Page 17 of The Perfect Gift

She dropped her handbag on the chair, then headed into the kitchen. The room was silent, no nagging drip, drip, drip of water into the sink. Frankie tested the tap and grinned when it shut off easily. She made a note to ask Issy in the morning what Matt’s preference was so she could add him to her coffee and treat order by way of thanks.

Half an hour later Frankie was on the right side of a hot shower and clad in her cosiest flannel pyjamas and a thick pair of socks. Her hair was covered in a leave-in conditioning treatment and slicked back from her face. Too tired and still too wired to eat much, she put some crisps and a few olives and other picky bits in bowls on the coffee table and poured herself an enormous glass of wine. Thinking about how inviting the fireplace in the castle had looked, she placed a few logs and bits of kindling on the grate and hunted around in the drawer until she found the safety matches. It took a few attempts to get it started, but it was worth the effort, she thought, as she curled up in the corner of the sofa with a satisfied sigh. She cradled the wine in her palm and let the fire mesmerise her into relaxation.

It had been a long day, but a good day. Even the frustration of multiple scene takes couldn’t spoil those magical moments when she and Dalton had truly connected in front of the camera and created something beautiful. She could still recall the way her heart had pounded the first time she’d read that scene in the book, and she only hoped the viewers would experience the same when they got to see those incredible words brought to life.

She glanced across the room to where she’d dropped her bag in the chair. She should get her phone and check the fallout from the video. She knew her PR would be handling everything, but the need to see for herself was already nagging at her. Ignore it was the advice, but that was easier said than done. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried that in the past. Not knowing was always worse because her imagination went into overdrive and conjured up endless horrors. It was a boil to be lanced – quick, painful, but fine once the poison had been drawn. And she knew there would be lots of lovely comments in amongst the nasty ones. But as with her experiences growing up in social care, the bad stuff had more staying power than the good, and deep down inside she was still that little girl who believed there must be something wrong with her.

Five more minutes, she promised herself, and then she’d get it over and done with.

Knock, knock, knock.

Frankie jolted with a start at the sound of someone banging on the front door. Assuming it must be Matt, dropping by to check she was happy with the lock, she heaved herself up off the sofa and padded over to the door. ‘Hold on a sec,’ she called as she unhooked the bolt and turned the key. She was still clutching her glass of wine, so it was a bit of an awkward one-handed fiddle. ‘You did a great job,’ she said as she pulled open the door. ‘Thank…’ The words died on her lips and horror spread through her gut as her vision was filled with blood-red roses.

11

‘I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to see,’ Ed said to Frankie by way of greeting. ‘But I just wanted to nip over and apologise for scaring you last night.’ He thrust the bouquet of roses he’d picked up in Port Petroc towards her. ‘I’ve brought you these as a peace offering and I was hoping we could start again.’

While he hadn’t expected her to welcome him with open arms, Ed wasn’t sure he deserved such a look of abject horror either. He took in her cute checked pyjamas, slicked-back hair and face devoid of make-up. It was clear she wasn’t expecting any visitors and he cursed himself for acting impulsively. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve called.’ When she still didn’t say anything, Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out his shiny new phone. ‘I managed to get a replacement sorted out.’ He shrugged and tucked it away again. ‘Not that I suppose it makes any difference to you, as I doubt you’ll be asking me for my number,’ he offered with a grin. Still nothing.

Well, wasn’t this awkward as hell? Both Harry and Kat had assured him Frankie wasn’t any the worse for wear, but maybe she’d only been putting a brave face on things, because the way she was glaring at him told Ed she was definitely not ready to put the previous night behind her. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry, again, and now I’ll go away and leave you in peace.’ Ed offered her the flowers again.

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Frankie demanded, finding her voice at last.

‘No, no joke,’ he replied, thoroughly confused. ‘I was going to the florist anyway to pick out a Christmas basket for my mum and I didn’t want to turn up here empty-handed…’

‘And you expect me to believe you randomly chose red roses? What kind of a sicko are you?’ She raised her hand, flung a full glass of wine in his face and slammed the door.

Ed stood there, wine dripping off the end of his nose, the magnificent bouquet dangling from one hand, unable to process what had just happened. Regardless of what Kat and Harry said about her, there had to be something fundamentally wrong with Frankie to behave in such an extreme manner. No wonder she had a reputation for being the word he’d promised Kat he wouldn’t say.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking it.

He was about to head back to the flat and get changed when a sound came from the other side of the door. Ed stepped closer and strained his ears. There it was again, a sort of coughing, spluttering sound. Was… was she crying? Crouching down, he tentatively raised the letterbox cover and the sound of sobbing intensified. He was the one with wine still dripping down his face – what did she have to cry about? The flash of irritation dissolved at the sound of another heart-wrenching sob.

‘Frankie?’

‘G-go ’way,’ she choked out around her tears.

There was zero chance of that. He had no idea what he’d done to trigger her outburst, but there was no denying he was the cause of Frankie’s distress. Crouching wasn’t comfortable for a man of his height, even without a damaged leg to contend with, and he shifted on the step, trying to ease the ache starting in his knee. ‘Whatever it is I’ve done to upset you, I swear it wasn’t on purpose.’ Ed’s gaze dropped to the flowers still clutched in one hand. What had she said – something about her not believing the red roses were a random choice? ‘Is it the roses?’ She sobbed harder and her palpable anguish gripped at his heart like a vice. Both the cold metal of the letterbox and holding it open against the stiff spring mechanism were making his fingers hurt. Ed lowered it quietly and placed the bouquet in his other hand down on the step before straightening up. He pulled his brand-new phone out of his pocket and typed ‘Frankie Webber Red Roses’ into the search engine. Dozens of hits popped up – a mix of lurid tabloid headlines, social media posts and YouTube hits. ‘Frankie Freaks Out!’ ‘Frankie Fan’s Floral Fail!’ ‘Frankie Webber is an evil cow’ and on and on. He clicked on the first return that had an embedded video clip and began to watch it.

Frankie was sitting in a crowded carriage on what he recognised as the London Underground from the garish seat covers as much as the distinctive coloured line map on the wall above her. She had a hat pulled down over her hair and her nose buried in a book, and it was clear from the odd angle that whoever was filming her was doing so covertly. That was creepy enough – imagine not being able to go about your business without someone shoving a camera in your face for a selfie or, worse, secretly recording your every move – but the woman behind the camera was also providing a whispered running commentary. ‘Guys, look who it is! Oh my God, oh my God.’

The video continued to focus on Frankie and the people around her, who seemed oblivious to her presence, either lost in the phone screens raised in front of their faces or the music pumping into their ears through oversized headphones.

‘She’s so amazing. I love her as Georgiana Sinclair and I can’t wait for the next season of Ton!’ the excited, whispering commentary continued.

The woman sitting next to Frankie stood and shifted out of frame and a few other people passed in front of the camera, then disappeared. The train was likely approaching a station and they were preparing to exit. A man dropped into the seat beside Frankie, and Ed’s gut twisted into a tight knot at the red roses clutched in the man’s hand. Every nerve end alert, Ed shifted his attention to the wild, wide-eyed expression on the man’s face. The next thing, the man was leaning over and saying something to Frankie.

‘Oh, oh, I think she’s got a fan!’ the mystery commentator said with a giggle. ‘This is too funny!’

Frankie glanced up from her book with a polite smile and a nod, as though acknowledging that, yes, she was who the man thought she was. He muttered something else then shoved the flowers at her. Frankie leapt out of her seat, the book tumbling to the ground. She moved so fast the covert camera person lost her from shot and the image blurred and wavered until it focused on Frankie once more. She was white-faced and screaming, ‘Leave me alone, leave me alone!’

The man lunged out of his seat, his body blocking the camera but he could be heard saying, ‘I love you, I love you, why are you doing this to us?’ The image panned past him and Ed could see Frankie trying to push her way past people towards the other end of the carriage, pleading with someone to help her. To his disgust, no one stepped in, and, even worse, at least half a dozen were also pointing their phones at her. Ed paused the video. He was curious to know what happened next but was uncomfortably aware he was almost as bad as the people filming Frankie. She’d clearly been terrified by the man and he felt grubby at being a witness to her distress.

He glanced down at the flowers sitting on the step and shuddered. He should’ve thought about the implication of red roses – they were the kind of thing a lover gifted, or someone who hoped to be a lover. Romance had been the last thing on Ed’s mind when he’d chosen them. He’d simply thought they looked festive and Christmassy with a few gold-sprayed pine cones and berries scattered amongst the velvety roses. He glanced back at his phone and the endless list of hits for the incident on the Tube then quickly stuffed it away in his pocket. With a grunt of annoyance at his own ignorance, Ed snatched up the bouquet and tossed it down the path, where it was swallowed up by the dark. He’d take them away when he left but he didn’t want to risk upsetting Frankie again when she opened the door.

If he could persuade her to open the door.

Ignoring the pain in his knee, Ed knelt on the step and placed both hands on the letterbox and raised it again. It was quieter now, just the odd sniffle. ‘Frankie,’ he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle. ‘I am so, so sorry, I had no idea about the roses, I swear, and I feel like such an idiot for upsetting you like this. Please open the door and let me check on you and then I’ll go away and leave you alone.’