Green Beans and Summer Dreams Page 16

  Then I realise I’m only put out because he and Lottie have been to the cinema together and we haven’t.

  By the time he returns with the champagne and two of my best crystal glasses, I’ve got things in proportion. Lottie is a friend and they went to the cinema way before he knew me. So there’s nothing at all to feel anxious about.

  The champagne is delicious and, to my relief, Erik stops fooling around and gets down to work. One glass will not slow us down. In fact, looking at how the stack of boxes is growing, it might even be having the opposite effect.

  When he goes to pour me a second, I quickly cover the glass and champagne sloshes all over my hand. He grabs my arm and licks it off, while simultaneously refilling my glass.

  Laughing, I push him away. ‘Hey, you said one glass, that’s all.’ I hate sounding like a nag but we won’t be able to do the deliveries if we’re over the limit.

  ‘Ah, don’t be a bore.’ He puts the bottle down then starts tickling me until I’m shrieking and consenting to everything he asks just to get him to stop.

  I didn’t have time for breakfast and the alcohol has rushed straight to my head, so once I’ve escaped his clutches, I dash into the house and grab a plateful of cheese and biscuits to bring back to the shed.

  An hour later, the bottle is empty, there are cracker crumbs everywhere and we’re having a contest to see who can lob the most avocados into an empty banana box. My head is woozy and I’m not altogether sure I’ve filled all the customers’ boxes correctly but I’m having too good a time to worry about it.

  My worries about bruising the fruit seem to have completely disappeared, much like the champagne.

  ‘All work and no play …’ I say, taking aim with an avocado and somehow managing to trip over my own feet. ‘Oops!’

  ‘Makes Jack a shed-load of money,’ finishes Erik.

  I start to giggle and can’t stop.

  Having run out of avocados, we start firing off satsumas instead.

  ‘Having fun is so important,’ I announce. ‘People should have lots of it. Then there would be increased productivia … productinity … more work done.’

  I snort with laughter as one of my satsumas sails wide of the mark and hits Erik on the thigh. He catches it deftly then throws a button mushroom in the air. It arcs in a perfect curve then slips neatly down my cleavage.

  I’m wiping away tears of laughter when there’s a rap on the shed door.

  We both stop and stare at each other, like naughty children caught with their hands in the biscuit tin.

  Erik grabs me. I shake my head and point at the door, trying to push him away.

  There’s a shuffling noise outside.

  ‘Hello-o,’ I call, unable to get to the door because Erik has me pinned up against the wall. ‘We’re making the workplace a better – er – place. Do come and join us.’

  Daylight floods in.

  Dan Parsons fills the doorway.

  Silently he takes in the scene and I follow his eyes. A stack of packed boxes has tipped over and the contents are spilling out over the floor. There are avocados and satsumas everywhere. And Erik’s hand is plunged down my T-shirt searching for the missing mushroom.

  Dan’s gaze finally alights on me, all stern and disapproving. But far from making me feel guilty, I have an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing.

  Erik looks at Dan and says, ‘Aha! The missing fungus. Not you, mate, the mushroom,’ he adds, holding it up.

  My suppressed merriment comes out in one gigantic snort.

  Erik picks up the champagne bottle and looks at it sadly. ‘I’d offer you a drink but we appear to have finished it.’

  ‘I don’t drink when I’m working,’ Dan replies. ‘Here’s the manual for the van.’ He drops a black folder onto the bench and a little cloud of dust rises up.

  A twinge of shame pierces my brain, foggy with alcohol. I pick up the manual and say (enunciating the words very carefully), ‘Thank you. It was very kind of you to come all this way.’

  ‘I live a couple of miles up the road,’ he points out smoothly. ‘It was hardly a trek to the North Pole.’

  ‘The North Pole might be warmer,’ Erik mutters. ‘Is it me or has the temperature suddenly plunged?’

  ‘Er … would you like coffee?’ I ask hurriedly.

  Dan shakes his head and glances around. ‘You look like you have a spot of clearing up to do.’

  ‘Well, I’m in the mood to party,’ Erik says. He winks at me. ‘What do you say, gorgeous? Another bottle?’

  I laugh. ‘Erik, no!’

  ‘Ah, don’t be boring,’ he says and walks out of the shed.

  Dan is looking over at the collapsed boxes and I feel a sudden urge to account for the mess.

  ‘I never drink during the day. Specially when I’m working.’

  ‘Apart from today.’

  I look at him, confused for a second. Then my brain catches up. ‘Oh, yes, apart from today.’

  I could explain we were toasting our forthcoming trip to Geneva. But that would mean stringing together lots of complicated sentences. So instead I lean against the wall and give a regretful sigh that I hope expresses how I’m feeling.

  He looks at me in disbelief for a second. Then his mouth twists into a lopsided, grudging sort of smile.

  Suddenly I remember Anna going on about him fancying me. If he has some kind of a crush on me, I will have to let him down gently.

  ‘Thanks for the van,’ I say, enunciating carefully. ‘Is really very generous.’ I smile sadly, to convey that I am hugely flattered by his attentions and if it wasn’t for the fact that Erik and I are so blissfully happy together, perhaps things would be different.

  ‘It’s not really,’ he says, the grin vanishing. ‘The van was just sitting there taking up space.’

  ‘Right.’ I look meekly at my feet.

  He heads for the door then turns and points at the box Erik was half way through packing. ‘I wouldn’t send that out. The clementines are mouldy.’

  We lock eyes for a few seconds, which is enough time for me to think hazily how really nice they are – the same deep blue as the sea on a hot, sunny day – and how sensible and considerate he is compared to Erik.

  He holds up a hand in farewell and walks out.

  I stare at the door, listening for his car engine. Then I slump down on a stool, wondering how many mouldy clementines Erik has already packed. I asked him not to use the stuff left over from last week. Now we’ll have to unpack them all to check, when all I really want to do is go up to bed and fall fast asleep.

  Oh God, I’ve made a total show of myself in front of Dan.

  I am completely mortified.

  Anna is definitely wrong about him fancying me.

  In fact, I have an awful feeling that after today, Dan Parsons probably doesn’t even like me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Buckling my belt, I peer out of the oval window, watching a holiday jet taxi towards the runway.

  The pilot speaks over the intercom, introducing himself in that chilled way captains do, as if hopping over the English Channel and several European countries is no more demanding than a stroll down to the post box.

  His voice is rich and comforting; very Home Counties.

  For some reason, I’m reminded of Dan Parsons.

  Oh God, the shame of that drunken display in the shed! Heat surges in my cheeks at the mere thought.

  I got up at five this morning to redo the boxes we packed so haphazardly last night. Erik said he’d join me but of course he fell back asleep and, by the time he arrived, I’d nearly finished. Luckily Anna and Jess have said they will take care of these extra deliveries. Anna just laughed when I admitted we were over the limit.

  But Dan Parsons made it clear he was far from amused.

  I drum my fingers on the armrest, shoulders suddenly as stiff as the petticoats in Marcia’s wedding dress shop.

  The memory of his disapproval is spoiling my day. I mean, I realise it wasn’t
exactly my finest moment, but everyone gets a bit demob happy before they go on holiday, don’t they? And if bloody perfect Dan Parsons fails to understand that, he’s got even less of a sense of fun than I originally thought.

  Watching Erik retrieve his book from the overhead locker and admiring his very gorgeous bum has an instantly calming effect. This weekend is going to be brilliant.

  A sour-faced woman at check-in tried to fob us off with two aisle seats but Erik flashed his charm-offensive grin and murmured that it wasn’t everyone who could carry off a necktie like that. She threw him a look that said I wasn’t born yesterday. But a pink flush rose up to meet the necktie and we had seats together inside of a minute.

  ‘You’re terrible,’ I said, as we queued for a coffee before boarding.

  ‘Hey, what’s the use of a talent if you don’t use it?’

  ‘Is flirting outrageously a talent, then?’

  ‘Nope. It’s a skill.’ He slipped his hand round my waist. ‘And I studied hard.’

  Erik is reading the airline literature from the seat pocket with suspicious intensity. Instantly I’m on edge. Any minute now he will leap to his feet and treat me to his own comic interpretation of the safety instruction leaflet. (Sometimes I feel like I’m going out with a trainee comedian and I’m the straight man he’s trying out his act on.)

  Two fresh-faced girls in skinny jeans shimmy their way up the aisle, giggling and flicking their shiny blow-dries. I smile at them and think how glad I am not to be a teenager. All those feelings and hormones. Much too exhausting.

  I’d much rather be me. I might be penniless but I’ve got Erik and my business is growing. Slowly, but that’s fine.

  When Anna first suggested a summer fayre, I thought she was mad. But if it works – and Anna is already pouring a great deal of energy into making sure it does – the business could really take off. My stomach flutters pleasantly just thinking about it.

  I glance at Erik and suddenly realise he’s gone milky white. The safety instructions are on his lap and he’s gripping the armrests for dear life. Oh God, he must be nervous of flying. And yet he hasn’t said a thing. I touch his hand and we exchange a knowing look.

  It makes our weekend even more special knowing he’s doing all this just for me.

  Once we’re up in the air, Erik relaxes and reaches for my hand, rubbing it with his thumb every now and then. I want to get my own book out but I can’t bear to take my hand away and spoil the closeness, so I close my eyes and daydream instead.

  Apart from a minor hiccup on the way to the airport, when Erik realised he’d forgotten his camera, the day has so far been perfect. Anxious to get seats together on the plane, I’d tried to convince him we could buy disposable cameras at the airport but he insisted we go back for it.

  ‘Sorry,’ he’d said, squeezing my knee, as we raced back to the airport. ‘But it’s our first trip away together. We need good photos, don’t we?’

  And I smiled, thinking how lucky I was to have a man who cared about such things.

  We’re standing in line at Geneva Airport waiting to get through passport control and I’m looking around, enjoying the alien sights and smells of a different country, when a man some way back in the queue smiles and raises his hand.

  I assume he’s waving at someone else but then he says something to his mate and they both look over.

  I nudge Erik. ‘Do you know those guys?’

  He turns and I’m expecting him to grin and say something like, Christ, would you believe it?

  But he shrugs and says, ‘No.’

  When we get through customs, he takes my bag and says, ‘Come on. Let’s find a taxi. I’ve got a sudden urge to get you to a bedroom.’

  I have to run to keep up.

  When we get to the hotel, they’ve mistakenly put us in a single room and we have to wait while they locate a double. But once in our room, we have a great deal of fun making up for lost time.

  Later, when we walk into the hotel bar, the first people I spot are the two guys from the airport.

  ‘Rob and Vinny,’ Erik murmurs when they wave, and I can’t tell whether he’s pleased or dismayed.

  He squeezes my hand. ‘Wait a sec.’ He walks over and from the loud, back-slapping way they greet each other, it’s clear they know each other well.

  Erik beckons me over.

  ‘Rob, Vinny, this is Isobel.’ Erik hooks his arm round my shoulders. ‘Don’t believe anything they say, Izz. They’re complete tossers.’

  I laugh politely. ‘So how do you know one another?’

  The guy called Rob, who has a lanky frame and friendly eyes behind dark-rimmed specs, grins at me. ‘Didn’t he tell you? We’re all car freaks. We met at the Geneva Motor Show, ooh’ – he turns to Erik – ‘five, six years ago, was it?’

  ‘Yeah, five I think.’ Erik nods.

  I glance at him, wondering why he never mentioned the motor show before.

  ‘Great to see you guys,’ he says. ‘Are you having dinner in the hotel?’

  Vinny, who has thick, straw-coloured hair and a generous beer belly, says, ‘Nah, we’ll go out for a burger. Maybe see you later in the bar?’

  I smile at them, relieved they’re not going to gate-crash our cosy restaurant booking for two.

  Vinny winks at me. ‘So where did you find a girl like her, lucky sod! If my Tanya was here all she’d want to do is shop, go to museums and drink skinnyccinos.’

  ‘Yes, I can’t imagine Linda being overjoyed either,’ remarks Rob drily, and they laugh.

  Erik joins in, but the arm clamped across my shoulders is starting to feel uncomfortably heavy. Perhaps he’s irritated at having our evening interrupted.

  The restaurant, when we get there, looks exactly like it does in my guidebook; elegant chandeliers, subdued lighting and bow-tied waiters bearing silver trays. To my alarm, I notice the menu doesn’t include prices. But then I tell myself not to worry. Erik isn’t exactly short of money, thanks to his grandparents’ generosity.

  ‘This will cost a fortune,’ I whisper across the pristinely starched white tablecloth.

  Erik, in a cream linen suit and pale green shirt, gives me that smile. ‘You’re worth every Swiss franc. Now, white or red?’ He picks up the wine list.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I say happily. ‘You choose.’

  While he debates, my mind wanders idly over the conversation with Rob and Vinny.

  After the wine waiter has taken our order, I ask Erik, ‘What did Vinny mean when he said Where did you find a girl like her?’

  Erik looks into my eyes. ‘He meant how lucky I am to be with such a stunningly beautiful woman, of course.’

  I smile, used to his extravagant compliments. ‘So what’s Tanya, his girlfriend, like? Isn’t she attractive?’

  Erik frowns. ‘Attractive? Yes, she’s gorgeous, actually. She’s a part-time model. Why?’

  I shrug, not even sure myself why I’m asking.

  Jamie Evans has a lot to answer for. He’s made me suspicious of all men – and Erik really doesn’t deserve it.

  Next minute, he slides his socked foot under the hem of my dress all the way up to my thigh – right under the nose of the wine waiter who’s uncorking our claret – and I forget everything else.

  We eye each other, struggling not to laugh.

  After dinner, I’m all for escaping upstairs to our room, but Erik feels we ought to call in at the hotel bar and have a quick nightcap with the boys. My heart sinks but I don’t want to spoil the evening so I nod, secretly hoping Rob and Vinny have decided to go on a pub crawl. But no, they’re lounging on a black leather sofa in the bar, and while Erik and Vinny get the drinks in, I’m left alone with Rob.

  He asks a lot of intelligent questions about the veg box business and seems genuinely interested. I answer happily, pleased to be getting on so well with a friend of Erik’s.

  ‘A business woman into the bargain,’ Rob says admiringly. ‘So come on, tell me, what model of car do you drive?’
/>   I laugh. ‘Oh, just an old rust bucket.’

  Rob looks surprised.

  ‘What do you drive?’ I ask politely.

  ‘An Alfa Romeo,’ Rob says. ‘Of course, the flagship Cloverleaf model is the performance option. Gets you from nought to sixty-two mph in six point eight seconds. Top speed a hundred and fifty.’

  ‘Gosh.’ I try my best to look impressed.

  ‘And the dynamic mode gives you quicker throttle and steering response.’

  ‘Er, right. Wow.’

  I steel a quick glance in Erik’s direction, hoping he won’t be too long.

  My interest in cars extends to the colour and whether or not it has a CD player, and that’s about it. But Rob is clearly mad about cars. He’s polishing his glasses now and I wonder if it’s because they’ve steamed up with all the excitement.

  ‘Sorry, am I going on a bit?’ he asks.

  ‘No! Not at all! It’s – erm – fascinating.’

  He grins. ‘Sorry. It’s just not often I get a chance to talk cars with an attractive female. My wife would rather sit through three football matches end to end than go with me to the show.’

  ‘The show?’

  Rob looks perplexed. ‘Yes. The motor show?’

  ‘Ah, the Geneva Motor Show,’ I say, light beginning to dawn. I’ve a vague memory of banners and posters advertising the event as we walked through the airport. So that’s why Rob and Vinny are in Geneva. And they mistakenly think that’s the reason Erik and I are here, too.

  That explains why Vinny thinks I’m such a catch. After all, a woman who can talk cars is as rare as a female who sinks eight pints on a Friday night, likes a game of darts and is completely at ease with her expanding beer gut.

  Erik returns with the drinks at that point. Otherwise I might have confessed the shameful truth to Rob – that I’d happily drive around in an old armchair on wheels as long as it got me where I wanted to go.

  I suppress my yawns and try to listen interestedly to the conversation but I can’t help feeling relieved when at last, a little after midnight, Erik turns to me and says it’s time I was tucked up in bed.