Jessica Steele - The Feisty Fiancée

She wondered whether to take him a bun or something else to eat, then scolded herself for being an idiot. Thomson was a grown man, for goodness' sake. He was as capable as she of working out the chances of him ending the day dinnerless. If he felt in the slightest hungry he was more than able to send somebody out for some nourishment.

That settled tidily in her head, Yancie went and purchased a couple of packages of sandwiches anyway. Which, because she had her larger-capacity bag with her today in anticipation of the shopping she'd intended doing during her lunch break, went neatly inside. If he didn't mention food, then she wouldn't either.

Yancie had a walk around and then later she went and collected the Jaguar. She listened to the news on the car radio-the road traffic report was not good. At half past six she pulled up outside the venue, and prepared to wait. She had waited only twenty minutes, however, when the doors opened and Thomson and several businessmen came out. There were handshakes all around, then he was coming over to the car.

She'd wasted a `Good morning' on himm earlier-she didn't bother with a `Good evening', and he was likewise as talkative. The fog had worsened, grown denser instead of clearing.

Should she tell him now that the motorway was closed, or save it?

She started up the car and steered into traffic, and still hadn't told him when, a few miles later, `Pull over,' ordered a voice from the back. They were still in a built-up area, but there was no mistaking that the weather had deteriorated-soon visibility would be down to nil. Yancie drove on until she found a safe stopping place-perhaps he'd forgotten something and they needed to go back for it. But nothing so simple. `I'll drive,' he stated crisply. The sauce of it!

'No, you won't!' she argued-but she was wasting her breath; he had come round to the driver's door and had it open, and was waiting-not very patiently-for her to get out. She guessed he was tired and didn't want any argument. And normally that wouldn't have bothered her. But love did funny things to you, and she found she had pared her marshalled argument down to a minimal, 'Driving's my job!'

Unthinkingly she went and occupied the front passenger seat-it was getting to be a habit. Well, she wasn't going to ask him to stop so she could get in the back. He wanted to drive; he could put up with where his passenger chose to sit.

'Er…' she began when she saw he was heading for the motorway. She had his attention; he was listening. 'I'm afraid we're going to have to take the scenic route.' In this fog? You wouldn't see the proverbial hand in front of you! But he was waiting for the rest of it. `I tuned in to the news earlier-there's been a pile-up on the motorway. The motorway's closed.' A grunt was all the reply she got. Perhaps if she behaved herself he'd allow her to do some of the driving when his overconcentrating eyes got tired and gritty.

However, it didn't come to that. They were out of the built-up area and had been driving at a snail's pace for some while when the dim entrance lights of a hotel appeared out of the gloom. `It's ridiculous to go on any further!' Thomson announced curtly.

Yancie couldn't have agreed with him more. At the pace they were travelling, if they reached London by midday tomorrow they'd be lucky! Thomson steered the car cautiously up the hotel drive and pulled up. When he got out of the car Yancie got out too and went inside with him. Though they were out of luck when Thomson tried to book them a couple of rooms-everyone else on the road that night had given up driving as being hopeless, apparently, and there wasn't a room to be had.

'There's the Gainsborough Hotel about a mile down the road; they might be able to help you,' the receptionist, working hard because of unexpected influx of guests, tried to be helpful.

'Do you have their number?' Thomson asked, giving the receptionist the benefit of his charm.

'Shall I ring them for you?' she offered, as busy as she was.

A few minutes later, the last two vacant rooms at the Gainsborough Hotel reserved for them, they went out into the dreadful night. `Would you like me to drive?' Yancie offered; in her view he'd done a fair enough stint already given the filthy weather.

'No,' he grunted.

Get on with it, then, she fumed. He could be charming to everyone but her! Her mutiny soon faded, however; it was really treacherous out here. She knew she was a good driver, but she couldn't fault his driving. And, if she had to be driven by anyone on such an evening, she couldn't think of anybody she would have chosen other than him.

Eventually they made it to the drive of the Gainsborough Hotel, where it seemed the car park area was full to overflowing. `Go in while I find somewhere to park,' Thomson instructed, pulling up outside the entrance to the hotel.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say a cheery `Don't get lost' but she thought he wouldn't appreciate it. So, obediently she got out of the car and went into the hotel, and found it was packed with people thronging about. Given that some of the guests couldn't have anticipated not sleeping in their own beds that night, they seemed to have quickly adjusted, to the extent there was even a faint feeling of a party atmosphere about the place. There were two receptionists on duty. One was busy dealing with a guest, and Yancie gave preference to an elderly couple who had just come in and were enquiring about a room for the night. Then the other receptionist was free.

'You've two rooms reserved in the name of Wakefield,' Yancie began, and when the receptionist placed a couple of room keys on top of the reception counter and passed over a couple of registration cards Yancie saw no reason not to begin filling them in.

She had already made a start when she heard the elderly man next to her cry anxiously, `Oh, dear. No rooms! My wife's only recently had a hip replacement, and I really don't think I'm up to driving any more tonight!'

I shouldn't think so either. Yancie stopped writing while she waited for the receptionist to conjure up a room out of thin air. But no, even though the woman's tone was most sympathetic, she couldn't, it seemed, perform this particular trick. `I'm sorry,' the receptionist apologised, `every room is taken; we're even allowing people to sleep in the lounge areas, but I just haven't got another room.' But, prepared to go to extraordinary lengths in the circumstances, she added, `The lounge area's going to be crowded, but there's a chair in the office if…'

Yancie couldn't take any more. She pushed one of the keys across to the man, and also handed him one of the registration cards. `I only need one room,' she smiled. Well, she did, and she was sure Thomson wouldn't mind when she told him he'd be perching on an office chair that night. She smiled in acknowledgement of their gratitude and finished completing the one registration card and, endeavouring to think in advance, certain there would be the usual toiletries in the room, she asked the receptionist if there was any chance of being given toothpaste.

'Nobody's got round to thinking about that yet,' she smiled, clearly very pleased that the elderly couple would be able to get a good night's rest. `I can do better than just toothpaste,' she said cheerfully, and went away, to return with a sample tube of toothpaste, and a couple of toothbrushes.

Yancie thanked her, discovered the kitchen staff were going flat out, but that there'd be some sort of a meal for everyone that nightthough since the hotel was bursting at the seams where they were all going to sit might take more organising.

She came away from the desk, to hear another hopeful trying to get a room. With only one key in her hand she moved over to a spot where she could watch for Thomson to come in. And suddenly she began to experience a few anxieties of her own-about having given his room away. She didn't regret it. How could she? She was sure that she would only have to explain about the elderly couple, about the lady's recent operation… Besides, no one would make anybody drive on a night like this-least of all an elderly gentleman.