Confessions of a Serial Dater (13 page)

“No.” Carmen gives him a glare that would shatter stone. And then does a complete hundred-and-eighty-degree turn as she smiles and switches on the charm. “You just don’t know her very well, darling.”

“But maybe it’s, like, real,” Jess says. “And if she did lose her baby, and we didn’t believe her, then that would make us heartless. Heartless.”

“Um, I know Elaine’s pulled some horrible stunts in the past,” I say, “but even she wouldn’t do something so underhanded and—”

“You two are so nice sometimes, I worry about you,” Car
men tells us. “Aster should take you on a nice minibreak,” she adds to Jess, and I know that this conversation isn’t really about Elaine.

“But she does have a point,” Philip points out. “And at this time, we should give Elaine the benefit of the doubt. God would give her the benefit of the doubt. Although I wouldn’t put it past her to—No, sorry people. Scrub that.”

“You are too nice sometimes, too,” Carmen tells him, patting his hand. “But I guess it comes with the territory. Phil, if you could go on a nice, calming minibreak, where would you choose?”

“Don’t you think you’re jumping to an overreactive conclusion?” Paul asks, totally missing the minibreak hint. “Because you do have a tendency to overreact before you get all the facts.” He obviously likes to live dangerously.

“You just don’t know Elaine,” Carmen tells him with a dangerous glint in her eye. “But darling, how can you base a judgement on three seconds of talking to the woman?” she asks. Her voice is so reasonable and understanding that I’m starting to worry. “You only met her for the first time, tonight, whereas we,” she waves an arm around, “have known her for years, and it’s not the first time she’s rained on someone else’s parade.”

“Yes, but what happened?” Charlie says impatiently. “I had to put off a highly important telephone call for this, I’ll have you know.”

“Well, let’s see,” Carmen says. “Not that I think that your cousin
is
a lying, conniving cow who hates not to be the center of everyone’s attention,” she says. “Who figures out a way to grab it back when she’s not. But as it happens, the minute the room fell silent because Ned was about to make his speech about how lovely and wonderful Flora is, and how lucky he is that she’s agreed to be his wife, Elaine’s contractions started. Which caused a panic, and thank God Ned
didn’t have to go to the hospital with her, which is probably what Elaine wanted, but didn’t get,” she finishes with a flourish.

“You’ve got to admit it does sound a bit far-fetched,” I say. I think Carmen’s taking this a bit too personally, too.

“Well, even if it is true—and I’m not saying that it is true—it didn’t work,” Charlie jumps in. “Thanks to Rosie’s utterly gorgeous doctor friend, the groom is firmly back in place having fun with his bride-to-be.”

I do wish Charlie hadn’t mentioned Luke.

“What gorgeous doctor friend?” is Carmen’s immediate, unsurprising response.

“Well, I think you’re being a bit harsh on her,” Jess starts, then stops as she catches up with us. “Is it the same one as before? The one you snogged at Christmas?”

“He’s not
my
gorgeous doctor friend.” I avoid giving a straight answer. I can’t quite lie to them, so will instead give the impression by careful choice of words. “I’m glad he was able to take over, though. It would have been a damp party without the groom,” I add, trying to change the subject.

“You were getting on like a house on fire for two people who’ve only just met.” Charlie rides roughshod over my attempt. “You should have been there,” he adds to Carmen, who hates to miss out on anything. “Gorgeous, fascinating, rich—and totally into our Rosie. My fuck, I nearly self-combusted from the heat and smoldering looks flying in that bar.”

“Charlie’s love gin-and-tonic strikes again,” I say to my friends. “It was just a casual chat, that’s all. I’ll probably never see him again—which is fine,” I add, and then change the subject again. “So what’s happening with the wonderful Lewis?” I ask Charlie, who immediately takes the bait and launches into a blow-by-blow account of their conversation.

“I know a nice doctor,” Jess confides in me just as Charlie is
describing Lewis’s eyes. “At least, Mummy does. She absolutely swears by Dr. Lockwood, and how nice he is, and what a shame it is that an eligible young man like him doesn’t have a nice girlfriend. I think he’d be perfect for you. Perfect.”

Great. That’s all I need to complicate my life. But it’s a sweet thought.

“Thanks—but I don’t think—” Actually, I think I’m getting on very well with my nice, organized, man-free life. Apart from the lack of sex…

“And he likes feet—he specializes in feet. So on the plus scale, you’d never have to be embarrassed about your shoe size again.”

“Well—” Why did Jess think me, doctors and feet, all in the same thought?

“Mummy thinks he’s an angel—she won’t let anyone else near her bunions.”

“Wow, man, was that like dramatic or wot?” Aster has at last decided to grace us, and Jess, with his presence. “I fink I’m going to write a song about your cousin. What do you fink? Move over, will you, Vicar,” he says to Philip, who obliges, albeit a bit reluctantly. Aster slides into the seat next to Jess and puts his arms around her.

“I think that’s wonderful,” she says, gazing into his eyes. At least it’s distracted her from the foot doctor.

“Yeah. I’m gonna call it ‘Only Wimmin Bleed.’ Good title?”

“Actually, old chap,” Philip says, rather coldly, “I think you’ll find that one’s been done before.”

An hour later, as soon as is decently possible, after I have spent enough time making the rounds and generally pretending to be happy, bright and unconcerned about anything, after I have fairly successfully avoided Jonathan and Harry and avoided committing to a date with the foot doctor, I make my escape.

My feet hurt from the pinchy shoes.

My head hurts from all the events of the day.

My heart hurts, just a bit, but this is only because it is Valentine’s Day, and everyone else seems firmly entrenched in coupledom.

Except for poor Elaine…

I want to go home, phone the hospital, put on sweats, watch late-night TV, and eat simple comfort food. Beans on toast comfort food.

And as I wait outside the hotel for the next black cab to pull up, I take off my shoes and feel instantly better.

I feel even more instantly better a few seconds later. Instantly better, but at the same time instantly scared to death, too, when a cab pulls up and out climbs Luke Benton.

“She’s absolutely fine, just a false alarm,” is his opening line, and I feel instantly guilty because just for a moment I’d forgotten all about Elaine.

“Um, that’s good news.”

“Tell me you’re not leaving already?” he adds, and my heart jumps into my throat.

Sexily rumpled, he looks almost disappointed, and I want to smooth the tired lines on his face. In fact I want to do more than smooth them, I want to kiss them. Actually, I want to kiss his mouth. More than his mouth. Dangerous thoughts…

“Well, I thought I’d have an early night, you know, catch up on some, um, sleep,” I trail off, and wish I hadn’t thought about bed. Because thinking about bed makes me think
about Luke
in
my bed. And I think it’s making Luke think about being in my bed, too, judging from the way both of his sardonic eyebrows have just gone up in a very suggestive manner.

“You know, after the, um, busy day I’ve had…and things are quieting down in there…” I try to recover the situation. I really want to tell him how glad I am to see him, how grateful I am to him for taking charge of Elaine, and how I’ve changed my mind about leaving now that he’s back.

“Ah, another of those days?” He takes a step closer, and I can barely breathe, because he’s just so edible. “I’m desperate to know all about it.”

And I’m even more desperate to kiss him.

“Well, um, my feet hurt, and I can’t turn around without falling over ex-boyfriends, and garden gnome problems, and I’m hungry—not that I’m a great cook, in fact I’m a terrible cook despite my best efforts, but I can manage beans on toast, and I feel like beans on toast. Plus, I need to check out my bathroom leak,” I say, wishing that I had a script. And a non-babbling tongue.

“That’s tragic,” he says, shaking his head.

“Not for my stomach, it’s not. However, it is for my kitchen ceiling,” I babble some more, as he takes another step closer.

“You had me on the garden gnomes,” he says quietly, and I shudder. I haven’t had him at all, but I want him. I’m sure it’s written all over my face. “You know, plumbing and delivering babies have strong similarities. I’m pretty handy with a wrench and a U-bend.” Oh, but I bet he’s handy all around. Such lovely, slim fingers…

“So, um, Elaine’s really okay?” I squeak inanely as he moves closer still. Yes, I am a coward, changing the subject, because although I want to know what else he’s handy at, things are moving too fast, and I can’t think straight.

“Absolutely. Total false alarm. She’s resting comfortably,” he says, then smiles a bit ruefully, which jangles my already jangled nerves. “Although your aunt does seem very—devoted.” His eyes crinkle in a smile. “I had to, um, persuade her to leave her daughter in peace for the night.”

“That’s a very diplomatic way of putting it.” I look up at him, because he’s standing right in front of me.

We lapse into silence, and I can’t think of a thing to say, because all I can think about is the last time we stood by a waiting cab.

“So, here we are again,” Luke says quietly.

“Yes. You came back.”

“Well, I thought I’d, you know, catch the last of the revelry. Either that or stay at the hospital. And they don’t need me for now. Just thought, with it being Valentine’s Day—”

“Yes?”

“That I might at least get—”

The word “laid” springs instantly to mind.

“Fed. Going home alone to an empty house and a microwaved dinner for one just wasn’t tempting.”

Interesting snippet of information.

“You’re in luck if you want dessert. The buffet’s been cleared away, but I think there’s still cheesecake.” I want to take him home and feed him. I want to take him home and do more than feed him…

“Tell me something.”

“What?” I hold my breath.

“Why do you wear shoes that are too small?”

“Because.” God. I can’t be bothered to lie. “Because I have large feet. And wide feet. I have problems getting shoes to fit.”

“They don’t look huge to me,” he says, looking down at my feet, then back up into my eyes.

“Tell that to my blisters.” My voice is breathy, expectant, and I can’t help it.

“Well, I think your blisters need medical attention.”

“You do?” Instant images of Luke sucking my toes spring to mind. Not that I’m a foot kind of person. Actually, I
am
a foot kind of person. I have very ticklish feet. Sensitive feet…

“Yes. I think they need—”

“What?” What do they need?
Spit it out,
I want to scream, but I don’t, because screaming requires additional energy, and I can barely move.

“—a meal,” he says, so close to me now that every single cell in my body is on red alert. “Everything feels better when you’re—sated. Medically proven fact.”

“Really?” I ask, mesmerized by him.

“No, I made it up because I thought we could, well, go and get something to eat. Together. Beans on toast,” he adds, and I laugh, but it’s a nervous laugh. I’m anticipatory, edgy, and incredibly aware of him. Aware of the things that we’re saying, yet not saying.

“I haven’t got all night,” the cab driver says, pushing his head out of the window. “Make up yer minds, will yer?”

And Luke’s so close now that I can almost feel his body heat, and I want to touch him.

“There’s a great café in Victoria Station. It does bacon, eggs, beans on toast…we could meander down there and…” He trails off.

And then I realize something. He’s just as nervous as I am. At least I think he is. This thought is enormously empowering.

Oh. God.

I really shouldn’t do this. I should run, screaming, for the sanctuary of my nice, safe, organized little house. To my nice, safe, organized life.

But oddly, barely knowing him, I trust him.

“Or we could go back to my place,” I say. And I can’t be
lieve I just said that. What must he think? Actually, he’s probably thinking that I’ve just invited him to have his way with me. He’d be right. “Um, I make a mean plate of beans on toast,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady and failing miserably.

“Sounds…delicious,” he says, lowering his head, pausing, as if asking permission. “What’s for dessert?”

I move my face closer.

“Is he getting in the cab with you, or wot?” the cab driver pushes, but I barely notice.

“Well—”

“Yes,” I say.

And then he kisses me.

Love is a many splendored thing,
I sing to the bathroom tiles the next day, as I scrub between them with an old toothbrush. And then I giggle like a mad fool when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

My skin is flushed, my eyes are bright, and my hair is glossy and full. It must be true what they say about women in love having that “glow,” because I’ve definitely got a glow.

I’m in love, I’m in love. With a Wonderful Man.

God. Now I’m channeling Mitzi Gaynor and
South Pacific.
How corny can I get?

More so, it seems…as corny as Kansas in April, I want to run up and down the stairs, I want to spin around in circles, I want to shout about my Some Enchanted Evening from the Highest Hills and to the Golden Daffodils…

Yes, I know I sound hackneyed and trite, but I can’t get all those old, romantic songs out of my head. I blame my grandmother for making me watch all those musicals with her. She was right about the sex, though…

I squirt more cleaning spray between the tiles as I try to
focus. My bathroom is actually spotless, but it’s a week since I did this, so it won’t hurt to do it again, and besides…I just can’t settle.

Not after last night.

Last night…

So far this morning I have (a) vacuumed the already spotless carpets, (b) dusted the dust-free surfaces, (c) cleaned the immaculate kitchen floor, and (d) replayed last night a gazillion times in my head.

Last night…

God, I blush even thinking about the things we did.

Oh, but he was so lovely, and sexy, and vulnerable, and tender, and passionate and just so…
everything.

And then, when I first woke up this morning, and he was gone, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was just for the night. I mean, he didn’t make any promises to me, or anything, but when I found myself alone in bed I thought that maybe he regretted it.

Or that maybe I was a disappointment.

Not that I’m exactly inexperienced in the sex department, but I bet that the kinds of women he’s usually attracted to are far more—inventive. God, I should have borrowed that sex book Jess was nattering on about.

But then I found his note. I’ve read it a million times already, but I just can’t help reading it again and again. Yes, pathetic of me. This is what it says:

I must have been
very
soundly asleep indeed not to hear his beeper. But then, we did have a very hectic time, and we didn’t get any actual sleep until around 2
A
.
M
. My face is hot just thinking about it.

Oh, but that toast comment makes me smile. He remembers our conversation in December. Every little mundane bit, just like me!

He wants to see me again! Tonight!

So, of course, I’m going. I know I like my routine, and that I’ve got my admin and bills to do, but I don’t care. In fact, I wanted to call him as soon as I found his note at six this morning, but didn’t, on account of him probably still delivering Baby Jackson.

Have to admit that I’m just a bit worried about his complicated life….

I wonder how long I should leave it before I call him? I mean, it’s only eleven in the morning. Is Baby Jackson with us yet? Would I seem too eager, too keen, if I call now?

Wonder what he means about his life being complicated?

God. I was so mean to poor Charlie yesterday when he was obsessing about Lewis, and now I’m doing it myself.

Carmen, I know, has a game plan. At least she used to, in
the old days, before she met Paul. Apparently, one should always leave it for two or three days before calling the object of one’s desire, no matter what the temptation. Rather like Granny Elsie’s advice about keeping them keen, now I come to think about it.

And then I remember my advice to Charlie—not to play games. I’m definitely not going to tread that slippery slope toward misunderstanding and dishonesty.

I pick up the receiver of my telephone and stop, placing it back on its stand. I’ll just wait a bit longer…

Complications. What could that mean? Possibly his job? I mean, he probably works long, odd hours, and I’m sure I read somewhere that doctors are high up on the list of divorce rates. Maybe he’s divorced? Or what if he has some kind of life-threatening disease? Or…

You know what? I think I worry too much, sometimes. For once, I’m not going to borrow trouble. This time I’m going to just think positive thoughts. I mean, what complications could there be in his life that we can’t overcome together?

And I can’t help it. I fall instantly into daydream land.

It features me, all gorgeous and demure (but in a sexy kind of way) in a long, white dress, and Luke, all tall and sexily rumpled in a morning suit.

No, I am not picturing the wedding. I’ve bypassed the whole wedding to the honeymoon. To the hotel room, to be exact.

My blood is pounding so loudly in my ears that I can’t even hear the background music.

Unable to wait a moment longer, we are tugging at each other’s clothes the minute Luke carries me across the threshold and shoves the door closed with his foot.

Before we can make it to the bed we’re all over each other like a rash. In frustration, because his fingers are shaking so
badly that he can’t undo the tiny pearl buttons on the back of my dress, Luke slides his hands under my skirt and pushes it up to my waist, and then he’s—Oh. My.

And then the telephone rings.

Oh, what if it’s Luke?
I think, taking deep breaths to still my beating heart. I pick up, my fingers shaking, my whole body shaking.

“Hello,” I say, trying for sexy, but instead my voice comes out as a shaky croak.

“Are you coming down with a cold? Only you sound like you’re coming down with a cold,” Mum says. “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call.”

“No, no, hahaha,” I say, convinced that my mother will be able to tell what I’ve been up to merely from the sound of my voice. “I’m absolutely fine, Mum. Never been better.”

“Oh. So you’re not ill at all?”

Only a massive dose of desperately in love-itus,
I think, but don’t tell her this. I cannot believe that I’ve missed out on this all these years. All I had to do was trust myself, take a risk and leap in with both feet. But then I hadn’t met Luke.

All my other encounters were just me practicing for Luke, which is why I always backed out when things got too serious. But I don’t tell Mum any of this. I want to keep it to myself for a bit. My Secret Love, just until I get used to the idea of Luke and me being together, and then I’ll shout it from the Highest Hills…

“Rosie? Are you there?”

“Sorry, Mum, the line went all fuzzy there for a moment,” I lie.

“Oh. Only I was wondering why you didn’t call me to let me know you’d arrived home safely,” she says, building up for a panic. “Especially after you promised. I was going to call you earlier, but you know how I hate to intrude on your life,
I don’t want you to think I’m one of those mothers who can’t manage on their own, or anything—”