Last-Minute Proposal. Jessica Hart
a sacrifice, is it?’
‘It’s more than most people do.’
‘Maybe, but most people don’t get a chance to win a huge donation to the charity of their choice either. If an opportunity like that comes along, it’s virtually impossible to turn it down. I’d have felt worse than a piece of poo on your shoe if I had—as Harry and Seb no doubt worked out.’
‘Harry and Seb?’
‘My twin brothers,’ Tilly told him without enthusiasm. ‘This whole thing was their idea. They found out about the programme and took it upon themselves to enter me on my behalf. They sent in a photo and some spurious account of why I was so keen to take part—and then made sure everybody knew that I’d got through to the first round before I did so they were all lined up to lay on the emotional blackmail when Seb and Harry finally broke the news.
‘At least, they didn’t mean it as emotional blackmail,’ she amended, wanting to be fair. ‘Everyone at the hospice thought I wanted to take part and had just kept quiet in case I wasn’t picked. So of course when my brothers told them that I was going to be on the programme, they were all delighted for me and kept telling me how proud Mum would have been if she knew what I was doing, which she would have been, of course.’
Tilly sighed. ‘I couldn’t disappoint them by telling them it was all a mistake, could I? It would have felt like letting Mum down, too.’
Campbell frowned as he headed across the hillside, cutting down from the track so that they had to leap between clumps of heather. At least, Tilly did. Campbell just carried on walking as if he were on a pavement. Tilly had never met anyone as sure-footed. There was a kind of dangerous grace about the way he moved, and it made her feel even more of a lumbering walrus than she did normally.
He was obviously incredibly fit, too. Look at him—he wasn’t even out of breath, thought Tilly, aggrieved, while she was puffing and panting and tripping over heather and generally making it obvious that she was extremely unfit.
‘Why were your brothers so keen to get you on the programme?’
‘They’ve got this bee in their bonnet that I’m in a rut,’ ‘puffed Tilly in their bonnet that I’m in a rut,’ puffed Tilly, struggling to keep up with him. ‘I was thirty earlier this year and you’d think I was about to cash in my pension the way they’re carrying on about my missed opportunities!’
‘Are you in a rut?’
‘If I am, it’s a very comfortable one,’ she said with an edge of defiance. ‘I’m perfectly happy doing what I’m doing, and I haven’t got time to worry about ruts. The boys only think that because they’ve been away at university, and they’ve got this idea that Allerby is boring—although I notice they don’t mind coming back when they’re short of money and in need of some good square meals,’ she added tartly.
Of course, Campbell would probably think an attractive market town in North Yorkshire was boring, too. He didn’t look like a provincial type. He would stand out like a tiger amongst a lot of fat, pampered pets in Allerby, for instance.
On the other hand, he didn’t look like a true townie either. Tilly couldn’t imagine him going to the theatre or sipping a cappuccino. His military background probably explained that slightly dangerous edge to him, but then what was he doing here?
There was one easy way to find out.
‘So what are you doing here? You don’t seem the kind of bloke who does things he doesn’t want to do.’
‘I seem to have ended up doing this,’ said Campbell sourly. ‘I’m Chief Executive of Manning Securities.’
‘The sponsors of the show?’
‘Exactly,’ he said, without once breaking pace. ‘Keith, my PR Director, convinced me that the show would be good for our image. Personally, I’d have thought it was more effective just to give the money to charity, but Keith was adamant that this would have a greater impact. It fitted with our ethos of cor¬ porate social responsibility and, as I didn’t think I’d ave to be involved myself, I gave the go-ahead.’
‘You look pretty involved now,’ Tilly commented, and he grunted a reluctant acknowledgement.
‘Not out of choice. This is Keith’s fault. He rang me yesterday morning, saying that one of the contestants had had to withdraw because he’d broken his leg and that the production team were desperate for a last-minute replacement with survival skills.’
‘That was Greg,’ said Tilly. ‘I met him last week when I learnt I’d got through to this round. They said he was an experienced Outward Bound instructor and a vegan, so I suppose they thought he would make a good contrast with me. He seemed a nice enough guy, but I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I heard he’d broken his leg. I thought I’d have the perfect reason to withdraw, and then they partnered me with you!’ Her expression was glum.
‘Glad I was such a nice surprise!’ said Campbell with a touch of acid.
‘Well, you can’t pretend you’re exactly thrilled at being stuck with me for the next couple of days,’ she pointed out.
‘I’m not thrilled to be doing this at all,’ he said. ‘I’m moving to a new job in the States in a few weeks, so I’ve got better things to do than mess around with television challenges. But Keith is very committed to the project and, as he knows that I used to be in the forces, he was piling on the pressure to get me to agree to help out.’
‘If you didn’t want to do it, why didn’t you just say so?’ Tilly was delighted to be able to quote Campbell’s words back to him. ‘Aren’t you military types trained not to give in to pressure?’ she added innocently. ‘You could have stuck to name, rank and serial number.’
Campbell shot her a look. ‘Keith was a little cleverer than that. He talked a lot about how the programme wouldn’t work if they didn’t have the right number of contestants, and what a shame it would be if my last few weeks at Manning were remembered for a failure.’
‘Sounds like he knows just how to press all your buttons,’ said Tilly, full of admiration for the unknown Keith. It was clear that he had his boss sussed. She had barely known Campbell for more than an hour, but even she could see that he was driven by the need to be the best. Any suggestion that he might be associated with failure would be like a red rag to a bull.
‘He said it would just be a weekend with an amateur in the Highlands,’ Campbell went on, darkly remembering how he had been misled. ‘I didn’t realise quite how much of an amateur you would be, I must admit.’
‘Look at it from the television producers’ point of view. Where’s the fun if both of us know what we’re doing? If you ask me, they want scenes like the one at the top of the cliff.’
‘What cliff?’
‘The one I abseiled down!’
‘That little drop? You could have practically stepped down it!’
Tilly eyed him with dislike. ‘So what’s your charity?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Everyone who’s taking part is doing it for charity. So I’m doing it for the local hospice, and I think Greg was hoping to raise money for mountain rescue dogs or something. You must have some incentive to win.’
Campbell shrugged. ‘Winning’s enough for me,’ he said. ‘But I tell you what. My prize money will go to your hospice if we win, so they’ll have a double donation.’
Double the money. Tilly thought about what that would mean to the hospice. ‘Really?’ she asked.
‘Only if it gives you some incentive to hurry up,’ he said astringently.
‘I am hurrying,’ said Tilly, miffed. ‘I’m not used to all this exercise. I suppose that’s why they picked me,’ she added with