Page 39 of Love or Your Money Back

CHAPTER

As Freddy watches Kat’s taxi drive away, he realises three things. One, he doesn’t want Kat to marry desperate Ahmet or politically calculating Marcus. Two, he wishes he were in the taxi with Kat. And three – he’s in big trouble. Because of numbers one and two.

Truthfully, Freddy was in trouble the moment he lifted Kat into his arms. He felt exposed. All his vulnerabilities behind the watch and suit were wide open, and he saw Kat too. She needs

to be looked after. It’s so obvious. And he wants to be the man to do it. The revelation is both beautiful and terrifying.

As the taxi becomes a spec in the distance, Freddy’s chest aches. He suspects an emotional injury rather than angina, and he does not have a clue how to handle it. His heart is pounding, and he seems unable to disentangle himself from the memory of Kat’s warm, golden-green eyes.

A drink. That will help. And a casual fling to rid himself of many, many confusing feelings.

Freddy heads back into Ascot, making a straight line through the crowd to the champagne bar. That’s when he notices a confused Ahmet, whirling around on the spot with a wheelchair.

‘Freddy!’ Ahmet looks both lost and relieved. ‘There you are. Where’s Kat?’

‘I just put her in a taxi. Let’s have a drink, Ahmet.’ Freddy slings a heavy arm around his shoulder. ‘You and I need to have a little talk.’

‘A talk? What about?’

‘Life,’ says Freddy. ‘The universe and everything. I’ll put this wheelchair somewhere safe. You get the drinks in.’

‘What drink would you like, Freddy?’ Ahmet looks nervous. ‘I assume … a pint of Appleton’s cider?’

‘Why the hell would I drink Appleton’s cider?’ Freddy asks.

‘Because you did that astonishing marketing campaign for it last summer?’

‘Exactly. I’m sick of the stuff. I need a double vodka. Actually, make it a triple.’

When Freddy returns to the bar, Ahmet waits on a stool with a glass of white wine and a shaking leg. A triple vodka sits serenely near Ahmet’s elbow.

‘Is everything okay, Freddy?’ Ahmet asks. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?’

‘Listen, Ahmet.’ Freddy throws back half the vodka soda, then sits down. ‘Kat’s an incredible woman. I don’t want to see her with the wrong man. So, I need to know how much you care about her. I mean, is this little infatuation you have about Kat? Or finding a nice girl to take home to the family?’

Ahmet gives an uneasy laugh. ‘I mean … I’ve never really explored … look, I’m not entirely sure this is an appropriate conversation.’

‘Don’t you think you should explore your motives, though?’ Freddy challenges. ‘Before you take such an intelligent, courageous, beautiful woman off the market? Kat deserves the very best. Not someone who just wants to settle down to please his mother and inherit millions of pounds.’

Ahmet’s dark eyebrows raise in alarm. ‘Freddy, everyone

in my family gets married to please my mother. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. My sisters are very happy and now it’s my turn to start a family. I’m very, very interested in Katerina. She’s wonderful and my mother will love her. My wanting to get married has nothing

to do with money. I swear to you.’

‘And you don’t mind Kat being a cripple?’

‘I don’t think that’s a very politically correct way to describe Katerina’s courageous disease,’ says Ahmet, tersely. ‘And no, of course I don’t mind. We all have our imperfections. I’m two inches shorter than average and can’t play tennis for toffee.’

‘What about marriage?’ Freddy asks. ‘It’s a lifelong commitment. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Freddy, you know I want to get married. And I’ll be a good husband in sickness and in health.’

Ahmet looks so earnest. Freddy can hardly bear it.

‘You’re a good guy, Ahmet.’ Freddy stands abruptly. ‘A really good guy. Kat could do a lot worse. Excuse me, I’m feeling a little peculiar. I need some fresh air.’

‘We’re in an open-sided marquee …’

‘More fresh air.’

‘Don’t you want your drink?’

Freddy eyes the triple vodka and realises it’s the last thing he needs. Kat is relapsing and he should be with her. Sober and competent and able to take care of her.

‘No. Thank you.’ Freddy stalks away from the bar, pulling out his phone and dialling Kat’s number. He can’t believe he let her get that taxi alone. What was he thinking?

Pick up. Pick up.

Kat doesn’t pick up. As Freddy pushes through the crowds towards the exit, Marcus strides towards him, waving like a lunatic.

Marcus is handsome and sharp-suited, irritatingly immaculate in a crisp white shirt and top hat. Flash bastard.

‘How’s my favourite matchmaker doing?’ Marcus throws an affectionate arm around Freddy’s shoulder.

Christ, the man even smells good after a day in the sun.

‘What do you mean?’ Freddy turns awkwardly under Marcus’s arm.

‘I met Katerina’s ex-fiancé earlier on,’ Marcus grins. ‘And he revealed a few home truths about you, Freddy Stark.’

‘Chris is an idiot –’

‘I owe you a drink!’ Marcus cuts in. ‘Thank you for including me in your matchmaking efforts. You know, I was thinking about dating apps, but this is so much better. You’ve found me perfect wife material.

Well turned out. Educated. And championing freedom of speech with a degenerative illness.

Perfect! I can see myself in the House of Commons with Katerina on my arm, can’t you? Beautiful and

intelligent. She’ll photograph so well. I wonder if she would wear that stack-of-books hat on election day? It’s a real conversation starter –’

‘Can’t you look at Kat as more than just a … a … transaction

?’ Freddy says through gritted teeth. ‘She deserves love. Unconditional love.’

‘Are you alright?’ Marcus ventures. ‘I’ve never heard you use the word love before.’

‘I’m just a bit overheated.’ Freddy removes Marcus’s arm from his shoulder. ‘Look, I need to get back to London. We’ll catch up another time. Alright?’

‘Yes, sure,’ says Marcus. ‘And maybe you could put in a good word for me with Katerina –’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Freddy strides across the lawn, dialling Kat’s number again.

Pick up. Pick up.

She still doesn’t.

Freddy picks up pace instead. He needs a fast taxi back to London. Petrol-powered, none of this Nissan Leaf 60mph electric shit –

‘YOU!’

Chris weaves towards Freddy, grasping an empty lager bottle. He is still wearing a moth-eaten was-once-black-but-is-now-grey suit jacket and a top hat so threadbare it would make a tramp feel ashamed.

Apparently, Chris has found liquid courage in the beer bottle. Despite his unsteady footing, his shoulders are back and one fist is clenched. He has clearly forgotten what he knew when he half walked, half ran away earlier: that Freddy is fitter and stronger than he is.

Oh no.

There’s going to be a fight.

A fight Freddy doesn’t have time for.