I mutter.
“Yes, always,” he says stubbornly, something dark crossing his face. He catches my arm as I go to walk past him to the waiting taxi. “You always saw things much more clearly than me, Felix. I wish…”
“What do you wish?” I ask sharply.
“A hell of a lot, but it’s not the time to discuss my regrets.” He shrugs into his leather jacket and walks towards the cab. I think of what Xavier said and my stomach clenches. Did he mean it? I shake my head and grab my bag.
Don’t be ridiculous, Felix. You’ll be believing in Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny, and fairies next. Max was very clear on who he loved, and that has never changed and probably never will.
Max directs the taxi to St Pancras station, and I wonder if we’re going back to the cottage in Chipping Camden. I suppose that makes sense, but when we get to the station, he refuses my kind offer of what platform the Cotswold train is on and instead steers me in a different direction.
“Where are we going?” I ask, hurrying to keep up with his pace. I’m a little breathless because the man has legs that go on for a century.
“You’ll see,” he throws over his shoulder.
The station is as packed as ever, and I wheel around the tourists who are everywhere, keeping a close eye on Max’s broad shoulders showing over the crowd. He turns and looks around in consternation until he spots me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement colouring his voice. “You’re bright red.”
“I’m just trying to keep up with your jog through the station. There’s got to be better routes for a run,” I gasp.
“I wasn’t jogging.” He laughs. “I was walking at a quick pace.”
“Which to a normal person is jogging,” I mutter.
“You need to get fitter,” he calls over his shoulder, charging forward again.
“I am fit,” I say indignantly. “I get tons of exercise.”
“Lifting your pint glass to your mouth isn’t exercise.”
“Neither is sex,” I say sweetly. “Just in case you were thinking that counts as an energetic activity.”
“Then I’m not fit either.”
I stare at his back. He keeps throwing about comments like this, but I refuse to bite. I say no more, and his sidelong glance tells me he knows his lures aren’t working on me. I break my silence when we get to the platform.
“The Eurostar?” I ask, turning to him. “Are they running to the Cotswolds now, then?”
He grins and ushers me onto the platform where the train is waiting. “They’d have to knock down a few antique shops and pubs to make that possible. Never going to happen.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, stopping dead and refusing to let him usher me any further. A businessman tuts and, giving me a filthy glance, he manoeuvres around me.
Max glares after him but then turns back to me. “Well, we’re catching the Eurostar over to France, and then the rest of the destination is a bit of a secret.”
My insides thrill at the thought of going abroad. I still haven’t travelled much. I always meant to do it after our breakup, as a gesture almost of defiance, but real life intruded and, also, the desire to keep a roof over my head.
Carl and I planned to go to Spain, but then the Aunt Sally had needed a new engine and that had put the mockers on that. It had also finished Carl and me, as he’d refused to accept why I couldn’t just let my fucking boat sink. I’d explained that I wasn’t Captain Bligh, but he’d taken that as an example of my woeful flippancy and dumped me.
I become aware that I’m smiling and hasten to wipe the grin off my face. Max’s mouth quirks and his eyes shine delightedly, so I know I’ve been unsuccessful. I follow him into the sleek interior of the train, and roll my eyes when I find that we’re in business class.
“Why does this not surprise me?” I ask as we take a seat. The car’s hush is rapidly being filled with the sound of fingers tapping on laptops as the business people around us settle down.
I look around interestedly. I wonder whether I could do business on a train, and I briefly imagine myself hopping on with my briefcase and my phone and then hopping off in Paris or Amsterdam or Milan. Then I think of missing out on the breakfast meetings with Zeb where we sit on his roof terrace in the