‘I’m so sorry, Libby.’
They’d been at the Manor less than ten minutes and he already looked broken. Libby touched his shoulder.
‘Bloody squirrels,’ she said. ‘That’s another black mark against them. I’ll have to add “daybed destroyer” to the song.’
He stood, a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘I’ll find another room tonight. From tomorrow I’ll sort somewhere else. I can sleep in the car, find a sofa, sleep outside maybe? It’s warm enough.’
‘Henry—’
‘And I need to amend the contract.’ He strode out of the bathroom.
Libby followed.
Grabbing the contract and a pen from his bag, Henry swept the rose petals off the bed and sat with a thump.
‘If only I could have a contract for my parents,’ he muttered, flipping through the pages. ‘Theypromisedthey would dress appropriately and act normal. The bloody dogs are more obedient than they are.’
‘Theywerewearing clothes.’
‘Barely.’
‘And they’re just excited you’re here and have a, er…’
‘Fake girlfriend?’
She nodded. The bedroom situation was the least of their worries. She was more concerned with Henry’s state of mind. She was beginning to understand why he’d been so reluctant to bring a girlfriend home before.
‘Thank god thisisall an act,’ he grumbled. ‘If you were real, you’d already be out of the door.’ He scribbled notes on the contract. ‘I’m adding “lifting”.’ He flipped back, turned the pages ninety degrees and began a drawing of the new bedroom and bathroom in the margins.
‘Henry, you really don’t have to do this.’
He looked at her, his face tight with tension. ‘I do, Libby. Right now, this is the only thing I have control over and I’m not breaking my word. Why don’t you unpack whilst I finish this?’
She glanced around the room. ‘Which wardrobe should I use?’
He waved his hand. ‘Any of them. I’ll fit around you.’
Which one should she pick? The furniture was older than the average London flat, and the room had a footprint twice the size. Henry put the papers down, went to the nearest wardrobe and opened the door with a creak.
‘I haven’t used any of them for years.’ He pushed a few coats to one end. ‘Plenty of room here.’ He moved to a chest of drawers, pulling socks and boxer shorts from the top two drawers to stuff in the bottom one. ‘Is that enough space?’
Libby nodded, her cheeks heating at the sight of his underwear.
He cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. I’m being insensitive. I’ll give you five minutes.’
He bolted out the door, closing it behind him before she could reply.
Libby let out a breath. Henry was clearly stressed to the point of snapping. She’d spent plenty of her adult life around crazy creative types and was used to nudity. But the fact that Henry was so straight-laced and his parents so bohemian made the contrast between them that much starker.
She quickly unpacked, then opened the door. Henry was standing at the end of the corridor in front of a large window that looked out onto parkland, his arm raised as if waving to someone outside.
‘Henry?’
He turned. ‘All done?’
She nodded. ‘What should we do now?’
‘Are you hungry?’
