Jules Wake - From Italy With Love

‘So,’ Cameron’s gaze took both of them in, ‘how do you know Miles?’ He looked at Robert’s suit and then down to the shiny polished brogues. ‘His accountant?’ He nodded at Laurie, ‘Wine broker?’

She didn’t think Robert realised he was being insulted but she’d underestimated him.

‘No, family.’ Robert informed him.

The wine must have really got to her because she felt unexpectedly embarrassed at his pompous tone and aggrieved he’d applied the term to himself.

Cameron Matthews looked surprised.

‘I’m Laurie, Miles’ niece.’

‘Laurie?’ His voice went up in question. Disbelief etched across his face as he stepped back and said, ‘You’re Laurie. Aw shit.’

She flushed at the vehemence in his tone and watched as he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, parting the crowd and leaving everyone staring their way with hushed voices.

‘Rude bastard,’ said Robert. ‘What the hell was that about?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You happy to close up?’ asked Gemma, the other librarian, as if it was an unusual occurrence. Leighton Buzzard Library had been dead for the last half hour.

Laurie nodded. Thank God, today was almost over. From the moment the alarm clock had gone off this morning, set for exactly 6.30 a.m. so Robert had time to make both packed lunches before he caught the train into London, she’d found herself checking the clock almost hourly. The damn long-hand seemed to be on a go-slow. The day just wasn’t right. She couldn’t put a finger on what was wrong. It just felt wrong. And as for what ‘it’ was, she had no bloody clue.

Served her right for drinking all that wine yesterday. Her spirits had been well and truly dampened. Alcohol did that, didn’t it? And she wasn’t used to it. Drinking more in one afternoon than you did in an entire month was bound to have an effect.

She stacked the last of the books on the trolley. Oh stuff it, just this once sorting the thrillers from the romance and Sci-Fi could wait until morning. In fact Gemma could do it. Time she pulled rank, she was the senior librarian, after all and Gemma needed reminding that librarians are well-read, not well-informed on celebrity gossip. And didn’t that make Laurie sound a dried-up old stick. Part of her wondered whether maybe Gemma had got it right; the magazines seemed to be a stronger draw than books in the library these days. Other people’s lifestyles proving more exciting than their own. Even Gemma’s life seemed a lot more exciting than hers.

What was the matter with her today?

She had a job, home of her own, a live-in boyfriend and her health. She was being ungrateful and stupid. Security, stability … you knew where you were with them. For a moment she wondered if she was trying to convince herself just a little too hard.

OK, so they didn’t lead the most exciting life, her mouth turned down in disgust, they didn’t lead an exciting life full stop, but then excitement wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Loads of people would kill for that type of security. She thought of her mother and then tried hard not to. She’d left Laurie’s dad in her quest for excitement and had found fulfilment in fast cars, rich husbands, glitzy parties, designer clothes and visits to one exotic location after another. Quite what her mother had ever seen in Dad in the first place was a mystery. There were poles apart but he had clearly adored her at one point.

A tap on the window was an unwelcome reminder she should have switched out the lights and locked up.

‘Hello dear, I know it’s late but can I just …’

Laurie wasn’t supposed to stay open after six. ‘Go on, quickly.’

Mrs Wright slipped into the door and headed straight down to the crime section. ‘You are a dear,’ she called over her shoulder.

Laurie might as well start re-homing the books on the trolley.

Luckily Mrs Wright found something straight away.

‘Thanks love, you’re a lifesaver.’

Laurie smiled. The widow inhaled books like other people took in air. Her taste in gruesome killers obviously provided the escape from killing loneliness.

Rattling around on your own in a house when someone had died was so hard.

The ring of her mobile coincided with the click of the door when Mrs Wright finally left. Robert.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, you still at work?’

‘Just leaving. I’ll be a while. I’ll heat up that shepherd’s pie for you when I get back.’

‘I’m already home. Actually, I thought I’d take you out to dinner.’ Robert sounded very pleased with himself.

‘Why, have you had a promotion or something?’

‘Does there have to be reason? I just thought you might like to be spoilt for a change.’

‘That would be lovely. Thank you. I’m on my way.’ If she got a wiggle on she could just catch the next bus.

See, she was just being a miserable old harpy. She had nothing to moan about. Her life was pretty good.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Not that she did know how it was supposed to happen but this felt pedestrian, as if she’d been short-changed.

The candle on the table danced, casting shadows on the red damask tablecloth as Robert pushed the box across the table towards her.

Her heart sank, leaden to the very pit of her stomach. The waiter loitering with a bottle of champagne looked on expectant.

‘I know we said that we were fine as we are but …’ he shrugged, ‘we don’t have to have a big wedding. That would be a waste of money. I thought we could be spontaneous … just book the registry office next week. They’ve got a slot on Monday at lunch time. How romantic would that be? Spur of the moment!’

Robert’s face lit up with the thought. With a quiver of disappointment, she realised he felt genuinely excited by the idea.

Smiling took effort – she could feel the tautness of every muscle in her face. Robert had pushed the box right across the table, to sit centre stage in her place-setting like a dainty dish she needed to tuck into.

It sat there like an unexploded bomb that she was expected to diffuse. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could tell, as he leant forward, his body language shouting eagerly, that he wanted her to open the box.

Her hands shook as she lifted them above the table.

‘Aw … you don’t need to be nervous. It’s not the Rockefeller. Just a token really. We don’t need to waste our money on symbols. We know what’s important.’

Of course he was right. Having values. Being loyal. Maintaining integrity. Honesty. Unselfishness. They were the important things. Real love was based on friendship, stability and trust, not giddy emotion. She pushed away the thought of her mother, currently madly in love with husband number three.

Her fingers touched the box and she opened it. The ring, an emerald with a diamond chip on either side, was pretty. Really pretty. A lovely engagement ring and only a miserable, ungrateful, shallow cow would have even thought they would have preferred a sapphire.

She looked up at Robert. He beamed.

‘Like it?

‘It’s … lovely.’

Even as she blinked back tears, one escaped making a lonely trail down her cheek.

‘So, what do you say? Monday?’ He grinned hopefully, mistaking her tears for something else.

Numb, she stared at him. ‘Monday? What, this Monday?’ Frantically she tried to think was she was doing on Monday.

‘Yeah. Twelve-fifteen.’ He pulled the crinkly great-isn’t-it face, as if chivvying along her enthusiasm.

‘But … but I’ve got work.’

‘Come on, Laurie. They won’t notice if you take an extra half an hour … and if they do, just tell them where you’ve been. That lot will think it’s so romantic … just like one of those Mills & Boons.’