Free Croissants and Jam by Lynda Renham Page A

spending even a small amount of money on such badly designed clothes. I try on one last blouse and step out for approval. He claps his hands in appreciation, proving he has no taste whatsoever.
        ‘Perfect, just as nice as the Yves Saint Laurent thing, which goes to prove it is not who makes it but who wears it,’ he observes knowingly while eating a biscuit.
    I swig back some Coca-Cola with two Paracetamol. I am still fighting the desire to phone Simon again and tell him the truth. Oh yes, right Bels and just what do you intend to say? Hi honey, just wanted to call back to say I actually lied about the couple I was travelling with. Actually, it is a guy, you know, just me and him. But it is fine, really, as he is an arrogant arse with an inflated wallet and a girlfriend. I don’t think so. Pushing Simon from my mind, I rummage through the underwear section while Christian throws in a can of shaving cream and horror of horrors, a toothbrush. Without even glancing his way, I quickly grab one too and toss it in. I mean, I have to face the fact that the chances we will have to stop somewhere are becoming pretty real. Well, at least I have clothes. Not the best in the world but surprisingly they look quite good and considering I spent about a third less than I would normally, I feel quite pleased. I see Christian watching me in astonished silence as I total up the value of my goods and my half of the food bill and convert the euros to pounds. Admittedly, a year ago, I would not have even considered it, but it really is quite astounding how much you can spend when you have no real idea of the currency. A month ago when I had to fly to New York for work, Simon had bought me the converter and advised me to use it. I really thought it was a waste of time but actually it was fantastic. I knew exactly how much I had spent. Now, I can see from the corner of my eye that Christian is shaking his head. Yes, well, wanker, at least I will be able to pay my credit card bill without having to up some poor bloke’s building estimate to pay for my recklessness. I begin to separate the food so it is fairly shared between us when his hand slaps on mine.
        ‘Okay, I can cope with the currency crap, just, but not this crazy one bag of crisps for me, one drink for you . We will be here all night if you start that. You pay for your clothes and other bits okay? I’ll pay for the food, done,’ he says flatly cramming things onto the conveyer.
        ‘No, I can’t be in your debt,’ I insist firmly, whipping the cap from my head and throwing it onto the conveyer with the rest of my things. He huffs.
        ‘It’s a few bags of crisps, some chocolate, a few bottles of wine, whatever. Take my word for it, I don’t want your body in return. I am well aware it belongs to somebody else.’
    I feel my face redden.
        ‘As in fact does mine, so there we are.’ He seems to add this as a quick afterthought and I let out an involuntary gasp.
        ‘It does?’ I say sounding like a dimwit.
    He nods and hands over a credit card.
        ‘Yes, I have a fiancée, in New York, well she is in Rome right now.’
    He stops packing the bags and looks at me.
        ‘I thought you were keen on sharing, we could like pack together.’
    I shake myself and start throwing things into bags.
        ‘But, you are English,’ I say stupidly and blush again.
    He looks thoughtful.
        ‘This is true, well spotted. And your point is?’
    I shrug, carry on packing and pay my share. After transferring everything back into the trolley we make our way to the Lemon, where we silently pack the bags into the boot. I am about to climb in when he speaks.
        ‘Just for future insults, do you have a name?’ He winks, and I try not to smile.
    I bite my lip and finally say,
        ‘Bels.’
    He nods.
        ‘Ah ha, I thought that was a whisky.’
    I sigh and fasten my seatbelt.
        ‘I’m Christian, but I am sure you have