‘Mmm,’ muttered Ross, shaking his head slightly as if trying to dislodge an unwelcome thought. ‘I need to go and do some work. Don’t worry about dinner for me; I’ll eat later.’
She watched as he climbed the stairs without a backward glance. She wondered what had changed between them.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Where’s Ross?’ asked Jim, tucking into a slice of freshly made coffee and walnut cake. ‘He won’t want to miss this. It’s his favourite. You’ve got a great hand with a sponge, Izzy.’
Jeanette’s shoulders lifted shaking with her perennial giggles. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘There’s only one girl for me,’ he said, snagging her wrist and pulling her onto his lap.
‘Pack it in, the pair of yous,’ grumbled Duncan. ‘It’s enough to make my porridge curdle in my belly.’
The couple grinned at him, and Jim placed a quick kiss on his young wife’s lips to wind Duncan up even more. Duncan groaned and picked up his tea. ‘Where’s the lad?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t laid eyes on him since Tuesday evening when we did the trees.’
‘I think he’s working,’ said Izzy. ‘I’ll take him some coffee and cake in a minute.’ She hadn’t seen Ross either for the last two days, but she assumed that was the way with writers and that he was consumed by inspiration.
When the others had disappeared back to work, she loaded up a tray with a thermos of black coffee, a jug of milk and a large slab of cake and ignored the shiver of unease that danced down her spine. She’d relived that kiss in the forest a dozen times. Had he decided it was a mistake or something?
Steeling herself and ignoring the flutter of anticipation at seeing him again, she lifted a hand and rapped on his door. Silence. She waited. Still no response. Izzy caught her lip between her teeth. If he was in full flow, she didn’t want to disturb him. Perhaps if she slipped in and discreetly popped the tray on his desk?
Knocking again, she called softly, ‘Ross. I’ve brought you some coffee.’
Was that a sound? A muttered expletive? She strained to hear, now a complete mess of indecision. What if he didn’t want to be disturbed? What if he were ill? He might be asleep.
But she was just being kind bringing him coffee and cake. She straightened her back, knocked again and turned the door knob, immediately hit with a slap of déjà vu.
Ross was at his desk wearing earphones. She swallowed now in a complete dilemma, not wanting to make him jump but she was here now.
‘Er, hello,’ she said, raising her voice.
He turned round. Several expressions flitted across his face, including surprise and irritation, before he narrowed his eyes in careful assessment, as if he were making some important decision.
‘McBride.’ He nodded. ‘Can I help?’
Stung by the dispassion in his voice, she took a second to find her voice.
‘I brought you cake and coffee. I thought you might like them.’
The sudden chagrin in his eyes appeased her a little but despite it she knew something had changed. It was as if a light had gone out or a wall had gone up.
‘That’s very kind of you, thanks. Sorry, I’m up against it. My editor sent through some changes. Big changes. Structural. Things that need a lot of unpicking. Do you want to leave it here?’ He cleared a space on his desk and turned back to his computer, his fingers tapping at the keys with a sure touch, his eyes rigidly focused on the screen.
It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to her.
She was being dismissed and it hurt.
She dropped the tray with a clatter, irritated that he’d got to her.
‘You’re welcome,’ she said with all the warmth of a robot. Then she turned and marched out, slamming the door behind. It felt good. Childish but good.
Bloody man.
After lunch, she took Jeanette with her to Fort William.
‘It’s Christmas!’ yelled Jeanette, doing a fair impersonation of Noddy Holder as she turned up the radio when Slade’s ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’came on and proceeded to sing along, word perfect. Izzy joined in, determined to revive her own spirits. She refused to brood over Ross’s behaviour, there was too much to do. At the supermarket they did the final big shop for food, battling their way through the vegetable aisles, which were brimming with bags of sprouts, piles of potatoes, carrots and parsnips, and shelf upon shelf of tins of chocolates, chocolate reindeer and Santas, before hitting the wine section.
Izzy looked blankly at the shelves, intimidated by the rows of bottles and then at Jeanette. ‘The Carter-Joneses are going to want the good stuff.’
