Choose Your Own Story Part Three

[girlyswot]

He sat at the kitchen table and watched while she filled the kettle, then gathered mugs, teabags and milk. Prudence knew he was assessing her and was glad not to show any clumsiness in her actions. Jake Gillespie must already be despairing at having her for a partner. She wanted to prove she could at least do one thing well. Integration had always been her forte.

‘Biscuit?’

‘Please.’ He didn’t smile, but she thought there was a hint of humour in those blue eyes.

Prudence opened the tin and set it on the table.

Jake looked gratifyingly impressed. ‘You made them?’

She bit back her smile. ‘Certainly not. I bought them from the WI stall at the local farmers’ market. This isn’t the 1950’s, you know.’

He didn’t take the bait. ‘They’re very good.’

‘Milk and sugar?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘In your tea,’ she explained patiently. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’

Jake scowled at her. ‘Americans don’t drink tea.’

‘In England everyone drinks tea,’ Prudence told him. ‘Here.’ She’d put in a splash of milk but no sugar.

‘Thanks.’

They sat in silence for several minutes. Prudence cradled her warm mug between her hands and watched Jake munching his way through several biscuits. His eyes looked darker than they had out in the sun. His hair too, was no longer the yellow of spring barley. In the cosy gloom of her kitchen, it was mellowed to the rich gold of ripened wheat. Still gorgeous, though. Which was the last thing she needed in her partner.

‘So, what have they given us?’

Jake casually shrugged one shoulder. ‘It’s a Bear That Coughed.’

She groaned. Bears were one of the least favoured assignments. Deceptively simple tasks which inevitably came with notoriously complicated ramifications. A bear that coughed was a single action, identified as the trigger for a series of events which ultimately led to undesirable consequence. Reversing the initial action was the easy part. Dealing with all the unforeseen results was the tricky bit.

‘Timeframe?’ Bears could take years, even decades to unravel.

‘Eighteen months.’

Eighteen months was long enough. She ought to make an effort to be friendly. ‘Would you like some lunch?’

He grinned. ‘I thought you’d never ask. I’m starving. What’s in the fridge?’

Prudence glared. ‘You’re really going to need to work on your manners.’

Jake laughed. ‘The brash American? They’ll love it.’

She humphed, irritated to realise that with that smile and those eyes, every woman within a hundred miles would indeed love it.

‘You can set the table,’ Prudence told him. ‘Cutlery in that drawer. Mats on the end of the windowsill. Bowls and plates on the dresser.’

She opened a tin of soup and put it into a saucepan to heat.

‘So, what’s your cover?’ Prudence frowned as she checked the bread bin. There was the end of a two day old wholemeal loaf that would have to do. She considered jazzing it up with the bit of cheddar that was left in the fridge for some impromptu cheese on toast.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he began.

Prudence turned to face him, hands on her hips. ‘Oh, no. No way. Not again.’

Jake raised his hands defensively. ‘I tried to tell them you wouldn’t be ready.’

That brought her fury right to the surface. ‘How dare you? You know nothing about me! You don’t know what I’m ready for or not.’

‘Well, I can see you’re not ready to be out in the field again,’ he retorted. ‘You’re clearly emotionally unstable. I can’t imagine what they were thinking, sending you out here.’

Prudence contemplated throwing the saucepan of hot soup at Jake’s head. Instead she settled for picking up the bread knife and waving it threateningly in his direction. ‘I am not,’ she told him through gritted teeth, ‘emotionally unstable. I just don’t take well to being patronised by men who are talking out of their backsides. All right?’

‘Right,’ he responded gravely. ‘Sorry. Would it be patronising of me to point out that the soup is boiling over?’

She spun round, cursing under her breath. With one hand Prudence switched the hob off and with the other she quickly moved the saucepan off the heat. A moment later she realised her mistake. Her hand was already throbbing with pain where the handle had burnt it. For an instant, Prudence contemplated ignoring it and pretending she was fine.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jake was standing just behind her.

‘Nothing,’ she muttered.

‘Let me see.’ He took her hand in his and examined it. ‘That looks nasty. Come on, let’s put it under the tap.’

It would be easy to let him take control. Easy to let him take care of her. Too easy. That was where she had gone wrong before. Prudence pulled away from Jake. She started the tap running but didn’t hold her hand under it. Instead she took one of her pretty, flowery tea towels from its hook and soaked it, then wrung it out and wrapped it around her hand. Jake watched her in silence.

‘You could pour the soup,’ she suggested.

‘Prudence…’

‘Let’s eat, shall we? And then perhaps you could explain to me exactly how I shall go about telling my neighbours that apparently I am involved with an American man whom I have never mentioned to them. And how I shall explain why I have led them to believe that I am not romantically involved with any man, having moved to the country following a devastating break up with my previous partner. Who, by the way, was neither brash nor American.

‘Once we’ve exhausted that delightful subject,’ she continued, not pausing to let him interrupt, ‘maybe you’d like to tell me what exactly it is we’re supposed to be doing here. And it would be nice if you could see your way to filling me in on your previous experience and field skills. I daresay we shan’t need to bother going over mine, since you’ve clearly been studying my files. I expect you know more about what happened with Peter than I do.’

‘Prudence,’ he repeated gently. ‘I’m sorry about what happened with Peter.’

She took a mouthful of soup and concentrated on not crying.

‘This is delicious,’ he tried.

Prudence crumbled her stale bread into her soup.

‘Here.’ He pushed a large white handkerchief across the table towards her. ‘We can talk later.’

‘I’m not crying,’ she mumbled.

‘He was a bastard,’ Jake said matter-of-factly.

Prudence put down her soup spoon and nodded. No point trying to pretend any more.

‘I believe he’s currently on a mission in Siberia. Something to do with the Magyars.’

Peter loved the glamour of post-Renaissance Europe and appreciated the technologies of the post-industrial era. He would loath that primitive age. And besides, he always hated the cold.

‘A twenty-five year Bear, I heard.’ Jake was smiling again.

Prudence choked back a sob and managed a faint curve of her lips in reply.


And onto the polls! Apologies for the last poll in which I managed to ask a trick question that had already been answered in part 1. I have enough to do writing this stuff, I don't have time to read it as well! I need lots of ideas from you all this time. But don't worry - I'm going to be away until Friday, so you have plenty of time to think stuff up for me.

[Poll #1291549]