Saying Yes to the Millionaire

Now he was frowning too.

‘They’re both so stressed. Dad is frustrated that he can’t be the workaholic he knows how to be and Mum is terrified he’s going to get bored and put himself in danger by doing too much too soon.’

The mini-scowl eased from her face a little. He decided to carry on while there was a thaw. ‘I was planning to send them off to Scotland where they had their honeymoon. Mum’s always said how good for the soul those mountains are.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s a lovely idea.’

‘And what about you, Fern? I’m sure you could find something sensible to spend the money on. Pay off a bit of your mortgage or something. Didn’t that Simon guy mention something about the Leukaemia Research Trust—’ at this she perked up and he knew he was on the right track ‘—some appeal they’re holding at the moment?’

‘I expect he mentioned something like that,’ she said quietly, the pull of conflicting emotions clouding her pale blue eyes.

He laid a hand on her arm, but stopped short of sliding it around her shoulders and pulling her to him as he had the urge to do. As he’d had the urge to do ever since his fingers had felt the soft curve of her waist before she’d fallen out of his hands. He suddenly felt very careless for letting her go that easily.

‘Come on, Fern. The possibility of five thousand pounds and four days in my scintillating company. What’s not to like?’

She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘You always were a bit of a big-head.’

‘And you used to say you didn’t see enough of your honorary big brother.’

She shook her head. ‘Seriously, I can’t just drop everything. I have work to do.’

‘What sort of work?’

‘Well, my job involves site visits so I can assess risk factors. The insurance company then uses my report to decide the premium.’

‘And how many visits have you got planned over the next few days?’

She unfolded and refolded her arms. ‘Well, none actually—’ she held up her hand to stop him interrupting ‘—but I’d really been looking forward to having a chance to clear my desk and catch up with the filing.’

He gave her an incredulous look. ‘Sweetheart, filing can always wait for a few more days.’

She glared back at him. ‘It’s too short notice. I can’t just not show up tomorrow.’

‘Why? Have you used up all your annual leave?’

She opened her mouth and shut it again. Then she looked at the floor. ‘Yes,’ she said with the vague hint of a question in her voice. He knew that routine.

‘Fern?’

She looked up.

‘Are you fibbing?’

She blew out an exasperated puff of air and the slightly guilty look in her eyes made him want to chuckle. ‘Yes.’

Their gazes locked and the urge to chuckle leached away. ‘You could ask your boss, couldn’t you?’

She tutted and mumbled some kind of answer as she pulled a mobile phone out of her neat little brown leather rucksack. He tried not to smile too hard as she pressed a few buttons and walked away from him, holding it to her ear. He also tried not to stare too hard at her bottom as she took slow, steady steps away from him, deep in conversation with someone else.

When had Fern started walking like that? With all that sway and fluid grace? She wiped the smile off his face completely by turning round suddenly and catching him in the act. He tried to look nonchalant. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

He couldn’t work out how the conversation was going. Fern wasn’t looking pleased, but she was nodding more than she was shaking her head. Finally, she removed the phone from her ear, punched the button and took quick steps towards him.

‘Well? Did he say yes?’

She sighed and nodded just the once. He swore that, as she tucked her phone away back in her bag, he heard her mutter something like, ‘It must be infectious.’ When she had zipped every last zip and popped every last popper she looked up.

‘Come on, Fern. It’ll be fun. What do you say?’

Half of her answer was muffled against his chest as he dragged her into a triumphant hug, ignoring his earlier instinct to keep a bit of distance. So he kept wanting to touch her. So what? What were impulses for, if not for following?

Fern was so used to the rumbles, screeches and hoots of the London traffic that she filtered it all out as she made her way from Embankment tube station up the Strand towards Trafalgar Square. Josh had said to meet him there at eleven-thirty and it was already twenty-five past. She picked up speed.

Gone were the glorious blue skies of yesterday. The weather forecast had said it was going to be overcast and for once it was right. Pearly-white clouds hung high in the air, robbing the light of its golden quality but doing nothing to reduce its brightness. She was squinting already, which meant she would almost certainly have a headache by the end of the day.

On the Internet last night she’d done some research on the event and had found out that it was called the Secret London Treasure Hunt, organised by London City Radio to promote not only their shows, but the famous tourist attractions. It had also said something about discovering interesting nooks and crannies that even many Londoners didn’t know about. She smiled. This was really going to be her kind of thing.

She loved the history of London. Her office was in the square mile of the old city and she spent many of her lunch hours exploring the side streets, little parks and myriad churches. There was always something fascinating to find, some little adventure to go on.

There was more of a crowd in Trafalgar Square than she’d expected. She knew from the treasure hunt website that there were forty teams of two people each. As far as she could make out, that number would be reduced each day until only ten teams were racing for the finish line on Sunday. Of course, she could make life much easier for herself and lag behind, causing her team to arrive late enough to be eliminated at one of the checkpoints. She’d have done her duty to Lisette and Josh and she wouldn’t be forced to spend the next four days with him.

But deep in her heart she knew she couldn’t do that. It would be too selfish. Josh’s parents really deserved the holiday, and how could she deprive the Leukaemia Research Trust of the funds it so desperately needed?

She shifted the small backpack she was carrying so it was more comfortable on her shoulders as she crossed the road on to Trafalgar Square. The bag contained as much as she could carry for the next few days: a change of clothes, toiletries, her mini first aid kit. She thought she’d packed light but it was getting heavier by the second.