Summer at Tiffany's by Karen Swan Page A

happened, they will understand,’ Anouk offered.
    He looked over at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah?’
    â€˜Of course,’ she shrugged with utter conviction. Cassie widened her eyes, desperately trying to message her to shut up, but Anouk just gazed back quizzically.
    â€˜You’re right.’ Henry stood up from the table, reaching for his phone in his jeans pocket. ‘I’ll call them now. I’ve left it too long as it is.’
    â€˜No!’
    He fell still, looking back at Cassie.
    She swallowed. How could she tell him, in front of everyone, that that dream was dead? Well, for this year anyway.
    But she didn’t need to tell him. He read it all in her face, slumping back into his seat, the phone still turned to ‘off’ in his hand. ‘. . . Oh, right.’
    Bas and Anouk looked over at her quizzically but Cassie couldn’t take her eyes from Henry’s face – the way his lower lip had pulled down slightly, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed the disappointment. For this wasn’t just any lost deal – the arcane world of exploring was becoming more and more difficult to pursue. The hidden world was shrinking as cities spread and satellites peered into the most remote uninhabitable reaches of the planet from space. Even the final frontiers, the polar caps, were commonly visited now, with tourists travelling to see the aurora borealis, charity groups making ever more elaborate and obscure sponsored expeditions and every financial superpower in the world muscling in for fishing, mineral and drilling rights.
    When he spoke, it was slowly. ‘Did they leave a message at the flat then?’
    â€˜No. I met up with Bob Kentucky yesterday,’ she said in a quiet voice, her hand reaching for his.
    Henry looked surprised that she even knew Bob Kentucky’s name. ‘I called the Explorers in New York,’ she said. ‘They told me he was staying at the Travellers Club so I went up to see him yesterday afternoon.’
    Yesterday afternoon? Henry’s eyebrow lifted faintly as he registered what she’d been doing instead of waiting around at the hospital and guilt creased his brow at the accusations he’d thrown her way last night. He shook his head, dropping it into his hands, his fingers pulling tight against his hair. Cassie wanted to cry. She wanted to cross the table and sit on his lap and tell him everything was going to be OK. But she couldn’t, because she didn’t know that it was.
    â€˜He
wanted
to give the grant to you. You were right, they were completely on board with it. But . . . they had to make a decision there and then. The other committee members were all flying out again that afternoon and with the other applicants there and you not . . .’ She shrugged. It didn’t need to be spelled out.
    Henry nodded but was silent, his eyes studying the grain of the table, her hand in his as he absorbed the ramifications of what this meant – it was over. £120,000 was too big a hole to breach. He was going to have to let go of the team he’d cherry-picked, explain to UNEP they now had a gap in their conference schedule, apologize to National Geographic who’d been making noises about branding him as the thinking man’s Bear Grylls . . . It wasn’t just a personal disaster, it was a career catastrophe.
    Bas shot Anouk an aghast ‘OMG’ look as silence covered them all like a cloak. He’d never seen Henry at a loss before. No one had. What could any of them possibly say?
    â€˜Well I wouldn’t change any of it,’ Henry said, trying to be positive. ‘Arch comes before any job.’
    â€˜Exactly,’ Cassie murmured, still gripping his hand. ‘And you can regroup for next year. The Explorers are still desperate for you to take the flag with you.’
    Henry shrugged, the movement seemingly painful for he winced a