Loving Our Heroes. Jessica Hart

was very small. She bent and peered inside. ‘Is there going to be room for both of us?’ she asked doubtfully.

      ‘It’ll be tight, but that’s a good thing. We won’t be wasting body warmth,’ said Campbell. ‘But don’t worry,’ he added ironically as she straightened. ‘We’ve separate sleeping bags.’

      Tilly wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She couldn’t decide whether to make it clear that she was relieved, or play it cool, as if she took the prospect of sharing sleeping bags in her stride the whole time.

      Or perhaps this was a good opportunity to find out a bit more about him?

      ‘Still, it’s going to be very cosy,’ she said. ‘Are you going to have some explaining to do when you get down?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Campbell glanced up from where he was setting up a portable gas ring with his usual deftness and economy of movement.

      ‘Well, if I discovered that my husband or boyfriend had spent the night with another woman in a tent this size I wouldn’t be very happy about it.’

      ‘Oh, I see,’ he said, returning his attention to the gas. ‘No, there’s no one I need to explain anything to, and that’s the way I like it.’

      ‘You’re not married then?’

      ‘Not any more.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ Tilly hesitated by the tent entrance. ‘What happened?’

      Campbell sighed and sat back on his heels, looking up at her with a sardonic expression. ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘God, you can tell you’re a man who’s been trained to withstand interrogation,’ grumbled Tilly. Talk about trying to get blood out of a stone! ‘Don’t they teach you the art of conversation in the Marines? I just thought it would be nice to find out a bit more about the man I’m going to be sleeping with,’ she told him with a huffy look and then, to her fury, blushed when he lifted one amused brow at her choice of words. ‘In a manner of speaking,’ she added stiffly.

      ‘Lisa left me for another man who could give her more than I could. We got divorced. She’s married again and lives in the States now. End of story.’

      ‘Do you have any kids?’

      ‘Nope.’

      Tilly sighed. ‘I was about to say that must make it easier because that’s what people always say when a relationship breaks down. At least there weren’t any children. As if it helps somehow,’ she remembered with a bitter edge to her voice. ‘When someone leaves you, it doesn’t hurt any less just because you haven’t got children.’

      ‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,’ Campbell commented.

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Well, you don’t need to feel sorry for me,’ he told her, ignoring the opportunity to say that he felt sorry for her, Tilly couldn’t help noting. ‘It was a disaster from the start. I should never have married her.’

      ‘Then why did you?’

      He shrugged. ‘Why? Because Lisa was—is—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s absolutely dazzling. The moment I saw her, I had to have her.’

      Tilly tried—and failed—to imagine a man ever saying that about her.

      ‘You must have loved her.’

      ‘Are you going to take your boots off?’ Campbell made it plain the conversation was over by getting to his feet.

      Clearly not a man who believed in talking things through.

      Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to get any more out of him, Tilly applied herself to the problem of actually getting into the tent. She was so tired that she was afraid that once she was in she would never get out again. Campbell had managed to make it look a perfectly simple business—he would—but she was reduced to kneeling down and then attempting an undignified dive inside between the entrance flaps.

      Once in, she had to wriggle around until she was in a position where she could sit up and take off her boots—no easy task in itself. Campbell had set up a light near the entrance, which she had managed to knock over twice during her ungainly entrance, but at least it meant she could see what she was doing.

      Pulling off the second boot with a gusty sigh of relief, Tilly collapsed back on to her sleeping bag and stared up at the weird shadows the light cast on the orange roof of the tent. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired, or so cold.

      ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again,’ she shouted out to Campbell, who had been to the nearby stream and boiled some water in the time it had taken her to sort herself out. ‘I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life here. They’ll find me in five thousand years, frozen like that prehistoric hunter guy in a glacier, and use my body to find out about twenty-first century society.’

      Tilly rather liked the idea of scientists of the future poring over her body and speculating about her life. ‘They’ll decide I lived and worked up here, and that red salopettes were the height of fashion.’

      Outside the tent, she could see Campbell shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You have the most extraordinary imagination,’ he said.

      ‘All that research,’ said Tilly, too carried away by her idea to care what he thought, ‘and none of them will know that I was only stuck up here because my loathsome brothers thought I should get out of my rut!

      ‘This is all their fault,’ she went on bitterly. ‘They’ll be sorry when I’m not there to cook for them and show them how to use the washing machine and be nice to their girlfriends! If only we hadn’t been so stupid, they’ll say to each other. What were we thinking? Dear Tilly could still be with us instead of stuck up on that mountain.’

      ‘Dear Tilly will be back with them by tomorrow night,’ said Campbell, unmoved by her story. ‘I’m not going to leave you here.’

      ‘You would if you thought you could win without me,’ said Tilly sulkily.

      ‘Fortunately for you, I can’t.’

      Ducking into the tent, he handed her an enamel mug of black tea. ‘Have this to warm you up while I get the stew going.’

      ‘Warm? Warm? What’s warm?’ She shivered but took the tea gratefully. ‘The only trouble with stopping is realising how cold you are.’

      Campbell tsk-tsked. ‘Stop complaining,’ he said ‘Have one of your fantasies instead—or, better still, do the video diary.’ He dug around in his rucksack for the camera.

      ‘Why do I have to do it?’ grumbled Tilly as he held it to the light so that he could see how it worked.’

      ‘Because you’ll be better at that than me.’

      ‘I won’t. I’d feel a complete idiot talking to a camera,’ she protested. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’

      ‘Just carry on wittering the way you’ve been doing all day,’ suggested Campbell with a touch of acid. ‘Tell them one of your fantasies—that should win a few votes!’

      ‘I’m not going to do that!’ She flopped back down on to the sleeping bag. ‘Why don’t we pretend we forgot about the video diary business?’

      He shook his head firmly. ‘We can’t do that. The diary is part of the challenge.’ Propping the camera on top of his rucksack, he bent down to peer through it and check that it was pointing at Tilly. ‘You heard what Suzy said. We’re going to be judged on the video diary and film clips as well as on who gets back down from Ben Nuarrh first.’

      ‘If you care so much about winning, you do it,’ said Tilly crossly.

      ‘I’ve got to make the stew.’ Campbell moved the lamp so that the light fell on her. ‘Look, just talk for