Sweet Temptation (26 page)

Becky turned and smiled up at me. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you. I’ve been checking out your site – you’ve got some fit blokes on there at the moment.’

I handed her one of my cards at once. Never one to pass up a business opportunity, me. ‘We certainly have,’ I fibbed, half expecting a bolt of lightning to strike me down for such a terrible lie. ‘Give me a call if you’re interested in meeting any of them.’

Becky tucked the card into her bag and winked. ‘I might just do that,’ she said. ‘Oh, and we’ve got Francesca McCarthy on line one,’ she went on. ‘Collette’s going to speak to her, too, once you’re done, is that all right?’

‘That’s great,’ I said, delighted at this news. Francesca could only have been back from her honeymoon a day, and I hadn’t been sure she’d be over the jet lag, let alone up for this. Telling your wedding party how you’d met your husband through a lonely hearts agency was one thing, but telling the whole of Birmingham was quite another.

Collette was gesturing through the window at us, and Maddie gave a thumbs-up sign. Then she turned to me. ‘Ready?’

As Maddie predicted, my live interview went by like a flash. My biggest fear had been that Collette would be rude to me, and that I’d then be even ruder back and smash my reputation to smithereens, but she was actually really gushing and over-the-top, swooning on about how wonderful love was, and what a special person I was to be spreading so much romance around our city.

Quite honestly it made me squirm – I found it all pretty cloying and naff – but I managed to keep smiling and go along with it.

‘Everyone deserves a bit of happiness and love, Collette,’ I said, trying not to think about Patrick pissing himself laughing, as he no doubt was, listening to the schmaltz I was coming out with. ‘Everyone deserves to meet that special someone, find their true soul mate. And there’s nothing more rewarding for me than putting two people together and seeing their dreams turn into reality. I’m a firm believer in happy-ever-afters. They’re not just for fairy tales!’

God, I was starting to make myself puke now. This was cheese-o-rama with grated cheese on top and a side order of fromage for good measure. But Collette was beaming and batting her long, sooty eyelashes at me, so clearly she didn’t mind one bit.

‘Talking of happy-ever-afters,’ she said smoothly, ‘we’ve got a very special newly wed lady on the line. Hello, Francesca! Can you hear me?’

There was a crackle and then came Francesca’s voice. ‘Hi, Collette! Hi, Lauren! Yes, I can hear you fine.’

‘Now, Francesca, you’re one of Lauren’s success stories, aren’t you? Would you mind telling us what happened?’

‘Absolutely,’ came Francesca’s disembodied voice. ‘Well, I’d just moved to Birmingham and was really lonely. No mates, no dates . . . it was a nightmare. So I got in touch with Love Hearts and went to meet Lauren for a chat. She was really kind, spent ages talking to me about the type of person I wanted to meet, and what I was interested in . . . oh, everything, really. And the very next day, she emailed me a profile of this fella, Damon. Well, he’s a bit of all right, I thought to myself, and so I went on a date with him . . .’

‘Good for you!’ Collette interjected. ‘And how did that go? Did he live up to his photo?’

Francesca laughed. ‘Did he ever. I fell head over heels with him there and then. And as a matter of fact, we’ve just got back from our honeymoon. I married him!’

‘Congratulations!’ whooped Collette, with remarkable enthusiasm given that she must have known this already. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. What a lovely story, Francesca – thanks for sharing that with us. And thank
you
, Lauren, for coming in. You’re a local hero, my dear – and we salute you!’

‘Thanks for having me,’ I said, making a mental note to send Francesca a massive bunch of flowers as soon as I got back to the office. What a star! ‘And if any of your listeners are interested in finding out more, we’re offering a twenty per cent discount to new members this month, so do log on to our website for more details.’

‘What are you waiting for, people?’ Collette finished. ‘You’ll find all the details on the Brum FM website, so check it out. I’m feeling kind of romantic now, so here’s Whitney Houston singing about the greatest love of all . . .’

I was on a massive high as I left the radio station and returned to the agency office. Wow! I had been on the radio! I couldn’t quite believe that the little chat I’d had with Collette had been broadcast into thousands of homes and offices and cars around the city. It was only now, as the adrenaline was subsiding, that I realized how tense I’d felt in the studio, terrified that I would say the wrong thing. But I hadn’t!

I was expecting the works from Patrick when I got back to my desk, though. Full-on mickey-taking, stupid imitations of my comments, hand-on-heart simpering and fawning et cetera. ‘Oh, but I
do
believe in love,’ I could imagine him declaring, batting his eyelashes. ‘I do! It’s such a bewd-a-full thing, isn’t it?’ He was going to be
merciless
, I just knew it.

But when I walked in, he barely looked my way. All the phones were ringing, and he was frantically taking notes on one call while putting several others on hold. I’d never seen him look so harassed. ‘That would be fabulous,’ he said. ‘You can fill out a profile online, or you can come and see us for a personal chat. You’d like the personal chat? Of course, no problem. Let’s see . . . We’re quite busy at the moment, but we could fit you in at the end of next week?’

I hurried over to my desk to take one of the calls, but stopped, perplexed, as I heard that. Quite busy? End of next week? Usually we could fit people in for appointments pretty much immediately. Embarrassingly quickly, in fact.

He saw me staring and nodded, eyes wide.
Oh, yes.
We were busy now, clearly.

Whoa. Was all this from my little interview? I took my PC off standby, eyebrows shooting into my hair as I saw our agency diary was solidly booked out for the next week with new appointments galore. Oh my word. Talk about a result!

‘Oka-a-a-ay,’ I said, recovering quickly and snatching up a phone. ‘Love Hearts Agency, this is Lauren speaking, how may I help you?’

‘Oh! Lauren! I heard you on the radio!’ squeaked an excited-sounding female voice. ‘I’d never thought about using a dating agency, but after hearing that lady Francesca’s story . . . wow! I want some of that!’

And that was how it went for the rest of the day. Call after call after call. Email after email after email. By five o’clock we were fully booked up for the next three weeks and had over a hundred prospective new clients. I’d barely had time for lunch let alone a chat with Patrick, and as the phones finally went quiet, I went over and high-fived him.

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘We are hot, hot, hot! Birmingham is feeling the love today, all right.’

He switched off his PC and ran a hand through his hair. ‘We are smoking,’ he agreed. ‘Way to go, boss. You played a blinder today.’

What, no teasing, no mimicking? ‘Why, thank you,’ I said in surprise. Patrick didn’t usually do sincere. ‘And you worked blooming hard too. Come on, I’m taking you out for a drink. Maybe even dinner. Hell, we’ve got business coming out of our ears now. Let’s celebrate!’

I was busy, busy, busy over the next month. I worked round the clock trying to keep on top of the business, I repainted the flat all my favourite colours, and I even took the plunge and arranged to go salsa dancing with Jess. Eddie was starting to get the hump with me for being out so much, but suddenly it seemed as if there just weren’t enough hours in the day. I was even starting to think about taking on a new member of staff, we had so many new clients and dates to set up. I was really enjoying it, though, and felt a huge sense of achievement, particularly when the dates went well and we received good feedback.

‘You’ve got the magic touch at the moment, Mrs,’ Patrick told me as couple after couple seemed to hit it off first time. ‘Have you got any spare fairy dust to sprinkle over me, please? I’ve got a date of my own tonight.’

I laughed, perhaps a bit too caustically. ‘If there’s any spare fairy dust, I’ve got first dibs on it, thank you very much,’ I replied. And then, feeling oddly jealous, I asked, ‘Who’s this date with anyway?’

‘A guy I met in Route 2 on Saturday,’ he replied. ‘Steven, he’s called. A designer, just moved down from Newcastle.’

‘Why-aye,’ I joked, hoping to sound like Cheryl Cole but sounding more like a prat. There was a pause while I tried to think of something good to say, but I couldn’t help hating Steven a bit already. He’d better not take my mate away, I thought darkly.

‘Is he handsome?’ I asked. ‘Is this lurve? And has he got a straight twin brother for me?’ I was only messing about, but there was this tiny hint of desperation in my voice that I didn’t like.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet,’ he replied. ‘We’ve only texted a few times so far – I haven’t got as far as his inside leg measurement or anything. Ask me in the morning.’

I faked a smile but couldn’t help a gusty sigh too. We were taking a rare lunch break together and were sitting by the canal at Gas Street Basin. All of a sudden I felt like chucking myself in.

He put an arm around me companionably and I felt like the biggest bitch in the world for not being more chuffed for my mate.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Ignore me – I’m just jealous. I’d give anything to be going on a date myself.’

He gave me a squeeze. ‘Ahhh, I don’t reckon it’ll be much longer for you,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

He busied himself opening his Kettle Chips. ‘Just . . . You know. You’ve changed, Lauren. You seem much happier these days.’ He popped a crisp in his mouth. ‘And you look great, too – you’ve lost loads of weight. I
almost
fancy you myself.’ He winked. ‘Seriously, though, I’m telling you – your days on the single scene are numbered, lady.’

I eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the sarcastic quip that was sure to follow. There wasn’t one.

‘Blimey,’ I said in the end. ‘What’s got into you?’

He nudged me. ‘What’s got into
you
, you mean. Where’s my miserable old trout of a mate, and what have you done with her? Where’s that sourpuss who used to sneer at Valentine cards and hand-holders?’ He sighed and crunched his crisp. ‘I kind of miss her.’

I nudged him back, so hard he almost fell in the canal. ‘Oi! You cheeky sod. Do you want a Christmas bonus or what this year?’ But I was laughing, and he was too.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You mark my words. You, loved-up by the end of the year, or . . . or I’m Vin Diesel.’

Chapter Fifteen

Salsa

Jess

‘Hey! You made it – oh, both of you!’ Francesca said, holding her hands up in surprise. ‘Do you two know each other?’

‘We do,’ I said, smiling from her to Lauren. ‘Hi again. Did you have a nice honeymoon?’

‘The best,’ she said with a dreamy sort of sigh. She was tanned a deep brown and looked effortlessly pretty, wearing a clingy black dress with a flippy skirt and her long hair up in a loose ponytail. ‘Blissful. All that wedding stress was
totally
worth it in the end.’ She turned to Lauren and gave her a hug. ‘Hey, you. Thanks for the flowers, babe. What a nice surprise!’

Lauren hugged her back, which surprised me. Lauren hadn’t struck me as a huggy kind of person before, but she looked genuinely happy to see Francesca again.

‘Pleasure,’ she said. ‘Business is booming, thanks to you. Everyone wants to be my next success story!’

Francesca grinned. ‘Well, I hope you’ve brought along some business cards tonight,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We get a
lot
of people here who are looking for love, you know . . .’

‘I wasn’t in the Girl Guides for nothing,’ Lauren replied and raised an eyebrow comically, patting her fat, plum-coloured handbag. ‘Always prepared, me.’

I glanced around, not quite able to believe we were here, in the function room above Bar Havana in town. The building was Victorian, and I guessed that in its heyday this room might have been an elegantly spacious drawing room or even a dining hall, with its huge old fireplace on one wall and the row of white-painted sash windows opposite. A couple of ceiling fans were whirring above our heads now, sending a chilly draught whispering through the space –
Guys, it’s autumn!
I wanted to shout.
And we’re in Birmingham, not the tropics!
– and there were about thirty people standing around underneath, chatting and laughing with one another in small clusters as they waited for the class to begin.

I’d told Charlie I was working late as it was a Thursday, and we had evening bookings then, although not so many now that summer was over. He’d believed me, and had said something about putting the tips towards a holiday – I presumed he meant our honeymoon. How romantic he was, planning ahead!

I had fretted for ages about what to wear for the class that night. Whenever I’d seen salsa dancers on TV, the women always looked impossibly glamorous, with tiny waists and toned upper bodies, wearing tight-fitting dresses in loud colours with sexy black dancing shoes. I’d had to force myself to stop thinking about these women in the end; the image was off-putting, to say the least. I had neither a tiny waist nor a toned upper body, but then again, thankfully, no tight-fitting dress to show up all my fat bits. Finally, I had settled on a long, baggy, navy T-shirt over black three-quarter-length leggings and some pumps. Lauren, on the other hand, was wearing a smart red shirt and rather sexy tight black trousers. ‘I’ve gone for the matador look,’ she’d quipped when I’d met her outside the bar.

I shouldn’t have worried – there were all sorts of people wearing all sorts of clothes. So that was one hurdle over, at least.

‘Let’s warm up with a merengue,’ Francesca said now, striding briskly to the front of the room. ‘We’ll build up to it in steps on our own first, I think.’ She flicked on a CD player, and a rhythmic drum beat started up, followed by the blare of trumpets. Several people began swaying their hips to the music, but I felt horribly self-conscious. What had I been thinking, coming here? Charlie always teased me that I danced like a plank of wood in the rare times he saw me on a dance floor, at a wedding or party.