nicer. ‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘You were on my plane coming over from Sydney. We said hi. Don’t you remember?’
I hadn’t remembered him (don’t know why, because he’s very attractive), but I mumbled something positive and I smiled.
‘I sat on the other side of the aisle,’ he said. ‘I wanted to catch up with you when we landed, but I lost you in the crowds at Heathrow.’
Can you see why a girl might find that flattering, Patrick? We were on a plane together more than a month ago, and yet Brad recognised me as soon as he walked into a crowded London bar.
He doesn’t want to sit around talking about home, and that’s another reason to like him. He worked as crew on a yacht from Port Hamble to Cascais in Portugal, and then he crewed on a fishing boat back to England. You have to admire his sense of adventure.
I told him about the book of London’s secrets that you sent me, and tomorrow we’re going to go to Highgate Hill to find Dick Whittington’s stone. I used to love the story about Dick and his cat, and the bells that made him turn around. Did you know that Dick really was Lord Mayor of London (four times), and that he gave money to St Thomas’s hospital as a refuge for unmarried mothers? That’s pretty amazing for way back in the 1300s.
So at least Rule 2—educate myself about the ‘real’ London—remains intact.
Don’t feel sorry for me, Patrick. I’m happy. Brad’s a nice bloke, and he seems pretty keen on me, so he’s helped me to get over the whole silly idea of a dream date with an English gentleman.
I bet you’re highly relieved that you’ve heard the last about that!
Best
Molly
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