Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
O n the morning of the dinner that had gone from a simple supper, a thank you to their neighbours, to a full-on three-course dinner party for nine, Anna returned from the hairdresser, bouncing along on happy feet, thrilled with her new hairstyle. She now had lots of layers and a gently feathered fringe that sat above her eyes, instead of the heavy curtains that skimmed either side of her face.
When she saw herself in the large oval mirror, surrounded by scented lotions and potions that sweetened the air, she looked younger and, oddly enough, happier. It was as if, like a snake, she’d sloughed off an old skin. Slipped out of square-shaped Anna into oval-shaped Anna. She felt so much lighter – as if she’d shed more than her hair.
And though she hadn’t done it for anyone but herself, she was looking forward to Leo’s reaction when he saw her.
He was in the kitchen when she ran lightly up the stairs, his back to her, peeling carrots.
‘Hi, Leo,’ she said.
‘Hey,’ he said without turning round.
‘How are you doing?’ she asked, standing poised in the doorway.
‘Good. Onions chopped. And the beef smells great.’ Before she’d gone out she’d left the beef, which she’d scored with shallow cuts and filled with bacon, to marinade in a delicious-smelling blend of melted butter, thyme, garlic and marjoram.
Still he didn’t turn around and she waited as he sliced the carrots into small pieces.
‘You’ve been busy,’ she said for want of anything to say.
‘Yup.’ Finally he turned around and she smiled at him, waiting for his response. To her surprise his face tightened – infinitesimally, but it was there – and then, as if nothing had happened, he carried on. ‘I’ve chopped the onions, peeled and chopped the carrots, chopped the celery for the sauce.’
‘Great,’ she said, swallowing her disappointment. ‘I’ll get started on the pudding, then.’ She had a simple dough, of flour, butter, eggs and sugar, to make the base of the tart, which would then be topped with fresh plums and part-baked before she added a mixture of egg yolks, icing sugar and cream, and baked for a further twenty minutes.
They had decided upon the menu together over the last few nights, finally coming up with marinated cheese to start with, followed by Sví?ková na smetaně , beef tenderloin with traditional root-vegetable sauce, and bread dumplings, and for dessert a plum tart. They had divided up the list of tasks the night before. It was quite an ambitious menu, given they were cooking Czech food for the first time, but Anna was hoping that although there was a lot to do, it would be quite straightforward.
With an internal sigh, she washed her hands and started assembling the ingredients for her dough.
‘Nice hair, by the way,’ said Leo, reaching into the cupboard beside her, barely glancing her way.
‘Thanks,’ she replied, wilting a little inside. Was it her imagination or was his tone begrudging? As if the words had to be forced out. What had she been expecting? It was hardly a Clark Kent to Superman transformation, after all, but it had made her feel special. She thought Leo, with his innate empathy, might have noticed that inner glow and commented. Perhaps he wasn’t as in tune with her as she liked to think.
She watched as he melted butter in the frying pan and slid in the onions, her eyes focusing on the flex of his forearms like some sort of lovesick teenager. Her skin itched, she was so aware of him.
Leo glanced up and she looked away quickly, turning to crack eggs into the dry mix for her dough, but fumbled and missed the bowl. An egg fell with a splat on the tiles. They both stared down at it for a moment. Leo grabbed a cloth and knelt to clean it up as she dropped to the floor with a piece of kitchen paper. They ended up on their knees, nose to nose over the broken egg, their eyes meeting for a few long-drawn-out seconds. Neither of them said anything, the sudden tension as thick as fog. Anna stared into Leo’s eyes, unable to break her gaze. He stared back, his eyes dropping to her lips. She felt herself sway forward, the magnetic northern pull of his lips towards hers. A dull ache of longing spread through her chest. Then, with a snap, Leo straightened and scrambled to his feet. ‘I think you’ve got this,’ he said and busied himself rinsing the unused cloth under the tap.
As the goosebumps subsided on her skin. Anna applied herself to the task with the diligence of a worker bee in a hive.
They carried on their respective tasks in silence for the next few minutes. Anna felt as if the atmosphere between them was stretched taut, like an elastic band close to snapping.
‘Want me to chop the bread for the dumplings? asked Leo.
‘Thanks.’ And then to fill the silence, she added, ‘They’re in the breadbin.’
He glanced at her. ‘I know. I put them there last night.’ He turned away again, the quiet between them so charged, the air almost crackled.
As he worked, the rasp and cut of the knife on the stale bread grated on her nerves. His moves quick and sharp. Each chop filled the air, almost as if he was deliberately trying to rub her up the wrong way.
In retaliation she pounded at her dough, working out the frustration chafing her body. He didn’t need to make it so obvious that the thought of kissing her was so unwelcome. With the dough mixed, she almost savaged it as she rolled it out to fit in the tart tin.
‘Are you trying to kill those plums?’ asked Leo, his mild curiosity like flame to the fuse of her irritation. Did he not feel the same pressure? That feeling that she might burst out of her skin any minute?
She looked down at the plums she was ramming into the top of the dough.
‘I think they’ll be fine, they’re about to be incinerated,’ she said, shoving the whole thing into the oven.
‘Here you go.’ Leo pushed the bowl of cubed bread towards her. ‘All done. What do you want me to do next?’
Her mouth tightened on the words she couldn’t say. Instead she grabbed the bowl and tipped in the eggs.
‘You could weigh me some flour,’ she said with an edge to her voice. She knew she shouldn’t add but she did anyway, ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ She picked up the open bag of flour to hand to him.
‘It’s no trouble.’ His tone was low and gravelly. ‘Nothing’s ever too much trouble for you, Love.’
That did it! She tossed the bag towards him, deliberately showering him in flour.
Time slowed as she watched in shocked disbelief at what she’d done.
And then she swallowed as Leo, his face coated in white, stared back at her. Blue eyes in sharp contrast as he blinked furiously at her.
‘What was that for?’
‘Because you’re driving me mad.’
‘I’m driving you mad.’ He glared at her.
She stood her ground, nerves sizzling at the fury burning in his expression.
He took a step towards her, his hands clenched by his sides. She raised her chin, not giving an inch.
‘Anna Love,’ he ground out, low and dangerous.
She swallowed. Good and mad was the only way to describe him right now. But she wanted him mad. She was fed up with having to keep her emotions in check, from hiding what she felt.
His Adam’s apple dipped several times. ‘Oh, fuck this,’ he said under his breath, and swiped at the flour across his face with his forearm before reaching for her, his hands clamping on her arms, leaning in to kiss her with a fierceness bordering on desperation, as if she were the very last drop of water in a desert.
The spark leapt between them as fast and furious as a crack of lightning, and the kiss went from inflammatory to an inferno within seconds. His mouth scoured hers as if he were seeking redemption from every sin on earth. But she gave back with equal hunger, her heart exploding with a flash of delight and excitement as it thudded like the hooves of a Grand National winner. Reason and coherent thought went out of the window as she pressed closer, enveloped by the scent of him, the warmth of him, the feel of him. Her legs almost buckled as they turned into noodles but Leo was there to hold her up.
He smoothed a floury hand down her hair, his breathing harsh. ‘I can’t fight this anymore.’
‘Good,’ she said, lifting a hand to his face, stroking away some of the flour and the slight lines of concern around his eyes.
‘I love you. Never stopped. It’s been killing me these last few weeks.’
Love surged in her chest, a tsunami of heat and joy. ‘I love you.’
They stood looking at each other. Leo’s eyes were sombre and serious as he focused on her face. His fingers tracing her lips.
‘I’ve been trying to deny it and then you come in this morning, your hair in that just-out-of-bed mussed-up style, and smile at me, all sexy and serene, like the Mona Lisa, as if you know all the secrets of the world and … I’m gone. Completely and utterly.’