‘I do want to do it,’ she snapped. ‘But...it’s why my parents were worried about me doing it, yeah.’ Her hands were busy playing with some stress toy she’d found in Rose’s drawer when they were sorting the study—a globe that she could stretch and squeeze. After less than a week, it already looked considerably more worn than when they’d discovered it. ‘They know I don’t enjoy dealing with people so much these days. That was always left to Rose, really.’
These days. Since the sex tape? Tom frowned. Since then, she’d stopped trusting anyone outside her immediate family, and avoided other people as much as possible.
Huh. Perhaps the stories he’d read when researching Violet Huntingdon-Cross weren’t all there was to know. And he was a reporter—he always wanted to get to the truth, the real story.
Standing up, Tom reached across the desk and rescued the poor battered globe from between her fingers. ‘Come on.’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
‘What? Where are we going?’ That puzzled frown line between her eyebrows was actually kind of cute, Tom decided.
‘Lunch,’ he told her. ‘Completely off the record. I promise.’
* * *
It quickly emerged that Tom had no idea where they could actually go for lunch. ‘Hey, you live here,’ he said. ‘Where’s good?’
Rolling her eyes, Violet grabbed her handbag and car keys. ‘Come on.’
As she started the engine, and tried to ignore Tom fiddling with the radio, she weighed up her options. There was the Peacock in the village, but that was just across the road from the church and the vicar’s favourite afternoon haunt. She could almost guarantee that having lunch there with Tom would mean that the whole flower committee would be talking about her again by Sunday. There was the Three Tuns in the next village over, but Mum and her ladies sometimes took lunch there mid-week, and Violet couldn’t remember if it was one of those days. Even if Mum wasn’t there, the ladies might be.
So that left the Fox and Hounds, three villages over and with hand-cut chips to die for. Violet felt she could live with that.
‘Is there any reason we’re crossing county lines to grab a sandwich?’ Tom asked as they drove past the turning for the village.
‘Hand-cut chips,’ Violet replied. It was only a partial lie, at least.
‘Fair enough.’ Tom settled back into his seat, the radio playing something obscure and jazzy, and folded his hands behind his head.
‘So, these questions you want to ask...’ It made Violet a little nervous, how relaxed he was. As if he already knew the answers to the things he was going to ask.
‘When we get to the pub.’ Were his eyes closed? Violet snapped her gaze away from the road ahead just long enough to check. Yep, he was half asleep in her car. Again.
‘Okay, but you know I don’t believe in off the record, right? I distinctly remember having that conversation.’ That too revealing, too intimate conversation. Since then, she’d taken care to keep their interactions to a minimum. When he’d stopped by to see if he could help with the Benefit Concert a few days ago, she’d handed him a call sheet and left him to it. And when he’d been helping her sort the study, it had been easy to just boss him around.
Until today. Violet was under no illusions who was in charge today, even if she was the one holding the steering wheel. And she really didn’t like it.
Beside her, Tom sighed, brought his hands down to rest in his lap and opened his eyes. ‘Okay, look. This is how this is going to work. We are going to have lunch. Over lunch, we will make friendly conversation. We will probably talk about our families, our friends, our lives. Because that’s what people do when they go out for lunch.’
‘Not always,’ Violet interjected. ‘When we have flower committee lunches we mostly talk about other people. In fact, most lunches I’ve ever been to have been filled with people talking about other people.’ Seemed people were always more comfortable gossiping about people they barely knew than about themselves. In fact, they especially seemed to like talking about her, she’d found.
‘Fair point,’ Tom conceded. ‘Okay, then, imagine we’re at some sort of internet dating meet-up thing.’
Violet couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No way.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because no logical computer programme in the world would ever put us together!’ The journalist and the woman who got screwed over—quite literally and in front of millions—by one. Not a natural match.
‘You don’t know that!’ Tom twisted in his seat to grin at her. ‘We’re both relatively young, relatively attractive...’
Violet tossed her hair over her shoulder, the way her mum did when she was dealing with idiots who didn’t know they were idiots. ‘Relatively?’
‘In your case, relative to the pop stars and supermodels of this world. In mine...relative to everyone else.’ Tom shrugged, as if to admit he knew the argument was kind of weak.
Violet raised her eyebrows as she pulled into the car park of the Fox and Hounds.
‘Regardless of our relative attractiveness levels, I can assure you that our personality profiles would be very, very different.’ Violet switched off the engine.
‘Oh, I think we could have stuff in common.’
‘How would you know? You don’t know the first thing about me, apart from what you’ve read on the internet.’ And watched, of course, although she didn’t feel the need to remind him of that.
‘Exactly.’ Tom flashed her a grin and opened the door. ‘And you don’t know anything about me.’
‘Except that you’re a reporter.’
‘That’s my job, not who I am.’ He got out of the car.
‘So who are you then?’ Violet called after him.
‘Come to lunch and find out.’ Tom leant down, rested him arms on the door frame and peered in at her. ‘I’ll do you a deal. For every question you answer of mine, I’ll answer one of yours. Off the record.’
‘I told you, I don’t believe in that.’
‘You might by the end of lunch. Now come on. I’m starving.’
CHAPTER NINE
VIOLET HAD BEEN RIGHT—the hand-cut chips were definitely worth the trip. The conversation, not so much. So far, over a pint of bitter for him and an orange juice for her, they’d discussed the menu, the merits of starters over puddings and the general preference for both, whether a table by the window might be nicer than one by the bar, and if the couple arguing in the car park were ever coming in.
But now, as the waitress retreated after leaving them their meals, he had his chance.
‘So, do you want to go first, or shall I?’ Tom popped another chip in his mouth while Violet considered her answer. Then, since it seemed to be taking her a while, he ate another. ‘That wasn’t meant to be such a brainteaser, you know.’
‘It’s a big decision!’ Violet said. ‘Like that bit in The Princess Bride with the iocane powder. You know... Are you the sort of person who’d put poison in your glass or my glass? That bit.’ She looked down and selected her own chip, biting it in half.
‘How, exactly, is lunch with me like deciding whether to drink poison or not?’
‘Not lunch. The question thing,’ Violet said. ‘I mean, if you ask first, then I’ll know the sort of level of questions we’re asking, which makes it easier for me to come up with mine. But if I go first, then I can see how good your answers are before deciding how good my answers should be. See?’
‘Sure.’ Or, you know, not at all. ‘So, you like movies?’ Tom asked, oddly charmed by her uncertainty.
Violet’s gaze flew up to meet his. ‘Is that your first question? Because I hadn’t decided...’
‘Okay. Not an official question. Just an idle wondering.’ Anything that got her talking was good with him.
‘Then, yes. I like movies.’ She took a breath. ‘So, my turn.’
‘You’ve decided, then?’
Violet nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘So was that me going first, or did that one
not count and this next question is you going first?’ He grinned at the frustration that crossed her face.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not really, I suppose.’ Tom settled back in his chair. ‘Go on, then. Ask away.’