‘I’ve changed my mind. There’s something I need to do before I leave. I’ll arrange my return flight another day.’
‘Is it a man?’ the woman asked a little too directly.
Miranda frowned, baffled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone with dark hair and a well-cut suit?’ Her eyes went pastMiranda to the concourse. ‘Because if that’s him, he’s hurrying through the terminal searching for someone, and it appears he’s just seen you.’
Incredulous, she turned around, and there, standing in the middle of the hall, was Sinclair, breathing hard as he glared at her.
Then he strode forward.
Uncertain what his arrival meant, Miranda began walking towards him, breaking into a run as she saw the look on his face, but as she drew close, she stopped.
‘Sinclair, what are you doing here?’
‘Betty told me where you’d gone.’ He glanced beyond her to the desk, then to the floor. ‘When you didn’t come back to the office, I went to your house. I wanted to ask you not to write any more articles.’
Her heart sank. For one moment, she thought he’d come there to get her back, to ask her to stay. She turned her head, tears pricking her eyes.
‘I’m begging you to reconsider, Miranda, to think of how damaging this will be.’
She drew away, unsure. ‘But you’ll tell the minister, get me fired.’ She wiped her cheeks, not caring how childish it appeared.
‘Don’t you know me yet? I’d never do that, regardless of what you did. I thought I knew you, too, that you wouldn’t hurt your friends.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The Miranda I’ve started to know isn’t like that. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I love your spirit, your humour and your determination. But you’re using it in the wrong way, putting yourself down by writing cheap articles when you could be doing so much more. And what about your friends and Betty? You love them too much to end your time in London like this.’
A flash of horror went through her as she acknowledged how much she hated leaving them this way – how she was running away. Instead of the clever adult who was too smart to let everyday emotions get the better of her, she was a silly child, not taking responsibility for how she hurt other people. ‘I didn’t want to leave, but you were so angry with me, so disappointed, and what with the fallout that I knew was coming, I just wanted to escape, pretend that none of it mattered.’
‘I don’t want you to think of me like that.’ He took her hand, hiseyes suddenly urgent and intense. ‘I want you to remember me as the man who was in love with you – a man you might have loved back.’
And with that, she fell into his arms, their lips connecting as he pulled her close. In that moment, it didn’t matter what had happened, nor what would. This was the togetherness she longed for. How could she have denied herself this one thing she wanted above all else?
It was the airline woman who broke them apart, beckoning her to go back to the desk. ‘Excuse me, madam.’
Sinclair frowned. ‘Do you have to go?’
‘No, no,’ Miranda murmured, turning back to the woman to find out what she wanted.
But all the woman did was hold up her suitcase. ‘You left this at the desk,’ she said, handing it across with a grin. ‘I bet you’re happy you decided not to get the flight now, aren’t you?’
Sinclair’s eyes widened. ‘You’re staying?’
‘I didn’t want to leave without seeing you again,’ Miranda began, but then she felt a lump in her throat. ‘I thought you would never speak to me again.’
‘It’s true, I was angry and upset, but then, after you left, I sat there asking myself, “Is that it? Are you just going to give up, let her go halfway around the world to get away from you?”’ He opened his hands. ‘I needed to see you again, to persuade you not to write the articles, to stay here in London.’ He paused, looking at her solemnly, and asked, ‘You will stay, won’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll have to tell Caroline and the others, which won’t be easy, and I have no idea what I’ll say to O’Hara. He’s expecting a series of longer articles after the coronation.’
‘Since you’re so clever, you must be able to come up with something different from the usual exposés and royal secrets.’
After heaving a large sigh, she murmured, ‘You could be right.’ And she thought of the pieces she’d always wanted to write, those showing the other face of society, how the women could contribute so much more if they were given the chance.
Sinclair picked up her suitcase and led her to the doors, out into the warm afternoon air. There, he hailed a taxi to take them to the station,and before long they stood on the platform, kissing and talking, until the train for central London arrived.
And as he lightly took her hand in his, the sunshine around them, she couldn’t help feeling as if she were shedding her old, resilient skin, facing a softer, more fragile life ahead.
‘When I first saw you,’ he said, running his thumb along her knuckles, ‘I thought you were the most stunning woman I’d ever seen.’ He grinned. ‘But then you started talking, and I realized how clever you were, how funny, and I didn’t know what to do. You see, I needed to get this coronation job done, get the posting to Rome, and get out of London – no hassle, no complications, and definitely no Americans demanding my attention. But you were complication personified, from your nonstop demands to find maps, go to meetings, questioning the stuffy advisors, even the meaning of the monarchy. You did things differently, came from a different angle, and it was annoying, confusing, and utterly enticing.’
‘And I couldn’t resist your poise. You’re so very artful with what you give away.’
