It wasn't every day of the week that you saw a librarian
carrying a package on her head that looked bigger than she
was, struggling to get off a London tube train at eleven
o'clock in the morning.
Especially when that librarian had sun-streaked blond
corkscrew hair that fell around her shoulders in long, wavy
tendrils.
As he stepped out onto the platform, Kyle Munroe glanced
back to the next carriage just in time to see the librarian
stretch up on tiptoes, lift the wide bag over the heads of
her fellow passengers, then thrust it forward to use as a
wedge through the crush of travellers rushing past her to
board the train. They had little regard for anyone who might
dare to get in their way.
Seconds before the train door beeped closed behind her, the
blonde had to practically jump onto the platform, before
snatching the package out of the jaws of the sliding doors
with such force that she almost fell backwards as the tube
sped away.
The librarian tried to restore her dignity by tugging the
jacket of her dove-grey skirt suit a little lower, and
lifting her cute, small nose a little higher, before
hoisting the straps of what looked like an artist's
portfolio case over her neck and shoulder. Only the bag was
still dragging on the floor, so she forgot the straps and
went for Plan B. This involved holding the edges of the case
with her fingertips, arms at full stretch, while trying to
hitch the wide strap around her neck with one shoulderblade
and her chin.
After two trial steps in amazingly rickety-looking heels,
she strode forward, the portfolio flapping against her
chest, head high, eyes set on her goal—the escalator. Only
Plan B let her down, and she was reduced to sliding,
dragging and cajoling her oversized package towards the
escalator.
Perhaps she was actually a schoolteacher, and any second now
she would tell the unruly portfolio to go and sit in the
naughty corner?
Nope—she was definitely a librarian. The only woman he had
ever seen wearing that kind of dull grey skirt suit by
choice had been the technical librarian at his medical
school. That particular lady could dance a mean mambo, and
was a world expert on parasitic diseases, but she still
chose those hideous suits!
Then again, she had never, ever worn dove-grey mules below
legs like the ones trying to walk ahead of him at that
minute—the kind of legs that forced the first smile of the
day from his lips.
So what if he was a leg man and proud of it?
This was turning out to be the high point of a journey that
had started in squalor and sunshine a long way from London.
Three hours across the mountains in a bone-shaking Jeep with
bald tyres had been followed by a very long flight in
economy class, surrounded by wonderful but exhausted
screaming kids. Coming up with games and toys to amuse them
had been fun—for the first couple of hours.
It had been a long day, and his body clock was starting to
kick in. Perhaps it was time to show his appreciation for
the lady who had finally given him something to smile about?
With his long athletic legs, and her shorter, high-heeled
ones, it only took Kyle a few steps to catch up with her.
'Do you need any help with that?' he asked, trying
to sound casual and non-threatening.
The librarian didn't break stride as she took a sideways
glance at his six feet one of athletic hunkiness—or at least
that was how the TV company liked to describe him. From the
stunned look in her pale blue eyes, she had decided that he
was clearly not to be trusted.
He tried to act casual by running a few fingers through his
shaggy, dark brown, now mostly dust encrusted hair. Hmm. Not
his best look. Perhaps he should have made the time to take
a shower and change his clothes at the airport?
'I'm fine, but thank you for offering.'
Except the words were barely out of her mouth before the
portfolio slid off her shoulder and Kyle had to reach
forward to stop it from being trampled underfoot by the
crush of passengers trying to cram onto the escalator.
As they were swept along in the rush, the librarian took a
sharp intake of breath and clutched onto the handrail. Her
other hand was pressed to her throat, where a red welt
showed that the weight of the bag was very far from being fine.
'It's okay—I've got it,' Kyle reassured her.
'Maybe I could carry it as far as the barrier? How about
that?'
'Okay, just to the barrier.'
She half turned around to face him, and he was struck by her
closed-mouth smile. His medical head noticed immediately
that her right eye was flecked with deeper shades of blue
than the other. Whatever she saw in his face he could only
guess, but the half-smile creased the corner of a wide,
plump mouth set in creamy skin sprinkled with freckles over
her nose and cheeks. Like cinnamon powder on whipped cream.
Freckles. Why did she have to have freckles? He almost
groaned. Doomed.
'I see that you've flown from Delhi. That's a
long flight. Been there on holiday?' she asked, her
dainty head tipped slightly in the cutest, loveliest, most
freckly pose.
Drat! The airline tags were still attached to his old rucksack!
'Just passing through,' he replied, trying to sound
flippant, before nodding over her shoulder. 'Here we
go.'
The librarian suddenly realised that they were at the top of
the escalator, and whipped around so that she could step to
one side and stay within touching distance of her precious
package.
He took a firmer grip on what felt like a thin wooden
frame—not heavy, but an awkward size and shape—and casually
swept the handles over one shoulder.
'What sort of picture is this?' he asked as he
fumbled for his ticket, half expecting to hear that it was
some Old Master bound for restoration by learned scholars in
an ancient London guild.
'Orchids. Yellow orchids, to be exact.' She paused
and nodded. 'I'm sure I can manage from here.
It's only a short bus ride to the South Bank. Sorry to
have been such a nuisance.'
'No apology necessary.' Kyle was just about to pass
the portfolio over when he paused. 'Did you say the
South Bank? That's where I'm headed. Why don't
we share a cab?' He hoisted the bag a little higher.
'The bus could be a problem.'
Even though she had been the first to mention her
destination, she hesitated, clearly weighing up the benefits
of getting there in one piece against the danger from a
scruffy potential stalker and orchid-picture thief. Kyle
stared at her silence as she bit her lower lip before going
for it.
'Um, okay. Yes, that would be great. Thank you. Normally
I would walk along the Embankment—but not in these shoes,
carrying that. And I am rather late.'
'Me too. Shall we risk it?'
That seemed to stun her for a few seconds, but with a gentle
nod, the blonde climbed the steps out of the station. The
crush of other pedestrians and the awkward shape of the
portfolio conspired together to thwart most of Kyle's
view of the spectacular legs in action on the stairs, but
the little he did see was well worth the effort.
It took only minutes to clamber out into the noise and chaos
of the city street. After eighteen months in the mountains
he had forgotten what a physical assault on the senses it
all was, and the girl in the grey suit had hailed a black
cab before he'd pulled himself together.
Kyle made a point of swinging the package onto the backseat,
then holding open the door for her before jumping in himself
with his rucksack.
While he knew as much about London art galleries as she
probably did about yaks, the name the librarian gave to
their driver sounded familiar enough for him to be impressed.
As their cab took off into the traffic she collapsed back
against her seat and slowly exhaled, her arm wrapped
protectively around the edge of the portfolio.
'Are there a lot of career opportunities for art
couriers these days?'
She looked across at him as though she had almost forgotten
that he was there.
'Oh, this is only a sideline,' she replied in a
matter-of-fact voice. 'My real job is in art forgery.
That's where the real money is.' She leant closer
and whispered, 'But I'm relying on you to keep my
secret to yourself.'
'My lips are sealed. Best of luck in prison.'
The blue eyes crinkled up into a smile as she took in his
filthy jacket, two-day stubble and the trousers that had
last seen water two weeks earlier after an emergency
Caesarean section on a riverbank.
'Passing through Delhi? That sounds like a lot of fun.
Is it still warm and sunny there?' she asked in a
light-hearted voice.
'Very,' he replied with a sigh. 'At this time of
year they're getting ready for Diwali—the festival of
lights. I'm sorry I'm missing that! It's a
fantastic city. Do you know it?'
'Not personally,' she replied, then gave him a
wistful smile. 'But people have told me about the
wonderful colours and the atmosphere. I've always wanted
to go there. Maybe one day,' she added, shrugging her
shoulders. Then the blonde gestured towards his jacket with
her head. 'I can see that you've spent time in the
mountains. Let me guess. Have you been climbing or hiking?'
Wow. She really was observant. It was a pity that the truth
was far too complicated, because ideally he would have loved
to find the time to do precisely those things. But he had
never got the chance.
'Not even close. What makes you think that I've been
in the mountains?'
She grinned back before replying. 'I noticed that
you're wearing a white Buddhist scarf, and you have
Hindi graffiti scribbled on your arm.'
Kyle stared down at the plaster cast encasing his left
wrist, which was completely covered with colourful messages.
Um. Perhaps some of them were a bit crude.
'You can read Nepali?' he asked, with genuine
admiration in his voice.
'No, but I do recognise the Hindi characters,' she
held up one hand, palm forward. 'And I don't need a
translation, if it's all the same to you.'
'Probably just as well. I'm Kyle, by the way.'
He reached forward with his right hand, and she glanced at
it for a second before giving it a firm, quick shake with
small, thin, cool fingers. His rough fingertips rasped in
contact with her delicate skin. Perhaps that was why she
pulled back immediately, as the cab slowed for some lights,
and started scrabbling about in her messenger bag?
'I could give you my name,' she replied, 'but I
am on a very important mission where secrecy is vital. That
sort of personal information is strictly on a need-to-know
basis. This should cover my share of the cab fare.'
Kyle looked at the pile of coins she had passed him in
bewilderment, and wondered if cab fares had increased at the
same rate as female sass since he had been away.
'A mission at the art gallery? Ah. Of course. The old
forgery trade.' He tapped his nose twice. 'Your
secret is safe. What are you running late for?'
'I have to drop this off and then make a
twelve-o'clock appointment. I'm cutting it
fine.' She glanced at her watch, and noticed that he was
not wearing one. 'How about you, Kyle? What are you late
for? Oh, sorry—another time. This is the gallery.'
She flashed a beaming smile in his direction as the cab
slowed in front of an elegant glass-fronted building.
'It's been a pleasure, and thanks again. I hope I
haven't delayed you too much.'
'Wait,' Kyle replied, pushing the bag towards her.
'One question. Please? I have to know. Are you a
librarian, by any chance?'
She stopped trying to drag the portfolio over her shoulder
and looked at him wide-eyed for a second, before breaking
into the kind of warm smile that stopped traffic and turned
curly haired, blond librarians into supermodels.
'Not even close.' And with that she closed the cab
door and gave him a regal wave, before striding away without
looking back.
Twenty minutes later Lulu Hamilton sauntered down the wide
South Bank pavement as best as she could in her godmother
Emma's dove-grey mules, and revelled in the sights and
smells of the crisp, late-October day.
As a beam of bright sunshine broke through the clouds she
dropped her head back and closed her eyes to enjoy the moment.
Not bad, girl. Not bad at all. She had reached the gallery
right on time. The job was done. It had meant sharing a taxi
with a cheeky tourist with a killer smile, but for once her
risky decision had paid off and she had delivered her
painting in one piece.
The yellow orchid acrylic was destined for a luxury boutique
in the city. The gallery was delighted, the client was
thrilled, and best of all, she had been paid a bonus for
delivering the piece in time for their grand opening. If she
kept to a tight budget, the cheque in her pocket would see
her through the first few months of art college. Her dream
had just come one step closer.
She inhaled deeply, soaking in the sights and smells of the
city. Ten years ago she had been a student here, before
she'd left university to take care of her father after
her mother was killed. She rarely came back. It was too
painful to think about what could have been.
Not any longer. That was then and this was now.
For the first time in many years she was finally moving
forward with her life and putting the past behind her. So
what if it was a baby step, and she had a few steep hills
head? Mountains, even? She was moving forward and she was
doing it through her own hard work.
One thing was certain. She had forgotten how crowded the
city was—and how noisy. The traffic din was worse than ever.
The cacophony of mixed fragments of sound from buses,
taxicabs, cars and people seemed to collide inside her brain.
Well, that was something she could control!
In one smooth, well-practised motion, her fingertips
smoothed her shoulder-length hair down over her left ear
and, oblivious to anyone else, she turned off the small
digital hearing aid fitted behind it.
That was better. Much better.
Brightly coloured leaves in amazing shades of scarlet and
russet, from the maples and London plane trees which lined
the Embankment, blew against her legs in the fresh breeze
from the Thames.
She loved autumn—it had always been her favourite season.