Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Y ork, present day
Cara headed back to her office, barely registering where she was going. She couldn’t get her head around Sylvia’s prediction. Could it be possible she had glimpsed her past life, and she was some kind of time traveller?
This is crazy!
The idea seemed incomprehensible, but what other explanation was there for her vivid flashbacks and the deja-vu she kept experiencing around George?
She was compelled to solve the puzzle and couldn’t concentrate on anything else. George’s gold embossed business card rested in her hand, and she pondered the situation. She yearned to see him again. The more she tried to evict him from her thoughts, the more he featured in the starring role. His dark eyes floated like a mirage before her.
She gulped the remnants of her coffee, grabbed her jacket and dashed out of the office, shouting to her assistant as she ran towards the door, ‘I’ll be back later if anyone needs me.’
Cara set out in the direction of George’s workshop. She knew the area. The Shambles was in the medieval centre of York, near the old market, about twenty minutes on foot. Her high heeled sandals pinched her feet as she ran, then walked, then ran. She didn’t notice the discomfort because she was too busy turning over in her mind what to say when she arrived at his workshop.
I was passing by and wondered whether George is around?
She shook her head, irritably.
No. That sounded contrived and wouldn’t do.
How about:
George invited me to see the Tudor Kings’ Manuscript and said I could pop in anytime. Is he around by any chance?
The more Cara rehearsed what to say, the more nervous she grew. She decided to take her chances. She was only making herself more uptight. Her heart did a fast canter as she played out the potential scenarios.
It was likely he wouldn’t be there anyway. Wasn’t it?
She was behaving like a naive young girl going on her first date. But she couldn’t help it; she was at the mercy of a tidal wave of emotion.
It would have been better to call and arrange a time with him. This was a bad idea; maybe she should give it a miss.
Despite her doubts, curiosity outweighed her foggy thinking and spurred her on across the rambling, cobbled streets.
Cara cut through one of the famous snickleways and arrived in The Shambles. A few steps along the old Tudor style street and number twenty stood before her. She took a deep breath and pushed the shiny, black door inwards. Before she could compose herself, George appeared.
She gulped. ‘Oh, hello. I hope you don’t mind. I came to see the manuscript. At the conference in Seville, I’ll be leading a break-out session about Tudor politics and the impact of Henry VIII, so I thought it would be helpful to study the manuscript before I go.’
Cara’s words gushed out in a torrent, before drying up, as her eyes rose slowly to meet his. She did her best to hide her embarrassment.
Stop talking, Cara.
Damn, it was a challenge to be cool. He undid her with his eyes.
His face lit up. She released a measured sigh of relief. It was obvious he was delighted to see her. Perhaps dashing over impulsively hadn’t been a huge mistake.
Smiling, he took her hand and drew her through the foyer and into a smart-looking visitor’s area which looked as though it was once the sitting room of the old Tudor residence.
Gold framed portraits of British monarchs adorned the walls and a giant oak bookcase lined one wall, from the bottom all the way up to the thick wooden beamed ceiling. Cara stared about her in awe.
‘What a fabulous room,’ she said. It was regal yet comfortable. There was a sense of continuity and stability. History enveloped her, and the effect was calming on her skittish soul.
‘This is a wonderful surprise! How lovely you came over. It’s lucky I’m still here. I was just about to leave for the market. Another couple of minutes and I’d have been gone,’ he said.
‘Is it a terribly busy time? I could come back.’
‘No, not at all. It wasn’t anything urgent; I can take care of it later.’
He was still holding her hand as if it was completely natural. His grasp was warm and firm on Cara’s smooth skin.
She drew her hand away, even though she loved the feel of it nestling in his. He didn’t seem concerned someone would see them.
Her face was slightly flushed. She’d never experienced such a tangle of emotions over someone she barely knew.
‘Would you like tea or coffee?’
Cara was grateful to latch on to normality in an attempt to regain her composure. George bounded over towards an espresso machine in the corner and beckoned for her to follow. She watched him prepare a latte for her and an espresso for himself. His hands were large and beautiful; like those of a sculptor or painter. An artist’s hands. She was mesmerised as she watched him perform the coffee ritual with precise movements.
Sipping her coffee a few minutes later, she stared into his dark eyes, drinking him up. He was even more attractive than she remembered, not classically good looking, but striking; with a roman nose and full lips. She was amazed once again to notice he had such an impact on her just by his proximity.
It was his presence which left her reeling each time they met. His face was like that of a dear, beloved friend but paradoxically also exotic and alluring. Her skin tingled at the thought of his large, beautiful hands moving over her body.
‘Cara?’
She blinked.
‘Sorry, yes I was miles away! It’s been a hectic morning at the office. The coffee is excellent by the way. Thanks so much. I keep meaning to buy one of these machines,’ she garbled.
George guided her through to the back of the building to a neat, spacious workshop. They stopped before an impressive gold-rimmed display cabinet.
‘This is the home of the Tudor Kings’ Manuscript . Let’s put some gloves on, and I’ll pull it out for you to examine more closely.’
He extracted two packets of plastic gloves from a tiny drawer built into the maple wood counter.
In spite of the butterflies catapulting around her stomach, she was thrilled at the prospect of seeing the five-hundred-year-old manuscript.
George carefully removed the manuscript from the cabinet and lay it across the worktop. A cloud of dust shimmered in the air above them, and Cara sneezed. The sudden, loud noise seemed to spur them into a buzz of professional chit chat.
‘Look at the handwriting. It’s a work of art all of its own,’ said George.
Cara leaned in towards his shoulder and peered at the manuscript. His masculine smell rushed at her senses. She tried to centre herself and to pay attention to his words.
What she suspected may have once been rich black lettering was now engraved in the dull yellow parchment in muted, brown tones.
‘It’s a beauty,’ she said, her eyes widened in wonder, and her dark eyelashes fluttered against her pale cheeks.
George stared at her face before tearing his gaze away to focus on the Tudor work of art.
‘It’s a collector’s item; last time we had it valued it was estimated at ￡200,000.’
‘I hope you’ve got insurance,’ said Cara, wondering if he knew how nervous she was.
As they pored over the parchment, their heads lightly touched, and their appreciation of both the manuscript and each other was tangible. A wonderful warm feeling enveloped them. It was the same feeling they’d shared at lunch.
Cara was bewitched by his eloquence and intrigued by their mutual fascination with the Tudor period.
They dragged out their time together, talking about every possible aspect of the manuscript they could each think of until George reluctantly popped it back into the cabinet and turned towards her.
‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’
‘I have to get back to the office shortly to prepare my presentation for the conference. I shouldn’t really have taken the time out to come here as I’ve got so much to do, but I wanted to see the manuscript,’ said Cara.
And I had to see you again.
A stray lock of rich, auburn hair escaped her barrette and obscured one eye as she spoke. She moved to brush it aside, but George got there first; his fingers tucked the hair behind her ear. The gesture was assured: as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
She paused and smiled up at him. ‘I’m glad I did come though,’ she said, a note of shyness in her voice. Cara looked away, desperately searching for something to say to alleviate the tension.
Before she could come up with anything, George moved towards her; his hand caressed her cheek, he lowered his head and then his lips brushed hers. He gently pulled her into his arms as the kiss grew more urgent, and their bodies moulded into one. The sandalwood notes of his aftershave washed over her again, and she was consumed by desire.
They stood locked together, gently swaying. For the first time, Cara understood what people meant by the expression, ‘Made for one another.’
And then just as suddenly as they’d been drawn together, she snapped out of the trance, extracted herself from his arms and drew away.
‘Sorry, this was a terrible mistake. I must go.’ She turned and stumbled slightly as she dashed across the room, bolting for the door.
‘Cara, wait,’ said George, his voice low.
‘No, I can’t. I must go. I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. This is all wrong. I’m engaged. You’re married. This is too complicated. We can’t do this.’
George thumped his hand down on the counter as he heard the shiny black door swing closed, and she disappeared from his life. Again.
Is that it?
He’d never felt so desolate. There was a throbbing ache in his chest. He leaned against the wall in an effort to steady himself and catch his breath.
What the hell was going on?
Seville, present day
The following afternoon Cara’s flight touched down in Seville. She waited to deplane and sent a quick text to Daniel to let him know she’d landed. He worried about her; in some ways, he treated her like one of his children. She was hoping the text would buy her some time without needing to speak to him. Cara had been in a state of turmoil since she’d kissed George the previous day. She felt guilty and confused. Some time away on her own seemed like a perfect opportunity to clear her head and think things through. She exhaled deeply and made a conscious effort to relax; without success.
Seville was a stunning, vibrant city and ordinarily she’d be bubbling with excitement. Now she was conflicted. She couldn’t stop thinking about George, and a sense of foreboding gripped the pit of her stomach. Every time his face popped into her mind, she couldn’t think clearly.
Cara flagged a taxi, and the car sped through the busy streets towards her hotel on the edge of the old town. As the receptionist checked her in, she heard the familiar ping of a text. It was probably Daniel. She went up in the elevator to find her room. It was bright and spacious with vibrant coloured rugs strewn across the varnished wooden floor. The last rays of afternoon sunshine bathed the room in a soft glow, and she caught a glimpse of the Cathedral’s spire from the balcony. She would wander over there once she’d unpacked her case and had a much-needed cup of tea.
Cara flopped onto the king-size bed and enjoyed the brief respite. She hadn’t slept well in ages, but last night she’d found it impossible. Even when she slept, she wasn’t fully relaxed and kept waking up. Her thoughts flitted from George to Daniel and back again, leaving her drained. She’d finally managed to drift off into a deep sleep but awoke feeling anxious again, just after seven o’clock. The phone rang. She eased her weary frame off the bed and scrabbled about in her bag.
It was George. She stared at his name on the screen, but couldn’t rally her spirits to answer. She didn’t know what to say after the kiss and run of the previous day. The phone continued to ring. It was loud and seemed to go on forever.
Finally, the noise ceased, and she saw there were two texts: an earlier one from Daniel and a recent one from George.
Two minutes later George called again. He was insistent; she would give him that. She felt unkind, not answering. And the pull was too intense. She pressed the button and just like that he was back in her world.
‘Hello? Cara. It’s George.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said with a smile in her voice. ‘This is starting to become a habit. . .so I added your number.’
‘Oh, I like that. It seems only wise.’
She heard his deep, melodic laugh, and despite her intention to pull away, she knew she was powerless to resist him. She was swept away on the giant wave of loveliness that was George. She couldn’t get back to shore even if she wanted. She didn’t.
‘You won’t believe it,’ he said.
‘Try me,’ she said in a low, seductive voice which took her by surprise.
‘I will be in Seville soon. This evening, in fact.’
‘Really? You’re right; I don’t believe it! How come?’
‘I’m as amazed as you, but sometimes these things just fall into place. There’s some urgent business come up which I must attend to tomorrow. I told you I spend quite a bit of time there.’ He paused and then said, ‘Are you free for dinner this evening by any chance?’
Her heart performed a sharp salsa move.
Here was another opportunity to make a sensible choice.
I should say I already have dinner plans.
She gulped. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Do you fancy joining me for a bite to eat in the old town and then we could take a walk to the Cathedral. It’s quite marvellous.’
‘Yes, I’d love to.’
‘Great. I’ll pick you up at your hotel at eight o’clock. Will that work?’
Cara nodded in a happy daze.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, remembering he couldn’t see her. ‘Yes, perfect,’ she said.
They chatted a while longer, their spirits bolstered by the thought of seeing each other again so soon. George made her laugh like no one else. He had a wicked sense of fun. Daniel was a good man, but he took himself so seriously. George made her giggle like a schoolgirl. Being with him was no effort at all, but being without him was becoming increasingly difficult.
Sitting on the roof terrace of the bustling restaurant, Cara couldn’t quite believe her luck. Here they were together in the romantic city of Seville.
‘Paella,’ announced the waiter as he ceremoniously placed the hot dishes in the centre of the table.
‘Gracias,’ said Cara, smiling up at him.
Her naturally healthy appetite would usually take care of the paella, but with George’s dark eyes resting upon her from across the table, she was too nervous to eat. She toyed with the rice, moving her fork around the colourful dish and managing only a few mouthfuls. She sipped her wine. It tasted good and hit the spot to dull her nerves.
Their hands brushed as Cara passed George the salt, and a shiver ran through her body. He ate heartily, in-between pausing to regale her with amusing stories of his Sevillian adventures. Cara watched him quickly dispose of the paella and marvelled at how he was so at ease.
They shared a bottle of white wine and Cara was lightheaded after a couple of glasses and not much food.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he suggested when their table had been cleared. His hand touched her bare arm as he steered her out of the restaurant. Goose pimples coated her skin. His fingers seared her flesh, and she shivered. She found everything about him alluring.
They admired the majestic Gothic Cathedral and wandered around the old town, chatting and laughing about their travels. Cara stumbled on one of the uneven cobbles.
‘Here,’ George offered her his arm and smiled.
Cara melted. She slipped her arm through the loop. Da-dum. Da-dum. Her heart began to race. This was torture.
‘Hold on tight. Let’s not have a repeat of the bookshop blackout. I was terrified! I thought you were committing suicide by stepladder.’
Cara threw her head back and laughed as they conspired in the way only lovers do, talking as if no one else existed. They meandered through the tiny lanes of the old town until the streets began to clear and the hour grew late. Then in one sudden shift, the atmosphere between them switched from one of light camaraderie to a charged, pregnant silence.
Cara sought to kick-start the flow of banter but could find no words. Her brain was devoid of even one comment to guide them back to safe ground. George remained quiet. He looked sombre.
Conscious that her arm was still looped through his, Cara contemplated removing it. She didn’t want to.
She longed to reach out and touch his face. She wanted to move into his arms and kiss him again. A physical throb of desire shook her. But her hands remained locked in place. She couldn’t risk it. The fear of rejection was too great.
It’s a terrible idea. Don’t do it. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet him tonight. I knew I would only yearn for him even more.
There was smouldering chemistry between them which was impossible to ignore.
She heard the ping of a text, extracted her arm and retrieved her phone from her bag.
‘I have an early pre-conference meeting. I’d better get back to the hotel, or I’ll be no good for anything tomorrow.’
The excuse sprang from her lips, but her heart sank as she listened to her own words. She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to hold him all night and be close to him. She wanted to lay in his arms. There was no doubt in her mind that making love with him would be incredible.
It would also be dangerous and irresponsible.
George walked her back to the hotel. The awkward moment passed, and the easy banter resumed. In spite of her disappointment, Cara laughed aloud at his witty observations. She could listen to him all day.
But you can’t, can you? It’s not an option. Don’t be so stupid.
‘Have a great conference tomorrow. I’ll be in touch to see how it’s going. What time are you speaking?’ he asked.
Neither of them wanted the delicious evening to end. George leaned over to kiss her and said, ‘I’d love for you to see my house. I think you’ll adore the stucco architecture. It’s only about fifteen minutes by car, and there’s a wonderful view of the city. Perhaps we can do that tomorrow if you have time. Would you like that?’
Cara smiled, looked into his dark eyes and nodded. She all but fled towards the hotel and then turned to wave to him before she darted inside. ‘Goodnight,’ she called. ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening.’
George stood, bemused, watching intently as she disappeared through the revolving doors. He was becoming accustomed to her sudden departures. But he didn’t like them one bit.
He walked towards his car; hands thrust deep in his pockets, Cara’s face in his mind. He wished she was still at his side. How he wanted her.