think so.’ Freya nodded. He was almost forgiven. ‘How’s Louise?’ she asked.
‘Mrs Eames?’ he checked. ‘She’s made it through the night and is holding her own. She’s a lot better than yesterday at least.’ He looked over. ‘Do you want some breakfast or are you still cross?’
‘Still cross,’ Freya said and told him why. ‘My flat isn’t terrible.’
‘I just said that as an excuse to my mother. She’s hardly going to drop in and see it.’
‘I guess...’
She let it go, and she decided he was completely forgiven when he got out of bed and returned with coffee, and toast topped with grapefruit marmalade.
Or was it the fact that she simply had to know more about this man?
‘Were she and your father ever happy?’ Freya asked as they ate their breakfast and got crumbs in his gorgeous bed.
‘I think so. But she wanted a livelier social life and he is rather wedded to his job. She gave him an ultimatum and it backfired, I fear, because he chose work.’
‘Your father married again?’
‘Yes—his housekeeper. Or rather the woman who had been their housekeeper, so you can imagine how well that went down. My mother was convinced there had been something going on all along...’ He rolled his eyes and then, putting his plate down, moved to take her mug. ‘Can we talk about our sex-life instead, please?’
‘But your parents’ sex-life is so much more interesting!’
‘Then I must be losing my touch.’
They made each other laugh and then, to Freya’s surprise, and seemingly to Richard’s, instead of taking her mug he lay back on the pillows and told her some more.
‘She walked out when I was fifteen—a couple of days after their twentieth wedding anniversary. My father wasn’t giving her the attention she felt she deserved. He had a terminally ill patient and had had to cancel their anniversary trip. I felt terrible for my father after the break-up—he just moped around. Then, just when I was starting my “A” Levels, he announced he was marrying Vera.’
‘The housekeeper?’
‘Yes. And the following summer my mother married an old friend of my father’s. A more glamorous version of him, really.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘She left him after five years, and after that I kind of tuned out. Now all I know is that she’s engaged to Roger.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘Yes—a couple of dinners. He’s a cosmetic dentist.’ He pulled a face.
‘What’s wrong with being a cosmetic dentist?’
‘Nothing. I just feel his eyes on my mouth every time we speak. I think he’s trying to work out if I’ve got crowns. In my line of work we just ask!’
He looked over to Freya and gave her a very nice smile that showed stunningly even teeth.
‘And do you have crowns?’
‘Two—thanks to rugby.’
She looked right back at him, and as she did so she thought about him asking his patients about their dental work before he put them under. She looked into his eyes and Freya understood why patients so clearly trusted him.
Because she trusted him.
Of course she didn’t know him very well yet, but that much she knew. And, Freya thought as they stared at each other, if she were terrified and scared for her life, or her baby’s, his would be the eyes she would want to see.
No, she would never regret this. In the twelve hours since their lips had first met she had come alive to her body in a way she never had before.
She wanted to put down her mug and reach for his kiss. Or at the very least to ask him what day he’d get back from his trip, in the hope that she could see him. But then she recalled their rules, and peeled back the sheet rather than leaning in to his embrace.
‘I’d better go. I have a train to catch.’
‘What time?’
‘Ten.’
‘Then there’s plenty of time.’
‘No, I need to get back to mine to pack.’
‘Fair enough,’ Richard said.
He lay there with his hands behind his head as she dressed. He kept his mouth firmly closed.
It was deliberate, because a long weekend in Scotland with Freya sounded tempting—rather than flying to Moscow by himself and cramming in some sightseeing.
‘Have a great trip,’ Freya said.
‘I will.’ He put out his hand and she came and sat down on the bed.
‘And good luck with your lunch,’ she added.
‘Thanks.’
It wasn’t awkward when she left. More, it felt...unfinished.
* * *
Freya thought about him more than she ought as her train slid its way northwards.
It was packed, and there were no seats in the quiet carriage, so Freya put in her earbuds and tried to listen to music—but every song sounded as if it had been written about them. So she gave up with the music and chatted to the woman in the seat beside her.
She was a fellow Scot, so neither had to say sorry, or I beg your pardon once, and Freya found out from her that on weekends and public holidays you could sometimes get a cheap upgrade to First Class.
‘I’ll remember that,’ Freya said, and then gazed out of the window and watched the rolling countryside. The clouds gathered and right on cue, as they crossed the border at Berwick-upon-Tweed, she saw grey skies and rain,
It made her smile.
The train travelled the rugged Scottish coastline, eating up the miles until they reached Edinburgh Castle. It was dark and powerful and towering over them, and her first glimpse of it in what felt like a long time caused Freya’s heart to swell.
The train pulled into Waverley Station and it felt very good to be home. The station was busy as she checked the board for the next train to Cromayr Bay and saw that she had half an hour to kill.
Freya decided to buy some flowers for her little cottage, to brighten things up. As she was paying she could hear her phone beeping, and assumed it was Alison, or her mother, checking on what time her train would get in.
She nearly dropped the phone when she saw that it was Richard.
Lunch
