let him slip back to that place, wherever it was. She had been too shy, too unsure to ask questions then, to demand answers.
But maybe he needed her to ask them? Maybe by letting whatever had happened lie festering all these years she had done him a disservice. It didn’t mean he would end up declaring his undying love for her, she knew that. It might change things for ever. But if she loved him then she needed to be strong, for once in her life. No matter what the personal cost.
And she wouldn’t get anywhere lying in this bath, tempting as it was to stay in here all night long.
Although she wanted to try out one of the dresses she had bought that day, the prospect of a potential sledge ride made her think again and in the end Flora opted for her smartest black skinny jeans and a long, soft grey jumper with a snowflake motif. She started to automatically twist her hair into a ponytail but instead she let it flow freely across her shoulders, thankful that the wave had held and it hadn’t been too flattened by the hat.
She stood before the mirror and looked down at the last purchase of the day, an impulse buy urged upon her by the shop assistants in the vintage shop. There was no way, they told her, that she could team her formal dress with her usual, insipid shade of lipstick.
She untwisted the top and stared down at the deep, dark red. A colour like that would only draw attention to her mouth and Flora had done her best to disguise its width since the day she had bought her first make-up. It had been the first thing she had been teased about—the kids at school had called her the wide-mouthed frog until she’d started to develop. The names after that had been cruder and even less original.
A sigh escaped her. It was just a colour. And nobody here knew her, would think twice about what colour she chose to paint her mouth. That was it, no more thought. She raised the small stick and quickly dabbed it across her lips, blending in the deep, rich colour. Then before she could backtrack and wipe it off again she turned on her heel and walked away from the mirror. No more hiding.
* * *
‘This one seems to be ours.’ Alex reached out and helped Flora into the old-fashioned, wooden sleigh. She climbed up carefully and settled herself onto the padded bench, drawing the fleecy blankets closely round herself, her feet thankful for the hot bricks placed on the floor. ‘Four horses? They must have heard about the six cakes you put away during Kaffee and Kuchen.’
‘At least I stuck to single figures,’ she countered as he swung himself in beside her. Very close bedside her. Flora narrowed her eyes as she tried to make out the other sledges, already sliding away into the dark in a trample of hooves and a ringing of bells. Were they all so intimately small?
The driver shook the reins, causing a cascade of bells to ring out jauntily, and the sledge moved forward. She was all too aware of Alex’s knee jammed tight against hers, his shoulders, his arm. The smell of him; like trees in spring and freshly cut grass, the scent incongruous in the dark of winter.
‘Have you had a good time at the reception?’ He was as formal as a blind date. It was the first time they had spoken this evening, the first interaction since she had taken a long deep breath and walked into the buzzing lounge. To her surprised relief the reception had been a lot less terrifying than she had anticipated. It was informal, although waitresses circled with glasses of mulled wine, spiced hot-chocolate rum and small, spicy canapés, and most people were more than happy to introduce themselves. The vibe was very much anticipatory and relaxed—the whole hotel felt very different, felt alive now that it was filled. It was no longer their private domain.
‘You know, I actually have.’ She turned and smiled at him. ‘I had a lovely chat to Holly, she writes travel blogs and articles. Did you know her parents are journalists too? Her mum writes one of those family confessional weekly columns and Holly spent her whole childhood being mercilessly exposed in print as well!’
‘That’s great. I can see why you’re so thrilled for her.’
‘Obviously not great for her,’ Flora conceded. ‘But it was so nice to meet someone who understands just how mortifying it is. Her mum still writes about her—only now it’s all about how she wishes she would stop travelling, settle down and pop out grandkids. At least mine hasn’t gone there—yet.’
‘No, but leave it more than five years and she might do a whole show about women who leave it too late to have babies.’ His mouth quirked into a wicked smile.
‘If she does I’ll get her to do a companion show about aging sperm count and use you as her patient,’ Flora countered sweetly and was rewarded by an embarrassed cough.
Silence fell, a silence as dark and impenetrable as the night sky. They were both sitting as far apart as possible, almost clinging onto the side rails, but it was no good; every move of the sleigh slid them back along the narrow bench until they were touching again.
It was all too horribly, awkwardly, toe-curlingly romantic. From the sleigh bells tinkling as the proud-necked white horses trotted along the snowy tracks, to the lanterns the hotel had thoughtfully placed along the paths, the whole scenario was just begging for the lucky passengers to snuggle up under the thick blankets and indulge in some romance beneath the breathtakingly starry sky.
Or, alternatively, they could sit as far apart as possible and make the kind of stilted small talk that only two people who very much didn’t want to be romantic could make. Remarks like, ‘Look, aren’t the stars bright?’ and, ‘The mountains are pretty.’ Yep, Flora reflected after she had ventured a sentence about the height of the pine trees that stretched high up the mountainside, they were definitely reaching new depths of inanity.
If things were normal then they would be curled up laughing under the blankets. She would tease him about the women who had been clustered around him at the reception; he would try and cajole her to be a little more open-minded about her first ski lesson. They would probably refresh themselves from a hip flask. Completely at ease. But tonight the memory of that almost-kiss hung over them. It was in the clip clop of the horse’s hooves, in the gasp of the sharp, cold mountain air, in the tall ghostly shadows cast by the lantern-lit trees.
‘I feel like I should apologise,’ she said after a while. ‘And I am sorry for being drunk and silly, for putting you in a difficult position with Camilla. I am really sorry that you are having to sleep on the narrowest, most uncomfortable sofa I have ever had the misfortune to sit on in my life. And I’m sorry I kissed you.’ She swallowed. ‘I should have taken the hint when you stopped me all those years ago. But I’ve wanted to know what we’d be like most of my life. And when you told me I couldn’t live in fear of rejection I just had to try, one more time...’
‘And?’ His voice was husky, as if it hurt him to speak. ‘Was it worth it?’
‘You tell me.’ Flora shifted so she was sitting side on, so that she could see the inscrutable profile silhouetted against the dark night by the lantern light. ‘Because I think actually that you wanted to as well. Maybe you have always wanted to. Even back then.’
He didn’t answer for a long moment. Flora’s heart speeded up with every second of silence until she felt as if it might explode open with a bang.
‘You’re right. I did. And it was...it was incredible. But you and me, Flora. It would never work. You know that, right?’
Her heart had soared with the word incredible, only to plummet like an out-of-control ski jumper as he finished speaking.
She wasn’t good enough for him. Just as she had always known. ‘Because I don’t
