Husband For Real. CATHERINE GEORGE
track in the morning, then.’
Rose smiled non-committally as she stamped her feet into her damp track shoes. ‘Thanks again for my breakfast,’ she said, when he opened the front door. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, James,’ he corrected.
‘Everyone else calls you Sinclair,’ she pointed out, careful to pronounce it as he did.
‘Exactly.’
Rose smiled uncertainly. ‘Goodbye, then—James.’
‘See you in the morning. Don’t hang about on the way back, and straight in the shower when you get there.’
She saluted smartly, gave him a cheeky grin, then took her bag from him and went off down the path at speed, turning to wave at him as he stood at the open door.
When she arrived at the flat, sodden, out of breath, and utterly triumphant, she dumped the dripping slicker in the bathroom, then went to join Con and Fabia.
‘Where on earth have you been until now?’ demanded Con.
Fabia eyed Rose’s glowing face with suspicion. ‘You can’t have been racing round that track all this time!’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Rose began stuffing her shoes with kitchen paper to dry them out. ‘There was so much surface water James said it was unsafe to run so he took me back to his digs for breakfast.’ She looked up, laughing at the identical look on both faces.
‘At his digs?’ said Con faintly. ‘Like in his room?’
Rose nodded gleefully. ‘His landlady was away for the weekend, and he’s the only lodger. We had the house to ourselves.’
Fabia blew out her cheeks and sat down abruptly. ‘You’ve cracked it, then!’
‘Hold on. I haven’t achieved that much,’ warned Rose. ‘James isn’t in love with me—’
‘Not yet,’ put in Con, eyes gleaming, ‘but he’s interested enough to ask you back to his place for breakfast.’
‘For which I was truly thankful,’ said Rose piously. ‘I think my efforts on the track entitled me to a couple of bacon sandwiches at the very least.’
‘Did you have to make them?’
‘No. James,’ she said with emphasis, ‘made them with his own fair hands.’
‘Did he ask you to call him that?’ demanded Con, impressed.
‘Yes. Sinclair to everyone else; James to me.’
‘So what happens next?’ said Fabia eagerly. ‘Has he asked you for a proper date?’
Rose’s face fell. ‘No. Though heaven knows I hinted enough—told him about the film we saw, and the one showing this week. He may like foreign films, but he’s not taking me to see one.’
‘Never mind. I think you’ve worked miracles as it is,’ consoled Con. ‘When do you see him again?’
‘He said he’d see me at the track in the morning, but I suppose I’d better give it a miss until Tuesday.’
Con shook her head. ‘If he wants to see you tomorrow, be there.’
‘Won’t that be overkill?’
‘No. This, my pet, is phase three. Time to hot things up.’
‘I just hope it doesn’t end in tears!’
Fabia frowned. ‘Why should it? It’s just a game.’
Rose thought about that a lot later that night, once she was in bed. Since the exchange of confidences with James it no longer felt like a game. Which lay on her conscience so heavily sleep was elusive. But next morning she got up early, just the same, and let herself out into a cold, but thankfully dry morning to join James at the stadium, smiling in welcome.
‘Hi! I’ve done my bit,’ he informed her. ‘Ready to try for an extra lap today?’
Rose nodded eagerly, went through a few warming-up exercises, then set off with him round the track. Under his tuition she found herself running a slightly faster circuit every time, exhilarated by her success, until halfway round for the fourth a sudden, stinging pain in her foot ruined her balance and she fell heavily, her momentum sending her rolling over and over to land flat on her back, completely winded.
‘Rose!’ James fell on his knees beside her. ‘What the hell happened? Are you all right?’
Rose had no breath to spare for talking. While she fought to get air in her lungs he ran his hands over her arms and legs, probed her ankles, found nothing broken and pulled her carefully to her feet.
‘Come on, breathe. Deep, even breaths. That’s the way. Good girl. Lean against me for a bit.’
Rose obeyed gratefully, heaving in gulps of air, but soon grew much too conscious of the heat and scent of his body, the heart beating like a drum against her cheek. She pulled away, smiling shakily. ‘Stupid—thing—to do. Sorry.’
‘There must have been water on the track,’ said James gruffly. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
She nodded. ‘Embarrassed, that’s all.’
‘Here, take my arm. I’ll help you back to the flat.’
Rose stared at him, horrified. ‘No, please! You don’t need to. I’ll be fine.’
He scowled down at her. ‘Be sensible, Rose, you’re limping.’
‘There’s something in my shoe.’
James sat her down on the track and removed the shoe, swearing under his breath when he found a small nail sticking up inside it. He removed her bloodstained sock and located a puncture on the sole of her foot. ‘No wonder you fell, Rose. What the hell was something like this doing on the track?’
‘Maybe it got washed down from somewhere in that weather yesterday.’
‘In which case there may be more. I’d better report it. In the meantime you need a dressing. Wait there a minute. I’ll raid the first-aid box in the men’s showers.’
While he was gone one of his rugby team mates appeared for a morning run, and hurried to Rose in surprise.
‘What’s wrong, love? Sprained your ankle?’ said the large, amiable giant.
‘No, I trod on a nail,’ she confessed, feeling horribly self-conscious.
‘Bad luck! I’ll get you something to put on your foot,’ he offered, then stared in astonishment as James appeared.
‘Sinclair? A bit late in the day for you, isn’t it?’
‘Hi, Greg. Be careful on the track. There may be more like this.’ James held up the nail he’d taken from Rose’s shoe.
Greg looked on, riveted, as a sticking plaster was applied to Rose’s foot and her sock and shoe carefully replaced.
‘There,’ said James, pulling her to her feet. ‘Can you stand on it, Rose?’
She tried the foot gingerly. It was sore, but she could walk. ‘It’s fine,’ she said firmly. ‘Sorry for all the fuss.’ She gave a smile that encompassed both men. ‘Thanks a lot. I’d better get back. Bye.’
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