As it turned out, Seb and Harry were both still in bed nursing hangovers when Campbell arrived on Sunday. Having practised exactly what she would say if the opportunity arose, Tilly promptly forgot every word when she opened the door. The sight of him was like a fist thumping into her stomach, driving the breath from her lungs and leaving her reeling with a strange mixture of shock and delight.
Somehow she’d expected him to have changed since that kiss, but he looked exactly the same as always: cool, contained, faintly austere. It was hard to believe that only thirty-six hours ago he had held her hard against him and kissed her, that the stern mouth had been warm and sure and exciting on hers.
Campbell’s expression gave nothing away. The pale, piercing eyes were guarded, Tilly thought, and her entrails churned. It was all very well deciding to be cool and upfront, but it all seemed a lot harder when you were faced with six feet of solid, detached male.
Flustered, she led the way to the kitchen and explained about Seb and Harry in far too much detail.
‘They should be down any minute now. Would you like a coffee while we’re waiting?’
‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’
He might be fine, but she needed something to do to distract herself from the memory of that kiss that reverberated in the air between them. Tilly busied herself checking the meat, and tried to ignore the silence yawning around them.
This was ridiculous, she told herself, exasperated. She was being pathetic. It was just Campbell, for heaven’s sake. She had been able to talk to him perfectly easily before, so she should be able to now. Taking off the oven gloves, she turned from the oven with a deep breath.
‘About Friday night,’ she began, exactly as she had planned. She even sounded calm, which was quite something given that her nerves were jumping and jittering and jangling in a way that that made it hard to think, let alone string a coherent sentence together.
She didn’t get a chance to say any more. Campbell held up a hand to stop her.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to say any more.’
‘Er…I don’t?’
‘I need to apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘I was out of order on Friday night. I didn’t mean to kiss you, I was just…I wasn’t thinking,’ he confessed. ‘All I can say is that I’m sorry, and that it won’t happen again. I’ll keep my hands to myself in the future.’
Ah.
How was she supposed to respond to that? Tilly wondered. Clearly Campbell regretted the kiss and had no intention of repeating it, so she could hardly force herself upon him now. Her heart twisted at the realisation, but the only thing to do was put a good face on it.
At least it wouldn’t be difficult. She had years of experience of being ‘good old Tilly’ who could be relied upon to dispel any potential awkwardness with a smiling face.
‘It must have been that wine,’ she said lightly. ‘I don’t think either of us was thinking clearly on Friday evening. That’ll teach you to leave the choice up to the wine waiter!’
There was no mistaking the relief in Campbell’s expression. He had obviously been dreading a scene, or that she might do exactly what she had been planning to do and throw herself at him.
‘It’s good of you to take it like that,’ he said. ‘I’d be sorry if I had spoiled things between us.’
‘There’s no question of that,’ said Tilly, keeping her bright smile firmly in place.
‘I was afraid I might have jeopardised our chances on the programme.’
Of course, the programme. Tilly had almost forgotten about that. It was telling that Campbell hadn’t. He might be momentarily distracted by a kiss, but he would never lose sight of his ultimate goal.
‘The only thing that will really jeopardise them is if you can’t make Cleo’s cake,’ she told him and he grimaced.
‘I know. It’s harder than I expected,’ he admitted.
Convincing herself that it was all for the best was harder than Tilly had expected, too. No matter how fiercely she reminded herself that he was leaving soon, or that he was still hung up on his ex-wife, disappointment still twisted painfully inside her. She made herself remember how much it had hurt when Olivier had gone, of how much better off on her own she would be in the long run, but none of it helped.
There was nothing to be done but keep the smile on her face, but it was feeling fixed by the time first Seb and then Harry appeared, yawning and rubbing their rumpled hair. In spite of their hangovers, they brightened considerably at Tilly’s suggestion that they take Campbell to the pub while she finished getting lunch ready.
Campbell was all set to demur. ‘We can’t leave you alone to do all the work,’ he protested.
‘Honestly, it’s better if we do,’ Seb confided, and Harry nodded vigorous agreement. ‘She’ll just get ratty if we hang around.’
‘We could help,’ Campbell suggested, but they only looked at him as if he had sprouted a second head.
Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘Their idea of “helping” was to send me off for a weekend in the Highlands and look where that got me! No, you go,’ she told him. ‘Seb’s right, you’ll all just get in the way. There’s not much more to do, in any case.’
She was desperate to get rid of them and have a few minutes to herself so that she could stop putting on a front.
Seeing that she was serious, Campbell let himself be persuaded, and the three men walked down to the local pub together. Tilly’s brothers were very young but engaging company, and they were obviously very fond of their sister.
Over a beer, they told him all about Olivier. ‘What a tosser!’ said Harry dismissively. ‘I’m glad Tilly isn’t with him any more, but she was really cut up about him. She deserves better.’
Seb nodded. ‘I mean, we give her a hard time, of course, but she’s done everything for us. She stayed in Allerby and worked so that we could have a home and now we’ve gone we think it’s time she got out and had a life for herself. That’s why we put her up for this television thing. We thought it would be good for her. Left to herself, she’d just stay stuck in her kitchen and the truth is we don’t like to think of her being on her own.’
‘No,’ his twin chimed in. ‘Tilly needs someone to love, and she’s not going to find anyone if she doesn’t go out and look. The trouble is, she’s got lousy taste. Knowing her, she’ll just end up with another loser like Olivier!’
That made Campbell feel even worse about kissing her the other night. He had acted purely on instinct, and he had been taken aback by how sweet she had tasted, how good it had felt to hold her in his arms—how right it had seemed.
It had been a huge effort to make himself stop but, if he hadn’t, there was only one way it could have ended. Rather late in the day, Campbell had remembered how honest Tilly had been about not wanting to get involved. She had been badly hurt, he had known that, and she deserved better than a Friday night fumble.
He should have had more control, Campbell blamed himself austerely. He didn’t like to think about how thoughtless he had been. It wasn’t like him to lose sight of what was what. Perhaps Tilly was right, and the wine was to blame?
Whatever the reason, he had felt stupidly nervous about seeing her again today. He’d been afraid that she would have been embarrassed about the kiss, and awkward about telling him that she didn’t want a repetition—as she clearly didn’t. At least he had got in first with his apology to save her having to find the words. It had seemed the least he could do.
It was all sorted, anyway. He had taken evasive measures, a potentially difficult situation had been resolved, and all he had to do now was make that