“But—”
“Please.” She grabs my hands. “Please. If I know he’s come to fire me, I can put together a defense. I’ll have half a chance to save myself. Please, Katie, please…”
And I don’t know if it’s because finally she’s got my name right or if it’s the wretched look in her eye, or just that I feel I’ve been mean enough to her for one holiday, but I find myself slowly nodding.
I’ve never seen someone properly stagger in shock before.
But Alex does. He staggers as soon as he sees me. He’s genuinely staggered. (To be fair, he’s walking down a grassy bank at the time, which might have something to do with it.)
We’re in the only little bit of formal garden we have at the farm—it’s just a tiny lawn and some flower beds, with a bank leading down to the field where all the yurts are. It’s where we take glampers for their welcome cup of tea. Biddy must have done the same with Alex.
“Jesus.” He whips off his sunglasses and squints at me with a hand shielding his brow. “Katie. I mean, Cat. I mean…Is that you?”
It’s midday and a lot has happened since my confrontation with Demeter—most of it involving soap and loofahs. There was a lot of mud to clean off.
I discovered as soon as I got back to the farmhouse that Alex had called ahead and was about half an hour away. Demeter’s main concern was that Alex shouldn’t find her and fire her before she’d had a chance to prepare a defense. So I found her a hiding place in the woodshed, and she thanked me in a humble, grateful way.
I’m feeling like perhaps I didn’t know Demeter at all at Cooper Clemmow. Not the real Demeter. I want to talk to her again. Peel back the veneer even more. Find out who she is underneath all the success and designer clothes and name-dropping.
But right now that’s not the priority. The priority is that I’ve made her a promise—whether that was wise or not—and I must do my best to keep it. Even though the sight of Alex is throwing me off-balance quite considerably. Even though there’s a ticker-tape headline running through my brain: He’s not sleeping with Demeter after all….He’s not sleeping with Demeter after all….
Argh. Stop it, brain. So he’s not sleeping with Demeter. What does that mean? Nothing. He might be sleeping with someone else. He might be in love with someone else. He might not find me remotely attractive. (Most likely. Indeed, even more likely, given our last encounter.)
During my shower I rewound and replayed my entire history with Alex, and it made me want to die. Let’s face it, the last time I saw him, I was yelling at him that he was “fucking entitled.” I was also telling him how I had thought we had a “spark” between us. (Who does that? Answer: only me, Katie, the world’s least adept traveler on the journey of Finding A Man And Not Fucking It Up.)
So the situation isn’t exactly ideal. But I have an agreement to keep, so here I go. And I won’t get flustered or anything….
Oh God. As I get near him, I’m already flustered.
I’d forgotten how attractive he is. He’s as lean as ever, in old jeans and a faded orange polo shirt, his dark hair shining in the sunlight. At once I think: He’s not in a suit! Of course he’s not going to fire Demeter. But then I remember: Oh. He never wears a suit. This means nothing.
His gaze is so intense and interested that it seems like he’s reading everything in my head: my feelings, Demeter’s hiding place, everything. But of course he’s not. Get a grip, Katie.
I’ve decided to go for a super-nonchalant approach, although I’m not sure how convincing I’ll be.
“Hello there,” I say casually.
(Shall I add: It’s Alex, isn’t it? with a frown, as though I can’t quite remember who he is?
No. He’ll never believe it and he’ll know I’m putting it on and I’ll look tragic.
Fine. OK.)
“It is you!” he exclaims. “Cat.”
“Katie,” I correct him. “Call me Katie.”
“You look different.” He wrinkles his brow as though trying to work out what’s changed. (Which is such a male response. A girl would instantly have it: Her hair’s blue and curly, she’s lost the black eyeliner, gained a couple of pounds, got some freckles, and where are those glasses she used to wear?)
Now he’s heading toward me with a springy, bouncing walk, as though walking’s far too slow for him but he doesn’t want to run.
“This is insane. What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“You live here?” Alex peers at me. “Is this your job now?”
“Yes. But it’s my home too. Always has been.”
“But…” He runs a hand through his hair, in that way he does. “Wait. You live in Birmingham, don’t you?”
And although I’ve decided that I’m not going to analyze everything he says, I can’t help myself. I never mentioned Birmingham to him. Does that mean he’s talked about me to someone? Does that mean—
No. Stop. It doesn’t mean anything.
“I used to work in Birmingham,” I say. “Demeter got the wrong end of the stick. But, then, she’s not really into details. Or junior staff.”
I fold my arms and look at him with a deliberately blank expression. I’m playing a bit of a game here. The more I’m rude about Demeter, the more he might reveal about her. Or at least he’ll never suspect I’m having this conversation on her behalf.
Will he?
Alex is so sharp, I wouldn’t be surprised at anything, but I can do my best.
“You do know she’s here?” I add. “Are you down here for a meeting, then? Or did you just see the brochure and decide to have a mini-break?”
All my senses are on high alert as I wait for his reply—but Alex doesn’t seem to hear the question.
“Have you spoken to her?” he asks slowly. “Demeter, I mean.”
“Demeter! Of course not. We’ve said hello or whatever….” I shrug. “She didn’t even recognize me at first. Typical.”
“Is it typical?” says Alex, with sudden animation. “Is it? You worked for her; you’ll know—” He breaks off and rubs his face, looking unexpectedly desolate.
“Know what?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter now. The die is cast.”
He lapses into silence, and I can see the lines round his mouth form into little grooves. Anxious grooves.
There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. He doesn’t look like someone who saw a brochure and decided to have a holiday. He looks like someone with a mission that he doesn’t want to carry out.
Which, actually, is very inconsiderate of him, I find myself thinking. It is not in the Ansters Farm spirit. Being fired is not on our list of relaxing holiday activities.
“So, her whole family are here?” he says after a brooding pause.
“Yes,” I reply pointedly. “They’re having a really nice time. So, shall I tell Demeter you’re here? I’m not sure where she’s got to, in fact—”
“No!” he says quickly. “Don’t tell her yet. Just give me—” He breaks off. “Look, I had no idea you’d be here, Katie. It’s…it makes things complicated.”
“What’s complicated?” I look as puzzled as I possibly can.
“Demeter,” he says unguardedly, then winces. “Shit. You know, I was not expecting to see you here. You’re throwing me off.” He gives me an accusing look.
“Well, I don’t care what it is,” I say, managing to appear supremely uninterested. “Only don’t have a row or anything. It’ll upset the guests.”
“?‘Have a row’?” he echoes, with a humorless little laugh. “I’m afraid we might well have a row. If not worse.”
I force myself to shrug, then keep quiet for a while. I have a feeling he wants to unburden himself. I can see it in his pained eyes, the way he’s twitching his fingers, the way he keeps glancing up at me….
“Look, I think I should tell you something,” he says in a sudden rush. “You can be discreet?”
“Of course.”