‘What I implied downstairs...’ he paused momentarily ‘...it was uncalled for. I’m sorry.’
Another endless silence passed.
Then she heard him give a long sigh, as if he, too, had been holding his breath too long.
And then she heard the sound of his footsteps as he went further along the passage to his room, and then the soft click of his door closing.
Aiesha squeezed her eyes shut to stop the blinding stinging tears from escaping.
She. Would. Not. Cry.
* * *
When Aiesha looked out of the kitchen window the next morning she saw James clearing the driveway with a shovel. There had been a new fall of snow overnight but the sun was out and shining brightly, giving the wintry scene a sparkling brilliance that was blinding. James looked strong and lean as he loaded each shovel with snow and tossed it aside. He had taken off his coat and worked in his shirt and sweater. Even through the layers of fabric she could see the play of his muscles. He wasn’t the gym-rat type but he still looked good. Damn good. He dug the shovel in the snow again and again, tossing its load to the side in a mechanical fashion, his brow deeply furrowed as if he was mulling over something...her, most probably.
Was he thinking she was a tantrum-throwing child in a woman’s body? Was he thinking she was in need of a psychiatrist’s couch? Was he thinking she was in need of a straitjacket?
She gritted her teeth. Best to get it over with. No point hiding away from him. If he mocked her then she would mock him right on back.
She pulled on her coat and mittens and wrapped a scarf around her neck. The cold air hit her face like the slap of an icy hand across her cheeks. She drew the scarf closer and wandered over to where James was shovelling with such vigour. ‘Looking for my buried stash?’
He stopped shovelling to look at her with a rueful expression. ‘I suppose I deserve that.’ His eyes moved over her face as if searching for something. ‘Are you OK?’
She made her gaze as direct and steely as she could. ‘Never better.’
He gave a slow nod, which she took as an acknowledgement of her decision not to mention her meltdown episode last night. He went back to the task at hand, shovelling the snow. Shoosh. Whoosh. Plop. Spade after spade. Aiesha got the impression he was trying to distract himself from her presence. Did she disgust him? Did she repulse him with her out-of-control behaviour? Was that why he was keeping himself so busy? He didn’t want to be with her. He didn’t desire her now he knew how childish she could be. Fine.
‘The forecast is improving,’ he said without looking her way. ‘We should be out of here by Friday. Maybe even earlier if the snowploughs come this way.’
She folded her arms. ‘We?’
He paused his shovelling to look at her. ‘You’ll have to come with me to Paris. I have a meeting with a client.’
She frowned at him. ‘Hang on a minute. You said you were coming up here for a week and that what’s-her-name was joining you at the weekend. Why the sudden rush off to Paris?’
‘My client wants to go over the plans I’ve drawn up.’
‘Why can’t you email them to him?’
‘He prefers to meet in person,’ he said. ‘He’s old-fashioned that way. Besides, he wants to meet you.’
‘Why on earth would he want to meet me?’
His look was still inscrutable. ‘You’re my fiancée, remember?’ He went back to shovelling. ‘We’ll stay at a boutique hotel in Montmartre. There’s a fund-raising dinner being held there for one of the charities my client is involved in.’
Aiesha swallowed a mouthful of panic. Staying in a hotel. One suite. One bed. All night. What if she had another nightmare? What if she...?
‘I’m not going. I want to stay here. I hate Paris.’ Romantic couples everywhere, walking hand in hand through the city of love. It was enough to make her want to puke.
He leaned on the handle of the shovel, his eyes meeting hers. ‘You’re the one who kicked this charade off. By the way, I did an electronic transfer of the funds into your bank account last night. Think of this as a job. You and I are engaged until such time as I call it off.’
He wanted to call the tune now, did he? Well, she was going to call her own. She planted her hands on her hips, straightened her shoulders and upped her chin. ‘I want my own room.’
He stabbed the spade in the snow again. ‘That would cause way too much speculation.’ He tossed the snow before he gave her a crooked smile. ‘Can’t have everyone tweeting about that, can we?’
Aiesha threw him a caustic glare. ‘I always sleep alone. I hate sharing a bed. I hate being disturbed by someone snoring or groping me when I’m trying to sleep.’