said, ‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ as if she were really grateful, and the office was set up.
But before she could make her first visit to her new team, she had a call from Richard.
‘Can I take you to dinner?’
‘Any time. When?’
‘Tonight?’
‘Tonight? I thought you were at some Trade Fair.’
‘Yup.’
‘Don’t tell me, you’re tired of admiring machine tools and want me to come and massage your back?’
‘That would be a definite bonus.’
‘All right then. Where shall I meet you?’
‘I’ll send a car,’ he said mysteriously. ‘It’ll be at your office around four, if that suits.’
‘I was looking forward to scrambled eggs on toast in front of a DVD … Of courses it suits! Lovely.’
It was driven by Ian, though she didn’t know the car. More important, nor did the three or four photographers who now camped regularly outside her office. Bella waved to them as she went past, forgetting Lady Pansy’s precepts. She was nearly skipping along, delighted to be seeing Richard on the spur of the moment.
I’m going to see my love, she thought. I’m going to see my love.
Ian was waiting for her round the corner, as he had promised. She slipped into the passenger seat and he took off, heading for the motorway.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Richard said something about a picnic.’
‘A picnic? In February?’
Ian chuckled. ‘You haven’t noticed the date, have you?’
‘What?’
He jerked his head towards the back seat. ‘It’s on the paper.’
Bella turned round and fished up his copy of the Morning Times. ‘February the fourteenth. So?’
He sighed. ‘Look in the Personal Column.’
‘If Richard is sending me messages in the Personal Column he never told me,’ said Bella indignantly. ‘I hate this business of his office talking to my office. It’s just so artificial, I – oooh!’ as she saw the columns of fond messages that made up the page today. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day.’
They drove for about an hour, then turned off the motorway and drove for probably another hour or even more deep into mysterious countryside, full of stone houses, abrupt hills, tiny single-track roads and thatched pubs.
‘Are we going on a tour of Middle England?’ asked Bella. ‘This feels like Tolkien country to me.’
But Ian just shook his head mysteriously, glanced at his watch, and kept on driving. Eventually they turned on to an even smaller road, with a green Countryside Trail signpost.
There were fields on either side of them, completely dark. The lane was deserted, not a house or light to be seen. It ended at a cattle grid and a five-bar gate. Richard was leaning against it, dressed in a Barbour and jeans.
‘Is that a spare pair of Wellington boots?’ said Bella suspiciously. ‘Jesus, he really did mean a picnic.’ She got out of the car.
Richard met her, kissed her, handed over the Wellington boots as if they needed no further explanation, and said, ‘Thanks very much, Ian. See you in the morning.’
Ian grinned. ‘Fine. Er – well – good night.’
He drove off.
‘For a moment there, I thought he was going to say “Have a nice night”,’ said Richard reflectively.
By then Bella was hanging on to him as she thrust a foot into the first Wellington boot. But at this she snorted and staggered and Richard had to pull her upright. He held her firmly.
‘You are so rewarding to tease,’ he said, deeply pleased.
She put on the other boot and he took her shoes, sticking one in each pocket.
Clouds scudded across a black sky. The landscape was lit only by occasional shafts of light from a watery moon. Richard was carrying a torch, small but with a powerful beam.
‘We are going up the hill a little way,’ he said. ‘Hang on to me.’
She climbed over the five-bar gate and went with him. It was not long before she saw …
‘Is that a tower?’
‘I thought you’d appreciate an indoor picnic, given the wind-chill factor.’
‘You think of everything,’ Bella said politely.
It was quite a small tower. Just one room on each of the three floors. Inside, he had lit a fire already, so the place was warm as toast. There was a tartan rug on the old flagstones with a rush basket laid in the middle of it. Two folding picnic chairs were set either side of the fire. In one corner, at the bottom of the stairs, there was small desk with an electric till and an array of postcards on it.
‘Should we be here?’ said Bella uneasily. ‘It looks very – municipal. We haven’t climbed in illegally or anything, have we?’