Chapter Eleven
Marco half expected Emerald not to show, but there she was, looking sweet in a flowery dress, her legs bare and brown, her corkscrew hair slightly wild, giving her the look of a forest sprite. He took it all in approvingly, as a surge of pleasure that he was her travelling companion rose in his chest.
‘Emerald, glad you decided to join me,’ he said.
‘Happy to be here. Love me an early morning flight,’ she drawled, and Marco couldn’t miss the loaded sarcasm.
‘Let me take your bag.’ He put his hand out to take her case and she recoiled at his touch as their hands collided. He wouldn’t have been any more surprised if she’d slapped his hand away.
She thrust out her chin as if daring him to comment. ‘I can manage on my own, thanks.’
‘Fine,’ Marco said, raising his hands. She was not a woman who took orders easily, that much he already knew, but he couldn’t understand this new animosity towards him. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, determined to get her on side, one way or another.
‘No, and we need to go this way. I’ve flown out of Luton loads of times.’ Emerald marched ahead of him and stopped at the check-in desk, a resolute frown ruining the overall delightful face.
‘Not a morning person, Emerald?’ he offered, although it was practically lunchtime by his body clock. His mornings frequently started at 5 a.m. so he knew all about early starts. Surely she could meet him halfway and be polite, even if she couldn’t manage friendly and sociable.
But it seemed not.
‘I’m fine, really.’
Marco would have liked a smile to go along with her blatant lie. He liked it when she smiled, it warmed his soul, but it seemed that she’d used up her quota of genuine smiles and a surly frown was all she could muster.
He sighed. She was back to behaving like a toddler. So be it. They queued up at the gate in silence, boarded the aircraft in silence until they found their seats. She took her seat next to him and carried the grey cloud hovering over her head with her. She clearly didn’t want to be anywhere near him and was making it as obvious as she could. He was starting to wonder why he’d thought it a good idea to get to know her a little better.
It carried on this way into the flight, Emerald pretending to read on her Kindle, although not a page was turned, unless they’d invented some way of turning pages without using fingers. He couldn’t concentrate either and stared out of the window at a vast nothingness instead of sorting out business affairs.
‘Not hungry?’ he ventured a while after the stewardess had set down two breakfast trays and she had left hers untouched.
She didn’t raise her eyes from her Kindle as she muttered, ‘What, are you in control of my body as well as my financial stability now?’
Marco sighed. She was impossible to deal with sometimes. He watched her surreptitiously, her body held rigid, her jaw tensed, trying to gauge the reason for her bad mood. Surely it wasn’t just because he had demanded that she come with him?
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You don’t seem yourself.’
‘I’m fine. Of course I’m myself, who else would I be?’
He exhaled, exasperated. ‘Okay, can you tell me the reason you don’t want to be here?’
The question seemed to confuse her and she opened and closed her mouth wordlessly as a faint flush of colour crept over her cheeks.
He pressed home his agenda. ‘So, here’s the thing. Today I need you focused, not acting like a sulky teenager.’
Emerald turned her head away from him, giving every indication of behaving exactly like a sulky teenager.
‘Emerald!’ he insisted sharply.
She swivelled around and glared at him. ‘Do you ever ask, not demand?’
‘What?’ Marco was genuinely puzzled. ‘Emerald, it is my right to tell my employees what I want them to do. Is that what all this moodiness is about? You do not like to be told, I get it, but, you know, it is the way things work, me boss, you employee.’
She turned her face away again. ‘And don’t I know it.’
‘Okay, if you want to play it this way, as your boss, here are my requests. I expect only positive vibes from you towards Mr Edwards today. Even if it is pouring down and you have to eat haggis, you will comment on the pleasant weather and the delicious food. Do you think you could manage that much, challenging as it will be?’
Her eyes sparked with indignation at the suggestion that she wasn’t up to the job and he knew he’d pitched it right.
‘Who are we meeting then? And just for the record, I’ll eat haggis, like, never. Would you?’
Marco grinned, seeing the ridiculousness of their conversation. ‘You’d be surprised at what I have eaten out of good manners. Anyway, we’re meeting the director of Hopper, a small Scottish airline that is losing money daily because of the unpredictable weather causing delays. We can rent their aircraft for a percentage of the company profits before we too find ourselves in the same position.’
Emerald blanched. ‘I didn’t know that was a possibility.’
‘Well, you know now. I can throw a certain amount of money at a venture but there comes a point . . .’ he trailed off. They both knew what running an airline entailed.
He sighed. If he’d expected a meeting of souls as she pondered on the airline’s possible demise, he was sadly mistaken. But she picked at her nails as she stared at the seat back in front of her, showing that she was not wholly unaffected by such news. He silently forgave her. He was beginning to think he had the measure of her. Even though she was prickly and complicated, underneath this exterior she was a decent person. If he could just get her to open up a bit, he might be able to understand her better. He wanted to help her, he really did. He almost squeezed her hand to stop the infernal nail picking, stopping himself just in time to busy himself with a newspaper instead.
In no time at all the aircraft touched down and glided to a standstill. Emerald and Marco emerged from the airport to be greeted by thunderous grey skies and a cold wind whipping around their legs.
‘You were right about the weather,’ Emerald yelled as the heavens opened and rain fell in a sheet of noise. ‘A typical Scottish summer. Chucking it down.’ She huddled underneath the roof of a bus stop, while Marco searched in vain for the chauffeured car he’d booked.
‘We could get a cab,’ Emerald suggested when he returned, unable to find the car. She stared dismally at the snake of people queuing at the taxi rank that increased in volume and size by the second as rain pounded the pavement.
She was shivering within minutes in her summer dress, although she had avoided most of the rain so far by sheltering under a canopy.
‘Here, take my jacket.’ Marco slid his jacket off in one fluid movement.
‘No, really, I’m fine.’ She shook her head, ignoring his outstretched arm. ‘I have a cardigan in my bag. Put it back on or you’ll be frozen too. Scotland is rather different from Italy, you know.’ She unhooked her bag from her shoulder to rummage for her cardigan. A bus thundered past her and a spray of dirty rainwater spewed upwards and soaked her legs and the bottom of her dress. She gasped in shock and spun around instinctively, as another car churned up a torrent of water, drenching her again. Her dress dripped icy water onto her bare legs and the shock of it made her catch her breath. ‘Oh, my God, that’s freezing!’ she shrieked, flapping at her dress as the cold water numbed her thighs.
Marco grabbed her elbow and directed her across the road. ‘I’ve just heard from the driver. He’s over there, come on.’
The rain slanted across Emerald’s face and the wind snatched at her hair whipping it into her eyes, blurring her vision. Water channelled its way down the back of her neck and seeped through her thin dress. Marco’s hand on her arm was comforting and solid and she was intensely aware of it warming her skin as nothing else could. They reached the car and the chauffeur jumped out to help them inside, shaking out his newspaper to hold above Emerald’s head. She tumbled onto the back seat in a jumble of bags and tangled legs, the rain still biting at her heels.
A bubble of emotion rose up in her chest as she swiped at a strand of hair plastered to her cheeks, rainwater dripping from her chin. ‘Oh my God. Oh. My. God.’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as the cold paralysed her into a catatonic state. She shivered as a blast of air conditioning hit her. ‘I think I forgot to pack my cardigan.’
‘Turn up the heat, please,’ Marco instructed the driver, who immediately obliged. ‘Good God, you’re soaked.’ Marco pushed back his own dripping hair from his face to peer at Emerald.
‘Yes, the weather is rather inclement,’ she said, deadpan, widening her eyes. ‘Although I do so enjoy the rain. And while we’re at it, let’s hope it’s haggis for supper.’
Marco looked puzzled for an instant, before throwing back his head and laughing.
Emerald, seeing no point in being dismayed by her bedraggled state, joined in, enjoying Marco’s deep laugh and wishing she heard it more often. The car lurched around a corner and she lost her balance, slamming into Marco. ‘Sorry,’ she exclaimed, as she tried to right herself, but managed to fall into him again as the driver braked once more. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She giggled, trying unsuccessfully to push herself upright, her nose touching Marco’s chest. Marco’s hands closed around her shoulders as he steadied her.
Their eyes locked as she looked up into his face. ‘Seat belt?’ he asked, his voice unusually husky.
His fingers tightened their grip on her upper arms and she shivered at his touch. Never had seat belt sounded so sexy.
‘Seat belt,’ she repeated, nodding as she dragged her gaze away from Marco’s dark and smoky eyes. The words hitched in her throat as if she had run a marathon. ‘Right,’ she said, staying exactly as she was, pressed into Marco’s warm chest. She could smell the freshness of his shirt, his shampoo, his skin.
Her shivering increased, but she was no longer sure if it was because of the cold. The urge to stay snuggled up to Marco was overwhelming, his touch sending vibes of tingling awareness radiating through her body.
Damn it, the breathiness was still there. She cleared her throat, not trusting herself to speak as she pulled away from him and peeked back up at him through her eyelashes, seeing concern and tenderness in his eyes. She tried to look away but she was mesmerised. He gazed down at her and pinned her with his eyes. Something shifted between them, right then. It was no more than a look, but it was enough to set Emerald’s heart pitter-pattering.
Marco picked up a lock of wet hair that was sticking to her cheek and held it between his fingers for a second before tucking it behind her ear. Realising that he had behaved slightly inappropriately, he pushed himself forward to address the driver. ‘To the Caledonian, please.’
To Emerald he uttered seat belt again.
She obliged and buckled up as she asked, ‘We have somewhere to stay?’
Marco’s frown was back in place, his hands firmly in his lap, leaving Emerald to wonder if she’d imagined the tenderness in his eyes. ‘Of course. Why?’
‘It’s the Fringe Festival. Finbar said rooms are as rare as rocking horse sh . . .’ She trailed off. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Rocking horse? Ah, I see. That will be why I’m paying a king’s ransom for the only rooms we could find. No matter.’ He shrugged, as if something as trivial as securing a room was beneath his consideration. The conversation was closed.
Emerald tried to imagine the day that lay ahead of them, butterflies setting up a slow beating of wings in her stomach. She wished she had thought to bring better night attire than her pyjamas and immediately chided herself for such thoughts. It wasn’t as if Marco was likely to see her in her nightclothes.
Was it?