me a job,’ she said.
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘He told me that in a recession no one would take a risk on a newly qualified “girl pilot”.’
‘Please tell me he didn’t say “girl pilot”?’
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but he might as well have. I wrote hundreds of application letters, filled in dozens of forms but I never got a single interview. His fake sympathy made me so mad that I told him that you’d promised me a job if I got my CPL and I was going to fly down and see you.’
‘Oh? And what did he say about that?’
‘That times were tough and I shouldn’t rely on a spur-of-the-moment promise given three years before and no doubt forgotten as quickly.’
‘So, despite the promise, I was the last person you approached for a job?’
‘I thought he might have been right. It was the kind of thing a man might say...’
‘When he wants to get into the pants of a pretty girl?’
‘Maybe,’ she admitted, with the faintest hint of a blush. ‘And I knew it was my last chance so I made him a promise that if you’d forgotten, or if you didn’t have a job for me, I’d give up my dream of flying and join the design team.’
‘It’s just as well I did have an opening for a new pilot.’
‘You didn’t. Not really.’ She looked at him. ‘It didn’t take me long to realise that you could have managed very well without me.’
‘Business began to pick up right after that. By then you were familiar with all the aircraft and fully integrated with the team. It was one of my better decisions.’
‘Maybe, but that’s what I know about you, Cleve. You are a man who keeps his word.’
His mouth was dry and he took another sip of wine. ‘We’re talking about you.’
‘Me? What you see is what you get. I’m scared of spiders. I don’t like frills or shopping for clothes, although I’m going to have to make an effort now that I don’t have a uniform to hide in.’
‘You look good in pink.’
‘Pink?’ She frowned. ‘I can’t remember the last time I wore pink.’ At least...
‘You wore a pale pink dress to your eighteenth birthday party.’ It had been made of something soft that floated when she’d spun around. ‘And you love daisies.’
‘Daisies?’
He dumped a couple of handfuls of pasta into the water. ‘I wanted to send you flowers when I was in Cyprus but couldn’t think what would send the right message.’
‘Tricky,’ she agreed.
‘It would have helped if I’d known what the message was, but you always walk around the airfield and pick a bunch of dog daisies when they’re in flower.’ He stirred the pasta. ‘If I’d remembered that maybe you’d have told me about the baby.’
‘I don’t think online florists do dog daisies.’
‘No.’
‘I like cow parsley and rosebay willowherb too. All it costs to please me when it comes to flowers is a little effort.’
‘What about on Valentine’s Day?’
‘February? Violets. Harder to spot but they grow in their millions in the woods above the Marlowe airfield.’ She tasted the sauce. ‘You can add the basil now.’
He tipped it into the pan.
‘I’ll grate the cheese.’
‘Cheese?’ She looked apprehensive. ‘I didn’t know we had any cheese.’
He unwrapped the package that the delicatessen had wrapped in waxed paper. ‘I bought some pecorino when I picked up the marmalade—’
‘No-o-o!’
She had her hands over her mouth and nose and he swiftly wrapped it up and pushed it to the back of the fridge. ‘I’ll get rid of it later.’
She nodded, clearly not quite trusting herself to open her mouth.
He crushed a stem of basil, held it beneath her nose and in a moment she was breathing again. ‘Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry about that.’
‘Don’t apologise but for future reference is that cheese in general, pecorino in particular, or is it a morning sickness thing?’
‘I don’t know why they call it morning sickness,’ she said. ‘The vomito can hit at any time.’
‘Vomito?’
She told him about the scene at the porto, the border official who’d changed from suspicious to kindness itself once he’d realised the problem.
‘He was the first person you told about the baby?’
‘I’m sorry, Cleve. It should have been you.’
‘Don’t stress.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘If I hadn’t hung around in Cyprus...’ Delaying his departure, knowing that he would have to talk to Miranda on his return. Not knowing what he would say. ‘If I’d been there...’
She waved it off.
‘If ifs and buts were candy and nuts—’
‘Every day would be Christmas?’
They both grinned then Miranda said, ‘There are, apparently, a whole heap of things I can’t eat. Until a couple of days ago it didn’t matter because I couldn’t face anything but now I’ve got my appetite back I’ll have to look it up on the Web.’
‘I’ll take my phone with me tomorrow and check the list when we go into San Rocco.’
‘No, don’t!’ She shook her head. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m being silly. I’m just afraid that once the outside world breaks into this time alone it’s all going to fall to pieces.’
‘HEY...’ CLEVE PUT his arms around her and drew her close.
‘It’s those wretched hormones on the rampage,’ she said. ‘Of course you have to check for messages.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He wasn’t immune to the feeling that this was too good to be true, that something would leap out of the woodwork and mess it up. ‘Your hormones are working overtime to take care of you and we’ll respect them.’
She shook her head, but her eyes were overbright and she was blinking hard to keep the tears from falling.
