Page 20 of You Had Me at Chateau
I rummage through the petals to find the card. My fingers finally grasp it, and I pull it out.
The card reads:
Cactus. Midday. Let’s work together.
Oh, I could explode with tears of joy. Instead I let out a huge sigh of relief. These must be from Jen! She must have read my manuscript, realised it’s great, and decided that I don’t need to go to some silly writers’ retreat in France. My heart does a happy little jig. My body soon follows. Finally, something good for once.
But then it occurs to me – midday is not that far away! I glance at the clock and see that I have less than half an hour to get ready, if I’m going to make it there on time. I’m still in my tracksuit, my hair is a mess, and if I smell nice at all then it’s simply because the flowers rubbed off on me.
I dash to the shower with a spring in my step, my mind racing. This is it! Jen loves my book – thank fuck for that! Maybe I won’t have to endure a lonely run-up to Christmas in France after all. As the warm water cascades over me, I smile to myself. It’s not that I don’t love writing romance, or comedy, it’s just that this itch I have, to write a murder mystery, needs scratching. It’s all I can think about. It’s the only thing I can muster up any genuine creativity for.
Rinsing off quickly, I hop out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. Keeping my hair dry means that I can let a cloud of dry shampoo work its magic – I did that yesterday, so here’s hoping it works again.
I dart around my apartment, gathering clothes, and mentally planning what I’ll say to Jen. I feel like everything is finally falling into place.
So long as I’m not late, of course.
9
I feel good. I probably don’t look it, with my unwashed hair and my quickly thrown-together outfit, but better to be a bit scruffy than late, surely?
It’s freezing out today, so I’m wearing a super-thick pair of black tights underneath my shirt dress, along with a thigh-high pair of black boots and my black coat with the faux-fur collar – something Tom hilariously (hilarious to him, at least) calls my Jon Snow coat.
My make-up is carrying me today. I’ve gone heavy on the eyes, heavy on the lips – something I often do when I’m overcompensating. Well, if you have either really good hair or really good make-up, they will pick up the slack.
The streets of London are festively frantic. It’s taking all of my effort to navigate the pavement, dodging frantic shoppers as I hurry along to make my meeting on time. I often wonder why it is that everyone loses their marbles at Christmastime?
My mum is the worst for it and now, if these flowers from Jen really do mean I’m no longer being forced to France, then the only downside is that I’ll have to help her with the Christmas food shop, as promised. It’s not that I don’t want to help, it’s justthat Mum is as guilty as anyone when it comes to overdoing it. It’s not like it used to be, when the shops would close, so you needed to make sure you were stocked up. These days they’re only really closed on Christmas Day, so there’s no need to panickingly stock up on absolutely everything. Mum is the kind of person who will buy things that no one eats the rest of the year. Things like nuts in their shells, bags and bags of oranges, and enough cheese to make at least twenty cheeseboards. But this is the special Christmas cheese, so no one is allowed to eat it until the main event (or the days that follow). Honestly, one year Dad broke into the cranberry Wensleydale to make a sandwich on 21 December, and I’m surprised Mum didn’t divorce him then.
As I arrive at the Cactus, I notice the same security guard from yesterday. Great, just great. This could go either way. On one hand, he should recognise me and know I’m not a threat. On the other hand, he might hold a grudge and be more likely to give me a hard time.
Deciding to kill him with kindness, I flash him my friendliest smile – as though we’re old friends, bumping into one another in the street – and walk up to him.
‘Hello, you!’ I start – perhaps I need to tone it down a bit. ‘I’m back – again. Here to see Jen Brooks – again.’
Lord, I’m being so awkward. Even I’m suspicious of me.
He squints at me, clearly either trying to remember who I am or pretending he doesn’t recognise me at all. Who could blame him either way?
After a moment, he picks up the phone and dials. He exchanges a few words with someone, in suspiciously hushed tones, before turning back to me.
‘They say Jen isn’t in today,’ he announces with a hint of satisfaction, happy he gets to turn me away, smirking like he’s just won a small battle.
‘She must be,’ I insist, my smile starting to strain. ‘I have a meeting with her.’
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ he says, already looking bored of me, clearly ready to move on to the next person whose day he can ruin.
‘Can I maybe pop up and check?’ I plead, my voice edging into desperation. ‘I really do have a meeting with her – and she only invited me to it today, so it’s not like she’s forgotten already. It’s only bloody midday.’
‘No can do,’ he says, crossing his arms and looking like he’s enjoying this a little too much. His biceps twitch, almost like they’re powering up, as though he’s gearing up to forcibly remove me. I think he’s just waiting for me to give him probable cause.
‘Please,’ I start to beg him, feeling utterly defeated, but sticking with a tone that doesn’t incite violence.
‘It’s okay, she’s with me,’ a male voice interrupts us.
I turn around to see none other than Caleb Carney standing there, looking handsome and confident – and it works.
‘Mr Carney, of course, I didn’t realise she was with you,’ the security guard babbles, practically falling over himself to open the security gate for us.
