CHAPTER SIX
‘SO, COME ON, BECKS. Tell all. What’s he like in bed?’
Alanna Beckett nearly choked on her mouthful of St Clements as she cast an apprehensive glance round the crowded wine bar.
‘Susie—for heaven’s sake, keep your voice down. And you can’t ask things like that.’
‘But I just did,’ said Susie, unruffled. ‘I have a thirst for information that even this very nice wine can’t satisfy. Think about it. I go to America for six whole weeks, leaving you alone in the flat and doing your usual imitation of a hermit crab. I come back terrified that you’ll have adopted a cat, started wearing cameo brooches and signed up for an evening class in crochet—and, instead, you’re on the brink of getting engaged. Hallelujah!’
‘No,’ Alanna protested. ‘I’m not. Nothing like it. He’s just invited me to his grandmother’s eightieth birthday party. That’s all.’
‘An important family do at the important family house in the country. That’s serious stuff, Becks. So, let’s have some details about—Gerald, is it?’
‘Gerard,’ said Alanna. ‘Gerard Harrington.’
‘Also known as Gerry?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’
‘Ah.’ Susie digested this. ‘Complete physical description, warts and all?’
Alanna sighed. ‘Just under six foot, good-looking, fair hair, blue eyes—and no warts.’
‘As far as you’re aware. How did you meet?’
‘He saved me from being run over by a bus.’
‘Good God,’ Susie said blankly. ‘Where—and how?’
‘Not far from Bazaar Vert in the King’s Road. I was thinking of something else and just—stepped off the pavement. He snatched me back.’
‘Well, God bless him for that.’ Susie stared at her. ‘That’s not like you, Becks. What on earth were you daydreaming about?’
Alanna shrugged. ‘I thought I’d seen someone I knew.’ She hesitated, thinking rapidly. ‘Lindsay Merton, as a matter of fact.’
‘Lindsay?’ Susie repeated, puzzled. ‘But she and her husband are living in Australia.’
‘And I’m sure they still are,’ Alanna returned brightly, cursing herself under her breath. ‘So I nearly got squished for nothing.’
‘What did Sir Galahad—aka Gerard—do then?’
‘Well, I was naturally a bit shaky, so he took me into Bazaar Vert and got the manageress to make me some very sweet tea.’ She shuddered. ‘I’d almost have preferred being run over.’
‘No you wouldn’t,’ Susie corrected briskly. ‘Think of the unfortunate bus driver. And how come your knight errant has so much influence with the snooty ladies in Bazaar Vert?’
‘Someone in his family—his cousin—owns the entire chain. Gerard is its managing director.’
‘Wow,’ said Susie. ‘Therefore earning megabucks and ecologically minded as a bonus. Darling, I’m seriously impressed. Don’t they say that if someone rescues you, then your life belongs to them for ever after?’
‘“They”, whoever they are, seem to say a lot of things, most of them plain silly,’ Alanna returned evenly. ‘And there’s no question of belonging—on either side. Or not yet, anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘We’re simply—getting acquainted. And this party is another step in the process.’
‘Seeing if Grandma bestows the gold seal of approval?’ Susie wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t think I’d like that.’
‘Well, it can work both ways. Anyway, it’s a weekend in the country, so I intend to relax and just—go with the flow. Which will not carry me into sleeping with Gerard,’ she added. ‘In case you were wondering. It’s strictly separate bedrooms at Whitestone Abbey.’
Susie grinned. ‘With Vespers thrown in by the sound of it. But he might know where to find a convenient haystack.’ She raised her glass. ‘To you, my proud beauty. And may the weekend make all your dreams come true.’
Alanna smiled back and drank some more of her orange juice and bitter lemon. After all, she told herself, it might even happen.
And perhaps she could, at long last, dismiss her secret nightmare to well-deserved oblivion. Begin to live her life to the full without being crucified by memories of the private shame which had turned her into a self-appointed recluse.
Everyone made mistakes and it was ludicrous to have taken her own lapse so seriously. Even if it had been totally out of character, there’d certainly been no need to continue beating herself up about it, allowing it to poison her existence for month after dreary month.
‘But why?’ Susie had wailed so often. ‘It’s party time so forget your authors and their damned manuscripts for one evening and come with me. Everyone would be thrilled to see you. They ask about you all the time.’
And, invariably, her mind flinching, she’d used the excuse of work—deadlines—an increased list—and the very real talk of a possible takeover, to be followed, almost inevitably, by redundancies.
Explained, perfectly reasonably, that,
