Page 19 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

CHAPTER TEN

FELIX

I look over the breakfast table at my companion on this supposedly dirty getaway.

“How are you feeling?” I ask loudly.

“Ouch! For fuck’s sake, Felix,” he hisses. “Can’t you keep your voice down?”

I give that idea some serious consideration. “No,” I say even louder and without a jot of sympathy.

Andrew raises his head from where it’s cradled in his hands. His eyes are bloodshot and his salt-and-pepper hair is dishevelled. He looks like a daddy, but not the sexy kind. More the kind that hasn’t had any sleep for three days and is slumped in the baby aisle of Tesco’s at three in the morning.

“Well, this is a lovely weekend,” I say brightly, stirring my tea and making sure my spoon hits every inch of the cup.

He winces and my smile grows brighter. “You fell asleep on our first night here at seven o’clock.

That was followed by what can only be termed a drinking binge the following evening which entailed you spending the night passed out under the chaise lounge in our room.

Hardly the stuff of a young man’s sexual fantasies. ”

“I said I was sorry,” he says testily. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re rather high maintenance, Felix, and I’m not entirely sure you’re worth the effort.”

I blink. “Maybe I am high maintenance,” I say in a tone of revelation.

“Perchance that’s why my relationships have all withered and died.

They were burnt out by my constant demands for sensate partners.

Oh my God, you’ve really put your finger on it now.

Which, incidentally, is what you should have been doing last night and the night before. ”

“Give it a rest,” he advises me. “I’m feeling really ill. The least you can be is sympathetic, Felix. Why the hell aren’t you suffering too?”

“Because I stopped drinking after the fifth hour, as I had a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t remember where the hotel was.”

I look at him and sigh. He picked me up in a club a few weeks ago by telling me he was an architect.

To be fair, he could have told me he was a sewer cleaner and I’d still have shagged him, because he was so sexy with his lean body and grey-brown hair.

However, this weekend would have been a disaster even if he hadn’t passed out.

He’s patronising and has a habit of ruffling my hair like I’m one of the fucking Von Trapp children.

If he starts eyeing up the curtains or using a whistle, I’m out of here.

We also have zero in common, and it’s very apparent once we’re out of bed.

“Thank you for that,” he says grudgingly. Then he sighs. “Babe, I think you’re going to have to drive back.”

I choke on my mouthful of tea. “What?”

“I bet I’m still over the limit. Not to mention that I feel like utter shit.”

“You want me to drive on the motorway on a Sunday afternoon when the whole of England will be driving home?”

“You’ve passed your test, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “Although I’m really not sure how I did it, and I don’t want to test my abilities in the fire of the M40.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says dismissively. “You’ll be fine.”

He looks much happier now, I think sourly .

An hour later however, he’s looking a lot less sanguine. “Oh Jesus ,” he shouts from the passenger seat, pressing his foot down on fresh air. “Watch that old lady.”

“Pensioners really are like lemmings,” I marvel as I steer around the two old people who don’t seem to realise that there’s traffic on the roads these days rather than horses and carts.

“Maybe the motorway won’t be so busy after they’ve all been flattened while shopping for antiques and eating cake. ”

“Oh my God, brake ,” he shouts.

I come to a juddering stop at the lights. “I did see them turn red,” I say through clenched teeth. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do today than watch the road.”

“The light is on green,” he informs me.

I shoot him a killing glare and set off, but only after stalling the car and incurring the wrath of the motorist behind me who puts his hand on his horn and keeps it there for an obnoxiously long time.

“Go fuck yourself,” I shout out the window at him.

Andrew pulls me back in. “Not in the Cotswolds, Felix,” he says, sounding a lot like I imagine Barbra Streisand would if she’d been asked to sing a Cheeky Girls song. “You really are a shit driver. Did you learn to drive in an actual car?”

“No, Andrew,” I say in a sing-song voice. “It was a plane. Where the fuck did this road come from?”

I turn onto Chipping Campden high street and all sniping stops.

“This really is the prettiest village I’ve ever seen,” he says and I have to agree.

Golden-bricked houses and half-timbered buildings flank a narrow high street, their mullioned windows catching light in the sun. Every few steps there are pretty shops and delis or old pubs.

However, my attention is fully occupied by attempting not to hit people as the car crawls along. It’s like Need for Speed without the points system.

“His house is on the high street according to Google Maps. Where will you park?” Andrew asks.

“Zeb said you can go behind the house and park on his drive.” I see the turn up ahead and exclaim. “Yes, there it is! ”

“So, this is a friend of yours?”

“Not really my friend. He’s Zeb’s stepbrother,” I correct him. “And we’re definitely not stopping for long. We’ll drop the papers off, watch him sign them, and then get off back to London as soon as possible.”

As I drive down the narrow lane, I see the big sage-green gates that Zeb mentioned in his instructions.

They’re propped open, and beyond is a small garden and the back of Max’s cottage, all honey stone and windows twinkling in the sunshine.

My heart picks up speed and my palms get sweaty.

I wipe them surreptitiously against my jeans and signal to turn in.

“I’ll back into the drive,” I say nervously. “It’ll make getting out easier.”

“It’s very tight,” Andrew says dubiously, no faith in his voice at all.

I roll my eyes. “Said the actress to the bishop.”

I pull past the entrance and then slowly reverse. It takes three attempts while Andrew sits with a supercilious look on his face and I feel sweat dampen under my arms. Finally, I’ve got the car straight enough, and I start to back in.

“Well, that was interesting,” he says.

I finally snap. “About as interesting as some of your architectural stories, Andrew. Memo: the post-industrial vernacular and spatial composition are not conversational catnip. Maybe you could put a note in your Blackberry for the next time you pick up someone in a club.”

“You know, Felix, I think?—”

There’s a dull thud as the car hits something on the drive.

“Oh my God .” I jam my foot on the brake and promptly stall the car.

For a long second, there’s silence, and then I jerk back to life like someone just applied an electrical current to my balls. “What the fuck was that?” I breathe. All I can hear is birdsong.

“Oh God,” he groans. “Has he got a dog? Have you run his dog over?”

“Shit!” I feel sick, and my breathing is far too quick. “Get out and have a look,” I say.

“No, you look,” he says, shoving me .

I get out of the car, sure I’m going to vomit. At the sound of a groan, I dash to the back of the car.

I’m expecting to find a dog, but instead I find Max. He’s lying on the drive, blinking up at me, grimacing in pain and cradling his right arm.

Horror rushes through me. I could have killed him. Instead, I appear to have maimed him.

“Oh my God, Max.” I drop to my knees next to him. “Oh my fucking Lord, I’m so sorry.”

“You ran into me, Felix,” he says through gritted teeth.

I feel stupidly and immediately defensive now that I see he’s sitting and capable of bitching. And that I haven’t killed him. The relief has fled and left only rage.

“What the hell were you doing lying on the drive waiting to be run over, Max?”

“I wasn’t exactly lying on the drive,” he protests.

“Then what were you doing?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him.

The car door opens. Great. Andrew has obviously decided that it’s okay to emerge now I’m not about to be handcuffed and carted off to prison. “Babe?” he says.

Max’s face instantly clouds over. “Who’s that?” he asks sharply.

“Not your business and very much beside the point,” I advise him. “What were you doing on the ground?” I pause. “Were you drunk?”

“Felix, it’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” he says mildly, still staring past me at Andrew. “Even I wait until the sun has gone down. I was just lying on the ground to see the effect of a winter day on a dead body.”

My head is about to blow up like a kettle, steaming and rattling. “Couldn’t you google it like a normal person?” I shout and it’s very loud.

“Felix.” Andrew gestures to me and I get up, admonishing Max to stay where he is. He obeys with an angelic look on his face. Andrew pulls me gently to one side. “Babe, your snark is out of control. Maybe you should dial it down. You did run him over after all. ”

“I’m just sorry I didn’t get his jaw,” I say loudly and see Max smile out of the corner of my eye.

I pace back over to him. “Is your arm broken?” I ask.

He gives a one-shouldered sort of shrug. “Probably just a sprain. I bumped my head on the car, and when I fell, I landed on my arm. It hurts a bit, but I’m fine.”

I wonder if that means he’s in agony. Max learnt incredible stoicism as well as good grammar while he was a journalist.

I groan. “Motherfucker. Look at you. Put your hand up.”

He smirks. “What for? Detroit?”

“You are not funny despite your numerous attempts at it.” I pull off my flannel shirt and fashion a sling from it, easing his arm into it gently. He lets me work with an entirely too innocent expression on his face. “God, you’re a fucking idiot,” I grumble. “Could this day get any worse ?” I sigh.

“Why have you had a bad day?” Max asks immediately. His expression clouds over. “Did he do something?”

“Who?” I ask.

He nods toward Andrew.