Chapter 8 #2
“It’s OK,” I interrupted. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
“I don’t expect someone like you to understand.
Believe me, I want a job, and I’d work hard, but there aren’t many employers queueing up to employ a homeless high school dropout.
” I kept my explanation simple, although that wasn’t the full story.
I didn’t have the tools or resources to even fill out a job application, and I couldn’t do anything without a permanent address, which I would need to get both a contract and a new bank account, now that my old one had been blocked.
It was a vicious circle, hard to escape. It wasn’t an excuse; it was a fact.
Henry cleared his throat. “You dropped out of school?”
I nodded. “I bet you went to uni.”
“Yes. Oxford.”
“Where else? And I’m guessing you did well.” I took a sip of my cola and silently slid my cup towards Henry. To my surprise, he took it and drank from the same straw. I wasn’t contagious, but sometimes people treated me as though a homeless person could single-handedly bring back the plague.
“Yes. If I’m honest, I was top of my class.”
“Nerd.”
“That’s just what my brother Logan always called me, even though his grade average in school was only slightly lower than mine. Why did you drop out?”
Nervously, I started folding the paper wrapper my straw had come in. “I had to make money. My mum and I weren’t doing so well financially, and I wanted to help pay rent so we wouldn’t lose our apartment. It didn’t work, obviously.”
“Is your mum homeless too?”
I tightened my lips into a joyless smile. “Not anymore. She lives in an underground two-square-metre apartment.”
“What?” Henry asked, confused, and then it dawned on him. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
I feigned indifference and shrugged. I didn’t like to talk about my mum, even though she was always on my mind. A part of me wished I could take back my macabre comment, because today was a good day, and I didn’t want to ruin the mood.
Henry touched his tie as if he wanted to loosen the knot.
But when he noticed what he was doing, he dropped his hand.
He had nice hands. I didn’t know if other people paid as much attention to hands as I did, but as a pickpocket, my own were my most important tool.
Henry had long, elegant fingers with perfectly filed nails.
They were marred only by a scratch on his left thumb.
“How did you get that scratch?” I asked, pointing at it.
Henry turned his hand. “Oh, it’s from bouldering. I slipped.”
“You boulder?” There had been a bouldering society at my school, but I couldn’t afford the gym membership, so I had joined the athletics team for free instead.
“Yes, for a few years now. You sound surprised.”
“I thought people like you played polo or golf.”
He raised his eyebrows. “People like me?”
“Well, rich people.”
Henry snorted. “Not all rich people have the same hobbies.”
“But most of them, right?”
“Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I’m not like most of them.”
I laughed, although I got the sense that he might be telling the truth. Sure, he was wearing a smart suit and an outrageously expensive watch, but the longer we sat there, the more I suspected it was all for show—another Henry was lurking beneath the layers of fancy fabric.
“Of course not. You’re a very unique snowflake.”
“I am, and it’s high time someone acknowledged it,” he grinned.
“Don’t worry. I see you, Snowflake,” I hammed it up, sliding my hand across the table and placing it on his in feigned sympathy.
I’d intended it as a joke, a casual gesture, but my smile faded when my fingers touched his.
An electrifying tingle shot up my arm to my chest, and my heart raced.
Taken aback, I looked up at Henry’s handsome face.
He was watching me with an odd expression that I couldn’t quite read, which sent the tingle in my chest lower down my body.
It threw me. I hadn’t felt anything like it in years—perhaps ever.
I was under no illusion that someone like Henry could be attracted to me.
I looked all right, aside from the tattered clothes and wonky haircut.
But people like him cared about those things.
And I was pretty sure I’d read on the cover of some gossip magazine that he was dating the daughter of a famous fashion designer.
Another vibration in my jacket pocket ended the moment. Henry’s phone had been buzzing nonstop over the last few minutes, but so far I’d ignored it. I let go of his hand and pulled out his phone. Olivia Asterdam had messaged him.
“I don’t know how you stand it. Getting constant notifications would really stress me out,” I said, sliding the phone across the table to him.
He looked from me to the phone. “You’re giving it back?”
“It keeps vibrating,” I said, and as if it had heard me, the phone lit up again. “It’s annoying. And I trust you to give me the money anyway.”
Slowly, almost as if he wanted to give me time to change my mind, he reached for his iPhone. “I could just get up and leave now. You know that, right?”
“Yes, but you won’t.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?”
I pushed a chip into my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Smiled. “Because you, Henry Darlington, are an honest person. Far more honest than I am.”
He looked even more surprised. “You can’t know that. You barely know me.”
“Perhaps not, but I have a gut feeling.”
“A gut feeling,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard the phrase before.
“Yes. Gut feelings shouldn’t be ignored. If you’re a woman living alone on the streets, you really have to watch who you trust.”
“And you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Given the allegations against my dad, most people would probably think trusting me is a mistake.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but I could detect a hint of pleasure in his voice.
“Well, I’m not most people. And you’re not your dad.”
Henry didn’t reply but fixed me with a blank stare.
His gaze was sharp and probing, as though he were no longer merely looking at me but peering deep into my soul.
I didn’t like it. As good as I was at reading other people, I hated being read in return.
Only someone who knew the real me could truly hurt me, and my life was dangerous enough without me putting my feelings on the line.
“I think I’ll save the rest for later,” I heard myself say, feeling an urge to flee. I began stuffing the leftovers into one of the paper bags. “There’s a cashpoint right around the corner. And then you’ll be rid of me.”
Henry hesitated. “OK.”
Was I imagining it, or did he sound disappointed? No, it couldn’t be. My imagination was running away with me.
We left the restaurant without a word and walked to the cashpoint. I stepped back as Henry withdrew the money. Moments later, he was beside me, brandishing a gigantic wad of bills.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to me.
His voice was entirely devoid of emotion, as if four thousand pounds meant nothing to him.
Which it probably didn’t. My heart, on the other hand, did somersaults at the sight of it.
I’d never had so much money in my life, let alone held it in my hands.
My fingers tingled as I reached for it, and I felt uneasy.
Four. Thousand. Pounds. I could get Randell off my back for good.
The thought briefly crossed my mind that Henry could have given me more money.
He had enough of it, after all. But I didn’t want to use him.
More importantly, I never wanted to owe anyone anything ever again.
Not Randell, not Henry. I just wanted to be free.
“Thank you,” I said, which seemed inadequate. We both knew I hadn’t earned the money, but it didn’t stop Henry from smiling at me as though I had done him a favour. “I’m sorry I stole your phone. I’m not a bad person. I . . .”
“I know, Kate,” he interrupted before I could pour my heart out to him.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out a little card, and gave it to me.
A business card. It had the logo of The Darlington embossed on it in gold, and beneath it were Henry’s name and contact details.
“For emergencies. If you ever find yourself in trouble . . . Call me, or come to the hotel.”
Stunned, I looked up at Henry when I realised what he was offering me: his help. But taking it was out of the question. I’d already taken more from him than I was entitled to.
I shook my head and held out the card to give back to him. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t take it. “Keep it. Please.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Then don’t use it,” he answered, and with that, he’d won.
With an annoyed sigh I hoped would conceal how much his gesture meant to me, I stuck the card into the pocket of my leather jacket.
Even if I knew I wouldn’t call the number printed in gold on my own accord.
“Thank you. For the money, the food, and . . . the card,” I said, swallowing hard.
There was a lump in my throat that hadn’t been there before, and I had no desire to analyse it.
I took a step back. I’d got what I wanted, and there was no reason to stay any longer.
But I didn’t really want to leave. It was probably the odd tug in my stomach that prompted my next move: I saluted.
I saluted. At Henry. As if he were the King of England and I was a member of his royal guard. But what else was I supposed to do? Shake his hand? Give him a high five? Hug him?
“Have a nice life, Snowflake.”
He smiled. “Thanks. You too, Kate. Look after yourself.”
I liked how he said my name. He made it sound soft and familiar despite his deep voice. As if we’d known each other for much longer than an hour. It made it even harder to leave, but I had no choice.
“I will,” I promised, turning away before the situation could become any more embarrassing.
I strode away, feeling Henry’s eyes on me. I didn’t turn back, afraid of what I might feel if I did. If I was being honest, I thought it was a shame I would probably never see Henry Darlington again.