If you haven't read them yet, I would seriously recommend first reading Parts I and II which are reasonably easy to find on my profile page. If you haven't read them for a while because I'm the world's slowest updater, everyone does a lot of explaining in this chapter, so you should be OK.
If you really want to understand what's going on, your life also might be easier if you go and read The Dumbest Thing, but no one has that kind of time, so feel free to pretend and say you did.
Part III
Chapter One:
Charlotte Marceline Lestrade Jennings Palmer's absence from Barton Park had been notable largely for the silence left in her wake, the distinct lack of people wearing pearls whilst also wearing wellingtons, and the absence of evenings in with macaroni cheese, a lot of wine, and all the gag reels in her dvd collection. That, and the lack of people who cut to the chase. She shook her head utter confusion, and smacked the bar with her hand, frustratedly.
"What the hell has been going on?"
Four days previously:
It was dark by the time they left the boathouse. Dark and clear and frosty. Cate's breath clouded immediately, but that might have been something to do with the massive sigh of exasperation she uttered as soon as the door was shut.
"I don't believe them."
"It's fine," said Harry, mildly.
"It's really not."
He spread open his hands. "I am unscarred."
"Maybe physically," she said, sitting heavily on the cold porch steps in front of him, "but who knows the toil it will have taken on your psyche? You'll probably be in therapy for years."
He grinned. "I really won't. Not if my family hasn't put me there yet."
She groaned. "But they were awful."
"They care."
"Loudly."
He laughed and hunkered down in front of her. "Catie, sweetheart, if they are so protective of you to grill me like that, I can only imagine that they think you're pretty great, which only goes to affirm everything that I have thought since meeting you."
"But all the stuff about Marc," she groaned. "Brandon practically waterboarded you."
He smoothed her hair back from her face. "I'm pretty sure that waterboarding is considerably worse than your brother just asking several questions."
"With a tone," she said. "Such a tone of...you know...crazy."
He smiled.
"I know," she said. "I'm sounding just as crazy as them."
"Just a tiny bit."
Cate grimaced. "I'm just pretty sure that you're about to notice that I'm totally not worth it."
His gaze roved around her face, and then he kissed her, decisively. "Nonsense," he murmured, and moved to sit next to her. "So what's the deal with Marc?" he asked. "Why does Brandon care so much?"
She yawned, the long day finally catching up with her. "Because he's in love with Mari, who's in love with Marc, who I think loved her back, but has now disappeared on some academic trip to America, and hasn't been heard from for six months."
"Six months?"
"Mmmm."
He pulled her closer, her head ending up comfortably on his shoulder, but he was silent.
"Harry...?"
"You and I should probably draw up some kind of charter on how we discuss our friends, and how much we should...not share about what we know."
His tone was careful, which excited her suspicions far too much. She turned to face him, his arms still close. "What do you know? Is there something about Marc that you're not saying?"
He grimaced. "This is why we need the charter."
"Harry!"
He sighed. "OK," he said, and sighed again. "Can you just...there are things in my life that I can't tell you. That I've promised not to say."
"And that's supposed to make me ask fewer questions?"
He smiled, slightly. "Can you trust me to believe that I'm telling you everything you need to know?"
She frowned. "And no more."
He looked pained. "Catie, I wish I could tell you everything. I'm not doing this deliberately, and I'm not under the impression that it's somehow titillating."
Automatically, she smirked.
He rolled his eyes and kissed her again, evenso. "I don't know what's going on with Marc," he said, "and I don't know how far it is my place to tell you everything I've ever known about him, but there are things that you surely...that anyone could find out, and I don't see..."
"Stuff that I could happen to stumble across."
"Yes."
He looked pained, and she took pity on him. "Harry if you're not comfortable doing this..."
"No," he said softly. "No, I don't think Mari being left in the dark all this time is right, and she should at least be able to know...at least have half a chance of talking to him."
"But he's in America. He said he'd be out of contact, and that he was unable to check his university email."
Harry winced.
"Isn't he?"
"Maybe. Yes, probably."
"So how could she get in contact?"
He took a breath. "Facebook."
"Facebook?"
He said nothing.
"Harry, we looked before. All of us have separately. He's not there."
He grimaced once more. "Yeah, he is. He's just not under his own name."
Cate's jaw went slack. "And that's not suspicious at all."
He looked entirely uncomfortable. "He did it years ago. And not in a gross, stalkerish kind of way," he added. "It was always just between us friends. There's nothing particularly revelatory there, before you scour it for information, and he definitely hasn't announced anything surprising or...I mean, I didn't even know he was in America until he posted a photo of the Grand Canyon."
"OK."
He sighed, and leaned in again. "We definitely need a charter," he murmured. "This is getting far too confusing."
She rested a palm on his face. "Between just Marc and Ed, you known enough to probably bring about world peace."
"And that's just the start of it." He smiled fleetingly, and pulled her closer.
Cate took a breath. "I know I said about expecting you to turn around and walk out the door, but really," she said, carefully, "I trust you. Tell me what I need to know. I'll trust you for the rest."
She realised afterwards that she should have said it earlier: he kissed her as if she had saved his life. It did not, however, satiate her curiosity. No one could possibly be that grateful if he only had a few juicy facts. There and then, Cate realised that Harry Tilney had depths of secrets that even she possibly hadn't imagined.
"Happy Christmas. Here's your bloody present."
Ellis looked up from her work to find the light blocked by first, a massive hamper, and behind it, Brandon Moreland.
"Wait," she said, as he turned to leave, and she riffled through the papers on her desk. "Might you be available to do front of house tonight for the Carols?" she asked, a schedule in hand. "That kind of cheery demeanour is exactly what's right to welcome the kids."
His jaw worked for a moment. "I can't. I'm seeing Beth and Kit tonight for..." He trailed off. "And you weren't serious."
She smiled. "No. Are you OK?"
"Fine."
"Because after your display of...whatever that was yesterday..."
He paused. "I thought we had an agreement," he said, tersely.
"I'm not asking about Mari," she said. "I'm asking what happened to make you treat Harry like you did."
He cleared his throat. His jaw worked some more. Had he been holding a pencil, he probably would have snapped it in two.
"Like the Hulk, Brandon..."
"Mari," he said. "It was Mari, and I was angry, and took it out on Harry." He sat, heavily. "Happy?"
Ellis frowned. "What happened?"
"I told you..."
"But what?"
He rubbed a hand over his face, and blew out a breath like a grampus. "I'm pleased for Cate," he said eventually. "You know I am. I like Harry, and he is clearly nuts about her, and she deserves to meet someone nice, and I've never met anyone nicer than Harry Tilney, despite his brother." He paused, staring at his hands.
"Brandon?"
"I saw her face," he said. "Cate and Harry weren't even being all that...public-display-of-affection-y...not like Jim and Izzy used to be, but even so." He ground to a halt. "I saw her face." His face, in turn, was devastated. "I couldn't bear it, and Harry was there, friends with Marc, and knowing stuff that maybe would help, and I lost it."
"And you treated him like some kind of war criminal."
His expression turned rueful. "Don't think I don't know how badly I behaved. I don't know if she's in today, but if not I'll go and drop in at home tonight on my way to..." He took a breath, running out of steam. "You know."
"Apologise to her, on your knees, and then maybe arrange a time and date to take them out to dinner."
"Or possibly just pay for them to go out to dinner. I don't like him that much."
Ellis smiled. "She's here."
"You've seen her?" He winced. "Is she angry?"
"I think you'll be OK."
He nodded slowly.
"She told me something about Marc," continued Ellis, carefully.
His head snapped up. "She told you about..." He stopped.
"You knew already?"
He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. "Uh, maybe? I don't know. What did she say?"
She frowned. "She came to give me this," she said, and pushed a business card across the desk.
"Harry's business card?"
"Turn it over, genius."
He gave her look, then frowned. "I don't know what I'm looking at."
"Marc's Facebook username."
His eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know he had one."
She shrugged. "No one did. Harry gave it to Cate last night. After your display in the Boat House."
He grimaced.
"Even more of a reason to apologise."
"OK," he said, begrudgingly. "I'll go and find her now."
Just as he reached the door, she snapped up from her paperwork. "Wait! What did you think she had told me?"
He stopped.
"Brandon?"
He leaned wearily against the doorframe.
"Brandon!"
He turned. Looked at her for a moment, shaking his head.
"Do you know something about Marc? Something about and Mari and Marc..."
He looked pained. "It's not for me to tell you..."
"Crap."
He winced. "I really would if I thought it would help at this point, but it's not my business and, I don't know, I might have got it totally wrong."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Have you?"
He sighed, and silently, shook his head.
"And Cate knows?"
"That was a mistake. I was angry about something, and it just came out."
"Why were you angry?"
He let out a long, exasperated breath. "The usual," he said, eventually. "Mari was upset." He shrugged once more. "I just want her to be happy. I mean," he added, "I don't want anyone to be miserable, but she particularly..." He sighed. "You know."
Ellis shook her head. "She has to move on eventually. She has to know that the world doesn't stop turning just because Marc-bloody-Willoughby doesn't call."
He raised an eyebrow. "Have you moved on?"
She eyed him, carefully. "I thought we had an agreement." He snorted. "No," she said. "Have you?"
He smiled, sadly, and shrugged. "See you around," he said, and closed the door behind him.
Ellis stared at the door for a full minute, lost in thought. "What a freaking mess," she breathed. Then went back to work.
Two days later, Charlotte and Tom arrived for Christmas bringing with them more snow, a flurry of conversation, and her Grandmother, once more for the holidays.
"Please tell me you have vodka," she said to Brandon, slumped at the bar of the Boat House three hours after arrival. "Gran has been trying to advise me as to how to get pregnant: a conversation I can never un-hear."
Brandon gave her a rare smile, and began to pour.
"But it's fine," put in Tom, "because it turns out, it's all my fault."
"Naturally," said Ellis, accepting a very large gin and tonic from Brandon.
"So what's been happening?" asked Charlotte. "Between my new job and renovating the house and Tom covering work for his Dad we haven't had a moment to wrangle with the internet people and I'm gasping for some Facebook gossip because it turns out, Mum has been too busy stopping Nancy from killing anyone to pay attention to your lives. So what's going on?"
There was a brief a very pregnant pause.
"Oh!" said Ellis, dutifully filling it. "I guess, I don't know...not much really. The Estate's been good, but very busy. We thought we had got some time over Christmas, but then the snow really gave us an opportunity for work..."
"So we all gave up days out of our paltry Christmas holidays to peddle hot chocolate to the masses," put in James, pouring himself a drink where his brother had assiduously ignored him.
"Hey!" said Charlotte, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "When did you arrive?"
"I've been here a while, sorting out the store room. Good to see you," he said. "How're you doing?"
"Good," said Tom, accepting a drink himself. "The forestry business became Christmas Tree farming this last month which has been mad but kind of fun."
"In a way," said Charlotte drily.
"How about you?" asked Tom. "Where's Izzy?"
"That's right!" exclaimed Charlotte, spinning round. "You're engaged! Congratulations!"
Jim paused. "Yeah," he said. "Right. Not any more."
"WHAT?"
"No," he said, and smiled, nervously.
"What happened?"
He paused again. Ellis raised her eyebrows in question to Brandon, who shrugged, bewildered. "We...uh...realised that we'd be better as friends."
Brandon snorted.
"And then she got on a plane and went to Geneva."
"For a job, or...?" asked Charlotte, frowning in confusion.
"Pre-Christmas skiing holiday."
"She's there now?"
"Yeah. We broke up a week or so ago."
"Jim!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry." She wheeled on Brandon. "Why didn't you stop me! Or at least let me know!
He shrugged, nonchalantly. "It's the most I've heard about it so far."
"What? What have you guys been doing all this time? I thought Mari would have been a far better influence on your chattiness. In fact, where is Mari?"
Ellis winced. "Yeah, about that..."
"Please don't tell me..."
"She hasn't been around all that much recently," said Ellis. "Since Marc left he kind of hasn't really been heard of."
Tom sat down with a groan. "What a..."
"Yeah," said Brandon.
"He upped and left and told her nothing?" asked Charlotte, scandalised.
Ellis waved her now empty drink at Brandon. "No, he went on some academic tour of Northern American architecture, I think. It was all a bit vague, which would have been fine but he hasn't been in contact with her, and she doesn't really know what's going on."
"Could we maybe just go and find him and punch him in the face?" asked Tom. "Brandon?"
"Yes."
"No!" exclaimed Charlotte, who turned back to Ellis. "He hasn't been in contact at all?"
"Nope."
"Hell," she breathed. "Maybe Tom's right..."
Tom smirked, self-satisfied. "Didn't he have a friend, or a friend-of-a-friend, or something? Someone who came to the opening" He turned as the door opened. "Oh, Cate might remember!"
"Remember what? Brandon, have you got the kettle on?" she said, unwrapping her scarf, kissing Charlotte's cheek and sinking into a bar stool.
"The guy who came to the Estate Opening last year. A friend of Marc's, I think. Kind of nerdy. Kind of posh."
"Yeah, Cate," said James, smirking. "You remember who that was?"
Cate flushed, and screwed up her face.
"Ed, something," he said. "You said something about an Ed, didn't you?" he asked his wife, who immediately winced.
"Uh, Tom..."
"You mean Harry?" asked Cate, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. "Harry Tilney?"
Tom, oblivious to the suddenly awkward atmosphere, grinned. "Right. Harry. Weren't you working for him? Nearby us somewhere."
"Northanger."
"Right!" he said again. "Doing his garden." He paused, interrupted by James snorting. "How's that going?"
"I was fired."
"WHAT?" said Charlotte, who had disappeared behind her hands, despairing over her husband's unwitting faux pas. She smacked the bar with her hand. "What the hell has been going on?"
"Oh you know," she said easily. "It's the age-old story: man hires girl because he thinks she's a famous millionaire. Man discovers girl is not a famous millionaire. Man fires girl and throws her out into snow storm."
Charlotte swore.
"Is that what happened?" asked Brandon.
"Do you guys ever talk to each other?"
He shrugged once more. "It only happened this week."
"Plus," added James, smirking, "she's been preoccupied these last few days."
Ellis smacked him on the back of the head.
"Preoccupied with what?" asked Charlotte. "What's going on?"
"Cate's..." began James, with a smug helpfulness, quickly interrupted by Cate, who pushed her scarf in his mouth.
"Harry turned up a couple of days ago," she said. "He found out what happened and came to check I was OK, and we talked, and sorted stuff out..."
"And then he did her garden," said James, picking wool-lint of his tongue.
Ellis smacked him again.
"You're dating him?" asked Charlotte, delightedly. "Cate!"
She flushed a little. "All right," she said. "Keep your pants on."
"Or he'll have them off," added Jim, who then wisely ducked out of the way of Ellis' hand.
"He does know Marc though, right?" asked Tom with impressive singularity. "He came here because of him."
"Right," said Cate.
"And he is friend with an Ed isn't he? I'm not misremembering that..."
"Ferrars," put in Ellis. "Ed Ferrars." She then grimly took another drink from Brandon's hand.
"Right," said Cate again, quickly. "They know each other, but Harry hasn't really heard anything from Marc."
Brandon scoffed. "Nothing besides Facebook."
"Facebook? You've found him?" asked Charlotte as Cate raised her eyebrows at Ellis.
Ellis shrugged. "Harry did. I've given the details to Mari. She can do what she wants."
"What are you expecting?" asked Tom.
Ellis rolled her drink between her palms for a moment. "Realistically?" she asked slowly. "I think she'll torture herself with it."
Charlotte winced. "You think he'll get in touch with her?"
"No," said Brandon, shortly.
"I don't know," replied Ellis, quickly. "Maybe. I just hope that whatever she sends him, he gets back in touch soon. Whatever the response, she needs some kind of answers."
"It's just cruel otherwise," murmured Cate.
"It needs to be short and sharp, like me and Izzy," said Jim. "Clean break is what you need."
Brandon fixed him with a particularly keen expression. "And where are you going tomorrow?"
"Uh...you know...nowhere particular."
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "Where?"
"Well..." He winced. "It's a funny story. Izzy and I had a clean break. Sorted it all out. Walked away. And then she left a message for me last night to tell me what time her flight gets in..."
"Will you watch where you're going?"
After nearly going flying, tripping over what must be the three-hundredth pair of legs to in one day to ladder in front of him, James nearly lost it.
"It's like some damned Brownie ice-breaker in here," he muttered.
"What did you say?"
The girl who owned the legs which were the proverbial straw on the camel's back, met his eyes with hers. Unimpressed. Eyebrows raised. Drawn together.
"I said…" he began, but ran out of steam too fast. He paused in his mission to get as far away from this place as possible, and sighed. "It was nothing."
"No," she said with a firmness that disclosed professionalism. Or the mothering of toddlers. "You said something. Something about damned cookies."
The girl next to her, assiduously reading her kindle, smirked.
"Brownies," he said. "Like Girl Scouts. You have them in America, right?"
"You were talking about Girl Scout cookies?"
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I was talking about the stupid game when you sit in rows facing each other, with your legs out, and then people have to run across them and not, you know, die."
"Why in the hell were you talking about that?"
He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. "I really couldn't say. I'm sorry for nearly kicking you."
"Nearly?"
He paused again, his jaw working. "Sorry," he said again. "I clearly meant grievously injuring you."
"OK then," she said, then looked back to her phone.
He shook his head, then walked away, careful to avoid any more young, hostile Americans with pens behind their ears and fight in their eyes.
She discovered at the very moment that a coffee was handed to her and a hand held out for money, that her wallet had been stolen.
"This country," she breathed out, her fight gone in disbelief. "This stupid, stupid…"
He stepped forward. The guy who tried to kneecap her earlier. "We're not all that bad," he said, easily, handing over the money.
"You!"
"Yeah," he said. "You're welcome." He walked away to a patch of wall as yet unclaimed by exhausted travellers with mounds of luggage. He sat, his cup between his hands, his hands between his knees.
She followed, drawn by rage. "You think I should be grateful? I didn't ask you to do that." She towered over him, gesturing wildly, and slopping coffee on his knees.
"And I didn't ask you to do that." He brushed the now stained, damp patches on his jeans, and she deflated again. She looked around, lost, then realised that the only place to sit and even more importantly, to lean, was right in front of her. Right next to the guy. The kneecapper.
"I'm sorry," she said once she was settled. "It's been a crappy day."
"And just got crappier."
"Don't give yourself that much credit," she said. "You're not that bad."
He smiled a little. "I was talking about your wallet."
She swore, grimaced, then began to mutter as she reached to dig in her bag. "Then I guess I should find my phone so I can cancel my stupid cards out of my stupid wallet, because of this stupid country filled with stupid vagabonds…"
"That damn Oliver Twist."
She opened her mouth, except any retort that she might have had died on her tongue as she pulled out her wallet.
"Huh."
"No," she said. "Typical."
"Yeah," he said. "Those stupid vagabonds not taking your wallet. Stupid England with its non-stealing orphans."
"Shut up," she said, and opened it up. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing," he said. "Consider it vagabond tax."
She grimaced again. "Seriously. I'm not some freaking damsel in distress. How much was the coffee?"
"Seriously," he repeated, "I have no idea. A couple of pounds, maybe? It doesn't matter."
She sighed, got up and cross-examined the somewhat alarmed barista, before buying a packet of syrup waffles, sitting down next to him again, and pushing a handful of loose change into his palm.
"You really didn't have to."
She let out a gusty breath, burst open the waffles, and offered him the packet. "I think I did," she said, "not least because I'm pretty sure if my oldest sister was here, she'd have felt the need to apologise for me about seventeen times. Take one," she added, waggling the waffles.
He smiled, then helped himself.
"So you're going home for the holidays?"
She frowned.
"I'm not going to steal your identity."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes," she said, reluctantly. "Kind of."
"You live here the rest of the time?"
"No. Tennessee."
He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head forward, encouragingly. She ignored him.
"You know, conversation generally flows best when you offer more than just the bare minimum."
"I've given you plenty," she said, settling against the wall more comfortably.
"Plenty of insults and accusations," he said. Then he grinned.
Her mouth twitched. "You want me to bear my soul, but you don't want me to think that you're trying to steal my identity? Or lock me in a room and skin me…"
"Good grief."
She smiled, fleetingly.
"I promise," he said, holding out a hand, "that no matter how many facts of a personal nature that you tell me, I won't lock you in a room and skin you. Or steal your identity. Or anything else considered to be 'immoral and outrageous'."
"That would have been more believable if you hadn't just done air quotes."
He grinned again.
"Fine." She shook his hand. "I live in Tennessee but I was here to see someone, and I am going back to America, but not to my home for Christmas as my parents are visiting my reprehensible younger sister and her husband over the holidays, and I decided that I'd rather put my head in an oven."
He grinned once more. "See," he said. "That wasn't so hard, was it? So where are you going for Christmas, other than the kitchen."
"My older sisters live in Washington. I'm going to go and see them." She sighed, as if exhausted by all the sharing. "What about you?" she asked. "Where were you going?"
He frowned.
"You can ask all the questions but I can't?"
"I was thinking. Keep your pants on."
"You had to think about it?" She tipped her head on one side. "That's not suspicious. Not at all…"
"I was thinking how to explain what is, at best, a strange situation."
"So…?"
"I came to pick up my fiancée…"
She frowned. "That's really not that weird."
"…who I broke up with a week ago, and doesn't appear to have noticed."
Her mouth twitched again. "Might she have noticed better if you hadn't agreed to pick her up from the airport?"
"I assumed she would have made other plans, until I had an answerphone message telling me when and where to pick her up."
"And you came anyway?" Her look was incredulous.
He shrugged. "The weather's hideous. There are snow drifts everywhere, and half these flights are cancelled anyway."
"Tell me about it," she dead-panned.
"There wasn't going to be any public transport down to Devon. I couldn't just leave her stranded."
"That's not normal."
He shrugged again. "It's how she is."
"I was talking about you."
"Just add it to your growing list of my character flaws."
"I haven't got a list," she said. "Not on paper anyway."
He smiled.
"If you tell me that she was also the one to break up with you, I'll punch you in the face."
"If that was the case, then it wouldn't be much incentive for honesty."
She smiled a little.
"No," he said. "I broke up with her."
"Not that she noticed."
"Right."
She opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. Then, "can I ask…"
"She was planning on having an affair."
"Planning? But not…"
"She told me that she thought it'd be a fun idea if this final Christmas before we married, our gift to each other could be a free pass to do whatever we wanted, whoever we wanted to do it with, no questions asked."
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
"And what did you say?"
He looked a little rueful. "I asked if she had anyone particular in mind."
She barked a laugh. "And did she?"
"She laughed."
"Oh, hell…"
"Yes." He rubbed his neck. "Given that I've spent these last few months deliberately not noticing her flirting pretty hard with one particular guy we know…"
She shook her head. "What a…" She swallowed the end of her sentence. "Well," she said. "You know."
"I think I can guess."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "She's from a super dysfunctional family, where if you aren't cheating on one person with another, you're probably not trying hard enough. Maybe that's not fair. I don't know," he said, shrugging again. "At least most people aren't that screwed up."
Her gaze faltered. Her expression froze. "Right," she said slowly, chokingly.
He frowned. "You OK?"
"I…uh…yeah sure, I just…"
"Someone cheated on you."
His revelation dropped like a stone. She flinched. "Yeah," she breathed. "Kind of."
He watched her for a moment, then held up his hands. "You don't have to tell me," he said. "All personal identity theft jokes aside. I won't…"
She sighed and shrugged. "Who gives a damn?" she said, flatly. "It's not like we're ever going to meet again."
He grinned.
"The friend I was here to visit? Wasn't just a friend. But it turns out, he has a wife and kids, so, you know. More fool me."
"What an absolute…"
"Yeah."
"More fool him. Are you OK?"
She shrugged again. "I will be. Feeling pretty stupid now, but yeah. I will be. You?"
He smiled again. "Also feeling pretty stupid. I'm pretty sure…" He took a breath. "I'm pretty sure all my family and friends guessed this was coming."
"How have they been about it?"
"Not one 'I told you so', so…pretty extraordinarily restrained."
"Certainly more restrained than my family would manage in the circumstances."
He smiled a little. "I hope they manage it when they hear your story."
She snorted. "Hell, I'm not telling them anything."
"They won't want to know what happened?"
"Dad's not terribly engaged, my sisters are all away, and my Mom only cares if I can trick a guy into marrying me."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Her words."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
He looked at his hands. "I wouldn't think that you'd need to use trickery."
"And I think we've already established that you're not a very good judge of character."
"Hey!"
"Would you like me to call your ex-fiancée to the stand?"
Then he laughed. "Fine. No." And he turned to her. "But I don't think I'm wrong."
And she smiled a little.
"I've got news."
He woke sharply from a brief doze. "What?"
"News. I've got news."
"Should hope so," he grumbled. "I had time to walk to the far terminal…"
"YOU LEFT MY…" She took a breath. "You left my bags unattended?"
"No. I was…it was whatever. Hyperbulimic."
"Hyperbolic?"
"Right." He stretched. "You have a very piercing voice. Has anyone ever told you that?"
She flashed him a somewhat insincere smile. "Never a one."
"Right…"
"So you've been sleeping while I've been gone," she said, sitting down next to him. "How very productive."
"That, and phoning Izzy."
"Who's Izzy?"
"The ex-fiancée."
"The dysfunctional, crazy ex-fiancée?"
He gave her a look. "I don't have more than one," he said, a little plaintively. "I'm not some Casanova-type."
"I'm pretty sure that's what a Casanova-type would say…"
"You are so…you know?"
Her smile flashed again. "Neither has that been said before. So, the fiancée?"
He took a deep, somewhat exasperated breath. "No," he said finally. "You had news first."
"Well, yeah."
He pulled a face at her. She rolled her eyes at him.
"My flight is back on the board."
"You're leaving the country so soon? What a disappointment," he dead-panned.
"Shut up. What's your news?"
"I didn't say I had any."
The raised her eyebrows, school-marmishly.
He grinned. "Fine. Izzy's not coming. She's going to stay in Geneva at least another week while the snow is so good."
Her jaw dropped. "She's not coming?"
"No."
"And how far did you drive?"
"I don't know. Two hundred miles?"
"I don't believe it."
"You think I'm lying or…"
"I'm incredulous." She waved a hand in front of her face. "This look? Incredulity."
"Oh, OK."
"Seriously. You had a four hundred mile round-trip."
"More like four hundred and fifty by the time I get home again," he mused.
"Seriously? I am at a loss."
"For what? Words? All evidence points to the contrary."
"Shut up. A four hundred and fifty round-trip, totally wasted."
He gave her a look. Then, "I wouldn't say 'totally wasted'."
She frowned. "I…uh…"
He waved a hand in front of her face. "Now that," he said. "That's a loss for words."
And she bit her lip against another smile.
She stood in line. She showed her passport and checked in luggage, and finally, got her boarding pass. Then she turned to find him still there, hands deep in his pockets, his smile, rueful.
"Well," she said. "I guess this is it."
"I guess."
"It's been…I guess…I wouldn't go right to 'pleasure' but…"
He grinned. "Me too."
"Thank you for not stealing my identity. Or skinning me."
"You're welcome. Thank you for the most entertaining snow-bound airport entrapment I've ever experienced."
"How many have you had?"
"This is my thirtieth."
She shook her head. "You're such a big fat liar."
He grinned. "That's not polite. Your older sister would tell you that."
"She…" She faltered. "She would. Did I tell you that?"
"Yeah."
"Your memory is either cute or creepy."
"I was going for creepy."
She smiled, just a little. "OK, then."
"OK."
"Thank you for putting up with me."
He smiled once more. "It was a pleasure."
She wrinkled her nose. "Really?"
He nodded. "Really."
"OK, then."
"Look," he said, determined but uncomfortable. "I know you've had recent bad experiences of two-timing jackasses, and I've still got a fiancée who hasn't realised that she's no longer my fiancée…"
"And who is currently probably eating her weight in Gouda and Toblerones…"
"You've clearly never met her."
She shrugged. "It's what I'd do."
He bit his lip. "Of course."
"Hey!"
"I was trying to say…maybe I could email you sometime?"
She paused. Then she frowned. "What if I don't have email?"
"So you live in a cave?"
"And I'm still not convinced that you're not an identity thieving body-snatcher."
"A cyber body-snatcher?"
"It could be a thing. Sounds like a movie…"
He smiled. "A movie that I would go and see."
"That's not a check in your favour."
"Will you just…" He took a breath, shook his head and grinned. "Fine," he said. "It was nice to meet you…" he said, trailing off.
"You see?" she said, victoriously. "You don't even know my name!"
"Which makes it that much harder to steal your identity."
"You would know…" she said, darkly.
He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. "Fine," he said again. "It was nice to meet you."
"Mary."
"I'm sorry?"
She bit her lip. Then she fished in her pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him.
"Mary Bennet."
He looked down at the card for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Mary Bennet," he repeated, then he looked up. "James. James Moreland."
"Hi, James James Moreland."
He grinned. "Mary Mary Bennet…it was a pleasure."
"The pleasure was decidedly not mine," she said. And she smiled.
Huge thanks to LJ for reading and proofing and cheering, to Jane Austen for being a freaking genius, and the geniuses who invented Toblerones. Because honestly.