‘I take it that optional morning yoga’s still happening?’ Sean asked with a smirk.
‘Yes – you mean optional as in, it’s the law?’
He nodded, amusement glinting in his eyes. ‘I’d say that contravenes acceptable working conditions. It’s blatant cruelty to fashion journalists …’
She chuckled and turned to thank the waitress as she poured their wine. ‘But let’s not talk about all that stuff tonight,’ she added.
‘Okay,’ Sean conceded. ‘But you do know everything’s going to be okay, don’t you?’
She didn’t know, and, frankly, she was worried – but nothing would be gained from dwelling upon it now. ‘Yes, of course I do,’ she replied.
Their talk turned to fashion-industry gossip, and by the time their plates were set down, the crisp white wine – and simply being with the man she loved – had helped to convince Roxanne that, somehow, everything would work out fine. While Sean tucked into a retro chicken parmigiana, she had chosen a comforting spaghetti carbonara with lashings of cream. Hell, why not? Her many years of unrelenting dieting were behind her now. At her age, when she could no longer drop a few pounds by existing on black coffee and cereal for a couple of days, it was simply too misery-making to be perpetually ravenous. While she still tried to be ‘good’ – witness the purchase of kale – she now refused to deny herself the occasional bowlful of silken pasta or steamy, salty chips.
‘That was amazing,’ Sean enthused when they had finally finished. Roxanne smiled and studied his face. He was ageless, really, in the way that men blessed with striking bone structure often were; his hair showed no sign of thinning, and his green eyes had lost none of their sparkle. She had seen photos of him from when he was much younger and, if anything, he was even better-looking now. How she longed for more time together, rather than just their nights dotted throughout the week. She had an urge to go away with him – to escape from their hectic London lives, just for a week or two, and be able to focus fully on each other. So far, they had yet to manage a holiday or even a weekend away together. Whenever she had mooted the possibility, Sean had proved impossible to pin down regarding possible destinations and dates. Of course, she understood why. He was incredibly in demand, and travelled constantly for work; even Britt complained that she had to beg him to take the odd break occasionally. However, Roxanne was finding it harder to ignore the persistent voice in her head which reminded her that going away on romantic little trips was something ‘normal’ couples did. Surely he could make the time for a night or two away with her, for goodness’ sake?
‘You don’t fancy a weekend up at my sister’s, do you?’ she ventured as they were handed dessert menus.
‘Uh, what for?’ he asked.
‘Remember I mentioned it? She’s having a party at her bookshop …’
‘Oh, yeah – what’s that all about again?’
‘Remember I told you she’d spent her share of her inheritance from Mum on buying the dilapidated shop next door, so she can expand her empire?’ She beamed at him hopefully.
‘Er, yeah,’ Sean said vaguely, clearly not remembering at all. To him, Yorkshire was just part of that mysterious territory called ‘The North’ – supposedly cold and uninviting, inhospitable to human life. Many of her colleagues were of the same opinion. Roxanne found it amusing and quite baffling, this fear of venturing further than a couple of hours’ drive up the M1.
‘Well, she’s had the two places knocked into one,’ she continued, ‘and she’s having a party to celebrate the opening of the new, double-sized bookshop.’ She paused. She had mentioned this too – several times. ‘So, d’you fancy coming up with me?’
He frowned. ‘What, to your sister’s? C’mon, Rox – you don’t need me there.’
Frustration bubbled inside her now, but she tried to keep her tone light. It was his birthday, after all, and the last thing she wanted was a tetchy exchange. ‘I don’t need you there, but I’d like you to be. Why is that so weird to you?’
‘Oh, baby, it’s not weird.’ He touched her hand across the table.
She forced a smile, trying to ignore the slight prickling sensation behind her eyes. ‘So, why are you so reluctant to come to Yorkshire with me?’
‘Because there’s nothing there?’ His crooked grin indicated that he was teasing.
‘How can you say that?’
‘Honey, I’m joking …’
‘Don’t you want to see where I grew up?’ She paused to sip her wine. ‘Aren’t you curious?’
‘Rox, darling.’ He squeezed her hand tightly. ‘You told me you couldn’t wait to get away – that once you’d been offered your first London job you made a little chart to stick on the inside of your wardrobe, where you’d cross off the days …’
‘Okay,’ she conceded, ‘but it still has charm – it’s beautiful, actually – and I’d love you to meet Della and see her shop. She’s put her heart and soul into it …’
‘I know, it sounds amazing …’
‘Shall we go, then?’
‘Uh, sure, babe. We can go sometime. Just leave it with me, okay?’
But it’s my sister’s party! she wanted to add, trying to shrug off her irritation. None of her previous boyfriends had deigned to meet her family, even though she had tried to lure them north – so why was she feeling miffed that Sean was clearly un-thrilled at the prospect of a party in a cookbook shop? The only trouble with seeing a lovely, properly grown-up man, she realised, was that you started to hope for more commitment, whereas, with your Ned Tallows, you expected nothing.
She finished her wine as Sean studied the menu. ‘Mmmm,’ he murmured approvingly. ‘Haven’t seen these kind of desserts for years. D’you reckon they come on a trolley? Tiramisu, trifle, brandy snaps with whipped cream …’
Roxanne let her own menu drop. ‘Brandy snaps?’
‘What’s wrong?’ He frowned at her.
‘Oh my God, Sean. I’m so sorry …’ She scrambled up from her seat and glanced around in panic for the waitress. ‘I was making some for your birthday. Oh hell, I can’t believe what I’ve done!’
‘You were making brandy snaps, for me?’ He couldn’t have looked more astounded if she’d announced she had bought him a camel. ‘You mean you’ve actually been … baking?’
‘Yes,’ she barked, loudly enough for the couple at the next table to spin around, alarmed, ‘and they’re still in the oven. I’m sorry, darling, but we have to leave right now.’
‘Excuse me?’ Roxanne waved to attract the waitress’s attention. ‘Can I have our bill please? We’re in a terrible hurry …’
The woman nodded, signalling that she’d be over in a minute. She was carrying two cream-laden desserts and chatting jovially as she placed them on the customers’ table.
Tension seemed to clamp itself around Roxanne’s ribcage. Sean was murmuring something – telling her not to panic – but she wasn’t really listening. The restaurant, which until a few moments ago had seemed so charming and intimate, now appeared to be criminally understaffed. For goodness’ sake, the