London Love Story

Chapter 3

Call Me Coco

In the beginning after her ski accident, Corinne had often thought about Harry. She had committed to memory as much as possible about him—his eyes, his voice—but everything faded over time. It left behind a guilt at not tracing his whereabouts, and as the years went by, the need to find him became less. Now, two hours after she'd spotted him outside the restaurant, Harry was sitting beside her on an open-top bus. The twin seats on the upper deck meant their shoulders touched, the same way they'd touched when they'd been sandwiched together in the snow dugout.

'Harry. I want to say something to you. Actually, I want to say a lot. And here I am  ... a bit unsure of what words to use.' She huffed. 'Over the years I sort of planned what I would say, and do, if we ever met again—'

'But you've forgotten your speech?'

His smile did a good job at destroying all logical thought as she battled to stay calm, trying to say what needed to be said. 'Do I have a speech? Not really. Obviously, I owe you  ... you know  ... a lot, and I'm struggling to find the—'

'Do you want to write it down first and then tell me?'

She examined his twisted smile. 'You're not helping, Harry. Please be serious.'

'Hold my hand.' It felt warm, her fingers enmeshed in his larger hand. She noted a slight pressure, a hidden strength. 'There.' He dropped his voice confidentially. 'Now say what you want to say.'

A deep breath helped. 'I owe you my life. Um, please, don't interrupt. You know damn well if you hadn't showed up, followed my tracks, taken a risk yourself  ... if you hadn't done all that, I would have died on that mountainside.' For some reason which she couldn't understand, she burst into tears. 'Sorry.'

He said nothing. Except his arm round her shoulder said everything.

It took a moment to compose herself. 'I have money; I'm well off. And I want to make a bank transfer to—'

'No need, Corinne. Just your thanks is plenty enough.'

A lump stuck in her throat. Without realising, she used his handkerchief to wipe her tears. She remained determined that the matter wouldn't end there. Both her hands wrapped around his arm and held on. 'I still have your ski jacket. For a long time I could smell your scent when I held it. Then one day you'd gone, so to speak.'

'Oh, really.'

'I see it every day. It hangs next to my dresses.'

'In your bedroom?'

'Yes.'

'I'd like to see your bedroom.' He paused three seconds. 'Sorry, I don't know why I said that.'

'It's OK. You speak what's on your mind. I like that.' She felt a nonconforming side to Harry; he didn't fit into a standard mould. 'Will you promise not to disappear again?'

'Do I matter that much?'

'Yes. For some reason which I can't explain, I want you in my life.' It felt odd to her that she'd said that—it seemed she might be begging. But it wasn't begging. Harry had become important to her in a way she couldn't yet fathom.

'I promise to stick around for as long as you want me.' His words carried a message which she would try to figure out later.

The bus had already passed Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square, although she hadn't noticed their journey. It felt liberating to be in the open on the top of a bus. They both put on their sunglasses but ignored the headphones that gave a commentary. She watched the people on the pavement below her as she pushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.