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Since they were sitting at yet another red light, she shot a look across at him. ‘Have you forgotten why you’re in my car in the first place? You’re dripping wet!’
‘It wouldn’t take me long to get dry and changed. We could nip out somewhere local. We’d be in a public place. You’d be perfectly safe.’
‘How do I know that? We’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name.’
‘It’s Jake.’
‘Well, Jake, I still don’t know you from Adam—except that your name’s not Adam, that is.’ Oh, God, she was rambling!
‘Then why did you let me in your—I mean your friend’s car, then? I could be anyone. I could be an axe-wielding maniac, for all you know.’
She went cold. He was right. She’d been so busy feeling bad for him she hadn’t even considered basic personal safety. Her voice was braver than she felt when she answered.
‘Don’t be daft! I rescued you, remember? You’re a Jake-in-distress. You can’t possibly be an axe-wielding maniac!’ Could he?
Now it was his turn to laugh. Her shoulders untensed, but she stayed quiet and concentrated on the traffic. Quicker than expected, they drew up in Great Portman Street.
‘Which one?’ She leaned forward and peered down the road. One side was almost entirely occupied by a red brick block of Victorian apartments.
‘Right here. Top floor.’
‘Very posh.’
She kept her eyes on the road as the car came to a halt. Even without the tell-tale reflection in the windscreen, she’d have sensed he’d turned to face her. Strange, she’d always thought that being able to feel someone’s eyes boring into you was a load of poppycock.
‘Come inside and have the grand tour.’
‘You’re very forward, aren’t you?’
‘I know what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it.’
The implication of that sentence made her cheeks burn. She was very proud of the wobble-free voice that came out of her mouth.
‘Sorry, Jake-in-distress, I have a prior commitment. Maybe another time.’
‘Couldn’t you stand him up?’
A reply like that would normally have had her spitting, but he said it with such lazy charm she found herself laughing.
‘No.’
But she wanted to. Miraculously, the prospect of an evening with Charles Jacobs seemed even greyer.
‘Too bad.’ The tone of his voice said he respected her decision more than he cared to admit. ‘At least give me your number.’
‘Give my number? To an axe-wielding maniac? You must be mad!’
She smiled at him.
He smiled back.
Boy, those smiles got more brilliant with every outing. If she didn’t get out of here quick, she was going to change her mind about dinner. Then Cassie would kill her for standing up the ‘suitable’ man she’d found for her, and that would never do. She was looking forward to the prospect of another time with Jake too much.
He reached into his pocket, fished out a business card and scribbled something on the back with a fountain pen.
‘Have it your way. Here’s my number, then.’
She took it from him. Even the little rectangle of card was soggy. She’d done a really good job with that puddle.
He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Use it.’
Her gaze collided with his. He was so sure she was going to call. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt in his expression. Women probably fell over themselves to follow his every whim on a daily basis. Part of her felt like throwing the card out of the window and into the gutter; the other part wanted to tuck it inside her bra to make sure she didn’t lose it.
Her lips pursed. She meant to look peeved, but somehow a small smile escaped.
‘Maybe. Goodbye, Jake.’
She put the car into reverse and started to move out of the parking space. Before she had a chance to pull away, he pounded on the window. ‘Wait!’
She pressed the button and enjoyed his mounting irritation as the window edged down bit by bit.
‘You haven’t even told me your name.’
‘So I didn’t.’
‘Well?’
‘I get the feeling you’re the kind of man who won’t let a tiny detail like that stop you. You’ll find out—if you want to badly enough.’
With that, she rolled up the window and drove away. She risked a glance in the rear-view mirror and a huge grin spread over her face. He was standing in the street with his mouth hanging open.
She didn’t look back. Instead, she tooted the horn and did a little finger wave.
Now, that had been smooth!
Stupid, but smooth.
Stupid, because the only reason she hadn’t told him her name was the funny reaction it provoked in almost everyone she met. She hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment, hadn’t wanted the delectable Jake to have the usual set of preconceptions about her.
What had her parents been thinking when they called her Serendipity? It was tantamount to child abuse! She’d been the target of bullies from her first day of school because of her name.
Why couldn’t she have been called Sally or Susan? Nice, sensible, traditional names. No one would think Susan was a hippy wild child. And Sally was the kind of girl whose dad worked a nine-to-five job in an office, while her mum baked jam tarts and fussed over the amount of make-up her teenage daughter was wearing.
She sighed.
Daft to run away without telling Jake her name. Now she would have to look all eager and phone him if she was interested. Which she was. She should have given him her number and let him do the running—she’d always liked the old-fashioned idea of being courted.
She turned the corner and headed back towards the restaurant. Perhaps it had been worth not telling Jake her name just to see the look on his face as she drove away. At least she’d have something to smile to herself about if Charles Jacobs turned out to be as yawn-worthy as he sounded.
She looked at her watch as she pulled up outside the restaurant. Only half an hour late. If she smiled, and flipped her long dark hair around a bit, perhaps Charles wouldn’t mind.
She hopped out of the sports car, ran inside, and straight up to the small bar that doubled as a reception desk. There were far too many bunches of plastic grapes and straw-covered bottles for the décor to be in good taste, but she didn’t care. It was homey.
Someone was loading small bottles of orange juice onto the bottom shelf. She’d recognise that acre-wide Italian rump anywhere!
‘Hey, Maria!’
Maria stood up so fast she sent a couple of bottles rolling across the floor. Her hands flew into the air and she yelled in the general direction of the kitchen, ‘Gino! Our girl is here!’
A round, middle-aged man appeared from the door connecting the kitchen to the bar. ‘We thought you’d been run over by a bus—didn’t we, darling?’
She ducked behind the bar and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. ‘You fuss like an old woman, Gino. Now, tell me—and don’t spare my feelings—what’s he like?’
Gino made a dismissive wave towards her favourite table by the window. A monstrous potted palm blocked her view. She stood on tiptoe to get a better look.
The table was empty.
She turned round to Gino, eyebrows raised. ‘He hasn’t shown up yet?’
Gino shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the tragedy, and she swallowed the urge to chuckle.
‘Oh, well. Bring me the usual. I’ll hang around until nine. I got here late myself, so I can hardly moan.’
He’d better be worth the wait, though! She’d murder Cassie if she’d set her up with a first-class loser again. Her friend knew she was looking to settle down, but couldn’t quite get the distinction between stable and reliable and utterly dull. She’d only agreed to go on this date because it was less hassle than arguing with Cassie about it. If she said no, Cassie would only badger her for a fortnight until she gave in, so she might as well agree and save herself the earache.
Gino brought her a glass of her favourite red wine, and she sat at the table and scanned the rain-swept horizon.
She sat up and smiled as a man in a smart suit with a bunch of flowers passed the window, but he walked straight past the door and into the arms of a waiting blonde outside the tube station. Minutes ticked past. The only other person to enter the restaurant was a small bald man with bad teeth. She whipped up her menu as an impromptu shield and held her breath. Thankfully, he was greeted by a tall woman with equally bad teeth on the other side of the restaurant. She dropped the menu enough to peek over the top, then jumped as Gino appeared, apparently out of thin air.
‘There’s a message for you. He telephoned.’
By the look on Gino’s face, it was not good news. She lowered the menu slightly and held her head high. ‘Let me have it, Gino.’
‘He said he’s very sorry, but something came up.’
Something came up! What kind of lame excuse was that?
The puff of air she let out lifted her fringe.
‘What did he say, exactly?’
‘He said he was not able to come, that he’s very sorry, and asked you to meet him tomorrow for lunch at Maison Blanc, one o’clock.’ Gino wrinkled his nose at the suggestion of anyone eating somewhere other than his establishment, then he grinned. ‘But he also said dinner tonight is on him.’
She slapped the menu closed and smiled like a cat.
‘In that case, my good friend, it’s the caviar to start for me, followed by the priciest entrée Marco can conjure up, and a glass of champagne for everybody in the room.’
Gino winked. ‘That’s my girl! You show him.’
The nerve of the man. Standing her up, then practically summoning her to lunch the following day, with no thought at all as to whether it was convenient for her. The fact she was free, and could go if she wanted to, had no bearing on the matter. He was an arrogant jerk to assume she was so desperate for a date that she’d trot along at his beck and call.
Not in this lifetime, buster! No way was she turning up tomorrow. He could be the one to sit and fiddle with his cutlery.
Dinner was good, but revenge on Mr Jacobs was even tastier. She enjoyed every bite, because with each mouthful she could hear the ding of a cash register. By the time she had finished her espresso, she was imagining the look on his face when he saw the total. She had a mind to turn up at Maison Blanc tomorrow, just to see him wince as she delivered the news in person.
Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She could bat her lashes and give him the Oops! Silly me! I never was much good at maths routine. The added bonus would be that Cassie couldn’t moan at her for not giving the latest offering in the husband hunt a fair go.
Thinking of Cassie, it was time to give her an earful. She took her mobile phone out of her bag and punched in the number.
Cassie was never one for pleasantries, and this time was no exception.
‘How’s it going? Isn’t he hot?’
‘Not noticeably.’
‘Really? I was sure you two would hit it off. My new project worker has talked about her brother so much I feel like he’s a long-lost friend.’
‘Yeah? Well, he’s also my long lost date.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He didn’t show, Cassie! Some sorry story and an instruction to have dinner on him. You can tell your friend that she’d better get as much visiting time in with her brother as she can, because he’s going to have a heart attack when he sees his credit card statement.’
‘Oh …’
‘Yes, oh! You’d better be making that famous carrot cake of yours when I come for coffee on Wednesday, or I’ll never forgive you.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ She knew without a doubt that Cassie had just stood to attention in her living room.
‘And no more setting me up on blind dates! Got it?’
‘Got it.’
Yeah, right. She could practically hear the cogs whirring in Cassie’s brain as she did a mental search for the next poor sucker.
‘Try and resist the urge to find me a husband as lovely as yours is. We have very different taste in men, remember? I never could understand why you used to moon over the geeks with plasters holding their glasses together in school.’
‘Darren Perkins was a god!’
‘Of course he was. See you Wednesday—and don’t forget the carrot cake. Bye.’
She sighed. If the truth be told, she was pleased her blind date hadn’t turned up. But that didn’t stop her fuming over her wasted evening. She could have taken Jake up on his offer of dinner. She looked at the phone sitting in her hand. She could still call him.
Was she really that brave? Wouldn’t it sound a little desperate if she called him now?
He’d have had time to get in, have a shower and change into something dry. She could picture him padding around a smart flat with polished wood floors, low-slung jeans resting on his hips, his hair damp and smelling of shampoo.
She felt in her pocket for the business card and looked at the number. Her heart sank. The ink had bled into the damp card, making Jake’s scrawl illegible. She could make out the first two digits—a three and a two. One of the numbers further along looked suspiciously like a seven. Or was it a one?
