Holiday with the Best Man (7 page)

He smiled. ‘So, as we're at a musical event, this is where I ask what sort of music you like? Even though actually I already know that you like popular classical music, and you sing along to the radio.'

She smiled back. ‘And then I ask you what you like, even though you already told me yesterday that you like loud pop punk.'

‘I do.' He thought about it. ‘I like popular classical music as well as indie rock. And I've never been to the opera, but I've been to a few good gigs in my time. Especially since Hugh set up Insurgo.' He paused. ‘So that's covered what we listen to. If I extend that to actually playing music—I did about a term's worth of violin lessons before my parents gave in and begged me to stop. What about you?'

‘Apart from singing Christmas carols at the infant school nativity play—oh, and playing the triangle for “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” one year and doing it in completely the wrong place—no,' she said. ‘None of my friends are musical, either.'

‘Some of mine are.' He shrugged. ‘But you already know that my best friends own an indie recording label and Hugh's an amazing producer. And your sister gave him his music back. It's great to see him with his heart and soul back in place.'

‘I think Hugh and Bella are good for each other,' she said. ‘Which reminds me—today's Bellagram.'

Roland burst out laughing when he saw the photograph of Hugh by the railings on Fisherman's Wharf, posing like a sea lion clapping its front feet together, with a crowd of sea lions behind him. ‘That's priceless.' He looked at Grace. ‘Are you sending her Bellagrams back?'

Grace shook her head. ‘If I did, she'd start asking questions—and our deal is just between us.'

‘True.' He paused. ‘OK. That's music done. What next? I know you can cook, and you know I don't bother. We both like good food.'

‘And, even though you might not cook something yourself, you make great choices. This cheese is amazing,' she said, helping herself to another slice of the Cheddar with an oatcake.

‘Food, music. Next topic.' He looked thoughtful. ‘Travel?'

‘I haven't travelled that much,' she admitted.

* * *

Because she was
scared of flying? Or had she just never had the chance to travel?

If it was the latter, Roland thought, this was a definite sweeping-off-feet opportunity. The perfect way to end their time together, even. He knew exactly where he was going to take her. He'd book it later tonight.

‘Do you have a passport?' he checked.

She nodded.

Good, he thought. That was the biggest barrier out of the way. Then he remembered that she'd called off her wedding very recently and grimaced. ‘Sorry. Did I just put my foot in it? Had you booked an amazing honeymoon in Hawaii or something?'

She shook her head. ‘Howard wasn't really one for long-haul flights—or even short-haul, really. We were going to drive down to the south of France. Cynthia had asked a couple of her friends to lend us their flat.'

Who on earth organised their son's honeymoon, unless it was a special surprise and something that the happy couple couldn't afford to do for themselves? Roland wondered. And although a borrowed flat in the South of France would be very nice for a short break, he didn't understand why a qualified accountant who worked for the family firm—and therefore had to be on a pretty decent salary—couldn't afford to book something a little more special for his honeymoon. So either Howard and his family were very mean with money, or his mother was a control freak who refused to let her son make his own decisions. Either way, it sounded as if Grace had had a lucky escape.

‘The South of France is nice,' he said carefully.

‘But not where you'd choose for a honeymoon?' she asked, picking up on his hesitation.

‘No,' he admitted. ‘And definitely not a borrowed flat if I could afford to pay for somewhere myself.'

‘Where did you and Lynette go?' she asked. Then she bit her lip. ‘Sorry. That was nosey. I didn't mean to bring up memories.'

‘They're good memories,' he said. And, surprisingly, it didn't hurt to talk about Lynette to Grace. It was actually nice to remember the times when they'd been happy. Before the baby-making project had put so much pressure on them both and their marriage had started to crack under the strain. ‘We went to the rainforest in Brazil and stayed in a treetop hotel.'

‘That sounds amazing,' she said wistfully.

‘It was a kind of private oasis,' he said. ‘We could sit out on the balcony and watch the monkeys and hear the macaws. There were wooden catwalks through the canopy of trees, so walking between our suite and the dining room was amazing. There was even a treetop swimming pool.'

‘That's really exotic,' she said.

‘I've never been anywhere like it—swimming with all these tropical birds flying just over your heads. And the food was great; every night we had fresh grilled fish, beans and rice and amazing bread, and exotic fruit. The day I remember most was when we took a boat trip on the Amazon and swam with the pink freshwater dolphins.'

‘That sounds perfect,' Grace said wistfully.

‘It was the trip of a lifetime,' he said. ‘We'd both always wanted to see the rainforest, and it more than lived up to our expectations. I'm not sure whether I liked the sunrise or the sunset most, or just looking up into the sky and seeing a different set of stars, so bright against the darkness of the sky and so very different from London.' He paused. ‘So what about you? What's your dream trip?' The one that her ex-fiancé hadn't made come true.

‘It's a bit nerdy.'

He smiled. He'd expect nothing less from Grace. ‘Nerdy's good. Tell me.'

‘I'd love to go on the Orient Express,' she said, ‘all the way from Paris to Istanbul.' She shrugged. ‘But that particular trip is only scheduled once a year.'

If Roland had been planning to get married to Grace, he would've arranged their wedding so they could start their honeymoon with the train journey from Paris to Istanbul before venturing further afield. Why hadn't Howard done that? Didn't he like trains? Or had he never bothered to find out what made his fiancée tick?

Not that it was any of Roland's business. And he wasn't planning to get married any time soon. This was practice dating, he reminded himself. Talking to his date and finding out more about her. ‘Where else would you like to go?'

‘Do you mean my fantasy travel wish-list—the really wild stuff that I know I'm never actually going to do?' she asked. At his nod, she continued, ‘I'd like to go to Australia and see the stars in the outback, and to Alaska to see the glaciers and the whales, and maybe the Antarctic to see the penguins, and to walk along some of the Great Wall of China.' She paused. ‘How about you?'

‘Actually, I like the sound of all of those.' He was faintly shocked by how much their tastes dovetailed. Only a few days ago, he would've said that they had nothing in common. But it looked as if some of her dreams were very similar to his own.

‘You haven't already done them?' She looked surprised.

‘No. Lyn really liked city breaks, so I've been to all the big cities in Europe,' he explained, ‘plus New York, Boston, San Francisco and LA. And I've travelled pretty extensively on business, with conferences and the like; I always try to spend a day looking round wherever I'm based.'

‘So where would you go for your fantasy travel list?' she asked.

‘I'd like to see the Victoria Falls, and swim in the Blue Lagoon in Iceland,' he said. ‘And visit Yosemite, to see the hot springs and waterfalls.'

‘So it's water that draws you?'

‘I've never thought about it that way, but yes, I suppose it is,' he said, surprised. ‘Venice is one of my favourite places ever, and I love the sea. There's nothing better than walking on the cliffs with the waves crashing below and sending spray everywhere. Or strolling on a flat sandy beach in the moonlight with the sea all calm and just lapping at the shore.'

‘Plus you live right on the Thames,' she pointed out.

‘And you could never keep me off the lake as a boy.'

‘Would this lake be at one of the chateaux?' she asked.

‘No. At my family home in Kent,' he admitted.

‘You had a lake?' She blinked. ‘So are you telling me that you grew up somewhere like this?' She gestured to the stately home in front of them.

He squirmed. This felt like bragging—and that wasn't who he was. ‘It's not as big as this. But, um...yes, I guess it's this sort of thing. Though it's been in the family for generations, and the roof is a total money pit, to the point where Dad's opened the gardens to the public, and we're turning the boathouse at the lake into a café.'

‘And would I be right in guessing that his favourite architect,' she asked with a grin, ‘is going to suggest having a glass wall all along the side of the building that faces the lake?'

‘You are.' He smiled back at her. ‘Though I guess that was obvious.'

‘Not necessarily. Do you have another brother or sister who's an architect?'

He shook his head. ‘Will's the oldest, so he's pretty much involved with the estate because he'll take over from Dad. Actually, he's already doing his own projects—he's sorting out a licence so we can hold wedding ceremonies. I'm the middle child, and I get hauled in to look at the roof from time to time and give my professional opinion on any renovation work that crops up. And Philly's the baby—she basically adopted the head gardener as her honorary uncle when she was a toddler and moved up to nagging him to let her have a corner of the greenhouse all to herself by the time she was ten. So it was always obvious that she'd end up being either a landscape gardener or a florist. And she's brilliant. Really gifted.'

‘You sound close to your family,' she said.

‘I am.' He smiled. ‘And you're close to yours.'

‘I'm lucky,' she said simply.

He could tell that Grace was thinking about her almost-in-laws. What he didn't understand was why on earth her ex-fiancé's family hadn't liked her. She was sensible, kind and tactful. And, once you got past her shyness, she was fun. Yes, she had a nerdy streak, but that meant she looked at things from a different viewpoint—and in turn that made him look at things differently, too.

Though this dating thing was a temporary deal. And she'd just come out of a long relationship; she'd made it clear that she didn't want to rush into anything new. He didn't want to rush into anything, either. So he needed to keep these burgeoning feelings firmly under control, because they just weren't appropriate.

The orchestra began playing on stage, so he was saved from further conversation. But every so often he sneaked a glance at Grace to check that she was enjoying herself. And once or twice he caught her sneaking a glance at him, too. In the darkening evening, her cornflower-blue eyes were almost navy. Hypnotic.

As the fireworks began, he found himself sliding an arm across the back of her chair. If she asked, he'd say it was because he was worried she might be cold—English summer evenings weren't that warm. He certainly wouldn't tell her that it was because he wanted to be close to her. ‘OK?' he asked.

‘Very OK,' she said with a smile. ‘This is absolutely gorgeous—the music, the fireworks and the reflections. It's the perfect combination. Thank you so much for bringing me.'

‘My pleasure,' he said, meaning it. He couldn't remember when he'd relaxed so much, just enjoying his surroundings and chilling out. And he knew it was all down to Grace. Her quiet calmness made him feel grounded.

Maybe, he thought, he should suggest turning this from a practice run to a real relationship. See where it took them. But would she say yes? Or would she back away?

He managed to keep his thoughts under control during the fireworks, and driving home in the dark meant that he needed to concentrate and didn't have the headspace for thinking. But once they were back in Docklands he found the question buzzing through his head again.

Should he ask her?

Or should he do the sensible thing and back away?

In the end, Grace made the decision for him, by kissing him on the cheek. ‘Thank you for tonight, Roland. It was every bit as fabulous as I dreamed it would be. And it was even nicer because it was a total surprise.'

‘My pleasure,' he said automatically. She'd kissed his cheek, not his mouth. Meaning that he needed to back off.

Before he could suggest making a drink so he could linger in her company just that little bit longer, she said, ‘I'll see you in the morning, then. Good night.'

‘Good night,' he said. ‘Sleep well.'

Though he had a feeling that he wouldn't. Grace was stirring feelings in him that he thought were long buried. And, even though he was usually so sure about what he was doing, right now he felt as if he was walking blindfold along a path littered with lumps and bumps and holes, having to feel his way to make sure he stayed on his feet.

Maybe he'd manage to get his common sense back into place overnight.

Maybe.

CHAPTER SIX

G
RACE
'
S
MOUTH
WAS
soft and sweet, and Roland couldn't get enough of it. Yet he wanted a deeper intimacy, too. He'd just unzipped her dress when he heard something banging.

Then he realised it was the door.

His bedroom door.

And he was completely alone in bed. It was Sunday morning, and he'd been dreaming about making love with Grace. Heat rushed through his cheeks.

‘Roland? Can I come in?' a voice called.

Grace.

The heat in his face intensified. No way did he want her to have any idea what he'd just been thinking about. On the other hand, he didn't have a valid excuse to tell her to go away. ‘Uh—yeah,' he mumbled, hoping that he'd be able to think on his feet, and sat up.

She walked in carrying a tray. ‘No sweet peas, I'm afraid. But I hope you'll like this.' Then she looked at his bare chest and blushed. ‘Um. Sorry. I didn't realise...'

‘I'm wearing pyjama bottoms,' he said hastily. But he was very glad that the duvet was piled in his lap and hid his arousal. He didn't want to embarrass either of them.

When she handed him the tray, he realised that she'd brought him coffee and Eggs Benedict. It looked and smelled amazing.

‘Is that home-made Hollandaise sauce?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘If you ever get tired of working with numbers,' he said, ‘I guarantee you'd have a fantastic career if you opened your own restaurant.' He still didn't get why she wasn't using her talent. Why she was hiding behind numbers.

‘I like cooking for fun,' she said. ‘Cooking as a business would be a totally different ballgame. And it'd be sad if something I really enjoy doing turned out to be something I felt I was forced to do. Not to mention the unsociable hours I'd need to work; I wouldn't get to see enough of my parents and Bella.'

‘I guess,' he said. And it was a logical explanation, one he couldn't argue with.

‘It's my turn to organise things today,' she said. ‘That is, if you'd like to do something with me and you don't have to work?'

Maybe he should grab this opportunity to put a little distance between them.

Except his mouth wasn't working from the same script as his head and using his usual cast-iron excuse of working on some architectural design or other, because he found himself saying, ‘I'd like to do something with you.'

‘Great. Maybe we can be ready to leave in an hour?' she suggested.

‘I can be ready before that. What are we doing?'

‘Something immensely nerdy, but I hope you'll enjoy it,' she said with a smile. ‘See you later.'

He watched her walk out of the room, noting the sway of her hips. He was definitely going to need a cold shower after breakfast. And it had been a while since he'd had such a graphic dream.

So did that mean that he was ready to start to move on?

With Grace?

But she'd only just come out of a long relationship where she hadn't been happy. And although she'd said that she'd wanted to be swept off her feet, the Grace he was beginning to get to know liked structure and organisation. She was very far from being the sort to rush into things. He needed to be careful with her.

Which meant not giving in to the urge to sweep her off her feet, literally, and carrying her to his bed.

The cold shower was enough to restore some of his common sense. He shaved, got dressed, and found her in the kitchen doing a number puzzle in a magazine.

He smiled. ‘Would this be your Sunday morning guilty pleasure?'

‘Busted,' she said ruefully.

He glanced over her shoulder at the page. ‘That doesn't look like the kind of thing you see in the newspaper supplements.'

‘I suppose it's for people who like, um, really nerdy puzzles. My parents buy me a subscription to this magazine every Christmas,' she admitted.

‘Don't hide your light under a bushel,' he said. ‘Most people couldn't do these sorts of puzzles. Be proud of yourself because you can.' And why was she so diffident about her abilities? That was really bugging him. He'd actually met her family and liked them. They weren't the sort who'd do someone down to boost their own ego. So who had made Grace feel bad about herself and hide who she was? ‘Would I be right in guessing that your ex didn't like you doing them?'

‘No.'

But she looked away, and he guessed that yet again her ex's disapproving mother had been the sticking point.

‘Not everyone likes puzzles,' she said, still not meeting his eye.

‘Which doesn't mean you should take away the fun from those who do.' And it made him wonder why Grace's ex had put up with the situation. If his own mother had been difficult with Lyn, he would've taken his mother to one side and gently explained that he'd made his life choice and he'd prefer her to respect that and treat his partner with a bit more courtesy—even if they couldn't be close friends, they could still be civil to each other. Though Roland's mother wasn't the cold, judgemental type who placed importance upon appearances above all else, and he knew that his whole family would adore Grace. She would adore them, too.

Not that he intended to introduce them to each other. This was way, way too soon.

She closed her magazine. ‘I'll just do the washing u—' she began.

‘No,' Roland said, and put everything from his tray in the dishwasher before she could argue. ‘Didn't you say you wanted to leave soon?'

‘Yes. And it's my trip, so we're going in my car.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' he teased.

As he'd expected, Grace turned out to be a very competent driver, but he didn't have a clue where they were going until she turned off at Bletchley Park. ‘I should've guessed you'd plan to visit somewhere like this,' he said.

‘Why?'

The expression on her face was fleeting, but he'd noticed it. Expecting that she'd be judged—and judged harshly. Although Roland didn't believe that violence solved anything, he would've liked to shake Howard's mother until her teeth rattled. Grace had been engaged to Howard for four years, so they'd probably dated for a year or so before then—meaning that the woman had had five years to crush Grace's confidence. And how. The fact that Grace had still had the guts to walk away from the situation was a testimony to her strength. ‘You like numbers, so this place must be fascinating for you,' he said. ‘If you'd been alive in those times, I think they would've asked you to work here, given that you're good at puzzles.'

‘And if you'd been alive in those times, you might've been working on the architecture for the Mulberry harbour or something like that,' she said.

‘Or working with the guy who was trying to find an alternative material to build the Mosquito planes when there was a shortage of balsa wood,' he said thoughtfully. ‘There was a chemist who was working on making a foam from seaweed that dried into planks that would be as strong as wood.'

She glanced at him. ‘A plane made from seaweed? I assume you're teasing me?'

‘No, I'm serious,' he said. ‘I read an article about it in a professional journal. Apparently one of the seaweed “planks” is in the Science Museum in London.'

‘What an amazing story,' she said. ‘I'm going to have to go to the Science Museum now to see it for myself.'

‘Maybe we can go together.' The words were out before he could stop them. This was dangerous. He wasn't supposed to be finding shared points of interest for the future. They'd agreed to help each other out, not fall for each other.

‘Maybe we can go next weekend, or on one of the evenings when they open late.' She gave him another of those shy smiles, then parked the car. ‘We don't need to queue, by the way. I bought tickets online while you were in the shower this morning, and I've already downloaded the multimedia guide to my phone,' she said.

Typical Grace, being organised and thorough. ‘Sounds good.' He took her hand and they wandered round, enjoying the sunshine and exploring the different code-breaking huts.

‘I love the way they've done this so you can actually feel what it was like to work here—even down to the sounds and smells,' he said.

‘Me, too,' she said. ‘I hoped you'd like this—you said you liked museums and buildings, and this is... Well.'

‘It's brilliant. And I'm going to be totally boring when we get to the displays about how they restored the buildings.' He kissed her to reassure her that he was happy with her choice of date, but kept it swift so he could keep his feelings in control.

They lingered in the display about the Enigma machines, and the Bombe machine that finally cracked the code. He could see how interested she was, and how her eyes lit up. If he was honest with himself, she fascinated him as much as this place fascinated her. He hadn't met anyone quite like her before. Lyn had been outgoing and confident—at least, until the baby-making plan had gone wrong—and Grace was quiet and shy and kept a lot of herself hidden. Yet something about her drew him. He wanted to take down all her barriers and let her shine.

They stopped for lunch in the site's café. ‘So when did you know you wanted to work with numbers?' he asked.

She shrugged. ‘I just always liked numbers. Dad found me trying to do the number puzzles in the Sunday supplements, so he started buying me puzzle magazines. My favourite ones were where you have to fit a list of numbers instead of words into a grid. Then I moved up to logic puzzles and Sudoku. I, um, won a competition at school for being the fastest at solving them,' she added shyly.

‘And you never thought about going to university to study maths?'

‘One of my teachers tried to get me to apply to Oxford,' she said, ‘but I don't think I was cut out to be a teacher. It seemed a bit pointless spending three years studying and getting into debt when I could've been learning on the job and making progress in my professional exams.'

Sensible and measured and reliable: that was Grace. Though he wondered what would've happened if she'd let herself have the chance to work with the more abstract branches of mathematics—how far she would've soared.

‘And that's where you met Howard, when you were training?'

She shook her head. ‘I qualified in a different firm, then moved to Sutton's because there was an opportunity for promotion. I never expected to fall for the boss's son, but we worked together on an audit when I'd been there for six months and he asked me out.'

Roland had the feeling that Grace had concentrated on her studies rather than on partying. He wouldn't be surprised if Howard had been her first serious boyfriend.

‘And you liked him?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘He was sweet and kind—and I guess I was a bit naive because I thought that his parents would eventually warm to me. I'm not a gold-digger.'

‘Of course you're not,' he said. But clearly Howard's parents had treated her as if she was. It made Roland understand where her insistence on being independent and doing her fair share came from. Clearly she'd had to prove herself over and over and over again. But why hadn't her ex stood up for her? And why had it taken her so long to realise that she was worth more than the way his family treated her?

‘How about you?' she asked. ‘How did you meet Lynette?'

‘We worked together,' he said. ‘I was an architect and she was a PA at the practice. We danced together at an office Christmas party, and that was it.'

‘So you knew straight away that she was The One?'

‘I guess.' He nodded. ‘We moved in together fairly quickly, but she insisted on a long engagement when I asked her to marry me.'

‘But not four years?' Grace asked wryly.

Roland smiled. ‘Just one. And that was long enough. Though I guess she was right; it gave us time to get to know each other properly and be really sure we were doing the right thing. And we were happy.' Until that last year of their marriage, when Lyn's friends all seemed to fall pregnant the very first month they started trying, while he had to comfort his wife every month when her period arrived. The doctors had all said they were young and it was too early to think about fertility treatment, and advised them both just to relax and keep trying; but sex in those last six months had been all about making a baby and not at all about expressing their love for each other. Lyn had charts and ovulation kits everywhere, and every time they'd made love it had been carefully timed rather than simply because they wanted each other.

Roland had started taking every opportunity to work away, or to give a paper at a conference, just to take the pressure off and make him feel less like a machine. And that was why he'd bought the house at the maltings—something that would take over his head completely. Something he could escape to.

Not that he'd told anyone about it. Not his family and not his closest friends. How could he tell them that he'd felt a failure as a husband, that he'd let Lyn down every single month?

And the cruellest irony of all had been when the doctor at the hospital had told him...

He dragged in a breath. Not now. He wasn't going to think of that now.

She laid her hand against his cheek. ‘I'm sorry, Roland. I didn't mean to bring back bad memories for you.'

Yeah. They must've shown on his face. But he didn't have the words to tell anyone about the worst bit. He hadn't even told Lyn's parents. Which made him a seriously bad person, because he really shouldn't have kept it from them. Or maybe it had been kinder not to tell them. ‘It's OK. But I could do with changing the subject,' he admitted. He still found it hard to handle the guilt. Although he knew it wasn't his fault that the drunken driver had crashed into Lyn's car, and it was entirely possible that the crash could've happened even if he'd been at home, he still couldn't forgive himself for not being there at the end—or handle that last, unkindest cut of all.