‘Mm, let’s go for a walk. Let’s go to Primrose Hill.’
‘It’s freezing.’
‘You’re a big baby, Gregory Ryans. We’re wrapped up.’
He leans his head back against the headrest with a sigh, then looks at me. ‘One condition. We don’t talk about the case or anything to do with it. Just us for the rest of the day.’
I open my mouth to speak then press my lips shut again.
‘What?’
‘I just… You mentioned your father’s history like it’s on record. Do you mean… was he arrested for… for what he did to Lara?’
His eyes noticeably flick away then back to me before he speaks. ‘He has a record. Now, can we stop or am I going to have to take you home and spank that pert little arse of yours?’
I gasp, then follow it up with a laugh. ‘So if I don’t talk about Saturday, we get to go to Primrose Hill. If Idotalk about Saturday,I get a spanking? Hmm, I’d like to talk about Saturday, please.’
He shakes his head with a laugh and pulls out into the road too quickly. A full afternoon of relaxed Gregory. I’m giddy with excitement.
He turns into a street near Primrose Hill Road and parks up. He lifts the collar on his coat and buttons it up to his neck.
‘Miss Heath,’ he says, offering me a hand to step out of the car. Two scrutinising eyes fall to my high heels. ‘Didn’t think this through, baby, did you? Looks like we’ll have to take you home for a spanking.’
I actually belly chuckle and it feels amazing. When I’m sufficiently composed, I pull two blue dolly shoes from my handbag and hold them up, my opposite hand resting on my hip. ‘A true London girlalwayscarries her flats.’
He holds me up with an arm under my shoulder whilst I switch my shoes and throw my heels back into the car. I mirror him in pulling up my collar and fastening the gold buckle at the neck.
We walk up Primrose Hill Road hand in hand, passing a row of white townhouses and local shops with a quaint, homey, village feel. Gregory Ryans and Scarlett Heath do normal. Maybe old Scarlett and new Scarlett don’t have to be worlds apart.
‘Mm, smell that.’ Freshly baked French sticks fill wicker baskets on a table outside a small Parisian café, a red canopy blowing in the breeze above them in case of rain. ‘I love the smell of fresh bread.’
‘If we survive the cold to the top of the hill and back, we can come here. Frost bite or no frost bite, I won’t keep my lady from her fresh bread.’
I nudge into his side as he blows his fingertips for effect and hunches his shoulders.
At the bottom of the hill, a brilliant-white Scottie dog comes running towards us and jumps up at Gregory’s leg. I expect him to bat it away but instead, he bends and fusses the dog.
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. She gets excited and I’m not quick enough to catch her.’ The Scottie’s owner is a petite, elderly lady whose mink coat is drowning her body.
‘It’s not a problem at all,’ Gregory says, giving his Most Charming Man impression. ‘How old is she?’
The owner is next to us now, beaming back at Gregory. ‘Older than she thinks. Like me.’
She’s not flirting?
‘You’re only as old as you feel, wouldn’t you agree?’ He stops fussing the dog and stands.
‘Hey, you got a saying right!’
Now I’m smiling. Gregory winks at me and it’s hard to know who’s swooning more, me or the little old dear.
‘We’ll let you both get on,’ Gregory says with another dashingly handsome smile. ‘Have a good day.’
‘And you.’ She turns to me and drops her gloved hand to my arm. ‘You hang onto him, young lady.’ She leans into me as far as she can and I lean down until her mouth is next to my ear. ‘He’s a hottie.’
I laugh, for the second time a total belly chuckle, and wave as the little old dear and her Scottie move on.
‘What was that about?’ Gregory asks as I slip my arm through his.
