Page 39 of Love in Tune

With the new day came new resolutions. She’d concentrate her efforts on the things that were within her control, and on the things that were the most pressing.

Principally that meant getting the campaign back on track, and secondly it meant telling Tash and Nell in no uncertain terms that there would be no date with Elvis, nor anybody else.

She’d allowed herself to get so whipped up by this ridiculous search for the elusive piano man that she’d tried to strong-arm Hal into sleeping with her – now that she knew about his own romantic woes she felt pretty shoddy about that.

She’d tossed, she’d turned, and finally she’d wrestled him into the right box overnight.

Hal was her neighbour, and hopefully he was her friend.

Yes, there was a physical spark between them, but one that was best left to dwindle and fizzle out, all things considered.

Knocking on his door ready for work half an hour later, she was resolute.

‘Morning, Hal,’ she said, chipper when he opened his door, already wearing his sexy fisherman garb.

‘Honeysuckle,’ he said, cordially.

‘Ready to go?’ she asked gaily, although he clearly was.

Hal followed her down the steps onto the pavement. ‘Why are you being weird? Is it because of last night?’ he said, cutting straight to the chase. ‘Because for what it’s worth, you were totally right. The last place I’d have wanted to wake up this morning was in your bed.’

Honey stopped walking abruptly. ‘Well, that’s charming.’

‘I’m not a charming man, Honey. I’m an honest one. It was the right decision for both of us. Thank you for making it.’

The bus approached from the other end of the road and they took their places on the early morning commute, precluding any further discussion on the matter.

Mimi hobbled into the shop at around half past ten, supported by Billy and trailed by a lacklustre Lucille. A fragile truce had been settled on between the sisters over an unexpectedly excellent breakfast of Eggs Benedict and homemade blueberry muffins.

‘Mimi has acknowledged that she can, at times, be somewhat bossy,’ Billy said, in clear earshot of his beloved.

‘And Lucille has accepted that it might have been better not to tell porky pies,’ he added, earning himself a baleful look from the lady herself.

‘Good,’ Honey said. ‘Because there’s something I need to talk to you all about.’

Having ascertained that the shop was empty of customers, they all gathered around the counter.

‘I’ve been thinking about the protests,’ Honey said.

Lucille’s shoulders slumped. ‘I can’t believe it’s my fault that we’ve had to stop. I feel terrible.’

Mimi looked as if she might be about to agree, so Honey forged onwards. ‘That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you all free next Sunday?’

Billy’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Tell us more, Honeysuckle. Tell us more.’

Hal couldn’t believe how much he loved being back in a kitchen again. He was an all-or-nothing sort of man, and he’d slammed the shutters down on cooking anything beyond toast since the accident.

As a chef he’d been avant garde, a kitchen alchemist; faced with the possibility of being average, he’d chosen instead to be nothing at all.

His knives had been wrapped and stored away, and even the almost-physical ache in his fingers to cook had finally started to subside.

But still, at night he dreamed of food. He’d become adept at closing down his thoughts during the day, but when he slept his brain ran amok.

Complicated dishes, beautiful creations, symphonies of ingredients that would make the toughest critic weep.

He dreamed of people he used to know interspersed in his here and now, of Honey dining in his restaurant, of Imogen laughing at how the mighty had fallen to running the kitchen of an OAP home.

He battled against sleep because he didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with damp cheeks and a racing heart, and because he’d have to handle those hideous in-between moments just after waking before he remembered that the nightmare was real. Brand new pain every time.

It really was sheer hard work being Benedict Hallam. The gap between his two lives was too big a leap for any sane man to take. It would take a man with balls of steel to jump that chasm.

Thursday ran into Friday, and finally the weekend arrived with a burst of pale sunshine.

Honey woke just after dawn on Saturday morning full of nervous energy, and then forced herself back to sleep and slept in late.

Most of the week before had been spent laying down surreptitious plans for Sunday.

Every customer in the shop had left with a few hastily prepared flyers in with their purchases asking for their support, and Old Don’s son had called in a favour from a buddy at the local radio station to ensure that the word would be spread quickly come Sunday morning.

They’d been careful to keep things as covert as possible to shield the plan from Christopher’s ears, and so far their luck had held.

Honey lay back on her pillows. Should she see if Hal fancied breakfast?

The last few days had surely taught them how to be around each other like normal human beings, right?

They ought to be able to manage bacon and eggs unsupervised without fighting or throwing themselves at each other.

She could prove once and for all that she could cook bacon, or maybe he could teach her to make the American pancakes that the residents at the home had become addicted to over the last few days.

‘Like little clouds,’ Lucille had sighed.

‘Or pillows,’ Mimi had nodded.

Pillowy pancakes sounded good. Honey pulled herself up, and then reached for her phone when it buzzed and flopped back to check her messages.

Brunch? from Nell.

Café at eleven? from Tash.

Honey considered her options. A slow, chatty wake up with Nell and Tash over buckets of cappuccino and food she didn’t have to cook herself, or risk being knocked back by Dr Jekyll over the way? Only one of those options offered anything close to certainty or safety, or even a guarantee of food.

She sent a text to both girls. See you there in an hour .

An hour somehow became an hour and fifteen, and Honey pushed the café door open expecting to find Tash and Nell already halfway down their first cups of coffee and berating her for her lateness.

Weird then, that neither of them were in evidence at all.

Tash wasn’t especially known for her punctuality, but Nell hated running late for anything.

She was the only person Honey knew who set her phone alarm to wake her up ten minutes before her alarm clock, just in case.

She also knew what Simon had started to use those extra ten minutes for these days, thanks to a tipsy conversation when Nell had revealed far too much about their suddenly sexed-up love life.

Ordering her usual coffee as she passed the counter, Honey dropped down onto a well-squished sofa and threw her bag on the floor beside her.

After leafing through the paper for five minutes with one eye on the door, Honey reached down and rummaged in the bottom of her bag for her phone.

‘Ma’am, are you Honeysuckle?’

Keeping her eyes cast downwards for a couple of seconds, Honey stopped rummaging and realised she’d been had. She knew without looking up that Elvis had just entered the building.

Turning her face up and her smile on, she slid her phone onto the low coffee table and pulled herself to her feet.

‘I am,’ she said, half holding out her hand awkwardly and trying to remember his name, because she was pretty sure it wasn’t actually Elvis.

He grinned infectiously as he took her hand in his big warm one and dipped his head to kiss her cheek. Honey smelled fresh cologne and washing powder, and found herself impressed by his cleanliness and his big easy confident kid smile.

‘Christian,’ he murmured. ‘Shall we?’ He nodded towards a table for two by the window. ‘I’m starving.’

He pulled out her chair and transferred her coffee to the new table, and while he talked eggs with the waitress, Honey fired off a quick text to Tash and Nell.

You’re both dead to me.

The waitress looked enquiringly towards Honey with her pad in her hand.

‘I’ll have the same,’ she said with a bright smile, even though she’d tuned out and had no idea what Christian had ordered.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I like a girl with a healthy appetite.’

Honey shrugged, unconcerned. She’d eaten at the café dozens of times, there wasn’t anything on the menu she didn’t like.

‘So Tash tells me you play the piano,’ Honey opened the conversation with an invitation to talk about himself, as advised by all the best guides to a successful first date.

He nodded, and pushed his fingers through his chestnut brown hair when it fell in his eyes. Cute, in a Clark Kent kind of way.

‘My whole family’s musical. My mother is a brilliant cellist, she went all around the world when she was younger. That’s how she met my dad,’ he said, as Honey listened to his deep, rich voice and wondered if he sang.

‘Is he a musician too?’

Christian laughed. ‘Actually no, he isn’t. He’s a surgeon. He fixed Mom’s arm when she broke it and feared she’d never play again. She likes to say she was so grateful that she married him.’

Honey relaxed as she listened to him tell her about the rest of his family. They sounded a scarily bright bunch; his brother, the violinist, his elder sister, the talented flautist.

‘You’ve got your own band right there,’ she smiled, impressed.

‘I know. Move over the Von Trapps, right?’

They paused as the waitress appeared with a pot of tea and placed it down on the table with a couple of fresh cups.

‘English breakfast tea,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right back with the food.’

‘Tea?’ Honey said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Not a cup of Joe?’

Christian grinned boyishly at her hammy attempt at an Americanism.

‘I thought you might like tea better,’ he said, almost bashful.