Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Perhaps you could come over for morning coffee or tea tomorrow. Barney would love to meet you, and you can have a piece of my fruit cake. I make the best fruit cake in town. I’m sure Willow—”
“Thanks, Mrs. Dearborn,” I interrupted, “but I don’t think we’ll have the time. The schedule is quite tight as it is.”
“Pity. Perhaps next time. Homemade fruit cake is my favorite thing and since yours is the best…” Rex said charmingly.
“Yes, yes, both of you must come next time,” she gloated happily, her eyes gazed adoringly at Hunter.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Dearborn,” I said stiffly.
“I’ll see you both at the wedding then,” she said, not making any moves to leave.
“I’ll look forward to it,” Rex answered suavely, and to my surprise Mrs. Dearborn actually blushed.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Dearborn,” I repeated.
“Right then, I better go back to my tea, Marybeth and I were having tea over in the Orangery when I looked out of the window and saw you both arrive so I thought I better come over and say hello. Cheerio until Sunday,” she sang, before sailing away in a cloud of perfume.
I watched her for a few seconds before I turned to face Rex. My whole world felt like it had been turned upside down, but he was looking at me as if nothing had changed. As if the kiss had meant nothing to him. He was just an actor, earning his money.
“How did you know she was the town gossip?” I asked.
He grinned. “The hat gave her away.”
I smiled. “Well, it was a very good guess.”
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the reception.
I nodded and we walked on in. The receptionist on duty was Jane. I knew her from school days, but we were not close or anything. She was a few years older than me.
“I have a booking under the name of Rex Hunter.”
Jane didn’t even need to check her computer. She flashed a big smile at both of us. “Of course, Mr. Hunter. Hello, Willow. Nice to see you back. Here for the wedding, huh?”
“Hi, Jane. Yup. Back for the wedding… with my man,” I added.
Her eyes returned to Rex, then back to me, and there was a flash of envy in her face.
“Right,” she said, then turned her attention to Rex. “Guests of the Presidential suite have their check-ins done in the privacy of their rooms by the concierge. Let me ring him and he’ll show you up to your suite.”
At that moment I realized Rex was right. True, I was originally annoyed and irritated that he had cancelled my booking and gone for a far more expensive option without asking me first, but I could see now how odd it would have looked if I had been the one who booked and paid for our suite. And if I was truly honest, I now approved of his decision to go for the Presidential suite.
It was exactly what a very rich man would book. If I recollected correctly, it even came with its own butler. That should make Tiffany quite green with envy.
“I’ll reimburse you for the cost of the suite,” I muttered, as we turned away from Jane.
“You won’t have to,” Rex replied. “The company will pay for it.”
I frowned. “Why would the company pay for it?”
“Because I’m putting this whole weekend down as a working one. Other than the times I’ll be pretending to be your devoted, madly in love boyfriend I’ll be working flat out.”
“Oh, okay.”
12
WILLOW
While the concierge checked Rex in, I wandered around the magnificent suite. I had never stayed anywhere so beautiful and opulent in my life. The bathroom was all marble, the main bedroom had the largest bed I’d ever seen in my life, and there was a balcony overlooking the lake.
The view alone was worth the extra cash which I wasn’t going to have to pay. The weekend was looking better and better. As soon as the concierge left, the butler came in.
A straight-backed, po-faced, grey-haired man in a black suit. There was a reverential air about him. As if he’d spent all his whole life serving people he considered to be better than himself. He didn’t resent the fact, but deemed it a privilege. He introduced himself as Solomon.
Expertly, Solomon opened the bottle of complimentary champagne sitting in a bucket of ice, and carried two flutes of cold bubbles on a silver platter to the nest of sofas we were sitting on.
Standing a few feet away he offered to unpack and steam the wrinkles out of our clothes. I refused because I was too embarrassed by the idea of him looking through my underwear, but Rex told him to go ahead. When he disappeared into the main bedroom where all the luggage had been taken, Rex turned to me.
He raised his glass to me. “To a successful weekend,” he murmured.