Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,100
at covering things up, I think. I shake my head. “So, did you like the Trevi Fountain? Did you chuck a coin in?”
He nods. “We went at dawn after we got out of a club. The sky was this incredible pink and the early morning sun made everything glow. Of course, I didn’t have a coin to chuck in because some twat stole my wallet. Still, I’m sure it counts.” He startles a laugh out of me. Eli looks thoughtful. “Then I got food poisoning. I was under the doctor for a day.”
I blink. “Well, that’s a little bit too much information for me.”
He looks startled and then grins. “No, not that. It means I was ill. I had to have the doctor.”
I start to laugh. “I thought you were telling me about your sexual adventures.”
He bites his lip. “That’s a bit much for a getting-to-know-you chat.”
“Are we doing that?” I say slowly, surprisingly not disliking the idea.
“Yes,” he says brightly. “It’ll be good for us that we know each other well when it comes time for me to tell you that you can’t do something.”
I shake my head, repressing a smile. “You do that a lot,” I say.
“What? Tell you what not to do?”
“Besides that very obvious fact. You use a few Welsh words in conversation.”
He shrugs. “I can’t help it. I was born and brought up in Cardiff. No matter how far I travel, I’ll always sound Welsh.”
“I like it.” I shrug awkwardly. “I mean, when you’re not butchering the English language, it’s quite charming.”
His smile seems to illuminate him from within. As if he’s glowing like one of the statues around the Trevi Fountain at night.
“I got a private tour of the Vatican once,” I say impulsively. I’m not sure why I’m talking to him about stuff like this. Most of the people I work with would be bored stiff at the conversation.
“Wow, did you see the Gallery of Maps?”
“All one hundred and twenty metres of it. They’d have saved a lot of room if they’d just used Google Maps.” He laughs loudly, and I smile at him. “It was after everything had closed, so there were no other tourists around. It felt like I was seeing the Sistine Chapel in the same quiet as when Michelangelo painted it.”
Eli immediately looks envious, and I have the sudden ridiculous urge to arrange something for him. I’ve travelled the world and always sloped off wherever I’m filming to see the area. Although I always enjoy doing that, I can’t deny it’s a bit lonely when the only commentary I have is the one in my head. I’d love to share some of the sights with him. He has the eager curiosity and wide eyes that mark him out as a good travelling companion.
He looks at me dubiously. “I suppose you’re always working, so you never see the country properly?”
“No, of course not,” I say, startled. “I always make time to explore wherever I am. I don’t get that. If you want to do something, make time for it. Simple.”
“You’d have a lovely career in logistics,” he says.
I laugh. “Have you been to Iceland?” I ask.
He leans forward enthusiastically, and we’re off. We sit in the sunshine, sipping cold drinks and talking for the next few hours as we compare our notes on the different countries we’ve visited. He’s lively and funny, and I stare at him as he laughs and gestures with his long-fingered hands. He fascinates me despite all my efforts not to pay attention to him.
“I like this,” I say suddenly. “We should talk every day.” The moment the words are out, my cheeks flush.
Eli looks startled, but then he grins. “We should,” he says. “After all, you’re the boss.”
“I think that’s honoured more in word than deed,” I say sourly, listening as the sound of his laughter is borne away on the breeze.
Messages
Deleted Emails
These are the original emails that Gideon and Eli sent to each other while they were separated. I shortened them drastically because they interrupted the flow of the book, but I saved them because I love their chatty and intimate nature. You can see them getting closer as each email arrives and we learn so much about Gideon and Eli.
To: Eli Jones
From: Gideon Ramsay
You would like it here.
Chi an Mor is an enormous Elizabethan manor house that rests in its setting as though it’s always been here. There’s been a house here in some form or another since Norman times, and a battle