The No-Kids Club (15 page)

Christos eased onto the banquette again, so close now she could feel his leg against hers.

‘Tell me, what are you doing here alone in that gorgeous dress?’ His eyes met hers, and desire went through her. God, he was
handsome
. With tightly curled hair, aquiline features, and an olive
complexion
, he could have stepped straight off the cover of a Mills & Boon.

Anna took another sip of her drink. Yum. Why had she never tried this before? And how on earth had she never had moussaka?

‘It’s a long story,’ she said, not wanting to go into details. She wasn’t sure she could articulate it, anyway. Her lips were starting to feel numb.

‘I’ve got all night.’

Anna flushed at the words. Christos probably didn’t mean them suggestively, but she couldn’t help picturing his solid body up against hers, those dark eyes staring down. She shoved away the image, twisting her wedding band back and forth. Her fingers were swollen from the heat of the place and it cut into her skin.

‘Let’s just say I made a mistake.’ A mistake to think Michael would remember something so important. She still couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. A cold sense of dread washed over her and she shivered. What would happen to their marriage if she stopped putting everything she had into it? The question whirled through Anna’s muddled mind, and she held it there for a second.

Oh, whatever. Anna forced it from her head. Right now, she didn’t want to think of anything to do with Michael, home, or even her life. She just wanted to soak up the atmosphere in this place with a strange man who knew nothing about her and enjoy the pleasant fuzziness taking over.

Christos raised an eyebrow. ‘Very mysterious.’ He pointed to her plate. ‘Well done, you’ve finished.’

‘My compliments to the chef,’ Anna said, glancing down in surprise. She’d polished off the huge portion! At least it would soak up the drink. She took another sip. Might as well indulge a bit more, then. ‘It really was delicious.’ The words came out slurry despite her effort.

‘Let me get you some dessert. And more ouzo.’ Before Anna could protest, Christos had disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Here we are.’ He set a plate of small golden squares in front of her, and Anna squinted up at him.

‘What’s this?’

Christos’s mouth fell open. ‘Now don’t tell me you’ve never had these, either! These are baklava.’

It sounded familiar, but as Anna bit into the juicy sweetness, she knew she’d never tasted anything like it. ‘Amazing.’

‘Just like you.’ Christos settled onto the banquette and slung his arm over the back so he wasn’t quite touching her, but almost. Anna knew she should move away; Christos was pulling out the clichéd charm, and she should at least say she was married. But what was the harm?

As she devoured the baklava and sipped back the ouzo—it was disappearing at an alarming rate—Christos told her all about the small island he’d come from, and how cold and dark he’d found London when he first arrived.

‘In Greece, the whole place is full of light and colour. Everything is intense. Here, it’s like the city is on mute. The colours, the noise, the people. Very different to back home.’ He paused, turning to face her. ‘So when I saw you in your lovely dress’—he reached out and stroked the short sleeve, and the hairs on her arms stood up—‘the colour of the Greek ocean, I knew I had to do everything I could to keep you here as long as possible.’

‘You definitely did that with the ouzo,’ Anna joked, trying to inject a bit of levity into the moment. The way Christos was staring at her, she didn’t doubt the Greek people were intense. But she couldn’t say she wasn’t enjoying it. It was lovely to have someone pay attention to her for once.

Christos laughed. ‘I warned you about that! You’re doing very well, by the way. Some people would be under the table by now.’

‘I’m not sure I can stand! You might have to carry me home.’ She glanced at her watch, the numbers swimming before her eyes. She’d no idea what the hour was, but it was definitely time to get out of here. Anna fumbled in her handbag, trying to focus enough to find her debit card. ‘How much do I owe you?’

Christos was shaking his head. ‘No, no. You owe me nothing—you have given me the pleasure of spending a wonderful evening with a beautiful woman.’

Even in her drunken state, Anna knew his words were cheesy, but she still couldn’t help smiling. ‘Please. I’ve had at least half a bottle of ouzo.’

‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’ Christos shrugged.

‘I’d better head home.’ Anna struggled to her feet, the restaurant doing a wild samba around her as she stood.
Whoa
.

‘I told you it creeps up on you!’ Christos grinned as he watched her sway. He stood, then took her arm to steady her. ‘Here. Just lean on me a second.’

Anna clutched his arm, inhaling air until the room finally righted itself. She turned to face him, noticing her lips were almost level with his. With Michael, she usually got a crick in her neck from looking up. ‘Thank you, and good night.’ Her voice was unsteady as her heart started to beat faster.

Christos stared into her eyes. ‘Night. Please come again. It would be lovely to see you.’

Outside, the cold air was like a slap in the face and she breathed it in, trying to clear the fog from her head. She took a few quick steps and forced herself to keep walking, afraid she’d topple over if she stopped.

Several minutes later, she unlocked her front door, listening for any sign of movement. Inside, it was still and dark—Michael must have gone to bed; no surprise there. Not wanting to disturb him, Anna kicked off her shoes, propped herself up with a cushion on the sofa, and waited for sleep to claim her from this strange,
surreal night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

C
lare rubbed her eyes at the sound of the buzzer, then squinted at the clock on the wall. It was just past nine on a Saturday night, and she’d been drifting off to sleep to the dulcet tones of Tony Robinson and his bearded compatriots on the world’s most boring episode of
Time Team
.

Who on earth could that be? Maybe Ellie? She’d love to catch up with her friend; almost three weeks had passed since the baby shower. Her heart sunk as she realised ‘catching up’ would entail hearing all the latest pregnancy news—and that was the last thing she wanted to think about.

Chatting to her best friend while keeping her own condition hidden would feel wrong, but discussing what she needed to do with a woman about to give birth seemed equally wrong, too. Maybe she’d plead she still wasn’t feeling well and go back to sleep. Clare shook her head, annoyed at herself. Usually, she could tackle a problem head-on, solving it quickly. That’s what made her such a good emergency doctor—she could almost always fix the patient’s ailment, and fast.

So why couldn’t she do that now? Each time she picked up the phone to call the family planning clinic, she promptly put it down, busying herself with some inconsequential task.

The buzzer sounded again, and Clare drew her bathrobe
even close
r around her body. ‘Coming!’ she yelled, padding to
the door.

‘Oh!’ She jerked back in surprise at the sight of Nicholas leaning against the doorjamb. They hadn’t spoken since the studio—not that she was surprised, given his track record.

‘Hiya.’ Nicholas’s eyes twinkled as he smiled. ‘I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d drop by and see what you were up to.’ He raised an eyebrow as he took in her ratty robe and tousled hair, and Clare flushed. ‘Hope I didn’t get you out of bed?’

‘Er . . . ’ Clare met his steady gaze, her mind whirling with how to respond. She could invite him in, but then he’d expect . . . what? That nightcap and the rain check they’d been trying to get around to for weeks?
When a man turns up late at night, there’s only one thing he wants . . . and it isn’t warm milk.
Ellie’s voice from her university days drifted into Clare’s mind. This was most definitely a booty call, and God knows booty was not on the agenda right now.

‘No, but actually, I was about to go to bed. Sorry,’ she said finally.

‘Oh.’ Nicholas’s face fell. ‘That’s too bad. Okay, then. Sorry to drop by like this.’ He shrugged. ‘Just thought I’d give it a shot. Well, have a good sleep and I’ll see you soon.’

Clare nodded, thinking that she’d almost prefer
not
seeing him soon. This whole thing with Nicholas—whatever it was—was starting to be more bother than it was worth. The comings and goings, the booty calls and rain checks that were never endorsed, the uncertainty about next dates . . . She had enough on her mind without adding him and his random appearances to the mix. He probably wouldn’t be in touch for a few more weeks anyway, she’d plead busy, and then they could let whatever had happened between them die naturally. Given their relationship had barely left the starting gate, it wouldn’t take long to fade.

Nicholas got out his keys and climbed back into the car, and Clare watched it pull away into the dark night. Mouth stretching in an enormous yawn, she was about to swing closed the door when she noticed something contrasting against the whitewash of her step. What was that? Tiptoeing gingerly in her bare feet on the cold cement, she picked up the object, turning it over in her hands. The black leather wallet was smooth and heavy, and she scurried back into the warmth of the lounge, closing the door behind her. Her eyes widened as she spotted Nicholas’s driver’s license through the front plastic pocket. Shit! He must have dropped it when he got out his keys.

Clare stood for a second, wallet in hand, trying to decide what to do. Actually, she knew what she wanted to do—go to bed.
But if
Nicholas discovered the wallet missing and needed it straight away, he might be by at some ungodly hour later tonight to pick it up. She’d never be able to sleep knowing that could happen at any moment. No, as exhausted as she was, it was best to ring now and wait for him to come round again.

But five phone calls, two voicemails, and several texts later, Clare was still waiting. She snuck a peek at her watch: almost eleven. For God’s sake, the least he could do was text her back and say he didn’t need his wallet now! She tapped a finger against her mouth. If he didn’t come by tonight, that would probably mean another rendezvous tomorrow. And he’d definitely expect to cash in that bloody rain check then, wouldn’t he?

Clare let out a huge sigh.

She glanced at his driver’s license again, noticing he lived in Belgravia. That wasn’t too far from here. She could grab a cab to his flat, put the wallet through the letter box, and that would be that. After padding into the bedroom, she tugged on a pair of jeans and a thick jacket. Then she hurried out into the night and down to busy Fulham Road to hail a taxi, eager now to put all this behind her. If traffic didn’t conspire against her, she could be home again in half an hour.

A few minutes later, the cab pulled up to a row of white
terraces similar
to her own. After asking the driver to wait, Clare tumbled out into the street. She checked the license again:
Nicholas
lived at number 10a in the garden flat. Lucky man, she thought as she walked towards the house. She’d give anything to have outdoor space—as long as there was someone to take care of it. Funny, she’d expected a slick penthouse rather than a homely place like this. And—she glanced around the clean and tidy
exterior
—hadn’t he said something about major renovations? Usually that entailed scaffolding or at least a skip, but there wasn’t even a ladder in sight.

Clare opened the gate and made her way up the path. Lights blazed from the window and the sound of cartoons drifted from inside. Nicholas was either home or a group of child thieves were having a party in his flat. And if he was home, why hadn’t he answered her texts? Shrugging, she pressed the buzzer. She couldn’t drop off his wallet and run if he was there.

‘Oh, hello.’ Nicholas’s eyebrows flew up as he swung open the door. His normally crisp shirt was replaced with a well-worn grey T-shirt, and bizarrely, a gold clip perched in his short hair. What was that all about?

‘Nice look.’ Clare smiled. ‘Is the clip a new fashion accessory?’

‘Oh, God.’ He coloured and swiped it from his hair. ‘Yeah, well.’ Without further explanation, he shoved the clip in his pocket.

That was strange, Clare thought. And he didn’t seem in much of a hurry to invite her in, judging by the way he was blocking the door and darting little glances over his shoulder. What was going on? Maybe he was a transvestite or something in his spare time, she giggled to herself. No wonder he’d been so hard to contact.

‘You dropped your wallet right outside my flat earlier.’ She held it up.

‘Oh, God, thanks.’ Nicholas reached out to take it, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Can’t believe I did that. I didn’t even notice it was gone.’

‘I thought you might not. I left a few messages, but . . . ’

‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t get them.’ He paused, twisting around to look behind him. ‘Well, thanks again. I would have been lost tomorrow morning without my wallet.’

‘I figured as much.’ The silence stretched between them, growing more and more awkward with each passing second. Finally, just as Clare was about to head back to the cab, she heard the unmistakeable sound of children laughing.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise your nieces were visiting,’ she said. ‘No wonder you were busy. Sorry—hope the buzzer didn’t wake them up.’ Her mind spun, trying to make sense of it all. If Nicholas had his nieces over, why had he appeared on her doorstep a few hours earlier? Surely they wouldn’t be dropped off so late?

‘Yes, er, no, that’s okay,’ he said, looking flustered for the first time since she’d known him. ‘We were playing beauty salon—hence the clip.’ He grimaced. ‘I’d better get back to it.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Clare leaned in to kiss his cheek. ‘Well, the cab’s still waiting, so—’

‘Dad! Dad!’ A little girl with curly blonde hair burst into the room, and Nicholas turned towards her. ‘Come on! Lena and I have to try to plait your hair.’

Clare’s mouth dropped open.
Dad?

‘Sorry, Mr Hunt.’ The smiling face of a twenty-something
Aussie
girl appeared behind the child. ‘They’ve already done mine and they insist on doing yours before going back to bed.’ She rolled her eyes at Clare in irritation. ‘Better make a quick getaway before they try to shave your head or something. At this rate, it’ll be
morning
before they settle.’

‘Yes, yes!’ the little girl said, beaming up at Clare. ‘We can do yours as well!’

‘Lucy,’ Nicholas said in a warning tone. ‘It’s way past your bedtime. I want you and Lena to go upstairs. I’ll be there in a second.’

Clare was listening to the exchange, her mouth hanging open as she tried to absorb the scene before her. Nicholas had
children
?

When Lucy and the nanny had disappeared, Nicholas turned to meet Clare’s incredulous gaze. ‘Right. Well.’

Clare could only stare. Why on earth had he got in touch with the club when he wasn’t child-free? And all that talk about finding someone who was like him . . . Sure, she hadn’t wanted to know every little detail of his private life, but having children was hardly one little detail, especially when the
lack
of children was the foundation of their relationship, or whatever it was.

‘So . . . I have kids,’ Nicholas said finally. ‘Two children, Lena and Lucy. Lena is four and Lucy’s six.’

Clare nodded, half-expecting him to whip out a series of photos on his iPhone. ‘And do you have a wife, too?’ she asked. There didn’t seem to be one in the picture, but if a man could keep quiet about his children, goodness knows what else he could keep hidden.

‘Good God, no. We’ve been divorced for two years now. We share custody and we both have crazy schedules, which is why I’m often here, there, and everywhere. There always seems to be some emergency or disaster.’ He sighed. ‘I wanted to meet a woman who’s not keen to get tied down; someone not interested in having more children.’ He shook his head. ‘I get enough of kids and responsibility here. When I saw the advert for the club, I thought it might be just the place to find what I’m looking for. And then I met you.’ He smiled. ‘You’re independent, you don’t want to know my every thought or what I had for breakfast, and you don’t need to see me each hour of the day. Perfect.’

‘Were you ever planning to tell me you have children?’ Clare asked, refusing to be moved by his compliments.

‘Well, no. Not really.’

Clare jerked at his words. ‘Why not?’

Nicholas shrugged. ‘It wasn’t important, was it? You’d never want to be their stepmum—and I wasn’t looking for a candidate for that. Neither one of us wants a committed relationship. It’s not like you volunteered much about your personal life, either. And that’s more than fine by me. In fact, I like it. No complication, no fuss or mess.’

Clare stared into Nicholas’s blue eyes, his explanation sinking in. He was right: every date had been on a nice, safe level, with fun banter and surface conversations. That’s what made him so enjoyable to be with. No fuss or mess, like he’d said. But there was also no
emotion
.

The problem wasn’t Nicholas, she realised now. The problem was her. She’d thought they wanted the same things, but she’d been wrong. The easy-come, easy-go type relationship that fit around everything else didn’t make her happy—there was an emptiness about that kind of surface attachment. She wanted someone who’d miss her, who’d make time to see her.

‘I’m sorry for any misunderstanding,’ Nicholas was saying now. ‘Do you think we can pick up where we left off? I’d really like to see more of you.’

Clare stared into his handsome face, his choice of words not going missed. He’d like to see more of her—not learn more about her or get to know her better. ‘No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No, I’m sorry. It was lovely meeting you and I’ve enjoyed our time together, but I have to go.’

She kissed him quickly on the cheek, then ducked into the waiting cab. Leaning back against the seat as the car pulled away, Clare closed her eyes and sighed. She’d been so certain that was the kind of relationship she wanted, but she’d been wrong.

Her hand slid down to her belly, Mary’s words about considering children before it was too late echoing in her mind. Could she be wrong about kids, too? Her eyes snapped open at the thought. Of course not, she told herself. Having a baby was a huge deal, and she was nowhere near ready.

So why wasn’t she doing something about it?