‘Ouch.’ Kit was belly-laughing now, every inch of his gym-honed, tight T-shirted chest shaking. ‘Damned with faint praise.’
‘Listen, Kit,’ Amy said, giggling too but doing her best to sound indignant. ‘We don’t all want to be embroiled in the kind of sexual mega-drama you seem to find each time you swipe right. You know I’m not a swooner. I like an intelligent man with clean fingernails who can hold a decent conversation and– if we’re being ambitious– knows how to cook a carbonara. Being in amorous thrall to anyone is just … not my style.’
‘Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still struggle to believe you mean that,’ Kit said. ‘Surely atsomepoint you’ve had a knee-trembler: a crush so powerful you thought it might stop you breathing, or a kiss so gorgeous you look back and wonder how you didn’t spontaneously combust?’
Amy narrowed her eyes at him, allowing her expression to tell the lie she didn’t want to put into words.
‘Tragic,’ Kit said, shaking his head. ‘Truly tragic.’
Amy laughed again and punched his stupidly solid arm. ‘Bearing in mind that you brought me out tonight to celebrate my birthday, this amount of teasing seems excessive– even for you,’ she said.
‘I am who I am,’ Kit simpered, his eyes bright with mischief. ‘But you’re right, I’ll stop laughing at your lust-free life for now– you only turn thirty-one once. Shall we have a final round? I think they’re about to call last orders.’
‘I thought this’– Amy pointed at her empty glass– ‘was one for the road? But yes, I think Idoneed another overpriced cocktail now you’ve reminded me how old I’m going to be tomorrow.’
As Kit bolted for the bar, Amy felt her phone buzz inside her handbag. Hugh, probably. She decided not to reply for now: it would only spark a back-and-forth she didn’t want to get into, although the thought of dealing with him later sent a prickle of unease down her spine.
‘French 75s,’ Kit said as he reappeared. ‘Had to be done.’
He handed Amy a flute full of fizz, then kissed her on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday to my beautiful, clever, hopelesslyunromantic BFF,’ he said, lifting his glass in salute.
‘To Amy Perry. May the year ahead be your very best yet.’
Chapter 2
The following morning, Amy was sat in the passenger seat of Hugh’s shiny silver Audi, saying nothing and trying not to chew her gel-polished fingernails. She felt vaguely queasy, partly thanks to the varied mix of drinks she’d put away last night and partly as a result of her nervousness. She still had no idea where they were going, or what awaited them when they got there.
When she realised they were leaving London, she’d felt a fleeting hope that they might be on the way to a fancy boutique hotel– maybe even one with a spa … However, that idea had evaporated within seconds. As far as Amy was aware they had no luggage with them, and Hugh wasn’t the spontaneous, ‘let’s just go in the clothes we’re stood up in’ type.
‘I’m taking you for an afternoon out in the countryside, Amy, not to prison,’ Hugh said, side-eyeing her as they exited the M25. He wore a wry smile but his gaze was cool. The atmosphere inside the car was tense and brittle, and Amy could tell he was annoyed by her uneasiness. Nor had he fully forgiven her for coming back to his flat last night tipsy and two hours later than planned.
Amy smoothed down her charcoal wool sweater and stared out of the window as greyness gradually gave way to green. The car travelled on, ranging up and down roads that, as they got further from the motorway, became narrow lanes, then muddy tracks lined with trees. She frowned, beginning to fear for her footwear. The Grenson boots she was wearing had cost way more than she could really afford– a sum that hadn’t even made it onto her latest Visa statement yet. Ruining the beautiful pale suede would be nothing short of a disaster.
‘We’re here,’ Hugh said, slowing and stopping the Audi alongside a worn wooden stile. Amy’s heart sank, landing somewhere in the region of her soon-to-be-trashed boots. Why hadn’t she brought wellies? Why didn’t sheownwellies?
‘We’re … where?’ Amy asked, desperately trying to sound enthusiastic. She was now almost certain she was going to hate whatever Hugh had in store for her this afternoon, but she didn’t wanthimto know that. He was trying to do a nice thing for her birthday, however cack-handedly– and hurting his feelings would only make her feel worse.
‘At our destination,’ Hugh grinned, getting out of the car and striding around it to open the passenger door. He was starting to enjoy her confusion, which was a tad grating. Amy decided to look cheerful, despite the muted sense of panic that had taken up residence inside her ribcage.
‘So … you’ve brought me to a field for my birthday …?’ she said, painting on a whimsical smile designed to project anticipation. She hoped that the sunnier she seemed, the quicker Hugh would explain what the bloody hell was happening.
‘It’s not just any field,’ Hugh said, pulling Amy to her feet and smiling expansively. She widened her own grin in response, hoping the expression didn’t look as phoney and manic as it felt.
Hugh made it up and over the stile in a single fluid movement. It was set in a wall of low, leafy hedges that denoted the end of one person’s land and the start of another’s. For a split second it made Amy think of the Ainsworths and Rowton Hall: the careful demarcation Sam’s father had always maintained between his land and the common ground beyond.
‘Come on,’ Hugh beckoned. Excited and impatient, he extended a hand to Amy again, offering to help her climb across.
Amy’s mouth had fallen open and she was already looking past him. Even at five foot three, she could easily see over the hedge line to the expanse of grass behind it. She was staring at a huge, rainbow-striped swell of fabric as it swayed in the breeze. It was gossamer-light, bright as a flame and undulating like a snake about to strike. There was a large basket anchoring it to the ground.
‘Are you serious?!’ The words bubbled up and out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Something like anger briefly shadowed Hugh’s face. Amy cursed herself, swallowed, then tried again. ‘I mean, er … Is that …? Are we …?’
‘Yes,’ Hugh said firmly. ‘I thought a balloon ride would be great fun.’
His eyes had widened, and Amy couldn’t work out whether he was pleading with her to go along with this or daring her to disagree with him. For a moment she felt irked that someone who purported to know her could possibly think she’d consider thisfun. She wasn’t good with heights and she’d never enjoyed flying; in fact, Hugh had complained that she’d gripped his hand so hard she left bruises during take-off on a trip to Rome a couple of months ago.
The fear of being a thousand feet up in the air inthatthing– oscillating with every slight shiver of wind– was already sitting like lead in her stomach. She felt nauseous, a little embarrassed and, in some corner of herself that she was working hard to keep contained, utterly terrified.
