‘No,’ said Carmen. ‘I think that’s far enough. You don’t want to go full Nigel Farage.’
‘I don’t,’ said Blair with a shiver. He looked at himself in the mirror.
‘This isn’t me at all,’ he said. ‘Am I wrong to like it?’
‘I like it,’ said Carmen.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Well, all right then.’
The bill was absolutely eye-popping, but Blair didn’t bat an eyelid, just tossed a gold credit card over the counter.
He marched out in his expensive wellingtons and shiny new clothes, admiring himself repeatedly in the windows as they passed. A few more people were blindly feeling their way through the snow, including a woman who, when she realised who she was walking past, tripped up in shock.
‘Madam,’ said Blair, back to his charming best, helping her up.
‘Blair Pfenning!’ she managed. ‘I … I love you!’
‘Well, how nice,’ he said smoothly, carrying on moving even as she fumbled for her camera with frozen hands.
‘Goodness,’ said Carmen. ‘Does that happen a lot?’
‘Not nearly enough,’ said Blair. ‘For example, some people just leave me stranded in a strange city without a flight out.’
‘Hot chocolate,’ said Carmen firmly, steering them into the little café at the bottom of the hill, its windows all steamed up. They ordered two for staying in, while Blair stabbed buttons on his phone and made large sighs.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Carmen, as they sat down by the window, watching the lovely street taper up into the snowy horizon, the cut-out white snowflakes fluttering prettily above their heads, the scent of cinnamon heavy on the air. It was ridiculously adorable, particularly without being thronged with its usual thousands of tourists. Although, thought Carmen with her business head on, it would be quite nice if they came back fairly quickly.
‘Give me one of your marshmallows,’ she said, having finished her own.
‘No!’ said Blair, pouting. ‘Why should I?’
‘Because if you give me one of your marshmallows, I’ll sort out your flights for you.’
His grin was back, although he hastily damped it down.
‘Really?’
She took his phone and pulled up the airline’s website. Sure enough, with his booking reference and the airline being well aware of the thundersnow situation, it took her about six minutes to complete the transaction.
‘Put me in a window seat,’ he said quickly. Then he came over to sit next to her. ‘It is business, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Carmen. Goodness. Flying off to sunny LA in business class. That would be something.
He sighed.
‘Honestly. You’d think they’d bump me up to first for all this inconvenience.’
She looked at him, shaking her head.
‘Yes, all the terrible hot chocolate and shopping-based inconvenience.’
She handed back the phone while he busied himself with making sure he had the right seat.
‘I mean, 1A is obviously ideal,’ he was saying, ‘but it looks like someone else has it and frankly you’d rather be in, like, row six than with someone next to you who wants to talk to you. Worse if they’ve read your books.’
The sweet waitress, her hair in plaits, came forwards timidly.
‘Excuse me, are you Blair Pfenning?’