Читать книгу Love Among the Treetops: A feel good holiday read for summer 2018 - Catherine Ferguson, Catherine Ferguson - Страница 13

Plastering on a smile, I raise my hand in a general greeting.

‘Hi. Sorry. Got the wrong door. Sorry.’

They all just stare at me. Except Theo Steel, who’s grinning down at the floor.

I start backing apologetically out of the door, like I’m exiting a room with the Queen in it. ‘Nice to see you. Enjoy your day.’

Fleeing into the corridor, I blunder in completely the wrong direction, then have to double back to find the women’s changing-room door. Just as I’m charging past the scene of my nightmare, Theo emerges with a towel round his waist.

‘Whoa! Steady on.’ He grasps my arms as we collide and it flashes across my mind that if his towel should slip, my humiliation would be complete. ‘Do you know where you’re going now?’

I nod, pointing mutely along the corridor, my power of speech compromised by the experience of glimpsing more naked men in the last thirty seconds than I’ve seen in my entire life.

‘I’ve just finished with a client,’ he says. ‘Do you fancy meeting in five for a drink in the bar?’

I smile regretfully. ‘Bit too early for me.’

‘I meant a soft drink.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course.’

‘They do fresh juices. Very healthy.’

I swallow hard. With my hair plastered to my forehead and my décolletage an attractive shade of blotchy red, due to my recent exertions on the treadmill, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less like being sociable.

‘I’m sure they’d make you a juice with celery if you asked nicely.’ There’s a glint in Theo’s eye and I can’t help smiling back at his reference to Olivia and her little Tupperware box of celery sticks on the train.

I nod. ‘Okay.’

We part and I dash off, wondering if five minutes is enough time to shower, wash my hair and dry it, and reapply my make-up.

When I walk into the bar seventeen minutes later (a personal record), my hair is swishing softly round my shoulders, smelling all herby from the shampoo in the shower cubicle. The blotches on my chest have gone, and I’m glowing with a lovely sense of achievement at having run a couple of miles this morning.

Theo is sitting at a corner table, reading a newspaper, dressed in jeans and a pale green T-shirt. He throws the newspaper onto the table when he spots me. ‘I assume you’d rather skip the celery juice?’ He smiles, his deep blue eyes raking over me, making me glad I washed my hair.

I swallow. ‘You assumed right. Actually, fresh orange would be nice.’ I glance at the selection of fruit piled up on the bar near the industrial-sized juicing machine.

He nods. ‘Back in a sec.’

My eyes follow him to the bar, although when he turns to point out the table to the bar person, I swiftly avert my gaze and snatch up a menu.

Once we’re settled, me with my deliciously cold orange juice and Theo with watermelon, I feel I have to apologise again for barging into the men’s changing room.

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ he assures me smoothly. ‘It happens all the time.’

‘Really?’

His blue eyes sparkle mischievously. ‘Actually, it never happens. I was just trying to make you feel better.’

I grin sheepishly. ‘Gee, thanks.’

He takes a long swallow of juice and sets down his glass. ‘So how are the plans for the café coming along? Am I invited to the opening ceremony?’

‘I’d like to open in June, as near to the start of the tourist season as possible. But I hadn’t thought about a special opening ceremony. That’s an excellent idea.’

He gives a modest nod. ‘I’ll send you my bill.’

‘Why didn’t I think of it, though? I could invite the village to a ribbon-cutting ceremony with a free glass of Prosecco for everyone and a competition to win a prize.’

‘What’s the prize?’

I frown, thinking. ‘How about a complimentary slice of cake every week for a year?’

He nods. ‘I’d enter. I assume you’re a good baker.’

‘My friends say I am.’

‘Sounds like I might become a regular at your café, then. What’s it called?’

‘The Twilight Café.’

He nods approvingly. ‘Perfect.’

I flush with pleasure at the compliment.

‘You’re based in that shop that used to sell all sorts of country goods, aren’t you?’

I smile, surprised. ‘You’ve been doing your homework. Yes, it used to be my dad’s shop.’

‘Has he retired, then?’

I shake my head. ‘He’s not been well.’ I’m about to leave it at that, but something about Theo Steel’s sympathetic expression makes me continue, and soon, I’m telling him the whole story about Dad’s cancer and how this experimental trial might be his only chance of survival.

‘That’s really tough.’ He shakes his head sadly when I’ve finished. ‘And I suppose the pressure to succeed with the café is so much greater when you’re doing it for the people you love.’

I nod. ‘Got it in one.’ My throat aches with emotion but I swallow hard and cast around for something upbeat to talk about. The last thing I want to do is to break down in front of Theo when I hardly know the man. ‘So, have you always been really creative?’ I ask, remembering him on the train, studying the book on crochet so intently. ‘I could probably knit a scarf but that’s about it by way of making things. Apart from baking, of course.’

He’s looking at me oddly, clearly not having a clue what I’m talking about.

‘The crocheting? I was saying to my friend, Paloma, how unusual I thought it was for a man to be so – er – creative, and she suggested you might make some placemats for the café.’ When he still looks nonplussed, I shrug and smile. ‘She was joking.’

‘Oh, the book?’ Light dawns.

‘Yes. Adventures with Crochet.’

He grins. ‘I don’t crochet. At least, I probably could now, but it wouldn’t be my – um – pastime of choice, shall we say?’

‘So why read it?’

‘I translated it. From Spanish into English. It was my first job as a freelance translator and I’d just had some copies delivered that day, fresh from the printers.’

‘Oh, wow. How exciting.’

He laughs. ‘Actually, the subject matter was dull as ditchwater. But the publisher seemed pleased with my work. And beggars can’t be choosers. If I want to make a real go of a career as a translator, I need to start somewhere.’

‘Do you know lots of languages, then?’

‘I studied Spanish, French and Italian at university with the idea of doing something with languages. But I trained in fitness in order to pay my way through university, and I ended up falling back on that when my plans didn’t pan out the way I hoped. And I’m still a personal trainer to this day. I like it, though. It suits me. It’s good being my own boss.’

‘Having your own business can be scary, though. You’ve got to be successful otherwise you don’t get paid.’

‘I don’t mind the pressure. Or putting in the hours. In fact, I thrive on it.’

‘Paying your own way through university is such an achievement.’ I raise my glass to him. ‘Most people rely on their family to fund them.’

A shadow passes over his face. ‘I don’t have family,’ he says, matter-of-factly, and my heart pings with shock at the words.

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ Does he mean he’s estranged from his family? I hope so because the alternative is awful …

He’s frowning down at his hands. Then someone laughs loudly at the bar and he looks up. ‘It’s fine. Not having anyone else to please can be a real advantage. And I work better alone, in all areas of life. If you cock up, the only person you’ve let down is yourself.’ There’s a slight bitterness in his tone and when he smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘Right.’ I study him thoughtfully as he swallows down the rest of his watermelon juice.

‘So, has this sudden desire to get fitter anything to do with the 10k Olivia’s hell-bent on me doing?’ he asks, setting his glass down.

I grimace. ‘It has, actually. I went to a pretty horrendous class reunion the other night and found myself agreeing to take part.’

‘So are you doing the boot camp training a week on Sunday?’

I groan. ‘Can’t think of anything worse, to be honest. But maybe I will. I quite enjoyed my run on the treadmill today.’

‘Olivia says she’s persuaded about fifty people to come along to her friend’s training session.’

So he’s been in touch with Olivia, then. Either she must have tracked him down at the gym or he phoned her on the number she gave him on the back of the leaflet that time.

I nod. ‘Olivia’s best friends with the organiser.’ I look down and study my nails. ‘Lucy Slater.’

‘You’re not keen on this Lucy Slater?’

I look up at him, surprised he could tell that from my face. ‘No. I mean, well, she’s—’ I glance down at my hands again. ‘She bullied me at school, that’s all.’

‘Then I’m not surprised you don’t like her,’ he says. ‘Life can be pretty bleak anyway, without people like that making it worse.’ The edge to his tone is back.

I nod, not knowing what else to say.

‘Anyway, can I tempt you to another?’ He points at my empty glass. ‘Celery juice with extra celery on the side?’ The shadow has lifted from his face. He smiles at me, eyes crinkling attractively at the corners.

But I can’t help wondering what private torment Theo Steel is concealing from the world …