Page 124 of Love ad Lib
You don’t know that. I’m not giving up on the chance of us being together.
Ah yes, your ‘cunning plan’…
She can’t sofa-surf at Claire’s. It’s not fair on her, or Claire and Ritchie.
So, you’re going to fix it?
‘What did you say?’ he asked, suddenly aware that Libby had been speaking.
‘I was just saying,’ she shouted, ‘I had no idea nature was so bloody loud.’
He laughed. ‘Did you sleep at all?’
‘A bit. Although it’s nowhere near as comfortable as your bed.’
‘Want to head to the Manor for a power nap before we return to London?’
She paused, her expression unreadable. ‘Yeah, sure.’ She climbed out of their nest of covers. ‘Although I have to do one thing first.’
‘Obey the call of nature?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, but more importantly I have to wash my face in dew to make me beautiful.’
‘You’re already beautiful.’
Her cheeks pinked. ‘More beautiful then,’ she replied with a grin.
They got backto the Manor at five a.m. and crashed for a few hours. Henry awoke to find Libby awake and packing. His heart sank. He’d been summoning the courage to ask her to stay with him in Foxbrooke longer, but she was obviously keen to get back. He had a quick and lonely shower, then threw his things into his bag.
He couldn’t think of anything to say, and it seemed neither could she. His hand lingered on their fake relationship contract. So much had changed since he’d first showed it to her. Could he persuade her to sign another one? Arealrelationship contract? He dismissed the idea. He was losing his mind.
‘We can leave these here and come back for them after breakfast,’ he said, indicating their bags.
She nodded, placing the yellow dress she’d worn to the costume party in its garment bag. The dress seemed to shine with memories, and when she zipped the bag up, it felt like clouds covering the sun.
Henry opened the bedroom door for Libby and they walked in silence down the corridor. Voices murmured in the distance, a strident one rising above them all.Estelle.
The entrance to the Manor was filled with people. Most were in their sixties or older, but there were also younger people from a variety of nationalities. This was obviously the once-a-month day when the Manor was opened to visitors.
None of them looked very happy. Some were arguing with Estelle, who was standing a few steps up on the stairs, some were on their phones, and the rest stood wearing their most fearsome faces, lips pressed tightly together as they edited in their heads the scathing reviews they were going to leave online.
‘Look,’ his sister shouted. ‘I apologise, but your guide will be along any minute. Please bear with me.’
‘What’s going on?’ Henry asked her in a low voice.
Estelle turned to him, her confident face collapsing.
‘Our fucking useless arse of a father failed to book the tour guide,’ she muttered. ‘Perry rang me when this lot showed up. I contacted the guides we usually use, but they’re booked on another job at Stonehenge, and our parents can’t do it as they’re probably still shagging by the river. I can’t either, as I’ve got to be back at the livery this morning for a meeting.’
She looked at him, hope in her eyes. He took a step back, panicked at the thought of having to remember details about the house and put on a polite face when someone asked him about his parent’s marriage.
‘How long does the tour normally last?’ Libby asked.
Estelle pulled a face. ‘At least a couple of hours.’
‘Anywhere you don’t allow visitors?’
‘Some of the bedrooms. There’s a tiny red dot on the top of any door we don’t want them to see. Why?’
