Loving Our Heroes

‘And they could have tin cans tied on the back, and a card saying “just married”!’

‘And our names and the date of the wedding along the side.’

‘Yes. This is going to be great!’ Tilly gave Campbell another prod. ‘Are you noting all this down, Campbell?’

Campbell felt as if he were at a tennis match, his eyes shifting from side to side as he tried to follow the ideas bouncing backwards and forwards between them.

He looked at the notebook in front of him. ‘You want me to make a barge?’

‘An ancient Egyptian one. You’re bound to be able to find a picture on the Internet somewhere. Antony was a Roman so you’ll be able to do him OK, and Cleopatra will be easy—give her black hair, big fringe, lots of eyeliner.’

And he was supposed to make all this out of cake?

Campbell listened as Tilly and Cleo carried on sparking ideas off each other, talking at dizzying speed, laughing and egging each other on. ‘We mustn’t forget the asp!’

He couldn’t help comparing this with the business meetings he was used to, where he told people what he wanted done and they did it. The meetings he chaired were much more controlled, much more efficient.

Much less fun.

‘What do you think, Campbell?’ Tilly had been drawing a quick summary in her sketchbook and she twisted it round so that he could see. He leant closer, trying not to notice the summery scent of her hair.

‘Very clever,’ he said. ‘I would have just stuck a couple of figures on top of a cake.’

‘Yes, well, that wouldn’t have won you many votes, would it?’

Campbell straightened. He had forgotten about the competition there for a while. Which was odd, given that winning it was the only reason he was here.

‘They’re bound to be impressed by this, if you can do it,’ said Cleo. ‘It does look a bit complicated, though. Would you rather we came up with a simpler design, Campbell?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ he said, unable to admit that he didn’t have a clue where to start with it, but was determined to succeed at this the way he succeeded with everything else. ‘Tilly promises her clients that they can have whatever cake they want, so if this is what you want, Cleo, this is what I’ll make you.’

‘Wonderful!’ Cleo beamed as she got to her feet. ‘It’s going to be such fun! You will stay for the party after they’ve filmed the cake, won’t you, Campbell? Once they’ve gone, you and Tilly can relax and enjoy yourselves—separately if you want,’

she added, rolling her eyes in such exaggerated resignation at Tilly’s expression that Campbell couldn’t help laughing.

Normally the thought of a wedding made him run in the opposite direction, but Cleo was so friendly that he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Besides, he had to go anyway to deliver the cake. It would be his last evening with Tilly.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’d like to come.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Tilly as she came back from seeing Cleo off. She dropped into a chair with a sigh. ‘I hope Cleo didn’t embarrass you. She certainly embarrassed me! Sometimes I feel like disowning all my friends!’

‘I liked her,’ said Campbell. ‘And she’s obviously very fond of you.’

‘I know.’ Tilly dragged the hair back from her face with both hands. ‘She’s a good friend, but she’s got it into her head that I need a man. And it’s not just Cleo! It’s a conspiracy,’ she complained. ‘Even my brothers are in on it, so be warned. Seb and Harry are both coming home for the weekend and, as neither of them know the meaning of subtlety, you’ll probably find yourself tied up and forced into bed with me!’

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Campbell’s mouth as her regarded her. ‘I can think of worse fates.’

Dark blue eyes flew to meet his for a fleeting moment before she looked away and coloured. ‘You don’t need to be polite,’ she muttered.

‘I’m not. You’re an attractive woman. You must know that,’ he said with a frown as Tilly goggled at him.

She swallowed. ‘It’s not how I think of myself, no,’ she said at last.

‘Why not?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘I don’t understand why you’re so hung up about your weight,’ said Campbell with a touch of exasperation. ‘OK, so you’re not the thinnest woman I’ve ever met, but you look absolutely fine to me. Some women aren’t meant to be thin, and you’re one of them. It’s only women who get worked up about what size they are. Men don’t care.’

‘I notice they all like to go out with thin women, though,’ said Tilly waspishly as she got up and began clearing away the mugs. ‘I bet your ex-wife is slim, isn’t she?’

‘She ought to be. She never ate anything. It was a waste of time taking her out to dinner,’ Campbell remembered.

‘I wish I could be like that!’

‘But then you wouldn’t have had your fantasies about meals to get you up Scottish mountains,’ he pointed out. ‘You wouldn’t be you.’

‘No, I might be slender and elegant and controlled.’

There was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice as she turned and began rinsing the mugs at the sink.

Campbell looked at her back. ‘That sounds very dull,’ he said carefully, forgetting that Tilly’s chaotic quality had once made him uneasy, too. ‘Who on earth would want you to be like that?’

‘Olivier did.’ Tilly was still clattering mugs and wouldn’t turn round. ‘That’s why he broke off our relationship in the end. I couldn’t be the kind of person he wanted me to be. I was too much for him.’

‘Too much what?’

‘Too much everything, I think. I ate too much, laughed too much, talked too much, loved too much …’ Her back was still firmly turned and, even though she was clearly trying to keep her voice light, Campbell could still hear the undercurrent of pain.

‘Surely those are the reasons he would want to be with you in the first place?’

‘I don’t think it was like that for Olivier. Cleo’s theory was that I was a kind of project for him. Perhaps he saw me as some kind of challenge. Maybe he thought it would be interesting to see if he could shape me into something different, someone cool and controlled who would blend with his stylish décor.

‘But of course I never could blend in,’ Tilly went on, setting the mugs on the draining rack and turning at last. ‘Now I feel ashamed for trying to, but I loved him so much, I was desperate to please him. I’d have done anything he wanted, but I just couldn’t be that different. I’m just not like that.’

Her throat was tight with remembered hurt, and she couldn’t bear to meet Campbell’s eyes. She reached for a tea towel instead and wiped her hands very carefully.

‘In the end, I think Olivier found me disgusting,’ she said with difficulty, her gaze on the tea towel. ‘It was awful. The more I tried to please him, the more he withdrew. It was as if he couldn’t bear me near him.’

Campbell heard the crack of pain in her voice and anger closed like a fist around his heart. ‘Who was this guy?’ he demanded furiously.

‘He’s an architect. A very good one. He’s moved to London now. I think Allerby was too provincial for Olivier.’

‘Or maybe he was too affected for Allerby,’ Campbell suggested. ‘What can you expect with a poncey name like Olivier?’ he demanded. ‘I suppose his real name is Oliver and he wanted to make himself more interesting.’

Tilly couldn’t help feeling touched that he was so angry on her behalf, but habit drove her to defend Olivier.

‘His mother’s French,’ she told him. ‘That’s why he’s Olivier and not Oliver. Actually, the name suits him. He’s very dark and good-looking and…oh, glamorous, I suppose,’ she remembered with a sigh. ‘He was always out of my league. He’s not just handsome, he’s clever and witty and artistic and good at everything he does.’