Chapter Seventeen
The lorry lurches forwards, the gravel crunching under the tyres as the man steers it back onto the road. I keep my eyes focussed directly in front of me. Ahead, the road remains fairly straight, dipping and curving over the lumpy landscape, the blue silhouette of Scottish mountains set as the backdrop. I shuffle closer to James. It’s not that this driver doesn’t seem friendly. He does. But something is pulling me towards my counterpart in this adventure in a way I can’t seem to control.
James instinctively looks down as if I’m acting weird. I am, I guess. I sort of have this urge to lean into his energy. To enjoy this time with him, even if we both know none of it can last.
As if I’m actually trying to cause trouble, I place my hand on James’ knee. His thigh clenches as I do. The coarse hairs feel nice under my palm. I think he reads me. Or at least he reacts in the way I’d hope he would, placing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him.
Oh, thank god. He’s on the same wavelength as me.
But, oh hell, Gloatman is on the same wavelength as me .
What has been going on these past few days? Were we enchanted in that bloody castle? Was there something in the water? Are the protein bars spacing us out?
“So, what you two doing all the ways out ’ere?” the driver asks.
Luckily, James is happy to do the talking as usual. “We’re on a hiking work trip. Our boss is expecting us back this evening.”
Crafty , I think. This man has found himself in precarious positions before. He’s letting this guy know that if he does try to kill us, he’s going to get caught. Someone’s looking for us. Little does he know, that’s bullshit. Our boss is a raving lunatic who probably isn’t even worried about our whereabouts at all.
The air conditioning in here is grumbling. There’s a vent right in front of me pulsing cool air across my skin. I shiver, stroking my arms.
“You cold, darling?” James says in a sickly sweet way. I’d have smacked him for calling me darling even fifteen minutes ago, but as he passes me the sweatshirt he had tied around his waist and I slip it on, doing the zip right up to my chin, I have to fight off a cosy feeling that swamps me. It lingers in my limbs, as he tucks me under his arm again, even brushing his lips across my forehead as if we’re a couple.
My heart is beating slower, yet louder and harder, as his long, strong fingers curl over my shoulder, tapping my arm as if that’s what he always does to me. I find myself leaning into him, imagining what he’d actually be like as a boyfriend. He said he’s been in love with women before. That’s definitely not something I can say. I’ve had boyfriends, briefly, but there was never a truly deep, meaningful connection. I don’t think the word “love” was even uttered before any of those inevitable, boring breakups.
But James is different. It’d be just like this . He’d be gentle, clever and funny.
He’d also be a know-it-all. Always up for an argument over trivial things, like how you load the dishwasher. Or whether or not we should get a cat, or a dog. Hint: we should get a dog. He’d probably complain about how many books I have but never read. Actually, we’d argue until we’re both blue in the face. Then we’d get all hot and heavy. I’d trust James with my body because, clearly, he’s not opposed to listening to me.
“Darling?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Were you listening?”
I blush. Oh, if only he knew where my head had gone. “Er, sorry. What did I miss?”
“Bernie here said he can drop us off near another path. It’s only a mile from there to a train station. But he’s going the other way.”
Bernie nods. “Easy to get you back to Inverness from there, if that’s where you’re headed.”
The thought of walking another mile, although shorter than the miles we’ve already travelled, makes me feel weepy. But if it’s our best bet and Bernie can’t drive us directly to the hotel then fine – I mean, he isn’t a taxi service. Then I guess I have no choice. I’m sure my shins can hear me thinking, they start to ache along the bone in both directions.
As if he can sense my mood, James leans down, taking a quick nip of my ear. I squirm. And, wow, does he know how to work my body. Shots are fired somewhere inside of me, exploding like fireworks in my hands and feet, making my fingers and toes tingle. I’m instantly worked up thinking about when we’ll be alone together again.
Dear lord, am I ever going to recover from this trip?
This can never work, Fliss.
When James asks Bernie what he happens to be doing all the way out in the Highlands, he talks about his job at a furniture brand. He says he collects these fancy pieces from some place up by the coast. Apparently rich people in London pay a fortune for it. I imagine that’s exactly the sort of thing Michael would do. Buy a coffee table with a story about being handmade by a small Scottish family, just so he can make himself seem more interesting. He’d never be seen dead in Ikea. At least somebody is profiting from it, I suppose.
As we near a layby, Bernie indicates and pulls over, coming to a stop. He nods at James’ window. There’s nothing here. Not even a signpost. It’s just more green hills and thorny, angry bushes. The sky is once again an ominous grey.
“You’ll want to head in that direction about half a mile then you’ll join a proper trail. Keep going till you find the village. The station is there – I’ve forgotten the name.”
“You sure?” James asks, looking dubiously out the window.
“Aye. I walked the trail some years ago. You’ll be alright.”
I share an exasperated glance with James. Without the need for words, he quietly opens his door and climbs down, turning back to gesture for the bags. I hand one down at a time before I try to climb down myself. Before I know what’s happening, James has a hand on my waist to support me. Our faces are close, his nose almost grazing mine. My eyes drop to his lips. Memories of last night spring to mind. I clear my throat when he releases me.
We say goodbye to Bernie, who has disappeared out of sight before we even have our bags on our backs. The path to get out of the layby is steep and my body sags at the thought of it.
“Come on, Felicity,” James says, taking my hand, his fingers warm and strong. He practically hauls me up the first part before I suddenly find my steam again and stride ahead.
*
After about fifteen minutes, a sprawling valley opens before us, swamped in bracken and green and purple flowered bushes, with a thin, icy-blue lake at the bottom. We take a moment to check the map again now we have a better assessment of our location. We both agree on a direction and head that way, stepping straight into a fresh gentle breeze that tangles in our hair.
“Thanks for lending me this, by the way,” I say, starting to unzip his sweatshirt.
“Ah, keep it if you’re comfortable. I’m not cold.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile. He’d let me wear his clothes . He’d say he liked it when I lounged around in his boxer shorts and baggy t-shirts.
“About last night,” he says, purposefully not looking at me this time.
I manage to look away too just as a prickling sensation spreads through my cheeks and neck.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I think we should.”
I tighten my jaw, ball my hands into fists. Why am I preparing to fight? Or is this me preparing to protect myself? I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should never have gone there. It’s up there with some of the dumbest shit I’ve ever done. Granted, there hasn’t been a whole lot. But this really does trump it.
Wanton wench – falling for a sexy, shaggy-haired Austen hero. Ugh.
“I really enjoyed it,” James says.
“Oh.”
“And I know we’re colleagues and don’t usually get along but… and I cannot believe I’m saying this… I think Michael’s idea has actually worked. Turns out you’re not as much of a dickhead as I thought you were.”
“I think his idea was to make us get along. Not for you to have an epiphany.”
He laughs, gives me a warm smile. “All I’m saying is… I wouldn’t be opposed to catching up with you outside of work sometime. That’s if you’re open to it? I think you’re funny, Felicity.”
“As friends?” I ask instinctively, immediately kicking myself for asking such a dumb question. What else, Fliss? Are you expecting a marriage proposal?
James steps in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders to stop me. I suck in a breath. Here it is. This is where he says, yes, as friends . And I’m going to be ok with that. I’m going to make myself be ok with that because he’s not boyfriend material anyway. He’s slept with a client for crying out loud. He drops his hands, placing them on his hips, doing that bloody Austen stance again. I hate how much I dig it.
“If that’s what you want?” he asks, his forehead scrunching into a row of deep wrinkles.
I fight the urge to reach up and smooth them out. I sigh. I’m not going to be that girl I hate. I’m not going to say I don’t want something that I actually maybe do. I should just be honest. “I don’t know, James. I don’t know what’s going on here. I kind of think…” I sigh, “… friends would be good, I guess.” Coward . I inwardly kick myself. Is that really what I want? “But friends don’t tend to do the things you did to me last night.”
James laughs. “Oh, come on. You’ve never had a friend who would get down and dirty with you?”
“Not since uni,” I say with a smirk.
“Alright, well, usually I’d take a girl out for a few drinks as a minimum before doing what we did last night. So, I suppose I owe you some drinks.”
I pull a face. “Hang on. I was the only one who got anything out of it, so maybe I owe you drinks.”
“On your salary?”
“Oh, shut up. God, you’re annoying.” I shove past him as we both laugh, me in an embarrassed way, my cheeks probably glowing, James like he does when he’s enjoying a fight.
“And trust me, I got a lot out of it,” he says.
I try to stop myself from overthinking all this. It’s as if I’m mentally pinching myself. Reminding myself he isn’t future-proof. It doesn’t matter how much energy is forming between us now, we don’t work. We don’t get along away from this. And I know from my childhood how important it is to find someone who can make you happy. Yet I sort of want to explore this. I sort of want to accept the inevitable pain and sprint clumsily down this path anyway. What’s gotten into me?
“So, how do we handle it at work?” he asks, coming in step with me.
“I love how confident you are we’re going to make it back now.”
“Confidence is a skill.”
“Too much of it is a flaw.”
“Are you going to answer my question?” James presses.
I think about it for a moment. The truth is, I can’t have my team thinking I’m dating James Boatman, Head of Sales. That’s totally inappropriate. Sales are the dark side of Starr. The gutter. The kitchen trolls. What will my team think of me? I’ll lose all credibility.
“It has to be a secret,” I say. “If we date that is. We might get back and instantly hate each other again. If people don’t know about it, then they won’t suspect any misdeeds or falling outs either. And besides… I might be your boss soon if I get promoted. Then that’ll be breaking policy.”
James goes silent. When I peer across to see what his face is doing, he just looks away, rubbing his chin. I don’t know what that means or if he hates the thought of me being a director but I’m not going to let that stop me from putting myself forward for it. I get the urge to confront him. What? Why so quiet? But I also don’t want to ruin this thing that’s happening between us. So, for now, I leave it.
“Do you agree?” I ask. “About it being a secret?”
“Hmm… Oh yeah. Sure. Well, like you say. This is probably just the unsterilised water making us loopy. Back in London you’ll hate me again,” he says, smiling. “I’m sure of it.”