‘You ought to be flattered,’ she said.
‘I am,’ said Max, wrenching his mind back from a disturbingly vivid image of pulling that clip from her hair and letting it fall, soft and shiny, to her shoulders. ‘It’s just...I don’t want to complicate things.’
‘What’s complicated about dinner? You had dinner with Darcy the other night and this time you won’t even have to worry about the cooking.’
‘It’s not that.’ How could he tell Allegra that, much as he liked Darcy, he found her a bit overwhelming? ‘It’s not long since I was engaged to Emma,’ he said, grasping at the excuse. ‘It feels too soon to be getting involved with anyone else.’
Allegra’s face softened instantly and then she snarled every one of his senses by coming to sit on the sofa beside him and placing her hand on his knee.
‘I’m sorry, I keep forgetting that you must still be gutted about Emma.’
Max didn’t think gutted was quite the right word, in fact, but with Allegra sitting so close, her green eyes huge and warm with sympathy, it was all he could do to nod.
‘Darcy knows you were engaged,’ Allegra went on, with a comforting rub on his thigh. At least, Max assumed it was meant to be comforting, although in practice it was excruciatingly arousing. If she moved her hand any higher, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions... As unobtrusively as he could, he shifted along the sofa.
Allegra was still talking, still looking at him with those big, earnest eyes, completely unaware of the effect she was having on him. ‘She won’t expect you to fall madly in love with her, Max. It’ll just be dinner. Darcy’s nice, and it’ll be a boost for your ego, if nothing else. You should go and forget about Emma for an evening.’
It wasn’t Emma he needed to forget, it was the feel of Allegra’s hand on his leg, but Max heard himself agreeing just so that he could get up before he grabbed her and rolled her beneath him on the sofa. He had to give himself a few mental slaps before he had himself under control enough to change and go back down to the sitting room, where Allegra was perched on the armchair and bending over to ease on a pair of precipitously-heeled shoes. She was in a dark floral sleeveless dress with black lace over the shoulders and a skirt that showed off miles of leg in black stockings, and Max’s throat promptly dried all over again.
Those loose strands of hair had slithered forward when she bent her head and she tucked them behind her ears as she glanced up to see Max standing in the doorway. There was an odd little jump in the air as their eyes met, and then both looked away.
‘You look nice,’ Max said gruffly.
‘Thank you.’ Her gaze skimmed his then skittered away. ‘Is that one of the shirts Dickie picked out for you?’
‘Yes.’ Self-consciously, he held his arms out from his side. ‘Why, is it too casual?’
‘It’s perfect—or it would be if you rolled up your cuffs, and...’ Allegra pointed at her throat to indicate that his collar was too tightly buttoned.
She had a thing about his collar, but Max knew from experience that it wasn’t worth the argument. With a long-suffering sigh, he unfastened another button before starting on his cuffs. She had a thing about those too. He could do them up again as soon as she’d gone.
‘So, you’re seeing your mother,’ he said after a moment. ‘What’s it going to be? A cosy night in with just the two of you?’
Max knew as well as she did that Flick didn’t do cosy, but Allegra couldn’t help smiling a little wistfully. She adored her mother, and it made her feel disloyal to wish sometimes that Flick could be a little—just a little!—more like Libby and Max’s mum, who was easygoing and gave wonderful hugs and would happily watch I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here! instead of the news. The first time Allegra had been to stay with Libby they had had supper on their laps in front of the television, and it had felt deliciously subversive.
‘I think there’ll be a few people there,’ she told Max as she wiggled her feet into a more comfortable position in her shoes. ‘She says she’s got someone she wants me to meet.’
Max started on his second cuff, his expression sardonic. ‘Flick’s setting you up with a new boyfriend?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You don’t sound very keen.’
She hadn’t, had she? She’d sounded like someone who would really rather be staying at home. That would never do.
Allegra stood up and tested her shoes. ‘Of course I’m keen,’ she said. ‘The men my mother introduces me to are always intelligent, cultured, amusing, interesting... Why wouldn’t I be keen?’
‘No reason when you put it like that,’ said Max. He had dealt with his cuffs and now he stood in the centre of the room with his hands in his pockets, looking sulky and surly and disconcertingly attractive. Allegra almost told him to button up his shirt again so he could go back to looking stuffy and repressed.
‘I’m feeling positive,’ she said airily. ‘This guy could be The One. I could be on my way to meet true love!’
Max snorted. ‘Well, don’t make a date for Wednesday, that’s all.’
He had finally heard from Bob Laskovski’s office. Bob and his wife would be in London the following week and the dinner to meet Max and his ‘fiancée’ was arranged for the Wednesday night. Max was nervous about the whole business, Allegra knew. He wasn’t comfortable with deception, but he was desperate for the Shofrar job. Perhaps that was why he was so grouchy at the moment?
Darcy was welcome to him, Allegra told herself as she flipped open her phone to call a cab. She couldn’t care less that Max was having supper with a lingerie model. She was going out to have a great time and meet a fabulous new guy. And, who knew, maybe she’d find true love at last as well.
* * *
Flick still lived in the four-storey Georgian house in a much sought after part of Islington where Allegra had grown up but it never felt like going home. The house was immaculately decorated and most visitors gasped in envy when they stepped inside, but Allegra much preferred the Warriners’ house with its scuffed skirting boards and faded chair covers.
Flick’s dinner parties were famous, less for the food, which was always catered, than for the company. Politicians, media stars, business leaders, diplomats, writers, artists, musicians, journalists...anyone who was anyone in London jostled for a coveted invitation to sit at Flick’s dining table. No celebrities, pop stars or soap opera actors need apply, though. Flick insisted on a certain intellectual rigour.
Thus Allegra found herself sitting between Dan, a fast-track civil servant, obviously destined for greatness, while William, on her right, was a political aide. They both worked in government circles and were both high-flyers, full of gossip and opinion.
Toying with her marinated scallops, Allegra felt boring and uninformed in comparison. She couldn’t think of a single clever or witty thing to say.
Not that it mattered much. The conversation around the table was fast and furious as usual, but no one was interested in her opinion anyway, and it was enough for Allegra to keep a smile fixed to her face.
Beside her, Dan had launched into a scurrilous story about a politician everybody else seemed to know but who Allegra had never heard of. She laughed when everybody else laughed, but she was wondering how Max was getting on with Darcy. Would he sleep with her? Allegra realised that she had stopped smiling and hurriedly put her smile back in place.
Why did she care? Max would be leaving soon anyway, and it wasn’t as if he was interested in her. True, there had been that moment when their eyes had met earlier, when she was putting on her shoes