* * *
On Monday morning, Grace picked up a text from Roland during her break.
Can you get Wednesday to Friday off this week?
Why? she texted back.
Sweeping-off-feet stuff was the response. Which told her nothing.
I’ll see what I can do, she said.
Possibly because it was still June, before the summer holiday season started in earnest, the office where she was working was happy for her to take the time off.
‘Excellent,’ Roland said when she told him the news.
She coughed. ‘“Sweeping-off-feet stuff” is all very well, but if we’re going away somewhere I need to know what to pack.’
‘A couple of nice dresses and something for walking about in,’ he said.
‘Walking about—do you mean walking boots, waterproofs and insect repellent?’ she asked.
‘Nope. Smart casual.’
‘So it’s urban and not country, then?’
He sighed. ‘Grace, I can hardly sweep you off your feet if you know all the details.’
‘But if I don’t know enough, I’ll need three suitcases so I can be prepared for every eventuality,’ she countered.
He smiled. ‘Minimal luggage would be better. OK. It’s urban. I’m not planning to make you walk along most of Hadrian’s Wall—though,’ he added, ‘if you’re up for that...’
Grace pushed away the thought that she’d go anywhere with him. Because this thing between them wasn’t permanent. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said, hoping that she sounded polite enough but not committing herself to anything. ‘Got it. Minimal luggage, a couple of smart dresses, and smart casual stuff with shoes I can walk in.’ Quite what he had in mind, she had no idea.
‘And your passport,’ he said.
‘My passport? Bu—’
He silenced her protest by the simple act of kissing her. ‘It’s sweeping-off-feet stuff,’ he reminded her gently. ‘And my bank balance can definitely take it, before you start protesting or feeling guilty. It’s a place I’d like to show you, so please just give in...’ He laughed. ‘I would say gracefully, but, given your name, doing something “Gracefully” means asserting your independence and being stroppy.’
She nodded, simply because that kiss had wiped out anything she’d intended to say. And he just smiled and kissed her again. ‘Sweeping you off your feet. That was the deal,’ he said.
And how.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘REMIND ME NEVER to play poker with you,’ Grace grumbled as they got on the Tube. ‘You have to be the most...’ She shook her head, unable to think of the words.
‘Poker-faced?’ Roland teased.
‘Annoying,’ she retorted.
Roland just laughed. ‘If I told you where we were going, then I wouldn’t be sweeping you off your feet. Trust me. It’ll be worth it.’
Grace wasn’t so sure—until he led her to a platform at Victoria station and she realised what was standing in front of them. An old-fashioned train, with the staff all lined up in front of it, wearing posh livery.
‘This is the London starting point of the Orient Express.’ She caught her breath. He couldn’t mean this—could he? ‘We’re going on this? Now? Really?’
He looked utterly pleased with himself. ‘Yup. I was paying attention when we talked at the fireworks, you know.’
And how. This was something she’d dreamed about doing for years and years, and never thought she’d ever actually do. When she’d mentioned it to Howard, he’d clearly discussed it with his mother because he’d told her the next day that it was way too extravagant and there were much better, cheaper and more efficient ways of going to Paris than the Orient Express.
Not that she’d ever been to Paris. Since she’d been dating Howard, they’d always been too busy at work to take off more than a couple of days at a time, which they usually spent in a cottage somewhere in England—even though Paris was only two hours away from London on the Eurostar.
And now Roland was taking her on her dream trip. Although they weren’t going all the way to Istanbul—because that particular journey was only scheduled for once a year, and even Roland couldn’t change that—they were still taking a slow train to Paris, the City of Light. The most romantic place in Europe.
He was really sweeping her off her feet.