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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Nikki Moore 2015
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Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Nikki Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © January 2015 ISBN: 9780008127237
Version: 2017-10-10
For anyone who has ever been in love, or thought hope was lost and then found it, this is for you.
To my sister Natasha, Happy Birthday / Valentine’s Day - surely the best day of the year to be born on.
To Mark – our first together, Happy Valentine’s Day x
Contents
Skating at Somerset House
New Year at the Ritz
Valentine’s on Primrose Hill
Cocktails in Chelsea
Strawberries at Wimbledon
Picnics in Hyde Park
Now
Leo Miller still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up standing alone on Primrose Hill on the most romantic day of the year, both hoping and dreading his Valentine would show up. The girl he’d thought would be a friend but had turned out to be so much more. The girl he owed the truth to, instead of the version she thought she knew.
If she came.
He stood at the top of the panoramic park, the London skyline sandwiched between a bright blue sky and leafy trees. Rolling green grass flowed below him, intersected by numerous paths lined with Victorian-looking lamps. He could make out all the main landmarks in the distance, no longer needing the long, narrow metal plaque on the circular brow of the hill to read the city. He’d brought too many classes here over the last five years to show them the glorious sights of their capital. He knew this skyline off by heart.
Left to right was the spire of St Mark’s Church, the high-rise, closely huddled towers of Canary Wharf, the dark curved outline of The Gherkin and lower, crouching St Paul’s Cathedral, the soaring sharp-edged Shard. Further over was the pinnacle of the BT Tower (plumper at the top), the rounded upper half of the London Eye wheel then over to Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, Crystal Palace Tower and smaller, tucked away on the edge, Westminster Cathedral.
Shoving his freezing hands into his coat pockets, he shivered in the crisp February sunshine. It was a beautiful Saturday, though cold, and gusts of wind shook the last of the leaves that had somehow survived autumn and winter from the trees. Hard to believe it would be spring soon. Happy, noisy families with pushchairs and plump, eager toddlers on reins panted their way up the concrete paths, and dog walkers rambled across the amazingly healthy green grass, some of them throwing tennis balls for their canine friends. A couple wandered past hand in hand, bundled up in scarves and woolly hats but not looking like they felt the frigid temperature at all, too wrapped up in each other. Cars zipped past, making their way in and out of Camden Town. At the bottom of the hill was Primrose Hill Bridge, spanning Regent’s Canal. If she didn’t come he’d walk down there, take a tube to Oxford Street and distract himself by trekking around the shops.
He checked his watch. Five to twelve. He’d asked to meet at noon, but had wanted to get here early.
As bitter as the weather was, he’d prepared a mini-hamper filled with champagne and gourmet foods, had thought they could sit on one of the benches and share a feast and the view, the backdrop they’d met against. It was probably a crazy idea given the near sub-zero temperatures but he’d thought it would be romantic and had limited the madness by also bringing a rucksack stuffed