At The Millionaire's Bidding

‘Neither have you.’

As she began to put his goods through, he asked, ‘How long is it since you left Sunnyside?’

‘Over three years.’

‘You must have been glad to get away. God, how I hated that place! So what have you been doing with yourself since?’

‘Working.’

‘Are you shacked up with anyone?’

‘No, I—’

‘I do wish these checkout girls wouldn’t stop to gossip,’ the woman in the queue behind him remarked in a loud voice.

‘And I wish these old biddies wouldn’t be so cantankerous,’ he retorted, equally loudly.

‘I really shouldn’t be talking,’ Eleanor said guiltily.

‘Why not?’ Fishing in his pocket, he added, ‘Surely they don’t own you body and soul?’

‘No, but—’

‘Oh, hell!’ he exclaimed. ‘With coming out in a rush I forgot to pick up my wallet. I’m afraid I can’t take the stuff.’

‘Do you have a credit card?’

‘That’s in my wallet, too.’ He made to hand her the carrier back.

‘Take it. It doesn’t amount to much. I’ll put it in out of my own money.’

‘Sure?’

‘Sure.’

‘Look, what time do you finish?’

‘In about ten minutes.’

‘See you outside.’

He was waiting in the street for her, looking cold and pinched in the chill September wind.

‘The Capuchin is still open if you want a hot—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Damn! no money.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll pay.’

As they walked the short distance to the coffee-bar, she realised that though she was wearing flat heels, they were almost exactly the same height. At one time he had been taller than her, but now he was rather on the short side for a man.

Waiting by the steamy counter, she noticed him eyeing the clingfilmed ham sandwiches and asked, ‘Are you hungry by any chance?’

‘Starving. I was intending to get something when I’d shopped. Didn’t have time to eat earlier.’

When they were seated opposite each other, two packs of sandwiches and two mugs of coffee on the ringed and stained, piglet-pink, plastic-topped table, he asked, ‘So how’s the world been treating you? Tell me everything you’ve been doing since you escaped from Colditz.’

As she told him what little there was to tell, he wolfed his pack of sandwiches, and swallowed his mug of coffee.

Though he was as handsome as ever, he looked thinner than she remembered him, as if he hadn’t been taking care of himself.

All her childhood feeling for him returning in a rush, she pushed her own sandwiches and mug across, and asked, ‘Can you manage these?’

‘Don’t you want them?’

‘To tell you the truth I’m not hungry,’ she lied, ‘and it isn’t that long since I had a coffee.’

‘Why do you work in a hotel as well as the supermarket?’ he asked curiously, as he started into the second pack of sandwiches.

‘I’m saving hard. I’d like to be able to set up a little business of my own.’

‘Wouldn’t we all!’

Something about his reaction made her feel uncomfortable.

As though sensing it, he asked more mildly, ‘How close are you?’

‘Another year at the most and I should be able to start looking for somewhere suitable. I was thinking of a second-hand bookshop, or a maybe a tearoom,’ she explained.

Contempt in his voice, he said, ‘Surely that kind of thing is only for old maids?’

Hiding her hurt, she asked, ‘What about you?’

‘The same kind of dream, only keeping up with tomorrow’s world. When I’ve graduated—and I’d like to get a really good degree—I want to start my own business.’

‘Doing what?’

His dark eyes glowed. ‘Setting up and programming computer systems, with the emphasis on communications.’

‘So you’re at college?’

‘Yes. After two or three years of drifting from job to job, I decided to go for it.’

‘You got a grant?’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to mortgage my future, so I’ve been working evenings and weekends to pay my fees and keep body and soul together.’

‘It can’t be easy.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ he admitted bleakly. ‘Though I’m good at the technical side, and getting excellent class marks, I’m finding it a struggle. There’s never enough time.