The Holiday by Erica James Page A

allowed.’
    ‘Well, I wish you’d transfer your affections to a more worthwhile recipient.’
    ‘So tell me, how is the lovely Izzy? Did I play the situation well the other night during dinner? Is she madly in love with me already?’
    His quickness of thought — not to say his arrogance — surprised even Laura. ‘You really are the most dreadful man. Of course she isn’t in love with you. What on earth makes you think she’d fall for a shallow flirt like you?’
    He made a pretence of considering her question before answering it. ‘Mm ... could it be because I am a devastatingly handsome devil? Charming too. Not to say witty.’
    ‘And let’s not forget how self-effacing you are.’
    ‘I was coming to that.’ He poured himself a glass of orange juice. ‘Are you sure you won’t join me?’
    ‘No, thanks. So what did you think of Izzy?’
    A slow smile spread over his face. ‘She is the perfect ingénue. She is as innocent as a child and as sweet and as delicate as a rose.’
    Laura groaned. ‘Good heavens, what a lot of ghastly sentimental twaddle you do come up with.’
    ‘Twaddle?’
    ‘It means rubbish. Nonsense.’
    ‘Aha. You want me to describe her in the manner of a typical Englishman, is that it? Okay. So be it. I think she would be an excellent shag.’
    ‘Theo!’
    He feigned a look of innocence. ‘What now? Am I too blunt for you?’
    ‘Is there no middle ground with you?’
    He shook his head. ‘I prefer extremes. But if you want I’ll be honest with you ... but only this once. I thought she was very nice. So nice, that I promise that I will do my best not to encourage her to fall in love with me.’
    ‘How very thoughtful of you.’
    ‘I think so too.’
    ‘But what if you fall in love with her?’
    He dabbed at the sticky crumbs on his plate, then licked his finger. ‘Ah, now, that would be a fine state of affairs, would it not? It would be an interesting conundrum for me to resolve.’
    ‘And novel, I would imagine.’
    ‘Oh, highly original.’ He pushed the plate away from him, got to his feet, and walked over to a rosebush. He snapped the stem of a delicate white bloom, breathed in its scent, then handed it to Laura.
    She, too, drew in its fragrance. ‘Have you never really been in love, Theo?’ she said, after he had sat down again.
    He faced her, his head slightly tilted. ‘No, I don’t believe I have.’
    ‘Not ever?’
    He paused. ‘Perhaps once or twice I have come close.’
    ‘But you never felt like pursuing it?’
    He shrugged. ‘I have a low boredom threshold.’
    ‘Or maybe a fear of commitment.’ Her words, like the scent of the rose, hung between them.
    Removing his sunglasses, he looked at her closely. ‘Why is it, Laura, that again and again I let you start these conversations with me?’
    ‘Because ...’ she hesitated ‘... because deep down you love talking about yourself.’
    He laughed. ‘Ah, Laura, you know me so well. Now then, about Max and his desire to meet his hero. Let me go and find Mark and see what he has to say. I have to warn you, though, he is not very sociable just at the moment. My instinct tells me that you might have to make do with only my company for the day.’
     
    Theo’s instinct was right, that and the fact that he knew his friend implicitly.
    ‘Oh, well,’ said Max, when Theo and Laura broke the news to him, ‘another time perhaps.’
    ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ said Theo, ‘but Mark sends his apologies. He is keen to spend the day working. The creative soul is a single-minded and determined taskmaster.’
    But Mark’s reason to stay behind had less to do with the driven artistic soul that Theo was now describing, and everything to do with fear: he was terrified of boats and water, and Theo had known all along that no invitation, however sweetly put, would have encouraged Mark to spend the day afloat.
    Fear, though not actually voiced as such, had figured largely in their conversation last night about