Anything but Vanilla(43)
‘I thought you were tired.’
‘I am...’ and she had a headache that was thumping in time to the whack of the knife through the herbs on the chopping block ‘...but I’ve been cooped up indoors most of the day and if I don’t get some fresh air I won’t sleep. I’d ask you to come with me,’ she added, ‘but you’d ruin your shoes.’
‘Yes...’ He appeared momentarily nonplussed at her dismissal, not because he wanted to come with her, but because he made the decisions. ‘What about the twenty-fourth?’ he asked.
She found her phone, ran through her calendar. ‘I’ve got a wedding on the twenty-fifth...’ A ready-made excuse.
‘Oh, well, if it’s going to be difficult—’
‘No!’ She’d invested years in this relationship. It was this, rather than some crazy fling with a man who would be gone in days, that she wanted. She wasn’t going to fall out with Graeme over an ice-cream parlour. She’d produce a business plan. Maybe talk to someone else. Get another point of view from someone else who’d done this. ‘I can manage.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll organise a car to bring you home.’
She knew he was conscious of being older than her, but there was taking things slowly and then there was the madness of kissing a man within moments of meeting him. She was not about to allow the fizzing heat that had erupted between her and Alexander West to derail her plans and sabotage the future she had mapped out so carefully.
‘Is that necessary? I’ll have to be in London the day after anyway.’ She waited.
Say it...
Ask me to stay...
‘Have you gone to brew that beer, Graeme?’
‘Basil...’ Graeme turned as her uncle came to see what was keeping him. ‘Sorry...I was just having a word with Sorrel.’
‘Oh, I didn’t see you there, sweetheart. Take your time. I’ll get the beers.’
‘No, we’re done here,’ Graeme said. ‘Call me when you’ve got time for a chat over the weekend, Sorrel. We’ll sort things out then.’
* * *
Alexander had arranged an early meeting with Ria’s accountant. The senior partner dealing with Knickerbocker Gloria had indeed been taken ill and his junior, overburdened and incapable of keeping Ria on a short rein, was more than happy to be relieved of the responsibility.
A line of credit to deal with any further bills had settled things at the bank. The ice-cream parlour was back in business, if only for a month. His next task was to put the accounts into some sort of order for Sorrel.
His assistant had emailed from Pantabalik to tell him that the rains had set in early and they were unable to travel any further upriver so it wasn’t the worst time in the world to be away. He could follow up the research in the laboratory. Finish a paper he’d been working on for Nature. There were a dozen things to keep him busy while he was in England.
He arrived at Knickerbocker Gloria to find the door open and everything ready for what looked as if it was going to be a good day for the ice-cream business. A customer was already discussing her requirements with a distinguished-looking man in a straw boater, who was taking her through the flavours on offer, offering a taste of anything that caught her fancy, making suggestions, full of information about the quality of the ingredients.
He waited until she’d left with her purchase before introducing himself. ‘Basil Amery? I’m Alexander West. This is very good of you.’
‘No, dear boy. I’m enjoying myself, but what are you doing here? You should be at Cranbrook Park.’
‘Should I?’ Sorrel was expecting him? Last night, when she’d said goodbye, he’d been sure she understood. That he’d made it clear... So why did the day suddenly feel brighter? ‘She was vague about the details.’
‘Was she? That’s not like her.’
‘Probably my fault. Jet lag...’ He left the explanation hanging as Basil turned and called back into the rear.
‘Lally, my dear, what exactly did Sorrel say about Mr West?’
‘Not much. I asked her if he was a hippie, but Graeme was there...’ An elegant woman, probably in her sixties, but with the kind of bone structure that defied age, appeared from the rear. ‘Are you Alexander?’ she asked, with a smile he recognised.
‘Alexander West,’ he said, offering his hand over the counter. ‘You must be Sorrel’s grandmother. I can see the likeness.’