‘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?
If she’d believed in fate, she’d have thought it was an omen. But she had outgrown the New Age hocus-pocus her parents had spoon-fed her since birth. She stuffed the card back in her pocket, doubly cheesed off at the invisible Charles.
When she’d finished her coffee she made her way to where Gino was serving at the bar.
‘See you soon, Gino. Tell Marco his cooking was superb, as usual, and give my love to the rest of the family—especially Sophia and your adorable little granddaughter.’
Gino’s eyes sparkled with pride. ‘Sophia says Francesca is sleeping through the night now.’
‘Well, you tell Sophia I will be offended if I’m not first on her list of babysitters when she wants to go out for the evening.’
One more hug for Gino and Maria and she was outside, breathing in the cold night air. The rain had stopped and the stars twinkled up above.
Time to go home and plan her next move.
She stood on the pavement and stared at her car, feeling oddly deflated. She’d been excited at the thought of another sparring match with Jake. Now she had no way of contacting him, even if she wanted to give in to temptation and phone him first.
She flumped into the driver’s seat of her dad’s car and flung her handbag over the passenger seat into the back, not caring where it landed. She pulled the card out of her pocket again and stared at it hard, willing the numbers to come into focus. If anything, they were even more blurry now. There was only one thing for it.
She jammed the keys into the ignition and stepped on the accelerator. She might not know his phone number, but she knew where he lived.
She took the quickest route she knew back to Great Portman Street—unlike earlier, when she’d taken a couple of scenic detours—and arrived there in less than ten minutes. Her parking left much to be desired. There had to be a good foot between the car and the kerb.
She turned the engine off and sat in the dark.
Funny—now she was here, her feet were decidedly icy. Not because of Jake—he was lovely—but because of what he might read into finding her on his doorstep. She was looking for love and commitment, not a fling, and turning up after ten o’clock, uninvited, would be giving a completely different set of signals.
It was exactly because of this kind of impulsive behaviour that she had ended up with some of the most worthless boyfriends in history. She reminded herself she’d turned over a new leaf. No more leaping