She Hates Me Not: A Richer in Love Romance (15 page)

Quickly he texted Yannick.
Slight change of plan. Please collect me at The Penny Whistle on B5410?  Should add 15 minutes or so to the drive. I’ll check myself out of the Arden. All bags will be with me.

Sitting back, Kip exhaled – this time with relief – as he put away his phone.  The world turned on its axel once more.  He would find Lou, ask her forgiveness, and plead his case.  After that, he’d respect whatever answer she gave.

W
ith one hand on the tiller and the other on her hat, Lou steered the Evangeline free of the George Billington lock.  So far, it was a day filled with
lagniappe
.  Good thing, too, since she woke up wishing it was already over.

The lock had been for her – which meant Lou didn’t need to drain it before steering her boat inside.  Once the Evangeline floated between the two sets of gates, she waited for the lock to fill.  When its water level matched that on the gate’s other side, she urged the boat forward at a cautious crawl.

The first hundred times she navigated a lock, Lou was as nervous as a heron before a hurricane.  One wrong shift of the tiller, and a canal boat could end up lodged diagonally between the lock’s walls.  Cross wind, the skippers called it. 
Merci bon Dieu
, it never happened to her.

Now Lou could manage any lock on her own, but most days she didn’t need to.  The narrowboat community was as friendly as it was generous.  Captains and their crews always lent a hand, and quickly Lou learned to do the same.  The spirit among cruisers was
valliant
, outgoing and obliging.

Before she entered the lock, the young and somewhat rowdy crew of an approaching boat had already climbed ashore.  They wound the paddles and opened the gates.  Lou thanked them profusely while tossing Mardi Gras beads like she was Queen of Carnival.  It was the first time she’d smiled since waking – and probably the last.

In spite of Lou’s inconsolable mood, it was a
beau soleil
day on the Avon.  As much as the Brits complained about their weather, she loved it most of the time.  The rainy days were romantic.  The sunny days were inspiring.  In south Louisiana, rain often arrived as if it was seeking revenge.  Skies blackened like asphalt.  Clouds billowed like whitecaps.  While lightning forked, thunder lumbered across the ominous horizon.

The rainstorms in England were different.  Less violent.  More polite.  They approached with the caution of a nameless cat and often slunk away before making a fuss.

As Lou passed the lockmaster’s station – which reminded her of a giant green beer can – she steered the Evangeline to the left.  Although she’d made good time down the river, it wasn’t for a lack of traffic.  School holidays doubled the number of boats on canals, and during summer vacation they tripled.  So did business for canalside pubs and inns.

At 1 p.m., The Penny Whistle already buzzed with customers.  On the pub’s ample back deck, families devoured their lunches while other patrons nursed cider or wine.

Narrowboats were stacked stern to aft on both banks of the Avon.  Several were draped with colorful flags on white strings.  Others sported football colors.  A few like Lou’s carried flourishing plants or Christmas lights or both.

Overshooting the pub, Lou moored the Evangeline on the Avon’s south bank.  She was well beyond the outermost boat and beneath the shade of a substantial oak tree.  That put her several hundred yards from The Penny Whistle, but crews who anchored along the north bank backtracked a full mile to the nearest footbridge.

No stroll along the Avon’s woodsy footpaths seemed like a hardship to Lou.  Except maybe when she was starving.  Which, at that moment, she was.

As she anchored the Evangeline, Lou took stock of what she did and didn’t have.  While everything she owned traveled with her, she still needed to eat.  In Evesham, she could make groceries.  She could wash her clothes in the shower and hang them on the line to dry.  Right now she’d treat herself to a nice lunch and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Lou followed a foot-worn trail through the grass.  When she drove the boat, she had to focus.  With that distraction gone, she felt emotions tumble over her like junk from an overstuffed closet.

Was her gut wrong about some bad
gris gris
coming?  Had she tucked tail and run for the right reasons?

Or was the sting of what happened between her and Kip messing up her internal compass?  She needed a job.  She loved her life.  She could get it all back by turning around.  She still hadn’t gone to Confession either, and she liked the priest in Stratford.

Maybe Moggie was right.  In six years nothing bad had happened.  No
voyous
in the bushes.  No
rougarou
under the bed.  Maybe her fear was its own
fifolet
, luring her to wander until she was lost.

Fear of the unknown was worse than the known.  Someone famous must have said that.  Now Lou was living its truth.  And what was it Kip had told her in the limousine?  Hiding just feeds the lies.

That included the lies she was telling herself. 

Lou couldn’t blame fear – not the unknown kind – for the lies she’d told that week.  If she hadn’t wanted Kip around, she could have shooed him away, but her protests were for Amy’s sake.  Love for her sister outranked everything else. 

But love wasn’t a zero-sum feeling, and Lou felt it for Kip as well.  She was glad she didn’t have any pictures of him – apart from their photo at the gala.  One internet search would solve that problem, of course.  The temptation would be with her for the rest of her life.

She might not know Kip well enough to love all of him.  She loved all that she did know. 

As one side of The Penny Whistle came into view, the sound of voices swelled.  Lou traipsed up its deck stairs in a tired half-trance.  Before she grabbed a table, she needed to say hi to the owners.  They were old friends of Beryl’s – who no doubt called ahead to let them know Lou was coming.

Sure enough, the Maiseys welcomed her without an ounce of surprise.  Steve stepped from behind the bar to claim a sideways hug.  His lanky arm encompassed Lou’s shoulders with plenty of limb to spare.  He wore an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt with a white tee and cargo pants.  The style was more Waikiki than Worcestershire. 

Mary was as compact and soft as her husband was angular and lean.  Her loose-fitting maxi dress, bright with African patterns, brushed the hardwood floor.  She hugged Lou with cheery fierceness while servers whisked past them, and her dreamcatcher earrings tickled Lou’s neck.

As the hug continued, Steve returned to the bar. “You made good time from Luddington.”

“I set out early.”  Lou separated from Mary.  “Didn’t stop along the way.”

“We were wondering when you’d show.  He has been, too.”  Mary pointed over Lou’s shoulder.

Lou couldn’t bring herself to turn around – not at first.  Who else could it be but Kip?  She hadn’t noticed him when she first entered, too weary and hungry to care.

When a chair scraped the floor behind her, she swiveled.  Kip looked relieved and a bit reluctant.  Lou felt exactly the same.

Cautiously Kip left the table.  One hand was jammed in his pocket.  The other held a bouquet of daisies which he extended with a hangdog smile.

“They’re a bit wilted,” he said.  “I’ve hauled them about all morning.”

Accepting them, Lou kept her gaze on their white petals.  “They look about how I feel.”

Kip returned to his table and held out a chair.  “Inside all right?”

Nodding, Lou sat down.  The table was perfect.  Next to a window but away from the noise and cooled by the A/C.  While a few patrons were crowded around the bar, the dining area was pretty much deserted.  Everyone else was outside soaking up the sun.

Without asking, Kip filled Lou’s water glass.  He was back to his Armani casual style.  Lou tried not to notice her own dime-store attire which didn’t even qualify for shabby chic – just shabby.

“Well.”  She rested the bouquet on the windowsill.  “I know two women who can’t keep a secret.”

“Thank God,” Kip replied.  “I would have driven all over to find you, but they certainly made things easier.”

Lou glanced to her right.  Both of the Maiseys watched from the bar like their pub hosted a reality TV show.  Embarrassed, Lou retreated into her Southern manners.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

Kip’s grin faded.  “I’m sorry for leaving like I did yesterday.  A better person would have stayed and listened.”

“Shouldn’t I be apologizing to you?”

“No,” Kip told her.  “You love your sister.  No one should apologize for that.  My mother put you in a terrible position.  Frankly, so did I.  I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Kip’s right hand slipped across the table.  Gently it settled atop Lou’s left.  As she met his gaze, joy cascaded through her like waves on warm, surf-worn sand.

“Do you think we’re both crazy?” Lou asked.  “Me and Amy, I mean, because of all this running and hiding?”

Kip’s expression grew pensive.  “I think you’re both doing what you feel you must in an unpredictable situation.  Possibility is a powerful motivator.  Most of our actions are based on what’s possible, not on what will actually happen.  Otherwise no one would buy lottery tickets.”

“So, because it’s possible that my daddy hid money…”

“It’s possible that other men will try to find it.  Look at your country’s Gold Rush.  Men crossed an entire continent in the hopes of growing rich.  Is it so farfetched that others wouldn’t try to find the lost treasure of the Aucoin dynasty?”

“You make us sound like an adventure movie.”

“Knowing you is an adventure.  Absolutely.”  Kip’s thumb massaged the top of Lou’s hand.  “I have to go back to London today, but can I come see you on the weekend?”

Lou struggled to answer as conflicting desires clashed inside her.  “The point of leaving is for no one to find me.”

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise.  It’s our secret until you say otherwise.”

Another wave of happiness crested in Lou’s heart.  Kip wasn’t going to try and talk her into staying.  He wasn’t aiming to change her mind.  Willingly he would wait for Lou to return. 

More and more, she was wanting to stay.  “And how are you going to find me?”

With his free hand, Kip removed a small mobile phone from his pocket.  It was similar, if a little bit nicer, than the one Lou had crushed under her shoe before leaving Stratford.  She’d dropped the fragments in a recycle bin.

“I’m the only one who has this number,” Kip assured her.  “Mine is programmed in.  You can text me, ring me, and no one is the wiser.”  He pushed it across the table.  “And when you’re ready to replace it, I’ll buy you another.  If you’ll let me.”

“Bread basket!”  Mary appeared beside them with a pile of brown bread and a pot of chilled butter.  “Now, pets, what are we having?”

“Could you give me a minute,
cher
?” Lou asked.  “I haven’t thought about food since I walked in.”

Playfully Mary pursed her lips.  “I can’t imagine why.  Just let Steve know when you’re ready.”

Fairly sure that her cheeks were beet red, Lou returned her attention to the daisies. “When are you going to London?”

Kip glanced at the time on his phone.  “Four o’clock.  Which gives us two and a half hours to reconcile, enjoy lunch – my treat, if you’ll permit me – and perhaps finish that tour of your boat before I go.”

Lou raised her eyebrows.

“Just a tour,” he promised.

“Hey, Steve.”  Lou shifted toward the bar.  “What’s the special?”

“Roast beef, Yorkshire pud, two veg, and berry crumble.”

“I’ll have that!” she called back.

Kip motioned for Steve to make it two. “So does this mean you’ll wait with me until I’ve gone?”

“Only if you come find me again.”

As Kip nodded, his kiss-me-please face reappeared.  Lou decided to oblige.  Lifting up from her chair, she stretched across the table and pressed her lips to his.  She lingered before easing back into her seat.

Kip’s expression hadn’t changed.  He stared at Lou’s mouth as he spoke.  “What was that for?”

“For not letting me disappear.”

“How can I?”  He smiled.  “The daisy has spoken.”