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CHAPTER FOUR

She had choice of the twin beds now that Liz wasn’t turning up and most of her unpacking still to do. Disappointment rose a little at that; she’d been looking forward to seeing her friend. But still, if anyone was used to making the best of a situation, it was Ella. She’d made a lifetime out of it. She took the bed by the window.

Tom Henley stayed on her mind. As if it hadn’t taken her long enough to stop him doing that first time around.

She’d hardly made a dent in the unpacking when the knock came at the door and her first excited thought was that by some miracle Liz had made it through the snow after all.

She rushed to open it.

‘Good wine,’ he said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘That second trip to Paris where you take in all the off-the-track sights you missed the first time around. Favourite restaurants. Songs you hear for the first time on the radio and just have to track down. Tiramisu always tastes better on the second day. Boxing day turkey with pickles easily rivals the full-on Christmas roast.’ His molten steel eyes took on a wicked glint. ‘And sex.’

She stared at him.

‘Are you going to invite me in?’

She stood aside, shaking her head lightly as if to clear it. He strode into the room and turned to face her. A hot flash of what had gone on between them last time they’d been in the same room as a bed made her cheeks burn and she folded her arms automatically as if to do so might ward the memory off. The last thing she needed was to think about how it had felt to be intimate with him, that road was paved with squashed resolve.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she said.

‘Your principle is flawed,’ he said, with a hint of triumph as if he’d invented the wheel. ‘Just because something is fabulous the first time around doesn’t mean it can’t improve or be fabulous again. All those things I listed improve with time. Even better or at least as good the second time around.’ He paused, holding her gaze mesmerizingly with his own. ‘We could be that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘How do you know we wouldn’t be?’ he countered. ‘All rules have exceptions. Or loopholes.’

He was utterly gorgeous. And her stomach was melting.

‘And the loophole in this case is…?’ She somehow managed to keep her voice neutral.

‘That what happened between us five years ago was cut short. By you, to be specific. It was unfinished. It didn’t end for some bad reason. Therefore, technically, it isn’t over. It’s just been in limbo these past five years. It actually counts as one encounter.’

There was a delicious hint of flattery about his determination to persuade her which was so seductive. Being pursued relentlessly wasn’t a sensation she’d experienced much. Her past was more about people running off out of her life rather than clamouring to stay in it, even for a short time. She kept her guard in place yet she couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her lips. He really was impossible. And funny.

‘OK, you’re really pushing the argument to its limit now,’ she said. ‘The last time I saw you before today I was in your bed. Are you actually suggesting we just pick up where we left off?’

She tried not to think about the steam room, because it undermined her argument with herself and with him. She couldn’t believe she’d let it get that far.

It had been a long time since she’d come across a guy who needed more than a firm ‘no’ to discourage him, mainly because she didn’t let things progress far enough to need more than that to get out of it.

He spread his hands.

‘There’s no need to get so literal. I’m not suggesting you jump straight back into bed with me.’

The way he paused after that sentence made her stomach turn softly over, clearly because she hadn’t eaten since this morning and absolutely NOT with disappointment. Because she most certainly did NOT want to jump straight into bed with Tom Henley.

‘I’m here until the snow melts. Or the fog lifts. Or whatever bloody weather it is that’s got the airport on lockdown. You’re on your own because your mate hasn’t made it through the snow. We’re both at a loose end and how the hell does having dinner with an old friend contradict your bonkers life rule?’

The way he said that made her suddenly feel like she was overreacting here, that she was reading far more into this than there was. It occurred to her suddenly that her heel-digging refusal might smack of caring a bit too much. Which she absolutely didn’t.

Her mind spiralled back down the years to the icy walk to the station that she’d made herself take, knowing he was back in the comfortable but tiny hotel room sleeping alone. It might have only been one night, but she’d connected with him on a level she rarely did with anyone. It had taken strength to make herself get on that train, knowing she would never see him again. But she had done it. And she was convinced it had been the right thing to do. It had been about self-preservation. The past ten years or so, since she’d given up relying on her mother for any support, had been about building her own life and making sure there was no one in it that could knock her down. Did she really think she wasn’t strong and self-assured enough now to have a simple dinner with the hot guy from her past without turning into a simpering wreck?

And of course there was a part of her that was curious. What had he been doing since they last met? He’d had his big life plan all mapped out, she remembered that much, and back then he’d seemed so excited about it. She didn’t pick up that same spark of enthusiasm now and it intrigued her. What exactly had changed? He would be winging his way to Barbados again, maybe even as soon as tomorrow morning. The forecast was supposed to be improving. And she would finish her weekend in London and then go back to her life, exactly as she had done five years ago. A life that was a lot more successful now than it had been back then.

Where would be the harm?

Tom Henley meant nothing to her. What better way to prove it, to herself as well as to him, than to go out with him.

‘Just dinner,’ she clarified, narrowing her eyes.

He held his hands up, the picture of innocence.

‘Whatever you like.’

****

Ella pawed through the contents of her luggage and realised she had absolutely no idea what Tom Henley’s idea of a dinner date would entail. Mainly because the last dinner date they’d had involved eating fish and chips out of the paper while sitting on a harbour wall and looking at the Christmas lights draped around the marina. She let her mind drift back to the sting of the cold air on her cheeks, the sharp taste of the salt and vinegar, the scent of the sea.

Fish and chips had been a last resort because they’d been thrown out of the restaurant where she was working and he was eating. And that was the point right there. He’d been eating a late lunch with a group of friends at the most expensive restaurant in the town. He was flying out to Barbados within days. He came from a family of doctors who drank eggnog at parties. She looked at the selection of clothes she’d brought with her for the weekend with Liz and nothing jumped out that would make her fit easily into those situations without standing out.

Fish and chips out of the paper she could do. She gathered up jeans, vest and thick jumper. She’d just have to get in first and pitch dinner at her own level.

****

‘I’ve booked a table in the restaurant,’ he said, looking her up and down when she opened the door to his knock. He took in her jeans and UGG boots. ‘It’s got two Michelin stars, fantastic food. We can start with a drink in the bar if you like.’

‘Actually I was thinking we could go out and take in a bit of London in the snow,’ she said, grabbing an enormous parka from where it hung over the back of a chair and winding a scarf around her neck. ‘Hyde Park’s just round the corner with the Winter Wonderland!’ Her eyes lit up as she slammed the door of her hotel room behind her.

‘What about dinner?’

He followed her down the hall.

She flashed him a smile over her shoulder.

‘That’s not a problem is it? We can pick something up while we’re out.’ She took a few paces further and then turned back when he didn’t follow her. ‘Unless you’d rather go to the restaurant, in which case I totally understand.’ She made it sound as if the restaurant served up slops instead of some of the finest dining in the country. ‘You go ahead. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again for a quick goodbye before you fly out.’

Five minutes later, Tom was following her out through the revolving doors into air so clear and cold it felt like breathing in cut glass. Grit scraped beneath his boots on the pavement where it had been scattered to disperse any ice and the snow had stopped for now, leaving crispy clear conditions and the possibility that his journey might be back on track in the very near future. For some reason the delay no longer irked him as much.

Their breath puffed out ahead of them in soft clouds and it turned out inclement weather had its advantages. The buzz of people at Hyde Park Winter Wonderland was still there, but it wasn’t overcrowded. Unfortunately it also meant the ice rink hadn’t sold out. He attempted to dig his heels into the frosty path as she dragged him eagerly towards it.

‘We could get a drink?’ he suggested.

‘We can do that afterwards.’

She turned back to him, the tip of her nose pink from the cold, her eyes sparkling and frost clinging to her hair in the silver glow of the fairy lights strewn overhead and all around them, and he felt his resolve falter.

In the centre of the rink was a Victorian bandstand and live music drifted across the ice. Parts of the UK might be at a standstill due to the blanket of snow but there was no sign here in the city of the fog that was blighting the airports. They seemed to have escaped the worst of it and there were plenty of people out enjoying the novelty of the bizarre weather.

‘I don’t do ice skating,’ he protested. ‘I haven’t done since I was about six.’

‘So what exactly is that you do do?’ she asked, totally ignoring him and leading the way to pick out skates. ‘Michelin-starred restaurants and family parties? What are you, fifty? What about the fun stuff?’

‘That IS the fun stuff.’

‘What size are you?’

She held his gaze belligerently until he grudgingly said ‘Twelve.’

Five laborious minutes later and he was laced into a pair of plastic skates. For Pete’s sake, it felt as if his ankles were in a vice. He struggled after her toward the rink, doing his best to stay upright. She sailed past him and did a neat little turn, then slowed down so he could keep up. Small children and couples holding hands bombed past them on both sides. The twinkly Christmas-ness of it added a surreal unreality to the situation. A couple of hours in her company and anything seemed possible.

And in a flash of déjà vu he understood. Hadn’t that been the thing that was most intoxicating of all about her?

****

‘You need to relax your knees a bit,’ she said as he clumped awkwardly along next to her, upright and straight backed, as if he were on the conveyor belt walk at Heathrow with a suitcase and a manbag hanging off him. ‘It’s easy really, just all about balance.’ The fact he’d given it a go despite his reluctance pleased her. The flash of a grin in spite of himself as he picked up speed gave her a glimpse of the guy she’d met back on the coast. The one who’d paddled in the freezing cold sea that late afternoon before Christmas, lifting her in his arms and threatening to dunk her in while she’d squealed with laughter. Afterward, they’d found a pub with a roaring log fire and he’d ordered them both coffee with a side of brandy to warm them up.

She moved smoothly ahead of him, keeping her balance easily. She hadn’t skated for ages, but there’d been a rink in Bristol where she’d lived with her mother and gone to school. She’d done it often enough in the past to pick up the knack again pretty quickly. She was rather enjoying the superiority of it all, staying just in front of Tom so he could get the full benefit of her prowess, when a small child with an orange bobble hat and a manic grin careered into her at an insane speed. In a millisecond, self-assurance gave way to chaotic pinwheeling of arms and grimacing of teeth and then, with an unladylike squawk, she lost her balance and ended up part of a massive tangle of arms and legs on the ice. The kid disentangled himself, totally unscathed, and skated away while she looked up at Tom. A thin spray of ice coated her face and she could feel a cold damp patch soaking into the seat of her jeans and a sharp stinging on her left knee.

‘It’s all about balance, right?’ he said, looking remarkably steady on his skates and holding a hand out to her.

****

She grabbed his hand and was back on her now rather wobbly feet in one strong pull, leaning over to check her stinging knee and noticing that he kept hold of her hand. There was a tear in her jeans through which a bleeding graze was visible.

‘Are you hurt?’

The concern in his voice brought a flutter somewhere deep in her chest. It was probably because the only person who ever had a stake in her well-being was herself. She stood up straight immediately and gave him a breezy smile.

‘I’m fine. Come on, let’s get going again.’

He tugged hard enough to stop her intended big flourish of a skate off and she saw him watching her with a steady calm.

‘Let’s take a breather and check out that leg.’

He pulled her by the hand to the side of the rink, somehow managing not to fall flat on his own arse in the process.

‘I’m perfectly alright,’ she protested all the way. He totally ignored her. For Pete’s sake, she’d gone down hard. She was lucky she hadn’t broken her bloody neck. He pulled her across the rubber skate matting to a quiet spot and made her sit down while he unlaced her skates and tugged them off.

‘You’ve cut your leg. So stop with the moaning and let me check you haven’t done anything worse.’

He held her foot, encased in its thick woolly sock, in his hands, and slowly rotated her ankle. Her eyes were drawn to the gentle way he cradled her heel, his thumb sliding slowly up her instep.

‘Hurt anywhere?’

She shook her head.

‘Only my pride.’

He ran practised hands up and over her knee, checking for swelling, and the unexpected slide of his hand over her inner thigh took her mind right off the sting of her grazed knee. He was kneeling in front of her, and he raised his head to meet her eyes steadily with his own dark grey ones, both hands moving over her leg with a touch that could now only be described as a stroke. Her stomach gave a delicious flutter that spread slowly lower to tingle between her legs and simultaneously rushed up to her brain to exhibit itself as clanging alarm bells.

She stood up sharply.

‘I don’t need looking after,’ she said, adding a couple of paces to her personal space. ‘I didn’t need it five years ago and I don’t need it now.’

He stood up next to her, feeling the distance she’d put between them, knowing it wasn’t just a matter of physical space. His heart sped in his chest as if he’d skated a few circuits of the rink at full pelt instead of limping around it on two left feet. He’d forgotten how long and slender her limbs were, how her fine-boned fragility hid the fiercely self-reliant person underneath. A surge of protectiveness flooded through him, and the fact she didn’t want his protection made her all the more alluring. She was her own person, now as then, not about to rely on him to take her through her path in life, determined to take responsibility for her own destiny rather than expecting him to make it happen for her. She felt like a clean crisp breath of icy fresh air, and it made his senses spin.

The elapse of time had convinced him she hadn’t been all that – maybe they hadn’t been all that. Self-preservation had made him tell himself he’d done the right thing in not looking for her when she’d run out on him. It had been the only way to silence the nagging thought that it was a mistake, letting her go like that without a fight. Not that he would have had much of a headstart on tracking her down, she’d made sure of that.

He’d known her name, but really, how many Ella Scotts were there in the world? And was she really Ella, or was it some shortened version of loads of other possible names? He and Ella had lived so deeply in the moment for that night that he hadn’t even picked up on how little she’d volunteered about her family and background. He’d kicked himself after she’d gone for that, so self-absorbed had he been in talking about himself. Their conversations had been about hopes and dreams, future plans. They’d truly lived in a bubble of perfection.

He’d left her in the past, believed that it was for the best. And now a couple of hours in her company and he wasn’t so sure.

***

He caught up with her as she went to return her skates. She pulled her boots back on, being careful not to use him to lean on for balance. Physical contact with him seemed to scramble her brain, and that spelled danger.

‘You didn’t need looking after back in Devon either,’ he said. ‘Remember when we met? That guy claiming you’d short-changed him with his bill.’

A smile rose on her lips at the memory.

She remembered the flickering tea lights on the tables in the restaurant. The too-big Christmas tree in the corner that had snagged her clothes every time she walked past it with plates balanced on her hands. She’d worked in smarter restaurants in her time, but the pay had been good, a friend of hers had got her the job for the busy festive season and she was grateful for the distraction. Her first Christmas without her Gran. Celebrating didn’t even make it onto her to-do list. It hadn’t really done that since either. Christmas was a money making opportunity to her, and that was the way she kept it.

‘He was drunk as a skunk and chancing his luck,’ she said. But you stepped right in,’ she grinned as she remembered. ‘You were still squaring up to him, even as I got the sack and we were both thrown off the premises!’

He laughed and she smiled back. He’d been the most stunning guy in the room, sharing a table with a group of mates, a cut above the local clientele with his relaxed designer clothes and dark good looks. The other waitresses had clamoured to serve his table. Not Ella. She needed money, not complications. And yet when he’d stepped in like that he’d elevated himself above the usual dross. Because she wasn’t used to having family or friends stick up for her, let alone total strangers.

‘You did pour a pitcher of beer over his head,’ he pointed out. ‘I don’t think I can take the full credit.’

How cold and fresh the salt air had been after the heat of the restaurant and kitchen as the door had slammed shut behind them and she’d found herself alone and looking up at him on the icy pavement. The first person to wade into a battle for her since her Gran had gone. That was where it had started for her, they’d been together for the next fifteen hours, but with the benefit of hindsight she knew now that her heart had been vulnerable to him from the moment he stepped in. Awareness was a great thing. She knew her weaknesses now when it came to him, and getting in too deep this time around just wasn’t going to happen.

‘Exactly my point,’ she said. ‘I didn’t need your help.’

She could enjoy his company, spend a few days with him, but at the end of it she knew she’d be able to walk away.

CHAPTER FIVE

He handed her a cup of mulled cider and she blew on its steaming surface, breathing in the delicious scent of sharp apple and sweet cinnamon. They found a bench and he sat down next to her and she looked out across the rink, the white fairy lights giving it a magical touch. Music from the band drifted across the ice.

‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Isn’t this loads better than sit-up-straight napkin-in-your-lap fine dining? You can keep your Michelin stars.’

Her eyes sparkled and the tip of her nose was pink. He wanted to kiss it.

‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘Maybe it was. Maybe I’ve got a bit stuck in a rut of dinner in restaurants.’

‘Is that what you’ve been up to then, since we last met? Fine dining and behaving responsibly?’

The dullness of his life smacked him squarely between the eyes in the face of her vibrancy. He took a sip of his cider, the alcoholic kick of heat spreading in his abdomen.

‘You want a potted history? I can give you that in the space of about a minute.’

He could hear an edge of bitterness in his own voice and he curbed it, forced a neutral tone. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing for years now? Forcing himself to be neutral, not to feel aggrieved or resentful. He was duty-bound after all. Resentment of that was a pointless waste of time.

‘After we met I finished my medical degree. Then I did a couple of years foundation training as a junior doctor.’ He paused. ‘Then training for general practice.’

‘With your father?’ she said.

He nodded. His had been a family strong on tradition, generations of doctors before him.

‘That’s right.’

‘He must be really proud of you, following in his footsteps like that.’

There was a wistful edge to her tone that registered somewhere in his subconscious. He didn’t answer that. He wasn’t really sure pride came into it. He’d known his long-term career plans for so long that sometimes it felt like he’d been born with them. Any prospect of deviating from them might have been possible once, but not anymore. Not since his father’s stroke and the slow decline of his health.

‘So you’ll be a GP in your home town. At your family practice?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You don’t sound so thrilled about that,’ she said. ‘I thought you wanted to work abroad. Weren’t you going to work as a medic in war-zones or poor areas or something?’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I got that mixed up, it was a long time ago.’

A wistful pang stabbed him somewhere below the ribs and he jumped a little as it made him realise how resigned he was to letting go of that particular dream.

‘That was just an idea I had back in college,’ he said dismissively. ‘It never came to anything. Things change. My priorities didn’t allow for it in the end.’

And so he’d gone on to GP training instead of specialising elsewhere.

‘Your priorities?’

He shrugged.

‘Family stuff,’ he said vaguely. ‘Would you like another drink?’

‘What about girlfriends? she said, when he sat back down, her voice completely neutral as if she couldn’t care less. It gave him a surge of hope that she asked at all.

‘No one special,’ he said.

At first that had been down to the hard work and gruelling hours of his medical training. Later, when one relationship after another failed in its early stages, he had to admit that maybe there might be more to it than that. Accused of being distant, of not really investing himself fully in the relationship, in actuality his lack of interest hadn’t been conscious. Unfortunately the kind of woman who really spiked his interest was the kind who had little inclination to settle down to a by-rote predictable life. Unfortunate, because with his life mapped out the way it was, that kind of woman would surely be the perfect addition to the jigsaw.

Had there been anyone since Ella, with her drive to have fun and live in the moment, who’d really rocked him? For the first time he wondered if his lack of interest when it came to women could have anything to do with that short encounter with her in the past. She represented perfectly all the things he denied himself – freedom, unpredictability, no ties to hold her back, no guilt. Her life was well and truly her own.

‘What happened to you?’ he said suddenly. ‘Why did you just leave without saying goodbye back then?’

She shrugged.

‘I just thought it was fitting. Why prolong it? It was no big deal really, was it? You were off to catch your damn flight out of the country. I had a train to catch.’ She paused. ‘Also, I hate goodbyes.’

‘We could have kept in touch.’

Not that he had intended that at the time. It had only occurred to him afterward, when the decision had been taken out of his hands.

She laughed.

‘And how exactly do you think that would have worked? Where exactly do you think we would have gone from there, Tom? You were off to your huge family in Barbados and then back to Oxford, big career all mapped out. Lifelong family commitments. Just where exactly were you thinking you could slot me into all that? I was going to wait tables over Christmas and borrow a friend’s sofa for a while.’

He didn’t answer. She had a point.

Ella cut her eyes away from his and looked down at her cup.

‘I didn’t really think I needed to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘We’d be going our separate ways the next morning anyway. I thought you’d be glad I made it so easy, I spared you that awkward who-uses-the-bathroom-first thing. And I look like Shrek first thing in the morning; trust me, I did us both a favour.’

A surge of surprise coursed through her that he was actually bothered. She hadn’t imagined for a moment he would give her leaving a second’s thought all that time ago, when she’d shrugged her way into her jacket and crept out of the hotel and into the dim light of the early morning, freezing rain stinging her cheeks, mist clinging to the sea. Except possibly to be thankful that she’d made it so easy for him.

They’d both known what it was. Each knew they didn’t fit the other’s life. She was hardly about to tell him that walking away without saying goodbye had been her safety net. It hadn’t been the sex, unbelievable though it had been, it had been the talking, the way he’d stroked her hair and held her. That night back in 2008, Ella had felt special. She’d felt safe. And weren’t those also the exact reasons she’d backed away, taking control of the situation at the last moment? They were also the reason that her stomach was now fluttering softly and her heart rate was set to speedy.

Ella watched him closely. He didn’t disagree, he simply took a sip of his cider, and she could tell from his you’ve-got-me expression that she was spot on. His life had been mapped out back then and it was even more so now – he was just a few years further down his plotted path. Just the thought of it made her feel claustrophobic.

‘Five years later and we’re still polar opposites,’ she said. ‘Our lives are totally different. I did you a favour by leaving, it would only have turned into some goodbye love-in, and who needs that kind of schmaltz?’

Not that it had really been the fear of schmaltz that had put her off staying; a chance would have been a fine thing. It was more the thought of him backtracking, trying to undo the night they’d spent. She hadn’t wanted it to end up as that, some inconsequential embarrassed morning after. It would have belittled it. It had been a funny, crazy, happy night and she’d wanted it to stay that way. Perfect in her mind.

But he had regrets. It was absolutely clear. The twist of excitement that this knowledge caused in her stomach was full of danger and she took a big swig of her mulled cider, hoping its warmth would spread there and take it away. She forced a breezy smile.

‘Is that what this is really about?’ she said. ‘Closure? Did I deprive you of that by not staying put to say goodbye? Trust me, Tom, I did us both a big favour. It would have just been awkward. What do you think we would have said to each other before we disappeared back to our own lives? Thanks for a night of great sex?’ She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t see the point.’

She couldn’t face the rejection, more like. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. Not after the years she spent since her teens, steeling her heart and telling herself there was no room for looking back in her life. She had bigger fish to fry in terms of regret, and not swapping addresses with Tom Henley came way down the list.

His smile melted away.

‘That’s all it was to you?’

She made herself hold his gaze.

‘That’s all it was, period.’

****

Well that put him straight and he really should be pleased. A true one-night stand with no complications was just the way he liked it. And based on what she’d just said a repeat performance right now would have all the same qualities and the same lack of drawbacks. No bombarding with texts when he cut contact, no phone calls, no angst.

He ignored the twist deep in his stomach that felt a lot like disappointment. He had no room in his life for that. He stood up, held out his hands and when she took them he tugged her to her feet.

‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he said.

The refined Michelin quality dining had, in her company, morphed into chips and hotdogs with a side of curry sauce as they walked between tiny log-cabin stalls selling everything from pretzels and sweets to gifts. He watched as she stopped near a jewellery stall, taking in the display of silver pendants, beads and bangles.

‘I’d like to take a stall here,’ she said, excitement lighting her face. ‘I do quite a lot of craft fairs but this is something else. The fairground rides, the market stalls, the ice rinks, imagine the footfall you must get.’

‘So are you still drifting up and down the south coast, job to job like you were before?’ he said. I thought after you finished college you might settle down.’

She watched him suspiciously. Was this some attempt to angle for an address, some way of pinning her down? Good luck with that. She shook her head.