Page 10 of The Best of Times
“Come, Parkin.”
The very comfortable-looking Yorkshire terrier stared at her with pleading eyes.
“I said, come, Parkin.”
With a resigned sigh, he jumped down from the sofa and ran over to her.
Not about to be outdone by a tiny dog, Aron got to his feet. The waters of Queens Crescent lay before him. He had no choice but to dive right in.
CHAPTER THREE
The Professor’s lounge had always resembled a museum dedicated to Charles Dickens. According to Granny, she’d persuaded him to copy her idea of storing part of his collection to avoid the place resembling a hoarder’s paradise. Even so, Aron felt that he was about to be transported to a Victorian parlour at any moment.
It didn’t help that most of the seating had been filled by neighbours who had been roped in to help. Wine importer Simon Harrington sat next to his gorgeous boyfriend, the owner of nightclub Club C, Rodrigo Costa.
They were joined by local florist, Stuart Monroe, and his other half, Jeremy. Inexplicably, Alexander Fitzwilliam had also appeared on the doorstep. He had no role in the proceedings. He simply didn’t want to miss out.
Aron grinned at him. It was good to see Alexander and he was more than ready to grill him to see if Paul had said anything. He hadn’t had time yet.
Of course, Granny was overseeing everything, ably assisted by the Professor.
The only person who hadn’t put in an appearance was Paul. Aron couldn’t stop watching the door. Alexander kept tryingdesperately to shoot him knowing looks but Aron refused to meet his gaze.
Stirrer.
“I do hope tardiness is not going to plague this project,” Granny said.
She also hadn’t taken her eyes from the door as they all partook in small talk about the weather and sipped tea.
Yes, he was back in Britain. That was for sure.
“It really isn’t like him,” the Professor replied.
Finally Alexander caught Aron’s eye. He imperceptibly raised an eyebrow. Aron undid the top button on his shirt and sat upright. He would kill Alexander.Show nothing in front of Granny.She might be preoccupied with her own love life at the moment, but she still had eyes like a hawk.
Thankfully, the front door banged.
“Sorry I’m late.”
That voice. Had it really been two years since he’d heard it?
A shiver ran down his spine.
There are too many bloody people in this room.
Aron would not lose the upper hand before they’d even begun. So, he forced himself to sit still and, he hoped, nonchalantly cross his legs. Unfortunately, he managed to kick Stuart in the process.
“Sorry,” he said.
The door burst open and there he was. Paul Higgs. Tall. Dark blond hair that always seemed to fall perfectly. Tan and gorgeous as ever.
But behind all that was a sadness that Aron had never penetrated. Instead, he’d become a victim of it.
Not this time. Stay on track.
Their eyes met instantly. Aron gripped the sofa arm and attempted a smile.
“Hi, Paul.”
