Summer at Tiffany's by Karen Swan Page B

the cheek, her cigarette held away from her. ‘That man down there – his ass is disgusting,’ she said, shaking her head despairingly and sitting back on the bucket again.
    â€˜I know. We’ve tried everything – pea-shooters, accidentally on purpose watering him instead of the herbs . . .’ Henry said, his tone jokey, but he was pale beneath his tan and Cassie could tell he hadn’t slept much either.
    â€˜How’s Archie?’ Anouk asked, intensity in her eyes, and Cassie felt a rush of love for the emotionally cool friend who had still dropped everything to be here.
    â€˜A lot better. Stable at last. They’re moving him to a general ward later today.’
    Cassie’s mouth opened with happy surprise and she clapped her hands together, keeping her steepled fingers by her mouth, but still Henry didn’t look at her. Her heart rate began to rev. How long was he going to be able to keep this up for – the happy-go-lucky routine while cold-shouldering her?
    â€˜Now that’s the news we’ve been waiting for,’ Bas said with a grin as he held up his hand for a fist-bump and the two men affectionately shoulder-barged. It was like watching puppies wrestle.
    â€˜He’ll be made up to see you guys. I can’t believe you came,’ Henry said, his hands on his hips, finally running out of people to greet. Except her.
    Their eyes met – apology, sorrow and so many other things besides in his grey-blue eyes. He was making light of the strain of the past couple of days for their friends’ benefit, but Cassie could clearly see the toll it had taken on him: he hadn’t shaved for days, and his cheeks were drawn – she realized she hadn’t seen him eat for two days. For the first time in their history together, he’d fallen apart. Without a word she got up and threw her arms around him, nuzzling her face in his neck as she felt the heat of his palm across her back.
    â€˜Wow. Really? Only a night apart?’ Bas chuckled, reaching over for a drag on Anouk’s cigarette. ‘True love’s dream.’
    Henry clasped her head in his hands, pulling back to gaze down at her. ‘I’m a stupid arse.’
    â€˜Maybe. But you’re my stupid arse.’
    â€˜Your arse is gorgeous,’ he grinned, grabbing a handful of her bottom and squeezing it hard.
    â€˜I think it’s an English thing,’ they heard Bas whisper below them.
    He kissed her lightly. ‘You know Arch won’t be allowed the macaroons?’
    â€˜I know. Bas has already enlightened me – and scoffed half of them.’
    His finger traced her cheek. ‘It was deeply adorable of you, though, to make them for him.’
    â€˜You think?’
    He nodded, before kissing her again.
    â€˜Oh Jeez,’ Bas sighed, closing his eyes and topping up his tan.
    Walking down Sloane Street with Anouk was like dragging a toddler to the dentist and taking a shortcut via Disneyworld. She wanted to look at
everything
– the dress on this mannequin, the shoes just beyond that door, the flowers framing the windows at Cartier, just a few minutes to chat to her friends (and colleagues of sorts) at Dior, for as one of the most sought-after and elusive jewellers in Paris she had collaborated with their couture atelier for almost a decade now.
    Cassie was patient. So long as Henry remained in eyeshot, his straight back and easy, long-legged stride within view as he marched with Bas down the famous shopping street, she didn’t care. Her eyes were feasting on him, anticipating already the make-up sex they’d be having the second they dropped Bas and Nooks back at their hotel. The foreplay had already begun in fact. He had swooped on her from behind a beech tree earlier in Cadogan Square – today was an open day for all the usually private and locked garden squares of London – his hands all over her, the hunger in his eyes leaving her breathless