prove to anyone and you don’t owe her a single thing.’ Izzy got up, headed over to the tiny, open-plan kitchenette and, seconds later, a cork popped. She picked up two clean glass tumblers from the side of the sink and came back. Izzy sat down and our glasses clinked. As tiny Prosecco bubbles tickled my tongue, heat spread through my chest. I put down the glass.
‘But why did she invite me? I’m curious. And If I say Ross and I broke up it will seem suspicious. No …’ I sat upright. ‘My original plan remains. I need to find a Poldark lookalike and I’m hoping an online dating site can help.’ I sighed. ‘If only Johnny were here.’
‘But he’s not, Kate. And I really hope you are trying to stop messaging him,’ she said gently. ‘You know he won’t respond.’
My ears felt hot and I swallowed, suddenly experiencing the biggest urge to do exactly what she’d advised against. Apart from Guvnah, Izzy was the only person who knew I’d obsessed with my late boyfriend’s social media platforms for the first few months after he’d gone. Now, the need to check out his profiles was less overwhelming, less compulsive, and yet proved to be a hard habit to break.
‘But if you are adamant that this pretend plus-one plan is the way to go, I’m here for you,’ she said more brightly, ‘and I’ll do whatever I can to help—starting with making us something to eat. I brought chicken and stir-fry veg. It won’t take me long.’
While ingredients sizzled in the kitchenette, I dived, broad mind first, into a search engine, looking for appropriate dating sites to join. Wow. What an array. I found one for dog owners, another for ramblers, several for naturists and even for grisly fans of The Walking Dead. I couldn’t help glancing at the profiles of people who’d joined that one. Most had made up their faces with plastic eaten-away skin and trickles of blood or held a crossbow or gun. Images flooded my mind regarding the perils of zombie sex and loose body parts. Ew.
But wait a minute. I moved forward and perched on the edge of the sofa. Perhaps there were dating sites specifically for fans of other shows like … Quickly I typed in ‘Poldark dating’. I scrolled down website links offering articles about the TV programme, its stars and Cornwall and was about to give up on page three when … ooh: Perfect Poldark Pairs—find your perfect brooding hero or feisty heroine. No joining fee. Could your very own Ross, Demelza or Elizabeth just be one mouse-click away?
‘You won’t believe what I’ve just found,’ I said and took another sip of Prosecco.
Izzy stopped chopping and headed over, a tea towel between her hands. She sat down and read the screen. ‘Really? I mean, really? Can’t people tell the difference between fiction and reality any more? It’s fine having a celebrity crush but taking it this far … ?’
I snorted. ‘So you wouldn’t be interested in joining a site that promised to find your very own Jack Black?’ Nothing attracted Izzy more than a man who could make her laugh—apart from a Disney prince.
Izzy giggled. ‘Hands up. You got me there.’ She leant forward and, not for the first time, I admired the length of her legs. But then at a curvy five foot two, most people’s limbs outstretched mine and certainly Izzy’s as she was a willowy five foot nine. ‘So, who is this Demelza?’ she said.
‘A feisty redheaded miner’s daughter who ends up marrying Ross Poldark. Although his first love is delicate, fragile, posh Elizabeth. It’s a bit of a love triangle …’
Izzy scrolled down the page. ‘Hmm. OK, so … what about him?’
I gazed at the picture of a man in his, ooh, thirties, with ruffled black hair and half-shaven cheeks. My eyes narrowed. ‘Nah. Read that. He reckons a date would enjoy a tour of the local mines near his house. That’s making the whole Cornish dream a little too real. A romantic man, that’s what I’ll need to impress …’
Silence fell as I kept scrolling the page and we analysed profile after profile. Some photos were people in fancy dress, complete with tricorns for Ross, or red wigs for Demelza. Others were understated and belonged to people who just liked historical reading, as opposed to the hot stars of the novel’s TV adaption.
‘Ooh. This guy would fit the bill,’ I murmured. ‘He lives about an hour away. We could meet up halfway.’
‘Hmm. Nice enough,’ replied Izzy, as we studied the photo of a man nearer to my age, with raven hair, dark eyes and wearing a white shirt just unbuttoned enough to reveal manly chest hair. ‘I mean …’ Izzy stared at the floor. ‘Who knows, you might feel ready to …’
She met my gaze as I raised one eyebrow. Again I noticed the glint of the red wind spinner in the corner of the room. I shook my head. No words necessary. Izzy didn’t push her point and went back to the screen.
‘Marcus,’ I said. ‘That’s a sexy name. He likes candlelit dinners, romantic seaside strolls and horse-riding.’ I bit the corner of my bottom lip. ‘He sounds suitable. Shall I join the site and message him?’
‘You’re actually going to do this?’
I wiped my forehead and perspiration dampened my hand. ‘Yes. Although I feel a bit bad … you know, going on a date when I have no intention of starting a new relationship. But I reckon most people are just on these sites for a bit of fun. I’ll pay for the meal. At least, then, they won’t have spent money unnecessarily.’
In full auntie mode, Izzy pushed me out of the way and clicked on the site’s pages. ‘It looks well run,’ she said, a few minutes later. ‘Plus they give sensible advice like not giving away too much personal information online and meeting in a public place.’
I slid the laptop back in my direction. ‘Izzy. Please. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
She grinned. ‘I know. Don’t forget, I witnessed you throw out that troublemakers the other day. Good job.’
I grinned back. I was a fearsome proposition at a certain time of the month and when a couple of teenage lads started flicking bits of doughnut around the diner, I wasted no time in getting them to pay the bill and leave—although granted, dangling their mobile phones over a large jug of Long Island Tea might have been overzealous.
‘But why not look at some other profiles first?’ She shrugged.
‘Time isn’t on my side! I’ve got precisely four weeks to not only meet a bed-haired, sexy-eyed guy with looks as rugged at Cornish scenery, but then convince him to accompany me to a wedding under the name of Ross.’ I covered my face with my hands. ‘Ludicrous, isn’t it? Listen to me. Perhaps I should give up before I start.’ I parted my fingers slightly to see Izzy’s face.
She took my hands away and stared for a moment. ‘Is it really important to you to impress this woman?’
I swallowed, wishing it wasn’t. ‘Yes.’
‘Then go for it, even though you are super-impressive just the way you are. After dinner, I’ll help select other suitable men to contact.’
My hands fell away and I gave her the biggest of hugs.
‘Let me breathe,’ she squeaked eventually and, as she leant back, I grinned.
Whilst Izzy finished off the stir-fry, I tapped a message to Marcus, having carefully selected my profile picture. Tempting as it was to use one of my airbrushed, Instagram snaps, I chose an un-Photoshopped head shot of
