hasn’t arrived…’ began the waitress.
‘He has now,’ supplied Nick, shutting the door behind him. His eyes were flatteringly appreciative as he looked at Stella, all dressed up in her faithful cranberry red shirt and a long black suede skirt she’d had donkey’s years but which was happily back in fashion again.
‘Nice to see you,’ he said, and leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek. Stella felt something inside her go ‘ping!’ with excitement.
‘Nice to see you too,’ she said and, just as a test, proffered the other cheek for a double kiss. There it was again. Ping!
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, his eyes caressing her face.
Ping, ping, ping!
‘Will I show you to your table?’ asked the waitress.
Nick shrugged out of his coat, giving Stella a chance to admire him. He’d swapped the casual look for a steely grey suit worn with a pale pink shirt that only the most masculine of men could get away with. Nick got away with it.
‘Ready?’ He turned around and Stella rapidly averted her eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. But wow, could he fill a suit in all the right places. Nick didn’t look as if he needed a detox but then you could never tell with clothes on and…
Stella shocked herself. What was she doing thinking about Nick with his clothes off? Vicki was right: she was losing the run of herself. She gave herself a stern talking to while they were led to a table for four at the back of the restaurant. The waitress gave them menus and left them alone in the bare expanse of the restaurant.
‘It’s odd that we’re the only ones here,’ whispered Stella, leaning forward.
Nick nodded solemnly but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
‘What?’ Stella asked.
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.
‘Tell me,’ she demanded.
‘If you need any help with the menus, please ask,’ said the waitress, appearing beside them. She flitted off again.
‘Do you come here often?’ Nick asked blandly.
‘Never been here before in my life,’ Stella said. ‘What is it?’
‘I wanted to know if this was your favourite restaurant, that’s all.’
She was puzzled. ‘What’s that got to do with the lack of customers?’
A party of six people arrived and the waitress flew to the front desk to usher them in. Despite the increased noise from the new arrivals, Nick still whispered.
‘I mentioned to a friend that we were coming here and he told me they’d had a write-up in one of the papers recently.’
She nodded. ‘I knew I’d read about it somewhere. Mussels to die for…Ah.’ She got it. ‘It wasn’t a good review, was it? In fact,’ she looked for confirmation in his face, ‘it was a Very. Bad. Review, wasn’t it?’
‘Bad is not the word,’ Nick said. ‘Horrendous fits the bill more successfully. Apparently, the reviewer had mussels and ended up cancelling his holiday because he was so sick. Mussels you’d die from was the tone of the review, I’m afraid.’
The whole situation suddenly struck Stella as hilariously funny. Trying to prove that she was a coolly independent modern woman, she’d inadvertently recommended a restaurant rocked by a food poisoning scandal.
Laughter bubbled up inside her and she bit her lip to stop it erupting. It was no good. She burst into laughter at exactly the same time as Nick. They both roared so loudly that the newly-arrived customers stared at them curiously, interested to see what was so amusing.
‘It’s not funny for them, but it’s hilarious really,’ she howled, leaning over the table and clutching her stomach with the intensity of her outburst. ‘I knew I’d heard something about this place but I couldn’t remember what and I didn’t want to say yes to Figaro’s instantly because I didn’t want you to think…’
Their waitress appeared, looking anxious. ‘Is…is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Wonderful,’ squawked Stella. ‘Joke, that’s all.’
Nick composed himself.
‘Just another minute, please.’
The waitress drifted off.
‘You didn’t want me to think you were a pushover,’ finished Nick.
Stella grinned. ‘Got it in one.’
‘We can leave if you want to,’ Nick added, ‘although I’d prefer to stay now that we’re here. It might be hard to get a table anywhere else at such short notice, and our waitress would be so upset if we did leave.’
That did it. Stella smiled at him in admiration. Any man who was so kind would be worth a proper date. She could always say she couldn’t see him again at the end.
‘I don’t think I’d have liked you if you’d wanted to leave,’ she admitted. ‘The mussels could have been a once off and it would see so mean to leave now, when the dear waitress was so thrilled to see us.’
‘I agree. And there’s pasta on the menu, anyway, so less chance of fatal illness there.’
Stella erupted again.
‘Are you ready to order?’ inquired the waitress, once again materialising out of nowhere. Was she on roller skates? Stella wondered.
‘Yes,’ smiled Nick.
They ordered quickly – no fish – and agreed on a bottle of claret.
‘I am very out of practice at this date thing,’ Stella confessed when they were alone after the waitress had served the wine. ‘I’m sure that even saying that contravenes modern dating standards, but I can’t help it. I did all my dating when flares were in, the first time. I’ve forgotten the rules.’
‘I didn’t know there were rules,’ Nick replied. ‘See what I know about women. I thought I had to fill in your dance card, and after fifty dates, we were allowed out without chaperonage as long as I kept one foot on the floor at all times.’
Stella giggled. ‘Let’s skip a bit. I left my dance card at home, anyway. I think we have to tell each other our histories. That’s what they do in those articles in the paper when they set people up on blind dates.’
‘I’m afraid I never read that stuff,’ Nick said apologetically.
‘Men never do. But the theory is simple: we each get five minutes to tell our life stories.’
‘Five minutes,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if mine will last that long.’
‘I bet,’ said Stella in mock cynicism. ‘OK then, make it shorter, say…twenty words or less. Let’s keep it short.’
‘Twenty
