I Remember You (44 page)

‘Great,’ said Tess. ‘I’ll go to the Burlington Arcade. I need to, anyway!’ She wished she could keep the exclamation marks out of her voice. ‘Still got lots to buy, I haven’t even got Peter a present yet!’

‘What are you getting him?’ Francesca asked, as Adam pushed the door open.

‘Oh…’ Tess blinked, emerging into the light from the gloom of the wine bar. ‘Probably some…I don’t really know.’

‘What a great girlfriend you are,’ Adam said, pushing her gently out of the way as a cyclist, speeding through Embankment Gardens, burst through their little group. Tess glared at him, annoyed at being pushed around. She felt cross and awkward, a little hot from the heat of the bar and the wine they had drunk.

‘I’ll meet you in Burlington Arcade at four o’clock,’ she said. ‘Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing,’ and she rolled her eyes and walked, briskly, up towards Northumberland Avenue, trying not to show how she really felt.

The walk in the cold crisp air did her good. She walked down Pall Mall, up through St James’s Square, admiring the fine tall buildings, the tasteful Christmas decorations, the old gentlemen’s shops selling proper tobacco and proper Panama hats, the gentlemen’s clubs with old men in waistcoats emerging from late long lunches. She thought about London, how she missed it, how she still loved it, but she realized as she came out onto Piccadilly that it no longer felt like home. And she also realized, as she walked along, calming down in the cool air, that she had done what she always did; aligned herself with a city because she had to. She had embraced London when she was eighteen, getting over Adam, having had the abortion, starting afresh.

She had embraced it because she had to reject Langford, leave behind that part of her childhood which had hurt her so much. She had loved the cool classical lines of UCL; the white stucco columns, the order in it all, the stateliness of London’s squares, the white paint and black railings of the British Museum. No more higgledy-piggledy cottages climbing over each other, no more twisting sidestreets, lanes tangled with brambles, hedgerows a riot of colour…It seemed to Tess, eighteen, bruised, alone, that London was the perfect classical city. And up until last year, even her long, straight street in Balham had had an order she found attractive.

Her phone rang: she snatched it out of her pocket, where without realizing it, she had been clutching it tightly in her hand.
Peter mob
.

She didn’t answer.

She looked through the railings of St James’s church where a carol concert was in full swing; they were singing ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ in a minor key; it had a powerful, melancholy sound. Sirens wailed, far in the background, looping over and around each other. The phone stopped ringing. Someone was cooking chestnuts; the slightly burnt smell was acrid in her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose. Someone else
jostled her, murmuring apologies as they hastened along the street. It wasn’t a momentous moment but then, as she stared down at the phone, and then up into the sky, Tess knew, with a sadness in her heart, but also a certainty that could not be overruled, that she would not be going to Rome.

She called him back. The phone rang, and he answered immediately. She ducked into the alcove of a doorway, away from the noise on the street.

‘Hey, baby,’ Peter said. She knew his voice so well, now. But she couldn’t picture his face. ‘I just called.’

‘Hi,’ she said. She turned and stood, watching the cars rush by. The sirens started up again in the background. ‘I know. Listen, Peter…I need to tell you something.’

‘You can’t just finish with me over the phone,’ Peter said, his voice full of exasperation. ‘It doesn’t work like that, Tess-’

‘I’m sorry, Peter.’ She was almost pleading with him, because she wanted him to see that she was right, she didn’t want to hurt him. ‘I really am. I thought I was in love with you-’

‘Hey. Hey-me too,’ he said curtly. ‘I don’t just go around falling in love with anyone, you know. I was ready to-’ He paused. ‘I really thought you loved me, Tess.’

‘I did too,’ she said sadly. She knew it sounded weak. But Tess also knew that she was right. Like London, Rome was a distraction for her. She had fallen in love with the holiday, with the romance, with the city-with Peter a bit too, of course. But it wasn’t him she’d actually fallen in love with, and that was the problem. To go and spend Christmas with him, knowing that was a lie-no. Tess had done that before, had sat passively by and let someone else make the decisions, and she had got hurt. This way, she knew, was the best way of minimizing his feelings, as well as hers. She would rather hurt him now, than hurt him much more later on. She peered out onto the street, wondering when Francesca and Adam would turn up from their assignation.

‘Where are you?’ Peter said. ‘You sound like you’re underwater.’

‘I’m in Piccadilly,’ she said. ‘Just near the Burlington Arcade.’

‘Oh, I say, how very jolly,’ Peter said, in his best British accent. ‘“I’m Burlington Bertie, I rise at ten thirty,”’ he sang. ‘“And saunter along like a toff.”’

‘How on earth-’ Tess began.

‘I was in a barbershop quartet at college,’ he said. ‘Oh, yeah. You should hear my “Mr Sandman”.’

‘Really?’ Tess laughed, off her guard. ‘Well, I never. I sometimes feel like I don’t know you at all.’

There was a silence, and she realized what she had said. ‘Guess you’re right there,’ Peter said. ‘Answer me something, Tess.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, shaking her head; she caught sight of herself in the shop window, hair bouncing from side to side as the human traffic moved along behind her.

He spoke again. ‘Do you think you’d have fallen for me if it hadn’t been in Rome? If I’d just been an ordinary guy who walked into the pub in your English country village one evening?’

‘That’s the trouble, Peter,’ Tess said sadly. ‘You wouldn’t have walked into the pub. You wouldn’t even come over to visit the pub.’ He started to speak, and she said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not having a go at you, truly I’m not. I just mean-it was a place, it was a time. Don’t you think? You left too.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do think that. I’ve been thinking it myself, you know. Being away, it made me realize. I love it here, but only when there’s something exciting about being here. I came here for Chiara. I came back here for you. But do I want to live here, now I’m back?’ He laughed. ‘I’m probably just jet-lagged.’

‘Could you go back to the States if you wanted? Would they let you?’

‘The newspaper? Yeah, I think so.’ He cleared his throat.
‘I kind of think they want me to. I think I want to, as well.’

So they had both decided Rome wasn’t for them.

‘And what about Chiara?’ she asked bravely. ‘I wonder if-’

‘No,’ Peter said firmly. ‘That’s over.’

‘Really?’

‘Tess,’ Peter said, after a pause. ‘It’s easy for you to say “Really?” like that. But you can’t stay with someone…when you’re in love with someone else.’ He gave an interrogative sound. ‘Isn’t that true?’

‘Oh, you mean Chiara’s Leon,’ Tess said.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean you. Think about it, honey. Call me at Nicoletta’s’-this was a neighbour of his, an amazing cook-‘on Christmas Day?’ he said, and his voice was warm. ‘I want to know you’re still feeling guilty.
Ciao
, beautiful.’

And the line went dead.

She went into the Burlington Arcade then, humming the song ‘Burlington Bertie’, her hand on her solar plexus, rubbing her stomach gently as though she had tummy ache. She bought some Ladurémacaroons for Stephanie, beautiful jewel-like colours, shells smooth as a duck’s egg, nestling in crisp tissue paper and held in a gold and pistachio-coloured bag. She went to Penhaligon’s and bought perfume for Liz, bath oil for her sister, old-fashioned soap on a rope for Mike, her brother-in-law. As she was coming out of the shop, her eye fell on the window of an old jeweller’s, where antique brooches, rings and necklaces sat in plush little velvet boxes. It was a miracle she noticed it, really, tucked away at the back as it was: a brooch of three flowers wound together with gold strands, each flower a different colour, one amber yellow, one moonstone blue, one amethyst purple, with tiny green glass leaves. The work was beautiful, delicate. At the bottom, a small square of card was marked in tiny writing: ‘Primula Brooch, c. 1920. Label on reverse. £45.’

Tess opened the door and went in, a smile on her face.

As she was finishing the payment, handing the card machine back to the elderly male shopkeeper, she felt a tap on her shoulder and she jumped. It was a tiny shop, and the owner looked cross, alarmed, as if she might sweep away all the little boxes, the diamond engagement rings, the strings of pearls, by too much movement.

‘Hey, T,’ came a voice behind her. ‘Sorry we kept you.’

She turned round. ‘Hey,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Are you OK?’

He smiled. ‘More than OK, thanks. More than.’

Tess looked out of the window onto the arcade; Francesca was standing outside, watching them through the glass. She raised her hand in greeting; her face was obscured by the reflection. ‘So-?’ Tess said curiously, trying to sound upbeat. ‘What happened?’

‘Tell you later, tell you later,’ Adam said, gesturing with his head. ‘Ah, but it’s good to see you, sweetheart.’

They said goodbye to the elderly shopkeeper and Adam opened the shop door; just as he did, she turned, wanting to give him the present now, here. She held her hand out to him. ‘Ad-this is your Christmas present. It’s a bit early. And it’s not really for you-you’ll want to give it away. I just saw it and…’

‘Not for me, and I’ll want to give it away? Nice,’ Adam murmured. She laughed, but watched his face curiously as he pressed the catch and opened the velveteen box. He stared at the brooch, gleaming up at him, and then picked it up, turning it over questioningly, as she nodded encouragingly at him. ‘“Primula Brooch”,’ he read out loud. ‘Oh-T.’ He picked up the brooch. ‘That’s-’

‘It’s for you to give to your great-aunt. When you find her. Because I know you will find her,’ she said, squeezing his arm. ‘I know you will.’

Adam stared at her. ‘Tess. You don’t know how much that means to me.’ He nodded.

‘S’OK,’ Tess said gruffly. He put his finger under her chin, and made her look at him.

‘What have I done to deserve you?’ he said.

‘Nothing,’ she whispered, thinking suddenly of Peter. Her heart was full of pain, full of love too, and she wondered just why she felt this way. She turned to see Francesca still watching them, and smiled at her.

‘That’s nice,’ said the shopkeeper, nodding his head, waggling his moustache. ‘But there are people waiting outside to come in, so if you don’t mind-’

‘Course,’ said Adam. He held the door open again, and Tess walked out. ‘That is the most fantastic present, T. I have got you something. But not here. Oh, man. I don’t know-’ He shook his head.

‘That’s what friends are for, like I keep saying,’ said Tess.

Francesca said nothing as they came over to her. ‘Look what T got me,’ Adam announced. ‘It’s-’

‘Adam,’ Francesca said, and Tess noticed then that her face was very pale, her eyes full of unshed tears. ‘Can I have-can I speak to you?’ She looked over at Tess. ‘Alone?’

‘Of course,’ Tess said, answering for him. ‘I’ll just-I’ll wait here.’

‘Is that OK?’ Adam said to her in a low voice.

‘Don’t worry, go,’ she said. ‘In fact-’ She looked at her watch, trying to be completely blas?about this. Adam and Francesca-they were always going to be drama queens together. ‘Why don’t I just see you on the train? We’re right by Piccadilly Circus, you can just hop on the Bakerloo. I’ll go on ahead, but just in case you miss it-’

‘It won’t take that long,’ Adam said. He gripped her arm above the elbow for a second. ‘Honestly.’

Francesca stood behind him, winding a section of her hair around her finger. ‘Bye, love,’ she said.

Tess waved mutely at her. She watched them walk away, and stood for a moment looking down the arcade, at the twink
ling lights, the silky ribbons and decorations. Then she turned, and walked back down to the street. At St James’s opposite, the carol concert was still going on. Loud, harsh chords in a minor key floated across to her; a glowing light shone through the windows. The streets were four, five people deep, all in black or dark coats, clutching shopping bags. No one was talking to each other. Everyone was alone, hurrying onto the next thing. She knew Adam wouldn’t catch their train. She realized she would have to go into the huge Waterstone’s to get a book; she had nothing to read. She should have known this was going to happen. Tess walked, feeling tired, but with a curious freedom. She was buffeted from person to person as the music sounded louder and, high above them, the clock chimed six in the black night air.

Having at first roundly decried the Knupfer House, Tess had to admit she was becoming more and more enamoured of it. It was a good decoration. It was always there: when you got back from London after a delayed train, starving and a little sad, the deliciously sweet and cinnamon biscuits gleaming toffee-brown in the dark. It was there when you crept downstairs the following day to find the house empty, and yourself rather miserable. And it was there if you fancied a wee mid-morning snack on Christmas Eve, as you wrapped your presents. Tess had sent her parents’ presents off with them on their cruise but now she was spending Christmas with her sister and Mike, and she still had a few other key people’s presents to wrap, too.

She was still feeling rather blue. Her Christmassy mood had totally evaporated with Liz’s departure that morning for her parents’ house in Nantwich.

Liz had been making Nigella’s Christmas muffins for breakfast and, as Tess came downstairs, blearily rubbing her eyes, she had excitedly thrust into her hands two wrapped presents and a tray of bulbs: ‘For our garden, to brighten it up in spring, you know.’

Tess had stared back at her. ‘Oh, God. Liz, I’ve only got
you a card. Oh! And-’ She had shuffled round to the dresser, and pulled open a drawer. ‘Only this.’ She took out the Penhaligon’s perfume which she’d bought in the Burlington Arcade. ‘Happy Christmas, flatmate.’

Liz had kissed her back. ‘No, happy Christmas to you, Tess.’ Her eyes shone with unshed tears. ‘This is wonderful,’ she said, eyeing the bag Tess handed her. ‘It’s all wonderful. Thank you so much.’

‘For what?’ Tess sat down at the table; her limbs were aching.

‘For
everything
.’ Liz pushed a pot of coffee towards her. ‘For teaching me so well. For letting me move in here. And for being a great friend.’

At that, Tess’s head snapped up, and she laughed. ‘I’ve been a terrible friend!’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Liz said firmly. ‘I think you’ve had a lot on your plate this year, and you’ve been great.’

But I’m rude about you behind your back and I leave your parties early and I loathed showing you all round Rome, and I’m a bad person
, Tess wanted to say. As if she were reading her thoughts, Liz handed her a mug.

‘You’ve had to do so much this last year, what with moving back down and starting a new job, and taking us all off to Rome. Not to mention,’ she said quietly, ‘everything with Adam.’

‘But that was him,’ Tess pointed out. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘Sometimes it’s harder to watch and be powerless than to be in the eye of the storm,’ Liz said firmly. ‘At least you know where you are when you’re in the eye of the storm.’ Tess stared at her, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘Being on the sidelines, watching someone and not being able to help them, if you truly love them-that’s hard.’

She opened the oven door; a moist, sweetly spicy scent wafted towards Tess. She breathed in deeply. ‘I suppose that’s
partly true,’ she said. ‘But it’s still been much easier being me than-oh, any number of people.’

‘And another thing,’ Liz said, plonking the muffins down on top of the stove so that the metal clattered loudly on the hobs. ‘I think it’s hard, being our age. How old are you?’

‘Well, I’m thirty-one,’ Tess said. ‘Old enough to know better.’

‘That’s my point,’ Liz said thoughtfully. ‘That’s a year younger than me. And you have this job of responsibility, where you have to be a grown-up and tell people what to do. I think that’s hard. It makes it hard to be normal. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I don’t feel grown-up, it’s pathetic. How am I going to meet someone or bring up children when I don’t know what a spark plug is, or a hedge fund, or-’

‘Can you change a lightbulb?’

‘Yes,’ said Liz. ‘Of course.’

‘And do you know what your bank account number is?’

‘Well, of course I do.’

‘Well then,’ said Tess. ‘I think you’re better off not knowing what a hedge fund is, to be frank, and I have no idea what a spark plug does. Something in the car. Don’t worry about it.’ She stared hopefully at the plate of muffins. ‘That’s what I’ve learned over the past year. You make mistakes, you learn from them, and you try and move on.’ She poured her flatmate a cup of coffee. ‘And while you can cook like this I wouldn’t worry. I will always want to live with you.’ She clanged her mug against Liz’s. ‘Happy Christmas, my dear. Thank you.’

‘Oh, dear Tess,’ said Liz, growing misty-eyed again. ‘Thank
you
.’ She put a great chunk of muffin in her mouth; it was too large, and it crumbled, small chunks falling onto her plate. Tess laughed.

‘Owhse agam.’ Liz said something indistinct.

‘What?’ Tess said. Liz tried to swallow, but got a fit of the giggles.

‘Owhse agam!’ she said again.

‘Masticate,’ Tess said, enunciating clearly. ‘I can’t understand a word of what you’re saying, Elizabeth. Goodness, what are you, an animal? Chew it slowly.’

Liz had tears of mirth streaming down her face. She swallowed, and cleared her throat, swallowed again and gulped some coffee. ‘I said, how’s Adam?’ she croaked eventually. ‘You never said. How was the shopping?’

‘Oh!’ Tess banged the table with the palm of her hand. ‘It was great. It was greatness. Great.’

‘Good!’ said Liz, eyeing her slightly oddly. ‘That’s great. Did you see Francesca?’

‘We did. It was great to see her,’ said Tess. She bit her lip, and nodded to herself, shaking herself out of the feeling of gloom she had felt on the train returning home alone. ‘It was just wonderful. She’s exactly the same. Brilliant. I love her.’

‘Uh-uh, uh-uh,’ said Liz, rather too quickly. ‘Wow, that’s just fantastic.’ She paused fatally. ‘Yes, I always really
really
liked Francesca. Seemed such a jolly, fun girl.’

Tess looked at her, her heart flowing over with affection for her housemate. She paused before speaking carefully.

‘Oh, she is fantastic, and it was great to catch up with her and know we’ll stay in touch.’ She casually broke off a bit of muffin. ‘But it was super nice to get home again, know what I mean?’

‘Yep,’ said Liz, also casually. ‘Yep, really sure know what you mean.’ There was a thump on the sitting-room floor. ‘Christmas cards!’ she cried ecstatically, and rushed to collect them. ‘We’ve got-one, two…four, five! Look, there’s one from Francesca!’ she called, coming back into the kitchen. ‘Ah, wonderful!’

‘Oh, I’ll read it later,’ said Tess. ‘Do you want me to check the water in your car before you go?’

‘Actually, that would be great,’ Liz said, shamefacedly. ‘Show me how. Have
un autre
muffin.’

‘Merci.’

Later that morning, after Liz had driven off, Tess sat, surrounded by wrapping paper, carefully cutting strips of sellotape to stick on the edge of the table, having already got herself stuck to the wrapping paper or the present a couple of times. She’d been to Jacquetta’s shop and bought, at vast expense, some appropriate trimmings for her presents. It had taken her hours to do her parents’ gifts a few weeks ago, and she was dreading round two. She was playing the
Messiah
to get her in the right festive mood, but couldn’t find the first CD. So not for her was there a happy soloist telling of shepherds abiding in the fields, and the people walking in darkness seeing a great light, to say nothing of a happy chorus singing ‘For Unto Us A Son is Born’. No, it was all ‘He Was Despised and Rejected’ and Jesus being crucified, not baby Jesus being born in a friendly yuletide manger with ox and ass and…Tess sighed, wrestling with Miss Store’s bottle of sherry and box of chocolate Olivers, as the two bits of sellotape she had carefully removed from the table got stuck together.

Francesca’s card was on the side. Tess looked fondly at the sloping black italic handwriting. Fine, that she and Adam were back together again, and it really was good, because she loved her, and it meant that she, Tess, would see more of her. She felt awful for doubting it, just because of what had happened before. They had changed, and they both knew what they were doing; he was different, bless him. He deserved happiness: that was all she asked for him. She bit the card and tore open the envelope with one finger.

Darling Tess,

Forgive my behaviour yesterday! I had to write and tell you that the fact is, Adam and I are-

There was a loud banging on the door. Tess put her hand on the floor and pushed herself up, inadvertently sticking two other pieces of tape to a large sheet of tissue paper, which flapped around in her hand, tearing as she tried to pull it off.

‘Hello?’ came a voice. ‘Tess? Are you all right?’

‘Adam?’ she said, relief in her voice. She pulled the door open, as the tissue paper wrapped around her hand. ‘Sorry,’ she explained, letting him in. ‘I have no aptitude for this whatsoever. My old-lady home-maker days are far behind me. I don’t know what’s happened.’ She looked up at him. ‘Hey. You look very serious. Are you OK?’

Adam’s face was dark; he had circles under his eyes and he was obviously tired. He was holding a card and a thick envelope of papers. He looked back at her.

‘Well. I wanted to show you something,’ he said. He held up the card.

‘Oh?’ said Tess, waggling her fingers. ‘Dammit! This bloody paper!’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t going to Italy?’ Adam said.

Tess had forgotten. ‘Oh,’ she said, wrestling with the shreds of tissue paper, and tearing the last piece of tape from her fingers. ‘Sorry. Yeah. I knew you wouldn’t be surprised. I’m going to Stephanie’s instead. I was going to come round this lunchtime and tell you. And to drop off-’ She tapped his calf with her foot. ‘Don’t look behind me. Your present’s there, I haven’t wrapped it, and at this rate I never will.’

Adam didn’t say anything. He just stared at her again, his chest rising and falling. ‘You should have told me, T.’

Tess met his gaze in surprise. ‘Oh, Adam. I’m sorry. Peter…’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was never going to work. We both had to see it.’ She swallowed. ‘Not that he wasn’t lovely. But…you know.’ She reached behind her to the sofa, and handed him a photo. ‘He emailed me this photo yesterday. He said it’s my Christmas card and I have to print
it out. Look what he wrote below it.’ She read aloud from the back. Adam watched her, saying nothing.

Thank you for some wonderful memories, and for helping me in a difficult time. I will always remember you con molto affetto, and with a little regret. Happy Christmas, beautiful Tess. How about you come back to Rome, before I go?’

She patted her breastbone, pleased, and tapped the front of the photo. ‘Look, it’s me, leaning on his moped by the Spanish Steps. Isn’t it
Roman Holiday
-ish? Isn’t that totally sweet of him?’

‘I can see it’s you,’ Adam said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m not stupid, though you appear to think I am. And you are, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ He threw the photo back onto the sofa, along with the card he had brought, and had been holding. The envelope fluttered onto the cushions. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Tess looked at him again, astonished, as she saw he really was angry. ‘I didn’t think you’d be interested in me bleating on about it again, Ad. I was going to tell you today, for goodness’ sake. You’re not my keeper.’

‘I’m not your-’ He started to say something, then stopped. ‘Don’t you think I might have wanted to know? That it might concern me, just a bit?’

‘Why?’ asked Tess crossly.

‘Oh, my God, Tessa Tennant.’

‘Look,’ she said, trying to be reasonable, though she did think he had very likely lost his mind, ‘Are you OK, Adam? Why are you so upset? Have you and Francesca had a row?’

He looked blank. ‘Me and Francesca? Why would we have had a row?’

‘Well, quite right,’ said Tess. ‘Things are much better between you now, I bet, second time round.’ She turned for the kitchen, batting a stray bough of holly that had come
unstuck from the counter-top out of the way. ‘Or even third time round, which I suppose it really is, if you’re being precise.’ She was gabbling. ‘But honestly, Ad, I
am
glad you’re back together, you know. Do you want some coffee? Or maybe even a midday glass of something? Some of Miss Store’s sloe gin?’

Adam put his hand on her wrist, so that she turned sharply back. ‘What are you talking about?’ He was nearly shouting. ‘Why have you gone
completely mad
?’

‘Adam, get off!’ she started slapping his hand off her arm. ‘What’s
wrong
?’

He released it immediately and stood only inches from her, his eyes blazing, his hair standing on end. ‘I’m not back with Francesca. What are you talking about?’

She stared at him. ‘What? Yes, you are.’

Adam clenched his fists and groaned in exasperation. ‘Why
on earth
would you think that?’

‘Because…’ Tess raised her hands in the air. ‘Well. The feelings, for starters.’

‘The feelings?’

‘And-the fact that you kept saying you had to go to London and it was all mysterious.’

Adam groaned. ‘It was mysterious because-I had to finalize the deal, cancelling the bloody development!’

‘In Albemarle Street?’

‘That’s where the Mortmain solicitors are,’ he said, breathing heavily and staring at her. ‘There were things to sort out. And I wanted to give you-this!’

He thrust the thick brown envelope he had been holding into her hand. ‘This is your Christmas present. Weird present to give someone, some paper, but I think you’ll get it.’

She pulled open the envelope, a quizzical look on her face. ‘
This day in seventeen eighty-six do I, George Mortmain
‘ she read. ‘What is this?’

‘It’s the deeds,’ Adam said. ‘The deeds to the water meadows. They’re yours.’

Tess dropped the papers on the ground. ‘They’re-what now?’

‘They’re yours.’ He was smiling. ‘It’s cancelled. The whole thing’s cancelled. It’s official. And I’m signing them over to you.’ He bent down to pick up the sheaf of papers, and as he crouched on the ground he smiled up at her. ‘It’s not a big deal, and you can’t actually do anything with them, I’m afraid. They’ve been designated something special. You have to be on a committee.’