Chapter 18
18
“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself while we’re all gone?” Rosie asked for the umpteenth time.
Stretched out on the sofa, Courtney offered a reassuring nod and a smile. “I’ll be absolutely fine.”
“If I’d known we’d all be away at the same time, I would’ve changed my plans.”
“There’s no need for anyone to change any plans.”
Rosie gave her an uncertain look as she tucked her phone and sunglasses into her bag, but Courtney held up a hand. “If I needed you to change your plans, I’d tell you. But I don’t. So stop worrying.”
The entire Austin clan had made plans for the weekend and would all be gone until Sunday. Rosie and Adrian were heading to the west Dorset coast for a romantic overnight stay at a hotel overlooking the beach. Courtney’s aunt Lorraine and uncle Colin were travelling to Norfolk to celebrate a friend’s wedding anniversary. Zara was spending the weekend in Edinburgh attending a cancer research conference as part of her preparations to make a major change in her medical specialism.
It was only when everyone had gathered at Rosie’s house a few evenings earlier to enjoy a takeaway meal together that they realised they’d all be gone at the same time. Everyone’s concerns had immediately turned to Courtney and whether she’d be okay left behind on her own, considering she was now almost two weeks away from her due date.
Rosie had assured them all she’d be absolutely fine, and had kept repeating this truth anytime any of them quizzed her about it, which was often. Although she was more and more tired with every passing day, and more and more fed up with being pregnant and simply desperate for it to be over, she promised her cousins and her aunt and uncle that there was no reason why she couldn’t be left to her own devices for a couple of days while they all went off and enjoyed themselves.
When her aunt and uncle had suggested skipping their friend’s wedding anniversary celebrations in Norfolk in order to remain in Hamblehurst in case Rosie needed anything, she’d put her foot down and told them she’d be upset if they did any such thing.
And when first Zara and then Rosie had made similar suggestions, Courtney had insisted that they stick to their original plans. They’d all booked hotels, taken time off work, made transport arrangements and so on, and Courtney explained that she’d feel terrible if they switched their plans on her account when it wasn’t necessary.
“Promise you’ll phone me if you have any problems?” Rosie said.
“Yes, I promise.”
“And if you need help, or need something picked up from the shops or whatever, Adrian’s mum next door says you should knock on her door or ring her phone and she’ll be there for you. She’s off out for a few hours this afternoon, but otherwise will be at home.” Rosie peered across the room at her. “I gave you her number, didn’t I?”
Courtney laughed. “Yes, you gave me her number, and yes, I promise to ask her for help if I need it. Which I won’t. Please just go and have a wonderful time with Adrian—and stop worrying about me!”
“Not possible. I feel terrible that we’re all swanning off and leaving you here by yourself.”
“No one’s swanning off anywhere. You’ll all just doing fun things with your weekend. Once I’ve dealt with my work this morning for Travis’s social media pages, I’ll be sitting here watching television for the rest of the day and relaxing. I can hardly move, anyway, so I might as well enjoy being lazy on the sofa while I still can.”
Courtney marvelled at how she managed to utter Travis’s name without blushing or cringing. She’d kept to herself the embarrassing faux pas she’d committed last week in the park during the botched picnic with Travis, and Rosie knew nothing about what had happened. Courtney was too humiliated to tell her, and although Rosie had teased her a little about Travis when they’d discussed him previously, the truth was that Courtney didn’t want to risk her cousin’s judgement by confessing to almost kissing the man.
In her heart, she knew Rosie wouldn’t judge her—she wasn’t that sort of person. But she was only a matter of weeks away from having a baby that was the product of her last romantic misjudgement. Better that she keep to herself the fact that she’d clearly learned nothing from that episode and was once more catastrophically misreading the feelings and intentions of members of the opposite sex.
The front doorbell rang, and Rosie rushed off to greet Adrian. While he carried Rosie’s overnight bag to the car, Rosie returned to the living room to say goodbye.
“I’ll miss you!” Rosie said, pulling Courtney into a hug once she’d hauled herself up off the sofa.
“I’ll miss you too. Promise me you’ll have a wonderful time.”
“I will. And promise me you’ll call if you need me.”
“I promise.”
Courtney had no intention of interrupting her cousin’s exciting weekend getaway with her lovely new boyfriend, but she also knew the easiest way to put Rosie’s mind at ease was simply to agree to do as she asked.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” Rosie said, releasing her from the hug and checking the contents of her tote bag one more time before hurrying to the door.
“Bye!” Courtney said, trailing in her wake. “Have fun!”
“Bye!”
With a wave goodbye, Rosie hurtled down the front path and out to where Adrian sat waiting in the car. As they pulled away from the kerb, the horn tooted and they both waved out the window, making Courtney smile.
She closed the door and returned to the living room, where she opened the laptop Travis had loaned her while she was working on his social media marketing. There were comments to respond to from readers on the post she’d made yesterday, which was the final instalment of the Maura Shaw read-along she’d begun a few weeks ago. She’d felt a pang when she added that final post, bringing to an end the shared reading experience she’d enjoyed with Travis’s fans. The experiment had gone down well, but she was glad to be leaving that part of the work behind.
Much as she’d enjoyed reading the first book in Travis’s successful series, the work she’d completed for him now felt tainted by her stupidity at the picnic last week. Better that she returned to dealing with Travis’s original social media posts, rather than creating them herself in response to her book reading.
And his regular assistant, Ruth, would probably be taking over again soon, anyway. No doubt Travis would feel nothing but relief at the prospect of ending their temporary working arrangement after seeing what a fool she’d made of herself.
She’d be moving on herself, too, in terms of jobs. The conversation she’d had a few days ago with Jacquie Edmund was promising, and Jacquie had suggested a trial period working for her marketing company to see if they were a good fit for one another. The package of company marketing materials Jacquie sent through would keep Courtney occupied for the weekend, learning about the tools of the trade and the types of the work she’d be undertaking. Add in the list of author and publishing clients Jacquie had given her so she could explore their social media presence and examine their marketing approaches, and Courtney knew she had a busy and productive day ahead.
Which was just as well, she thought with a grimace as she sank back into the sofa. Every muscle and ligament ached today, and her cumbersome baby bump felt like it might knock her off her feet whenever she tried to move around for too long.
And the ache in her back… that was really starting to get on her nerves. The niggle had turned into a dull thud overnight that had kept her awake. In addition to the work she wanted to take care of today, there might also be a nap on the horizon, too.
“When are you planning on coming out into the world, little one?” she murmured as she slumped against the sofa cushions, trying—and failing—to get comfortable. “Because I’m not sure how much more of this pregnancy lark I can take.”
There was no response from the baby, just the ache of muscles and joints that had been subjected to more than enough strain. Courtney pulled the laptop closer and tried to take her mind off it.
A few hours later and a little further along Foxglove Street, Travis Stone was thinking about his own aching muscles and joints as he rattled the keys of his computer before pushing back from the desk with a groan.
He’d spent the last three days writing, punctuated by restless sleep as he worked his way towards the end of the next Maura Shaw mystery. The finale turned out to be even more epic than he’d imagined, and the words kept flowing as he grafted to tie up all the loose ends of the complicated murder mystery. This morning, he’d got up at four o’clock to start writing, unable to get back to sleep after waking before dawn with the elegant solution to one of those loose ends spooling through his mind like a film on a cinema screen.
Tying up that loose thread had led inevitably to the solutions about how he could tie up the other remaining open loops too, and so he’d just kept on writing, fuelled by strong coffee and swiftly devoured bowls of cereal to maintain his energy.
Now, as Travis peered at the laptop screen, his fingers aching and his wrists throbbing from typing for so fast and so long, he re-read the last couple of paragraphs with his heart trip-hammering inside his chest thanks to the combination of caffeine and the realisation that… he might actually have finished writing the book.
Could it really be possible?
Taking a deep breath, he scrolled back a few pages and started reading once more. As he read, he saw how the final paragraphs of the chapter flowed effortlessly together, filled with warm quips between Maura Shaw and Phillip Rorkman as they reflected on the adventure they’d just shared, and exchanged wry glances as they contemplated the next mystery to be solved, the seeds of which were revealed during the final stages of the epic detective work they’d only just concluded.
The ending perfectly wrapped up the mystery while also teasing the reader with yet another adventure to come. It did exactly what it needed to do.
As did the rest of the story he’d just written.
Which meant that the novel was finished .
Blinking in relief, Travis tapped the last two words onto the page— The End.
And then let out a long sigh that was a mixture of disbelief and amazement at the realisation that he’d written another book, had finished what he’d started, and found his way through the enormous story maze while shepherding his brilliant sleuth safely from the beginning to the end of her latest adventure.
He glanced at the word count at the bottom of the manuscript and winced. The novel was almost twenty-five thousand words longer than his contract stipulated, and while there might be a few sentences here and there he could cheerfully delete with no harm done, the essence of the book required the epic length that was the result of three months of work.
Still, he could already imagine what his editor would have to say about the expanded word length. Automatically, his mind turned to how he’d defend the manuscript against demands that it be cut and trimmed.
But he stopped those thoughts in their tracks. He was exhausted, not just from the last few days of non-stop writing, but from all the hours of work that had preceded it in order to get to this point. After only just typing The End at the bottom of the last page, this wasn’t the time to start worrying about what would come next.
This was, instead, the time to celebrate.
His custom was to open a bottle of champagne and raise a glass to his latest manuscript and to Maura Shaw, the sleuth who just kept on sleuthing. In preparation for this moment, and to keep himself going through the final weeks of work, he’d bought a bottle of fizz a week ago and put it in the fridge, where the sight of it had given him motivation whenever he was flagging. Although he wasn’t much of a drinker, and didn’t really care particularly for champagne, the little tradition had become one he looked forward to at the end of each book.
As he drew closer to the finish line, he’d imagine writing the last page of the novel, typing The End , and then popping the cork and treating himself to a healthy glug of sweet amber nectar. It was the only time he ever drank alone, cherishing the moment by himself, celebrating what he’d accomplished, and enjoying a brief few minutes of peace with a glass fizzing in his hand before his brain could set off in search of the next story and demand he get back to work.
Rising from the desk and hearing his back let out a crack from the effects of sitting for far too long, Travis caught sight of himself in the wall mirror that hung on the other side of the room and gasped.
He looked like a madman, with his hair standing on end thanks to the mindless raking of his fingers through it while he was writing, his eyes dark hollows from lack of sleep, his skin pasty.
And then he caught a whiff of himself and remembered he’d skipped the shower after waking so early this morning and coming straight to his desk to work. He needed to wash up, and the sooner the better, to make himself feel human again.
Before he opened the champagne, he wanted to wash away the long hours of writing, brush his teeth, pull a comb through his hair, and wake himself up. The fizz would taste better if he wasn’t half-dead on his feet.
Travis saved his completed manuscript, backed up the work and emailed the file to himself, too, just in case disaster struck.
Then he took a long, hot shower, changed into freshly laundered clothes, and stared at himself in the mirror while he towel-dried his hair. The usual strange feelings he typically experienced at the end of a writing project swirled in his head—elation, satisfaction, accomplishment, relief.
But this time, he felt a new sensation, too—regret.
Interrogating that baffling feeling, he quickly understood the reason for why he should feel it.
Courtney Flynn was the reason.
He regretted the awkward way they’d parted the last time they saw one another. Although their picnic in the park was only a matter of days ago, it now felt like a lifetime since he’d seen her and had hurried off after saying goodbye.
Ever since, he’d buried all thoughts about her, buried any attempt to analyse what had happened between them on that park bench. Writing had kept him busy, endlessly busy, and with his publisher’s deadline approaching, by which time he had to turn in his completed manuscript, he’d eagerly jumped into the work that remained to be done.
Working and writing meant he didn’t have to think about Courtney, didn’t have to think about the way she’d looked sitting beside him on the park bench with the sun lighting her hair like a halo, didn’t have to think about how, when she hugged him, he’d come so close—so dangerously close—to pulling her into his arms and kissing her and never letting go.
Kissing her would’ve been a mistake—a terrible, terrible mistake. He’d already told himself as much time and time again.
In just a matter of days, Travis would be returning to London. All the moving parts necessary for his departure had now locked into place. Yesterday, he’d received confirmation from his neighbour in the apartment building where he lived that the construction work on the ground floor was finished and peace and quiet had been restored at last.
Just hours later, he’d heard from the owners of the house where he was staying on Foxglove Street, informing him that they were making their way back to England on schedule and would be arriving in a few days as planned and thanking him in advance for looking after the house in their absence.
And now Travis had finished his book manuscript, too.
There was nothing keeping him here in Hamblehurst. The owners of the Foxglove Street house were returning on time, his apartment building in London was back to normal, and his book was written.
In other words, it was time to go.
Which meant he’d been right not to kiss Courtney that day on the park bench. How could he have kissed her when he knew he would soon be leaving? She was about to have a baby, was about to become a single mother, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was mess with her feelings and indulge himself by kissing her just to satisfy his own selfish desires, when he knew he was leaving and that nothing more could ever come of it.
And yet he couldn’t help but feel regret over the kiss that never was.
Travis looked long and hard at himself in the mirror as he finished rubbing at his wayward hair with the damp towel. He scowled as he thought back to how he’d let go of Courtney as they’d sat on the park bench, just dropped his arms and released her from his embrace, before practically jumping away from her. At the time, the reaction had been instinctive, the only way to stop himself from crushing his lips against hers.
Now, he thought about how bizarre his behaviour must have seemed, and how rude, too. First, he’d had to stop himself from kissing her, and then he’d almost sprinted off into the distance to get away from her.
That was no way to treat a woman, let alone a pregnant one. Instead of being treated with the respect and adoration she deserved as a new mother-to-be, he’d treated her like a bad smell he couldn’t wait to escape.
Shame flooded his cheeks with colour as he remembered the look of embarrassment on Courtney’s face as she’d packed up their uneaten picnic before they’d left the park. She’d barely even glanced his way as they’d walked back to Foxglove Street. Travis didn’t doubt for one minute that she’d known he’d almost kissed her, and had found their awkward altercation nothing short of completely mortifying.
He owed her an apology. Before he left Hamblehurst, he had to put things right between them.
Before the calamity on the bench, they’d shared too many moments of friendship for Travis to just disappear without anything more than a phone call or text message.
Which meant he ought to go and see her and return their easy companionship to the even keel where it had been before.
But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to see her. As Travis thought about opening that bottle of champagne that was chilling in the fridge and raising a glass to his latest manuscript, he realised that, for the first time, he didn’t want to celebrate this special moment alone.
He wanted Courtney to share it with him.
The impulse felt both completely crazy and absolutely right. Resolving the contradiction was impossible and so Travis didn’t bother trying. Before he left Hamblehurst, he wanted to see Courtney and talk to her and put things right between them, and, more than that, he wanted her to be there when he popped the cork on that champagne and see her smile light up her face like a supernova.
After all, if his fictional sleuth Maura Shaw could find romance when she least expected it, as she’d done with the jewel thief Phillip Rorkman in the book he’d just finished writing, why couldn’t he salvage a sliver of friendship with a woman who’d come to mean so much to him over the past few weeks?
And wasn’t the new book better because Maura Shaw had found someone she wanted by her side? Yes, it was. For eight books, she’d sleuthed alone. But it was time for her to move on as a character and her new romantic sparring partner was the injection of new life the series needed.
Perhaps it was time for Travis, too, to step away from his life of solitude long enough to let others inside? The time he’d spent with Courtney only proved how much he wanted to, how much he needed to. There might be no chance of romance between them, but friendship was possible—surely?
Travis intended to find out one way or the other.
He was opening the fridge door when it occurred to him that Courtney obviously couldn’t have champagne. She was more than eight months pregnant, for God’s sake. What was he thinking?
Searching the fridge’s contents, he found a bottle of fizzy apple juice he’d bought when he first arrived at the house and then completely forgotten about. He grabbed it, headed for the door and walked along Foxglove Street to see Courtney, hoping she wouldn’t mind the unexpected visit.
Hoping she’d be glad to see him. Already impatient to see her smile.