Take a Chance on Me (7 page)

Good job really that he'd gone – the girls could do without yet another bad male-role-model in their lives. Her mother brought enough of those to visit as it was, bless her hippy cotton socks.

Sadie looked at the photo of her girls on the side table by the hotel bed. They were chalk and cheese – but her finest hour. There was a handmade good luck card underneath the photo, and Sadie pulled it out like a talisman.

‘Go get 'em Supermum'
was from Abi, and ‘
Bring home the Bacon'
from Georgia – which was funny considering her youngest had been veggie for a good seven years now, since she was … oh, four, and cried when she found out sausages were made of Babe. Sadie shook her head. They were growing up so fast, her two very own musketeers. She was so lucky to have them, and she was so determined not to let them down.

Yes, this venture couldn't have come at a better time.

Sadie rubbed her feet. She made a dutiful call home, but no one answered so as usual she left a message.

‘Hi, guys. What an amazing hotel. What an amazing day …'
and what an amazing man
she thought to herself as she finished her message and hung up. She checked her watch. Plenty of time.

One hour and three minutes later, freshly scrubbed and glamorously made up, Sadie was almost ready. Twenty minutes until she was due to meet Hot Boat Guy. Actually, twenty-five – she should tarnish her perfect punctuality record, and aim to be five minutes late –
don't want to look too keen,
or God forbid, arrive
before
her date. No, it was good form to arrive just after, wasn't it? Weren't they still
The Rules
? Damned if Sadie knew any more.

She felt her butterflies kick in with a vengeance. Having set up a five year exclusion zone in her personal life – Tuscany notwithstanding – it felt strange to be dressing to impress once more. Time for one last check in the full-length mirror.

Hmmm …

Hair – blonde, bit tousled, fresh ‘up-do' – good.

Make-up – glam, sexy, not tarty – good.

Shoes – ahhh,
very good.

Dress – kind to curves and cut just above the knee, showing off the best bits of her legs before the thighs went lateral.

Wide neckline – nice and stretchy – she pulled it down slightly – better off one shoulder.

No
– off two shoulders.

Oooo, no –
off one.

She posed sideways and inhaled, then frowned at her tummy in the mirror. The dress was empire-line – cut-in just below the bust, enhancing her hourglass shape, and skimming over the part that let her down. Her tummy always let her down. But according to that infomercial she'd watched a while ago – ‘
just a phone call away, there's an instant, no-surgery solution!'
And needing some retail therapy, and a way of fitting into her old suit, she'd made that phone call! And it was a twin pack, so another pair left to wear. Time for the pivotal, shape-changing decision of the night, then.

Slimming Magic
knickers? Or no
Slimming Magic
knickers?

Disappointment now? Or disappointment later?

Dangling the offending garment in her fingers, she raised an eyebrow.
Come on, mirror, what do you think?
The mirror responded and she could swear she heard the wicked queen's voice.
Not bad. But not great either.

However, on the ‘plus' side – as some of her clothes would be if she didn't stop missing her power-walking class – she already knew Mac approved. He must like 'em cuddly –
there is a God
! And the way he'd held her meant he appreciated her curves. Unlike some men – unlike the slick tycoon she was meeting tomorrow, whom you could barely Google without seeing some skinny supermodel draped all over him. Slicked back hair, huge designer sunglasses, dark suit – sharp, prickly. YUK. Luckily she wouldn't need to do much more than make her presentation, according to his advisor, the kindly older gent she'd been dealing with. When Sadie had told him about the deal, the advisor had been absolutely insistent that he had a client who was already interested in the product, and could meet the thirty day turnaround. He'd emphasised how unusual that was in business, but she would still read the small print carefully – no one was going to rip Sadie Samantha Turner off, not now she was a bona fide businesswoman. But she was impressed at how fast they'd responded and how quickly they'd arranged this meeting on the back of her Hawaii trip.
Time really was of the essence.

So back to the pants, still hanging there.

Nah, disappointment now. Shrugging, she launched the parachute pants onto the bed, opting for her black lace ones instead. Then she picked up her posh toiletries bag – smart enough to double as a clutch bag – and made her way to The Buddha Bar for her date. For her ‘just one night' with the Hottest Boat Guy she'd ever known.

Sadie hovered outside the front entrance to the bar, unsure what to do. She bit her lip. Through the window she couldn't see anyone in the foyer who looked remotely like the man she thought she'd met this afternoon.
Damn
.
Do I go in and act nonchalant? Or do I wait here till I spot him? What if he doesn't show? What if …

‘Hi, seen any good boats lately?'

‘Oh, hi!' Sadie relaxed the tension in her stomach. Then immediately sucked it back in again, remembering she didn't have her Bridget Jones knickers on.

‘No, I haven't. Nor cruisers. Nor power-yachts!'

‘Superyachts!' he corrected.

‘The difference obviously matters to you, so
superyachts
.'

‘That's better. Coming inside? I've taken the liberty of ordering already.'

‘Ordering what?' she asked, a bit taken aback.

‘Wait and see,' he said, and showed her to their table – a side booth, relatively private, subdued lighting, but music blaring a bit too loud. They shuffled close, to hear each other.

On the table in front of Sadie were a beer, a water, a juice and a cocktail.

‘
Four
drinks? That must cost an arm and a leg in here,' Sadie said.

‘Sorry – it's an old habit. Saves time standing at the bar, and … Can I tell you a secret? It usually impresses the “laydeez” if you guess their drink.'

‘And what if
none
of them are right, Mr Moneybags?' she teased.

‘Well, are they?' he winced.

‘Actually, I could murder the juice! All that window-shopping and sea air's built up a thirst.'

‘Phew! Thought I was losing my touch. I always used to be able to guess what a girl drinks, back when I was in college.'

‘You must have a long memory.'

He poked her arm for being cheeky and slid the juice over to her with its garish umbrella and half a glacier of ice.

‘Here you go, Sam. Cheers.' For a split second Sadie wondered whom he was talking to, then remembered what she'd told him this afternoon
. Game on. ‘Samantha' it is.
It was only one date, after all.

‘So what brings you to Monaco then – apart from the yacht crawl?'

‘Big meeting.'

‘Right. What kind of business?'

Sadie was mid-sip and hesitated. She looked away. Even telling him the short answer would bring on nervous palpitations. She downed the lovely cool juice in one, looked him in the eye, and leaned closer.

‘Mac, can I ask you something?' she said, huge doe eyes looking up at him from under long, dark lashes.

‘Mmm, you smell delicious. What?'

‘A favour? Would you do me a really big favour?'

‘Depends if it involves getting wet,' he joked, but a flash of unease had crossed his face.

‘Don't worry it's nothing like that. It's this …'

He furrowed his brow, awaiting her next words.

‘Tonight,' she said, ‘can we please
not
talk about work? At all?'

‘Oh, sure! 'Course, no problem.' He let out the breath he'd been holding. ‘It's just that, for a minute there, when you said a favour, I thought you meant money.'

‘What?'

‘I mean—'

‘What kind of girl do you take me for, buster?'

‘No, I mean … favours. When people ask me for favours it's usually money.'

‘What the …!'

‘Erm … Not you, though – obviously.' Trying to change the subject, he back-peddled. ‘You know – sponsor me for this, lend me that, or asking me to buy your silence in return for not reporting me … to the snog police.'

She looked thoughtful, then laughed, shaking her head incredulously. ‘Idiot!'

Mac laughed too, and also took a sip of his drink, turning his head away from Sadie. She didn't see him mouth to himself in disgust – ‘
the
snog police!
'.

‘The thing is,' she explained. ‘You see, this is the thing.'

‘What's the thing?'

‘It's all been really intense lately, and … I'd rather have a night off from thinking about business.'

‘That's the thing?'

‘That's the thing.' Sadie looked at him hopefully. It would mean she could totally forget about everything else and just let her hair down – literally and metaphorically. She tossed her hair and her blonde silky tresses played over her bare shoulder.

‘Mmm, well, I'm not sure,' he replied. She felt a flash of nerves, wondering if he was going to quiz her all night long about her trip. ‘After all, that's my whole repertoire gone if I can't do my “a funny thing happened at the office” routine!' he said.

Sadie nudged him playfully.

‘No, seriously,' he continued, picking up his drink. ‘Great idea.
Wonderful
idea. Deal. No job talk, then. No moans. No anything relating to the daily grind. Tonight we can be whoever we want to be.'

‘Yes, absolutely!' She beamed, picking up the iced water.

‘In fact, let's go the whole hog. No last names. Just Sam and Mac. And one night in Monaco. How 'bout it?'

‘Well, mystery can be very exciting.' She smiled at his enthusiasm for her suggestion to make it all incognito.
It's like he understood her …

‘Mystery, eh. Sure, why not. Cheers to mystery!' he said, and raised his glass.

Mystery it is,
she thought,
right down to the mystery of whether I'll be strong enough to end this ‘one night' early enough to be fresh for tomorrow.

‘Cheers!' she said, clinking glasses. Then she sipped through the straw and smiled
.

If Mac's plan tonight was to get lost in her, he was already halfway into the forest. He swallowed, realising the implications of what he was setting up. No telling her who he really was. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? She seemed to think it was a very good thing. Maybe she had secrets too …

God her mouth was so kissable
.

Seeing her tongue toying with the straw while she watched him, he felt his pulse quicken a little.

He was enjoying the anonymity – buying ordinary drinks, paying for them in cash, being in ‘mufti' clothing, and not having to sit in the fenced-off VIP area being ogled, and occasionally approached for photographs. Keeping totally incognito would make this a night to remember – and a bit of a fantasy. An inverted fairy tale, where it was more fun to be poor than rich. And he was more like Shrek than Cinderella.

‘Cheers to mystery, romance and adventure!' He raised his beer glass again, and this time she lifted the cocktail glass. ‘Here,' he said, linking his arm through hers, as they brought the glasses to their mouths. Their faces were just inches apart.

‘Chin, chin!' She laughed, her face beaming.

Never a sweeter sound than that laughter,
he thought. She was enchanting. Ordinarily he'd opt for safe, disposable arm candy with absolutely no chance of reeling him in. But there was something so refreshing about her realness, her womanliness. Her authenticity. It was filling the heart of him with a yearning to get closer. They relaxed back into their seats together.

‘And what else are we drinking to? End of an era you said earlier?'

‘Oh, it's nothing much,' he said. ‘Just a decision I've been toying with for ages about … a job.'

‘You got a new job? Won't the Captain be mortified?'

‘No – he'd be going, too. But not even he knows that yet. So that's all I can tell you, or we'll break our pact before we've even begun!'

‘Well, cheers to new directions!'

They linked arms again and this time the straw got in the way and flicked a little of the cocktail onto her cheek. She giggled and he wiped it off, and then licked his finger. She blushed slightly then reached into her makeshift clutch for a tissue.

‘Did the other bag survive its swim?' he asked.

‘Bag will live, but can't say the same for the phone! Strange being without it. My mother will think I've run off with some weird man!'

‘Not yet, but the night is young.' He relaxed back on the bench.

‘It wouldn't matter – she's a bit weird too,' she said, looking up at him expectantly. ‘Yours probably thinks the sun shines out of you.'

‘Actually, I never really knew my mum,' he replied. She made a ‘poor you' face. ‘Oops, sorry, we said no personal details, didn't we?' he added. ‘It's sweet that yours cares so much though. Bet she misses you while you're away.'

‘Yes and my daugh …' Sadie stopped herself mid-sentence. She corrected herself quickly.
No personal info.
‘My door … key – I lost it. Mum might have been needing to ring me to tell me she … found it.'

‘Rrright. Well, you'd better remember to pack your “waterproof mobile” next time.'

‘Thanks so much for rescuing my bag for me. Are you always such a hero?'

‘Of course!
Drowning handbags
, run of the mill.
Damsels in distress
, a speciality!'

‘Well, if I'm ever in distress, I'll give you a call!'

‘Dis-dress, dat-dress, you look good whatever,' he said, then cringed. Bad joke. Old habit. He really was stepping back in time tonight.

She whacked his arm. ‘Ha-ha, funny man. Well, thanks anyway. I'm glad you were there or it'd have been
me
needing waterproofs.'

‘That's okay. You were the best thing to walk down my gangplank all day.'

‘I'll bet you say that to all the girls.'

‘Listen, just 'cos I'm a sailor doesn't mean I have a girl in every port.'

‘Hmmm,' said Sadie, smiling up at him while sipping her drink.

‘Seriously – too busy – been there done that. You know how it is at our age – you start to want different things. Time to move on.'

‘To a new era.'

‘To a new era.' They toasted again.

‘And to making your own luck.'

‘And to making your own luck, Samantha Businesswoman.'

They paused mid-toast, and the air sizzled between them. ‘I hope I didn't disturb you too much today. Did you finish your … erm … What were you doing anyway?'

‘Oh, just a spot of maintenance. Pump problems.'

‘And did you finish mending your pump … thing?'

‘No, my pump thing has had to be replaced. It's seen too much action in recent years.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘
Has
it now?!'

He laughed and leaned nearer to her on the soft seat to continue the banter.

An hour flew by. Quips about Monaco – the place, the people, her opinions about the Grand Prix – or the ‘car race' as she called it with ‘
rich posers flocking in to watch expensive lumps of tin go round and round in circle
s'. She'd get on famously with Captain Wiltshire, for sure. Favourite foods, sports, pastimes and, of all things, he was surprised to find out they were both board game fans – traditional games, none of the new digital stuff. She shared his love of nostalgia – Boggle, Rummikub, Monopoly. She even seemed genuinely interested in the history behind his precious Tank watch. He'd replaced his usual Rolex with an inter-war, leather-strapped, rectangular timepiece. Battered and unassuming, you wouldn't realise it was an antique.

‘You should get it valued,' she joked. ‘You might be a millionaire!'

‘I did,' he said. ‘And one thing's for sure – I'm not a millionaire.'

She made a big deal of fake-tutting. ‘Well, seems I'll have to go find somebody else's gangplank to walk down then, won't I?' She laughed.

He smiled awkwardly.
One night,
he thought to himself,
it's just for one night.
‘What would you do if you couldn't find another “gangplank”?'

‘Seriously? Honey, I walk my own,' she said, sincerely. ‘I'd make my own, just like luck.'

That was the correct answer,
he thought, and he found himself relaxing more than he'd done with a woman in a very, very long time.

A second hour was spent in easy repartee, with more philosophical musing about life in general and a debate about the old-fashioned version of Scrabble versus the new. The old won, naturally.

Mac could feel himself getting progressively turned on by her feather-light touches, glancing across his arm, his knee. He returned the compliment by putting his arm along the back of the bench-seat, touching the skin on the back of her one bare shoulder every so often and pulling her close every time she had a story to tell.

They ate a little dinner, his treat, but she insisted they took it in turns to buy the drinks – a revelation for Mac. The last time he'd allowed a woman to pay was back in college when he was skint. He'd since made it a principle that if
he
extended the invite,
he
picked up the tab. Over the years the party numbers had grown inordinately, but his principle had remained the same. Champagne by the magnum had eventually become the norm. Sure, he got it back in spades when his rich patrons stumped up with stratospheric charity donations, but sometimes his bar bills ran into tens of thousands. Tonight he doubted it would hit a couple of
hundred
euros – even including a big tip. But somehow, in a way Mac was scared to admit, it meant a whole lot more.

When it came to another round of drinks, Sadie asked to switch to juice instead, and Mac found himself surprisingly pleased.

‘Good idea,' he told her. ‘I've got an early start too so I need to stay sharp.'

‘And I've got my business meeting. PowerPoint's and pina coladas don't mix too well, do they?'

Mac laughed.

The banter was distinctly more witty, more fun, and definitely more memorable without the ‘affluence of incohol'.

What a revelation.