‘Weeks? I thought we were going for the weekend.’
‘It’s a long way to go for a weekend and you won’t be starting work until next month.’
‘No…’
‘So I said you’d call her when you get back.’ He put the tickets on the counter, lifted their bags onto the scale. ‘That you’ll make her famous.’ He glanced back when she didn’t answer. ‘Or wasn’t Toby Townsend that keen on the countryside issue?’
Oh, he’d been interested. Not in the issues, but he’d practically salivated at the thought of serialising Aunt Lucy’s sensational revelations about half a century of life beneath the sheets in a quiet English village. His angle had certainly been ‘different’ from hers. He wanted all the scandals, all the secrets; she was supposed to befriend the old lady, gain her confidence, extract every last, juicy detail. It would be like taking candy from a baby. Unfortunately she would never be able to look herself in the mirror again. Big time. Big mistake.
‘The clerk is waiting, Mike.’
‘Willow, is something wrong?’
‘No.’ She glanced behind, anywhere rather than meet those clear, sharp eyes. ‘There’s a queue.’ Mike followed her gaze, shrugged and gave his full attention to the check-in clerk.
She’d said, no. Nothing wrong. But as she stood there she began to wonder uneasily if she was being a little overconfident. Okay, she hadn’t mentioned the name of the village, but she’d been talking to Toby’s assistant over coffee; she’d mentioned the cottages, the Trust. It wouldn’t take a man of his resources long to put it all together. Or to find someone else to do his dirty work.
She’d thought she was joining a respected newspaper, not one about to indulge in a circulation war and with its sights set firmly on the gutter.
She should warn Lucy, put her on her guard. No, that was hopeless, the sweet old dear would never understand. She needed to warn Jake. He’d know what to do.
‘Mike, do you need me for this? I’ve been cross-legged all the way from South Kensington. I really need to visit the Ladies.’
‘Since South Ken?’ He grinned. ‘No wonder you look stressed. I’ll see you upstairs at passport control.’ Then, suddenly, he said, ‘Willow?’
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not going to run out on you. This is Crysse’s wedding, not mine.’
‘Well, thanks. I think.’
She raced to the Ladies, searched her bag for the scrap of paper Jake had written his number on. Keyed it in with shaky fingers.
‘Willow? I thought you were supposed to be on your way to the West Indies right now.’
‘Boarding in twenty minutes. Look, I need to tell you something.’
He listened without interruption until she’d finished, then said, ‘Don’t worry. Aunt Lucy needs a holiday, I’ll get someone to cover this place for a few weeks. Oh, and Willow—good luck for the big day.’
‘Er, thanks.’
She hung up. Now her only problem would be in convincing Mike that she hadn’t given up her ‘chance of a lifetime’ for him.
After her dramatic last minute ‘I want a career more than marriage’ dash for freedom, abandoning him… Okay, so she hadn’t actually abandoned him, he hadn’t been there to be abandoned, but that was just luck and good timing. But she’d abandoned her wedding, her family, three hundred wedding guests and a cake big enough to feed five thousand. After that, he was going to find it pretty hard to believe she’d give it all up for one old lady she’d met for the first time yesterday.
Somehow she’d have to convince him that Toby had changed his mind. That he didn’t have a use for a features writer whose imagination stretched no further than the village pump.
‘WHAT are you going to wear?’
Crysse, having talked non-stop for about an hour, bubbling over with excitement and happiness, full of plans for her wedding, finally drew breath and paused expectantly. She was waiting for Willow’s version of what had happened on Saturday. All the details. Including how they’d got back together. And if they were together, why they had separate rooms.
Her cousin would have to ask Mike about that. He’d made the booking. She suspected he was saying, Marry me or sleep alone. Maybe he hoped the hot tropical nights would bring her to her knees.
She was already there. She’d pulled her world down around her ears and was having to live with the consequences. No wedding. No big job. And Mike turning her own argument back on her.
But there was no way she was raining on Crysse’s parade. Or risking her telling Mike. Hence the swift interjection.
‘Have you bought a dress?’ she asked when Crysse didn’t immediately answer.
‘Not yet. I decided to wait until you arrived. I thought we’d take a trip into town first thing tomorrow.’ The ecstatic bride-to-be allowed herself to be distracted, but her look suggested that it was a temporary reprieve.
‘Great.’ Then, because the conversation seemed to have stalled, Willow asked, ‘Where did Sean say he was taking Mike?’ The pair of them had taken off the minute Mike had dumped his bag in the room next door.
‘They’ve probably gone to book a boat or something. Sean’s been dying to try his hand at big-game fishing but there was no way I was getting involved…’ Crysse checked her watch. ‘I expect they’re down in the bar right now, waiting for us to join them.’
‘Sounds good to me. And you can tell me exactly what’s happening. When are Aunt Grace and Uncle Jack arriving?’
‘On Friday… Look, there’s the wedding gazebo… Isn’t it romantic… Everything fixed?’ she broke off to ask Sean as they joined the two men beneath the thatched canopy of the poolside bar.
He grinned, kissed her cheek, whispered something so that Crysse giggled.
Willow exchanged a glance with Mike, then walked away to lean over the balustrade, looking out to sea. ‘Tired?’ Mike asked, joining her.
‘A bit.’ A lot. She’d attempted to sleep on the plane, more to avoid conversation, avoid Mike’s questions about the new job, avoid thinking, than because she was tired. But now it was all catching up with her.
‘Try and keep going, have a little something to eat. It’ll help you with the time difference.’
‘I know that,’ she snapped.
‘On the other hand,’ he said slowly, ‘maybe you’d be happier on your own.’
‘No…yes… Maybe. I’m sorry, Mike. It’s been a long day.’
He reached up, pushed his fingers through her hair, held it back and kissed
