Page 7 of Twin Flames
‘No problem,’ he leaned towards her and planted a quick kiss on her warm cheek. He was freshly shaved and smelled divine. She wondered which aftershave he used.
‘They don’t make reservations for the terrace so we’ll have to take our chances,’ he beckoned her to go ahead as theyentered the air-conditioned restaurant and joined the queue to be seated.
The warm afternoon sun bathed them in a comforting glow as they settled on the pretty, flowered terrace, near the historic Lendal Bridge. A canalboat was moored below, rocking gently to the rhythm of the river.
Cara scanned the menu. She was far too nervous to eat. She ordered a salad and a bottle of sparkling water.
‘Is that all you’re having? I’m absolutely ravenous.’
He ordered cod and chips.
‘I’m a vegetarian,’ she said.
‘Goodness, how thoughtless of me. I didn’t think to ask.’
‘No problem. I only want something light, anyway.’
‘Do you fancy a glass of wine?’ he said.
I fancy you.
She said, ‘Um… are you having one?’
‘Yes. I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay. Will you join me?’
‘Thank you, that sounds perfect. I’m driving, so only a small one please.’
A few minutes later they sipped the chilled wine and Cara experienced a shot of adrenalin. She assessed George, her smoky grey eyes discreetly appraising his face as he selected a piece of wholegrain bread from the basket.
The dishes arrived, and Cara noticed George’s beautiful hands. She was beginning to suspect everything about him was beautiful.
Lunch passed in a blur. They laughed at the slightest little remark, and there was no awkwardness between them as was so often the case with new acquaintances. Cara glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was already half-past two. It was as though they’d only just sat down. She felt at ease in his company; almost as if they ate lunch together like this every day. She couldtell instinctively it was the same for him. There was a warmth between them which needed no words.
Her mind flashed back to the prison scene. This wasn’t the first time they had eaten together.
‘How did you come to be in the manuscript business?’ she asked, between mouthfuls of salad.
‘The business has been in the family in one form or another, dating all the way back to Tudor times when it was established by order of King Henry VIII.’
‘It must be wonderful to have such a fascinating lineage,’ she said.
‘My ancestor, also called George Oliver Cavendish, was special advisor to the king. He and his team would track down and restore important manuscripts for the government’s political and religious initiatives. We still have a particularly impressive manuscript from that period on display here in our York workshop. The Queen honoured us with a visit not long ago.’
‘How fabulous. I’d like to see it one day.’
‘Yes, of course, come over to the workshop anytime. I’m proud of my family’s heritage as you can probably tell.’
George beamed, and Cara saw he had a dimple. How had she not noticed it before? She tried not to stare.
‘That’s lovely. It’s rare to find someone who is truly passionate about their work. I love my work too. I can’t imagine being in a world without history and books. How dull life would be.’
Their eyes locked for what seemed minutes but was no more than a couple of seconds. A tangible current passed between them. Cara’s phone rang from the depths of her handbag, and the trance was severed.
Daniel’s name flashed up on her phone screen.
‘I don’t know where the time’s gone. Do you need to get that?’ he said, his eyes probing hers.
‘No, it’s okay. It’s not urgent.’
