A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (14 page)

‘He is, I agree. You seem well suited.'

‘Exactly! I can't let the date go ahead, can I?'

‘How would you stop it?'

‘Well, I sort of might be in London …'

‘
What?
'

‘Hm, yes. I sort of thought I might get there just before the client arrives and maybe strike up a conversation. Possibly give him my business card? Just so he knows I exist, Ness.'

‘But you can't!'

‘I can! How will I ever track him down otherwise? Tonight is the first and last opportunity I have to meet him.'

Ness sighed. ‘I can't stop you, can I?'

I felt a little flush of warmth spread over me. Ness was giving me her blessing. Sort of. ‘No.'

‘Well, call me tomorrow, and look after yourself,' she said.

I grinned. ‘Love you so much, Nessie, thank you …'

Three hours later I walked down Beak Street, looking for Polpo. Delicious wafts of baking dough were coming from a pizza place on my right, and I wondered if it might be a better idea to cancel my mission and instead scoff a
pizza in dignified solitude. Apart from anything else, I'd begun to feel rather uncomfortable about my appearance. My Lanvin dress was stunning in its simplicity and my heels (brought out on the rare occasions when I met a man taller than me) had made me feel special back at Katy's. But as I passed through a sea of jeans-wearing Soho types – most of whom for some reason appeared to be tiny pygmies – I felt like a massive over-dressed circus attraction.

But there was no way I was turning back. I might feel like a bit of a freak on the outside, but inside I was a madly overexcited lovestruck teenager. My heart was not so much fluttering as erupting, and all I could think of was that William and I might be minutes away from reopening our sublime connection. It didn't matter how stupid I felt: I just had to talk to him. I
had
to!

I'd check myself in for therapy at a later date.

I stopped briefly to check my reflection in the window of a Carnaby Street clothes shop and smiled shakily. I looked fine. Nice, even. All I needed to do was hold my nerve and be me. After all, it was
me
whom William had liked so much: he hadn't been interested in the all-powerful workaholic Charley whom John fancied, or the doctor-worshipping emotionally unavailable girl whom Dr Nathan Gillies had tolerated. No. William had gone for the plain old no-frills
real
Charley Lambert. Who knew?

A small crowd of people stood outside a doorway ahead of me.
Please let this not be Polpo,
I thought anxiously.

But of course it
was
Polpo. And Polpo was small. A solid mass of people lined the tiny bar and even tinier
entrance, spilling out on to the street, clamouring for tables. I panicked. What the hell kind of restaurant was jammed at this time? How was I going to get a seat near William?

‘At least two hours,' the waiter told me, harassed and hot. I peered over his shoulder and panicked. People were crammed in up to the rafters; the food looked amazing and the place was atmospheric and noisy. William was right: it was a good place for a date. If you could get a bloody table.

‘I'm up for spending a lot of money,' I yelled desperately at the waiter. ‘And I don't need much space. Could I sit in the corner?' I pointed to the end of the bar where staff deposited glasses.

‘No,' he shouted. ‘I told you, two hours.'

Dammit!
I felt my fists ball with frustration.
I had to see him! This was my one and only chance!
I scanned the restaurant again.

And then I saw him. Sitting at the back at a high table, reading a book. He was even wearing the same polo-neck jumper. He was beautiful. I felt a strange sensation of inertia in my chest. Was I having a heart attack?

A large woman wedged herself in front of me, obscuring my view. I wanted to pound my fists on her bull-like back. ‘Er, I was queuing,' I announced awkwardly. She ignored me and started badgering the waiter. I could only see William's elbow and felt faint with desperation. The woman moved back slightly and stood on my toe, causing white hot pain up the side of my leg, which could barely take my own weight.

‘Excuse me!' I shouted, prodding her in the ribs. ‘Excuse
me! I broke my leg in three places and you're now standing on my foot. Can you move, please?'

The woman still ignored me but the waiter heard. ‘Three places? OK, OK. You can go and sit at the bar when the gentleman in the red shirt leaves. Happy?'

Maybe he thought I was a disability campaigner. I didn't actually care. I practically hugged him.

I looked at the red-shirt man, who was now tucking his wallet into his pocket, and ducked behind bull-back woman to have one final check of my hair and make-up. What would I do? What would I say? How was I going to play this? Faced with the reality of actually being there, in a restaurant full of real people, eating food and talking loudly, I faltered. Bull-back woman shifted, opening up my view of the restaurant again but I ducked behind her, terrified.

‘Off you go,' the waiter shouted, gesturing at the now vacant seat. I took a deep breath and started to pick my way to the bar, which led me directly into William's line of vision. I glanced at him just as he looked up at the door. He was nervous, I could see it in his face, which made me want him even more. Then his eyes scanned towards the bar and found mine.

Time stood still. I stared back at him.
It's me!
I called.
Me, the woman you don't know but probably should! Er … hello?
For a split second his eyes widened with recognition, but then his brow furrowed and he carried on looking around, confident I was not Shelley.

Feeling disproportionately disappointed, I realized that I was in urgent need of a plan. My original one had gone up in flames: there wasn't a free table in the restaurant, let
alone one near him. In the light of this disaster, should I go over? Make something up? Blurt out the truth? Rapidly I weighed up my options and decided that a drink would be the best place to start. I was starting to sweat now. I sat down. ‘
Per favore
, five minutes,' the barman shouted, above the din. He was extraordinarily hairy.

‘Broken leg,' I yelled. ‘I don't care about the mess.'

Manoeuvring myself outwards, I turned to stare straight at William. He was reading his book again. I turned away and started tucking and untucking my hair behind my ear, a nervous habit for which Hailey had told me off about a thousand times.

‘OK,
da bere
?' the waiter said, clearing up the remains of red-shirt man's cuttlefish.

‘Er, wine please. Red. Large.'

‘Which?'

‘Er, the house? Or whatever has the highest alcohol content. I don't want to be sober,' I replied.

The waiter smiled. ‘It is best to be you when you on a date, lady. The man rumble you later if you prepare to be someone else.'

‘Eh?'

‘If you prepare … prepare? No,
fingere
…'

‘Oh, pretend.'

‘You speak Italian?'

‘Yes. I speak far too many bloody languages,' I muttered, thinking longingly of my conversations with William about my excessive extra-curriculars.

The waiter looked pleased. ‘I give you the Valpolicella,' he said. ‘It is much better than the house. You do not pay more. It is our little present!'

‘Secret?'

‘
Si !
Secret! Similar word!'

He began to pour and I looked back at William. He was scanning the entrance again and, once more, our eyes met. A little smile crossed his lips as he looked at me – of recognition, attraction, confusion? I couldn't tell. I tried to smile at him but as I did so he turned away again and I was crushed.
He's not looking for you, remember
, I told myself. The waiter handed me a large glass of red.
He's waiting for someone else. If you want to talk to him, you're going to have to do just that.

I swilled and sniffed. ‘This smells spectacular!' I told the barman. He beamed through his forest of facial hair and kissed his fingers.

I drank a very large gulp and forced myself to stand up. It was now or never. The time was seven thirty-seven and, if my assumption about Shelley turned out to be correct, I had only a few minutes before she marched in bang on ten minutes late.
Should have bloody well marched straight over
, my head chided.
Fool!

‘Fucking fuck off,' I muttered. ‘Give me a break here, I'm terrified.' Things were moving in slow motion now. ‘I'm a Scottish Amazon,' I whispered hoarsely, picking up my wine glass and taking a tiny step in William's direction. Scottish Amazon, my arse. I was a terrified pixie.

And then everything went wrong. William suddenly broke into a dazzling smile. He stood up, did an awkward part-wave, then sat down, only to stand up again in a slightly chaotic fashion. Horrified, I looked over and there she was. Tall, tight-lipped but unmistakably nervous, pushing her way through the crowds towards him. I knew that
walk well. It was the walk I did: a sideways crab designed for getting myself through tables. There was something about being tall that made me certain I'd send plates flying as I crossed a crowded restaurant floor.

I held my breath as William reached out a hand to shake Shelley's – or pull her in to kiss her cheek, I couldn't tell which – and then, without warning, my view was obscured. Utterly furious, I scowled at the stupidly dressed young couple who had blocked my view of William and Shelley. The bastards! The stupid, trendy, ridiculous –

‘
Charley!
' Katy yelled. She was with Sam, who stared at me with a mixture of disbelief and fear.

I stared back at him.
What the fuck?

They stood gawping at me. ‘What the fuck?' Katy shouted, much to the amusement of the hairy barman.

‘Um, hello!' I said, as she came to life and threw her arms around me. Shelley, I saw over Katy's jaunty vintage hat, was just sitting down, saying something humourless to William. He was nodding exaggeratedly to show that he
really
understood whatever it was she was complaining about. I felt sick. I had to intervene. But how?

‘What are you
doing
here?' Katy cried, looking absolutely delighted. Sam, looking anything but delighted, arrived at the bar and kissed my cheek awkwardly. He was wearing a very Londonish cardigan and the buttons of his shirt were only half done up. A silver dog-tag hung round his neck, and although he looked yummy and trendy and young, I felt cross. Sam had always been a fashion victim but I couldn't help wondering if he'd ramped things up a level for Katy.

‘What are you up to, Bowes?' I asked him.

‘My agent meeting was just round the corner,' he said, ‘and I wanted to take Katy for dinner to thank her for having me to stay.' I regarded him suspiciously, but eventually softened, remembering his desolate sobbing over Yvonne the other night. Even I, witness to fifteen years of dirty Bowes action, had to admit that he was unlikely to be trying it on with Katy tonight. I gave him a quick smile and he looked relieved.

‘Oh, this is
wiiiiicked
,' Katy cried, ecstatic. ‘We can all go out! After dinner! There's a wicked gig on in Brixton tonight. I was going to take Sam!'

I remembered my dress and heels, totally out of place here, and felt like a middle-aged woman on her way to the opera. ‘I'm not sure I'm dressed for a gig …'

‘Nonsense! No one gives a fuck what you're wearing!'

William, I could just about see, was laughing. Something inside me died. How could humourless Shelley possibly come up with a joke good enough to make him laugh? Sam shifted his weight on to his other leg and they were both obscured once more. I tried, slyly, to lean round him a bit.

‘What are you looking at?' Sam asked. Katy was taking off her coat to reveal a powder blue sixties shift dress in which she looked disgustingly young, slim and pretty. Sam's eyes flickered over her before returning to me.

‘Nothing. Just hoping there's a free table,' I said.

‘We've got a ten-minute wait,' Sam said. ‘You should join us.' He sounded about as enthusiastic as a wet haddock.

‘YEAH!' Katy agreed. ‘Oh, my God, Charley, that guy who was asleep in the kitchen this morning, Benoit, you've
got
to meet him properly. He's just totally amazing at playing the hang drum – do you know what a hang drum is?'

I glazed over, staring at William and Shelley. Shelley was sitting bolt upright, talking without smiling. William, to my surprise, had adopted an unexpectedly manly pose. He was angled sideways across his chair with his arm flung over the back, listening to Shelley in an extremely self-assured manner and occasionally running a hand over his stubble. While she let out what seemed to be an angry monologue he leaned forward casually, pouring white wine into her glass in the way men do when they want to appear masterful. I was slightly surprised by his self-assurance but I didn't care too much. The fact of the matter was that he was absolutely gorgeous.

I took my jacket off, even more hot and stressed than I had been when I arrived.

‘Do you know those people?' Sam asked, following my gaze.

‘No,' I said abruptly. ‘Just thought the girl looked familiar.'

The main waiter came back. ‘You are three now?' he asked, exasperated.

‘Yes!' Katy said, breaking off her tale about Benoit the hang-drum player.

The waiter gestured behind him. ‘We have a table here.'

It was in a sort of alcove but fortunately one of the chairs directly faced William's table. I'd be able to sit there, chat in a calm, adult way with my sister and housemate and spy in a mad, juvenile way on William and Shelley. And in so doing I'd make sure Sam and Katy weren't sitting together. Just to be sure.

But by the time I'd bent down to get my bag and blazer and hobbled over to the table, Sam had taken the chair. The little shit! He just wanted to sit next to Katy!