glance in return.
‘Are you here with anyone?’ I’d asked, half expecting a glamorous female to zoom up to us and lead him away.
‘I came with a friend, but he’s gone outside to phone his wife.’
‘And where’s yours?’ I asked with a directness that amazed me.
A look of mild surprise crossed his face. ‘I don’t … have one.’
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘No …’ he replied slowly, ‘since you ask. But tell me’ – he chinked my glass – ‘what are you celebrating?’
I thought of my mother. ‘Nothing. But I’m about to start a new life.’
‘A new life?’ He raised his glass and I watched the slender columns of bubbles drift upwards, like waving fronds. ‘Well, here’s to that new life of yours. So what are you doing? Emigrating? Getting married? Going into a nunnery? Joining the circus?’
‘None of those things.’ I explained that I’d just had my last day in the City and would start my garden design course on the Monday.
‘So you’re going from hedge funds to herbaceous borders.’
‘I am.’
‘From shares to … scented stocks.’ I smiled. ‘From Wall Street – to wallflowers. Shall I go on?’
‘No’ I giggled. ‘I had enough horticultural jokes at my leaving party just now.’
He leaned against the bar. ‘So what happens when you finish the course?’
‘I’ll start my own consultancy – Anna Temple Garden Design.’
‘Anna Temple …? You should be worshipped with a name like that. Do you have a large and devoted following?’
I shook my head. ‘Tragically not.’
‘I find that surprising.’
‘And what’s your name?’ I asked. ‘I can’t chat you up properly if I don’t know it.’
He smiled again. ‘It’s Xan. With an “X”.’
‘Because you’re X-rated?’ I was enjoying my new-found brazenness. Only two hours into my new life and I seemed to be uncovering fresh aspects of my personality, I reflected. Cassie – a born flirt – would be impressed.
‘No.’ Xan laughed. ‘It’s short for Alexander.’
I had another sip of champagne. ‘That’s a bit classier than Alex, isn’t it?’
‘I think that’s what my mum thought.’
Then Xan’s friend appeared and said that he had to leave; so I invited Xan to join me at the table that Sue and Cathy had now found. He chatted politely to us all at first, then he and I began to talk one on one. He told me that he’d spent ten years in Hong Kong, in banking, but had given it up to work for the BBC.
‘Are you enjoying it?’ I sipped my champagne.
‘It’s wonderful. I only wish I’d taken the plunge before. Life’s too short not to be doing something you love.’
‘That’s just the conclusion I’d come to,’ I said feelingly.
‘I’m a news trainee – luckily they let in the odd late starter.’
Sue and Cathy were putting on their coats. ‘We’ve got a train to catch,’ Sue said. She picked up her bags, then bent to hug me. ‘You seem to be having a very memorable evening,’ she whispered. ‘Maybe it will end with a bang after all.’ She giggled and straightened up. ‘See you on Monday, then, Anna – oops! – no I won’t!’ She hugged me again. ‘But I’ll phone you.’
‘Please do, Sue – and thank you for the book.’
Xan was politely getting to his feet, but Sue motioned for him to sit down. ‘No, no, no – you stay put, you two.’
So that’s what Xan and I did – for how long I don’t remember; then I saw him glance at his watch. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘It’s midnight.’
‘Oh.’ I felt a spasm of regret mingled with panic. ‘Pumpkin time, Mr Cinders?’
‘Bedtime. I’ve got a busy day.’
‘Well …’ I stood up, aware, by now, that I’d had a lot to drink. ‘I’ll make my way too. But I’m glad I’ve met you.’ I held out my hand. ‘Today’s been a big day for me and it wouldn’t have been the same without you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’m not quite sure why. In fact,’ I added as I picked up my bags, ‘I’ve got the peculiar feeling that I was meant to meet you.’
Xan was staring at me. ‘Where do you live?’
I felt a jolt of electricity. ‘Brook Green.’
‘Well, I’m in Notting Hill. I’m getting a cab back – I’ll give you a lift. If you like,’ he added diffidently.
A cloud of butterflies took flight in my stomach. ‘Yes. I would like that. Thanks.’
We stepped out on to Oxford Street, where we were buffeted by reeling, ululating drunks. Xan put a protective hand on my arm and my skin tingled with pleasure. A gentle rain was falling, so taxis were scarce. Suddenly we saw a yellow light. Xan stepped into the road and flagged down the cab; it drew up beside us with a diesel chug.
‘Brook Green, please,’ Xan said, opening the door for me. ‘Then Notting Hill.’
I stepped in. ‘You’ll drop me off first?’
‘Of course.’
‘You are a gent,’ I said as we pulled away.
‘I try to be,’ Xan replied. He looked out of the window. Raindrops beaded the glass, refracting the neon lights from the shops. ‘But I’m sometimes tempted to be very ungentlemanly.’
‘Really?’ I watched two raindrops snake down the window then merge into each other with a tiny shudder. ‘And are you tempted now by any chance?’
There was silence, except for the churning of the engine and the swish of wet tyres.
‘Yes,’ Xan said softly. ‘I am.’
At that I slipped my arm through his, edging a little closer, feeling the warmth of his thigh against mine. We sped down Bayswater Road, through Notting Hill and along Holland Park Avenue where the sentinel plane trees were already shedding their huge leaves.
‘Not much further,’ I murmured. Xan’s profile was strobing in the street lights. ‘We’ll be there in five minutes.’ Daringly, I lifted my hand to his face and tucked
