The Benefits of Passion by Catherine Fox Page B

drunk. She would be waiting for Isabella with a whoop and a wine-glass. Isabella had seldom felt less like partying. And all because of Barney. She had turned the encounter in Latimer into a light-hearted romp for Camilla, and the two of them had giggled and shrieked over the story. But Isabella had been unable to edit out of her mind the memory of Barney standing and shaking his head at her. In disappointment . That’s what was so awful. He didn’t find her outrageous and irresistible. He was disappointed in her.
    She searched along the railings for her bike. As the days passed she had gradually realized that she’d give anything to have him think well of her. Even behave well, for God’s sake. There was no denying it. She was in love with him. There was also no escaping that it wasn’t mutual. He’d never made the slightest attempt to contact her. It was all so humiliating. She would rather die than let him know what she felt. If she bumped into him she was going to pretend that it was a huge joke, and he was only about number eight or nine on her list of intended scalps.
    At last she spotted her bike against the crowded railings. God, I hate it when people park their bikes on top of mine. She struggled to untangle the pedals and handlebars. Some thoughtless, selfish bastard. ‘Some man ,’ she muttered, seizing the crossbar and tugging it away from hers. Both bikes crashed to the ground and lay on the pavement with a wheel whizzing round.
    â€˜ Shit! ’ She aimed a kick, then stopped. They were chained together! She looked up, and there was Barney.
    â€˜Barney!’ She remembered belatedly that he must never know how she felt. ‘Unlock your bloody bike, will you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Only if you have lunch with me.’
    â€˜What? But I – you –’
    â€˜In Latimer. Not very exciting, I’m afraid.’ She gave in and smiled. Why bother to pretend the sun shone from anywhere other than out of his gorgeous backside?
    â€˜I’d love to.’ He was smiling back into her upturned face. The busy marketplace surged on around them.
    â€˜How was it?’ he asked.
    â€˜How was what?’
    â€˜Your exam.’
    â€˜Oh! Terrible.’
    People were tutting and trying to get past them and the fallen bikes. He bent and unlocked his chain. ‘Stop looking at me like that, Isabella.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Because you’re only going to be disappointed.’
    Her smile wavered. ‘I am?’
    â€˜Yes. I happen to know it’s only corned-beef salad.’ Her smile burst out again and she bent to pick up her bike. ‘Nice dress, by the way,’ he said. For a second she thought he was looking down the front of it, but he couldn’t have been, of course. They began to cycle to Latimer. The warm breeze tugged Isabella’s skirt and lifted her hair from her face. She might have been flying. They stopped and waited at the red lights. Isabella couldn’t help blurting out: ‘I thought I wasn’t ever going to see you again.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Well . . . I thought you were kind of mad . . .’
    He turned and looked at her. ‘Mad? At you? Isabella!’
    Her heart was racing. His eyes, his voice, his smile – endless possibilities hinted at, then instantly denied. ‘I bet you’re magnificent when you’re angry.’
    â€˜Mm. I think you’re safe. I have a very, very long fuse, Isabella.’
    â€˜I know you have, Barney. Although size isn’t meant to be important, of course.’
    His lips twitched. ‘And it burns very, very slowly.’
    â€˜Good. I like a bit of staying-power in a man.’
    He lost the battle against smiling. ‘You’re impossible.’
    A car horn honked impatiently behind them and they set off again, laughing.
    â€˜How old are you, Barney?’
    â€˜Twenty-seven.’
    â€˜I’ll be twenty