From: saffie@saffronthechef
To: Andromeda@ConstellationOfficeServices Andy Davies, you are making my head spin. I cannot believe that you would agree to go onto an Internet dating site posing as Elise van der Kamp. I mean … Elise? Social skills of a piranha and twice as mean? Sheesh.
I am not in the least surprised that she chose a friendly person to write her emails for her.
As for the coffee date? I think you would feel better if you took a minute to go there and apologise in person. But be careful. Executive type? Being stood up and lied to? He could get cross. Use your charm. And take extra sharp pencils. Just in case.
Love ya. Saffie the kitchen slave
ANDROMEDA Davies stepped down from the red London bus and darted under the shelter of the nearest shop doorway. The November rain pounded on the fabric awning above her head and bounced off the pavement of the narrow street in this smart part of the city.
Her gaze skipped between the pedestrians scurrying for cover until it settled on the giant mocha-cup bistro sign directly across the street.
Light from within the coffee shop streamed out in vertical bands like strobe lights between the pedestrians onto the wet pavement. She had already been here twice that week on a mission to find the perfect location for a first Internet date for Elise. It was ideal. Central, well lit, spacious and very public. They served hot food and the coffee was pretty good too.
Taking a deep breath, Andy tugged her shoulder bag across her chest, and hit the button on the handle of her umbrella with her thumb. It was so typical that the only umbrella she possessed was purple with pink cartoon flowers on the top and had been a gift from when she’d worked as a temp at a company that made novelty items for children’s parties.
In her current financial state she was hardly one to complain and if it kept her dry that would be a bonus—but Elise would have taken one look at it and thrown it in the bin.
Her cover story was that it was a unique design from an up-and-coming fashion designer who specialised in one-off graphics. Nobody else would have an umbrella just like it and …
Lies, lies, lies, lies. All lies. Some little fluffy cloud white lies and some great big stonking massive thundercloud of lies. But lies just the same.
Andy closed her eyes and wallowed in ten seconds of self-pity and shame before shaking herself out of it.
This had been her decision. Nobody had forced her to agree to impersonate Elise van der Kamp on the dating site. She could have refused and insisted that Elise write her own correspondence with these busy city boys. But Elise knew that she wouldn’t turn it down. Not when she was waving a sweet cash bonus as bait to lure her in.
Andy dropped her shoulders, and shoved her free hand into the pocket of her trendy dark navy raincoat with white piping, which she had snatched up from a charity shop in an exclusive part of town.
The things she did for her art!
She really didn’t have to worry about her umbrella or how she looked as long as she kept to her plan. All she had to do was dash in, wait for #sportybloke to arrive, apologise politely on behalf of Elise and then leave. The whole thing would be over in ten minutes.
Of course the girl he was expecting was the efficient and sophisticated executive director of one of the largest corporate promotion companies in Britain. Or, as Elise had insisted that she add to her online dating profile, aspiring marketing guru to the world.
Gag.
Ten minutes. And then she could get back on the bus and switch to being plain old Andy Davies, part-time personal assistant to Elise during the day, mostly unpaid illustrator in the evenings and weekend art historian, aspiring to pay the bills.
She would not be here at all if Elise had not suggested that she could ‘take care’ of the first round of emails—’so that she was not wasting her time on the no-hopers’.
Charming. And some of the men sounded lovely. On their profiles.
‘I know I can rely on you completely to manage my social diary,’ Elise had said with her full-beam smile. ‘There is simply no one else I could trust with my personal information. But we have been friends for so long, Andromeda. I just know that you will be totally discreet. Wonderful!’
Um. Right. It had probably never even crossed Elise’s mind that Andy had to juggle her hours at the last minute to fit all of the work in. But she had done it—just. Maybe now that Elise had pulled the plug on the Internet dating, they could both go back to what passed for a normal life in her crazy world. Like planning the Christmas and New Year party circuit.
Providing, of course, she survived explaining to #sportybloke that #citygirl had no intention of turning up to meet him.
Now that did give her the shivers. That and the rivulet of rain water spilling out from the awning.
Exhaling slowly, Andy glanced from side to side to find a gap in the stream of people who had their heads down, their umbrellas braced forward against the driving rain and oblivious to anyone who might walk in their way.
Seizing on a momentary lull, Andy lifted her umbrella high and dashed out onto the road in the stationary rush hour traffic. She had almost made it, when she had to dive sideways to dodge a bicycle courier and planted her right foot into a deep puddle. Dirty cold water splashed up into her smart high-heeled ankle boots and trickled down inside, making her gasp with shock.
Hissing under her breath, Andy stepped up onto the kerb, closed her umbrella, which had totally failed to keep her dry, and opened the door to the coffee shop and stepped inside.
Water dripping from every part of her, Andy shook the rain from her hair and inhaled the glorious deep, rich aroma of the freshly ground coffee beans. She was looking forward to the day when she could afford real coffee at home to replace the cheapest supermarket-brand instant coffee. The aroma combined with the background noise of the coffee shop—a low steady hum of voices, coffee grinders and espresso machines—created a wonderful soundtrack that she had every intention of enjoying, seeing as Elise was picking up the bill.
Andy gazed around the terracotta and cream walls to the groups of people sitting on the pale oak chairs behind red-and-white gingham check tablecloths.
No sign of the Hawaiian shirt #sportybloke had said that he was going to wear—and she was not likely to miss that type of clothing on a cold wet evening in early November in the centre of London.
Andy moved to the counter, bought her Americano coffee and took a seat at the small square table in the corner with her back to the wall. She propped her pink-and-purple umbrella against the wall, slipped off her raincoat over the back of the chair and ran her hands down the skirt of her favourite grey business suit.
A flutter of nervous apprehension winged across her stomach.
This was so ridiculous.
She wasn’t here on a real date. There was no need to be nervous.
She was here to apologise for Elise. That was all.
So what if she had tried to imagine what #sportybloke would look like in person? You could only tell so much from an online thumbnail photograph, and they
