Page 73 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘I’ll tell you what, start walking back to the resort, and I’ll catch you up,’ I tell him.
‘I don’t mind waiting for you,’ he replies.
‘It’s okay because I need to throw some clothes on,’ I insist. ‘And obviously we don’t want anyone to see you.’
‘Oh, okay, good point. I’ll stroll around a bit and come back for you, it’s no trouble,’ he says. ‘It’s not like I have anything else to do.’
I laugh awkwardly.
‘Okay, see you soon,’ I tell him.
After we hang up, I watch him for a second. Go on, Caleb – and I say this in the nicest possible way – go away. Eventually he walks off and I spring into action.
I quickly get dressed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a warm sweater. I brush my hair, and do the quick version of my make-up – although, thankfully, I know there is plenty of make-up at Caleb’s chalet.
I grab my laptop, shoving it into my bag, and head out the door. The château is still quiet, so I’m relieved that I don’t see any sign of anyone as I dash out. I walk briskly, my breathforming clouds in front of my face, clouds that grow bigger as I get out of breath.
I glance back at the château, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension, as I realise that the coast is clear, and that I’m out of the woods – although, ironically, walking through them too.
Eventually I catch up with Caleb a short distance down the road. He’s waiting by a large pine tree, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking a bit bewildered.
‘Hey,’ I say, all easy-breezy, as I approach him.
‘Hey,’ he replies, studying my face. ‘What’s going on? You seem… I don’t know. You seem off.’
‘Oh, no, I’m fine, honestly,’ I reassure him. ‘I just didn’t want anyone to see you.’
‘It’s okay, I’m safe here,’ he reassures me. ‘Everyone here wants privacy.’
I’m not sure Mandy, Bette or Gina would be so obliging.
‘Better safe than sorry, right?’ I reply.
‘You worry too much,’ he tells me. ‘Anyway, breakfast? I’m starving.’
‘That sounds great to me,’ I say with a smile.
Obviously I don’t want anyone in the château to see Caleb but, for some reason, I don’t want Caleb to see any of them either. I mean, I can’t imagine the ladies being kind about any of this, but the last thing I want is for Caleb to think that I set out to spend the night (or even part of it) in bed with Henri. Why? I’m not sure. This is all just business, after all.
37
I’m sitting at the large wooden table in Caleb’s chalet, the morning light streaming in through the windows, casting a beautiful glow on everything – Caleb says this kind of light is one of the best for taking photos.
Caleb is across from me, meticulously arranging his breakfast plates, angling his coffee cup just right.
‘I’ve never seen someone take so many pictures of scrambled eggs,’ I point out.
That said, breakfast was delivered from the resort kitchen, and they’ve somehow managed to make them in the shape of a rose, which really is quite impressive.
‘Of course! Look at them – they’re practically art,’ he points out.
‘They do look good,’ I admit, taking a sip of my coffee. ‘But I’m just so hungry.’
Holiday Amber, it turns out, is absolutely starving all of the time, although I suspect it’s just because the food here is so good.
‘Almost too beautiful to eat,’ he replies, snapping one last photo before digging in. ‘But not quite.’
As I glance around the table, I notice notes scattered everywhere – pages of scribbled handwriting and printouts. Curiosity gets the better of me.
