“I ordered you a flat white and a few different pastries. I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for, and I know you don’t tend to eat breakfast before you leave the house.”
“Thank you, you didn’t have to.”
He shifted in his chair, crossed and uncrossed his legs again. “I suppose I’ll just get on with it, then.”
“That would be best,” she replied in a clipped tone.
Her phone rang; it was Cornell. “I have to take this.”
James nodded.
“Sebastian. What can I do for you?”
“I can’t find Jemima Bryce’s file, where the hell is it?” he snapped down the phone.
“Go to your saved works and double-click on ‘Pending Cases.’ All the files will come up by name.”
She could hear the clack of the keys being finger-punched beneath Cornell’s grumbles.
“And where the hell are you?” he asked. “I thought we agreed that your vanity project wasn’t to interfere with work.”
Harriet gritted her teeth. “It isn’t. I’ll be in shortly. Have you found the file?”
After an ungracious thank-you, Cornell ended the call.
“Sorry,” she said to James. “Please continue.”
