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‘I’m sure the HR team can work something out,’ Dominic said. ‘Thank you for being honest with me.’ He sighed. ‘I really wish you weren’t going. But I understand. You must really, really love her.’
‘I do,’ Brad said. ‘I was the one who messed it up, last time. And I’m going to be the one to fix it, this time.’
* * *
Who would be ringing her doorbell at this time of the morning? Abigail wondered.
Thankfully she’d always been a lark rather than an owl, so she was already up and dressed.
She answered the door to see a delivery man half hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers.
‘Ms Scott?’
‘Yes.’
‘These are for you. Could you sign for them, please?’ The delivery man gave her the handset so she could sign on the screen, then handed her the flowers.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and took the flowers into the kitchen.
They were gorgeous, bright and summery, all yellows and blues.
But who would be sending her flowers—especially at this time of the morning, when it was well before normal delivery times? Someone had definitely pulled some strings or paid a massive premium to get them to her before she went to work.
Brad?
Her heart gave a little leap of excitement.
And then she thought about it. Were the flowers his way of saying sorry, he wasn’t going to make it tonight?
Her hands shook slightly as she opened the envelope.
And the message left her none the wiser.
See you tonight. B.
Not even a kiss. Nothing emotional at all. She still didn’t have a clue how he felt.
On the other hand, he’d got the flowers to her at a crazy time. And this didn’t look like any old bouquet. He’d asked them to include little yellow pompom chrysanthemums with dark centres that looked like tiny sunflowers, flowers she’d admired in the stately home gardens with him earlier in the week. It was a detail she knew hadn’t slipped past him. He’d chosen them deliberately because he knew she liked them.
And maybe he’d just sent them to let her know he wasn’t going to let her down. This time. A statement that he’d be there tonight and then they’d talk properly.
A tear leaked down her cheek.
She so wanted this to work out. But, for that to happen, one of them was going to have to make a huge sacrifice—and the whole thing scared her stupid.
She rested one hand across her abdomen. ‘Whatever happens, baby, you’re going to be loved. I can guarantee that,’ she said. But whether she and Brad would be living together and bringing their child up together—and where—she really didn’t know.
She picked up her phone and texted him.
Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. Loved the pompoms. See you tonight.
And please, please let it work out.
* * *
The Friday night traffic was worse than usual, Brad thought.
He’d left London at six, hoping the worst of the rush hour would be over and he could get to Abby by nine—but there seemed to be roadworks and temporary traffic lights everywhere, holding him up at every stage.
He called her at seven, but her mobile phone went through to voice mail; clearly she was either busy or she hadn’t heard the phone ring. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, ‘but the traffic’s terrible. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’
She didn’t call him back, so either she hadn’t picked up the message or she didn’t want to talk to him. He really hoped it was the former. Sure, he could go and stay with his mother, or find a room in a hotel somewhere, and then sit on her doorstep the next morning until she emerged for her usual run, but he just wanted to be with Abby.
He was thoroughly fed up with sitting in a queue of traffic, but at least all the delays gave him a chance to practise what he wanted to say to Abby. He just hoped that she’d actually listen to him.
A phone call with news from Dominic, half an hour later, cheered him up slightly.
Though it was half-past nine before he reached Great Crowmell, and it took him another ten minutes to find a parking space because the car park was much busier than he’d expected. But finally he knocked on Abigail’s door.
She looked as if she hadn’t slept properly the previous night, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
