Chapter 10
‘Okay, you can do this,’ Claire told herself, taking a deep breath and pulling open the door of the restaurant.
She tossed her head back and strode confidently up to the ma?tre d’.
Half of her had been hoping Mark would already be there waiting, so she wouldn’t have to sit at the table on her own, and the other half wanted to get there first so she would be seated when he arrived and wouldn’t have to walk towards him while he watched.
But when she gave her name to the man and told him she was joining Mark Bell, he informed her that Mark had already arrived.
When he had taken her coat, he led her to the table.
Claire made a determined effort to keep her head up and appear confident as she followed him.
The dress helped. She knew she looked good, and the sheer material swishing around her legs sensually as she walked boosted her confidence.
Yvonne had worked her magic on her makeup and hair, and she felt sophisticated, glamorous… and, yes, sexy.
She saw Mark first, recognising him instantly. Just as they reached the table, he smiled at her and, to her surprise, her nerves melted away because he seemed so friendly and familiar. It was like meeting an old friend. She knew this person and was happy to see him.
He stood as the ma?tre d’ walked away. ‘NiceGirl, I presume?’ he said, holding out a hand to her.
She nodded as they shook hands. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Claire Kennedy.’ He was taller than she’d remembered, but just as handsome.
‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ He leaned in, kissing her cheek, and she felt a little shiver of excitement as his stubble brushed against her face and she breathed in the warm sandalwood tone of his aftershave. He waved her to the seat opposite him.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked. ‘I thought maybe we should start with some champagne. We have something to celebrate, after all – at least, I hope we do.’
‘Champagne would be lovely, thank you.’
She was aware of his eyes on her as the waiter fussed around with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne, but she didn’t feel self-conscious or want to squirm.
Far from making her uncomfortable, the frank appreciation in his eyes gave her a warm glow.
Maybe this was a magic dress, she thought whimsically.
It was certainly helping her to get into character, like an actor’s costume.
She jumped when the champagne opened with a loud pop.
‘Well, here’s to the beginning of a successful partnership,’ Mark said, as he raised his glass.
‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass with his.
‘So, I love the blog,’ he said. ‘Obviously.’
‘Thanks.’ Now she was uncomfortable, her nervousness returning as she thought of all the things he thought he knew about her.
She was proud that he liked her writing, but she’d written some pretty filthy stuff on her blog, and he thought it was true.
He thought she was completely upfront about laying bare the most intimate details of her sex life for all the world to see – and it was a pretty lurid sex life.
She took a slug of champagne to cover her embarrassment.
She had to try not to think about that too much.
‘It’s nice to meet you in the flesh. I have to admit I’m quite relieved,’ Mark said, with a cheeky smile.
‘Relieved? Why?’
‘Well, you hide behind that avatar on Twitter and you write your blog anonymously. I had no idea what you looked like or who you really were. You could have been a ninety-year-old man for all I knew. You could have looked like a sumo wrestler.’
‘Oh, I never thought of that.’ She had been so caught up in her own anxiety about the meeting that it hadn’t occurred to her he might be nervous too.
‘Mm. I was quite tempted to run away before you turned up. I didn’t want my illusions shattered.’
‘Well, I may not look like a sumo wrestler, but I don’t look anything like my Twitter avatar either.’
‘No, you’re much prettier.’
Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘I think my avatar is hot.’
‘She’s okay,’ Mark said, ‘if you like that whole overblown, cartoonish thing. Me, I’m a sucker for a woman in three-D.’
Claire laughed. ‘Anyway, you’ve read the blog,’ she said. ‘Surely you could tell from that that I wasn’t an old man. Or a sumo wrestler.’
‘It could have been made up. Lots of people pretend to be something they’re not on the internet. It’s easy.’
‘I suppose so.’ She frowned, feeling guilty. He was talking about her, only he didn’t know it. Now was her chance to tell him that she wasn’t really the person in her blog. He probably wouldn’t mind – it would still be better than finding out she was a ninety-year-old sumo wrestler or whatever.
But then she felt needled by the implication of his words. ‘Would it make any difference if I was a ninety-year-old man? Or if I looked like a sumo wrestler? Would you have changed your mind about wanting the book? I mean, I’d still be the same writer.’
‘Of course the writing would be the same, but I don’t know that I’d be interested if it turned out to be the sordid fantasies of some decrepit old pervert.’
She laughed. She had to admit he had a point. She could imagine the shocked reaction of her followers if it turned out she was a dirty old man.
‘As for how you look,’ he said, giving her an admiring glance, ‘it’s not just about the writing. It’s the whole package, and it’s a lot easier to sell an attractive young woman than an old man.’
Claire blushed, and was glad that the waiter appeared just then to run through the specials. When he had gone she buried her face in the menu to regain her composure. The food sounded wonderful.
‘Are you ready to order?’ Mark asked her, as the waiter returned.
‘I’ll have the crab cakes, and then the duck, please,’ she told the waiter.
Mark ordered smoked salmon followed by beef in Guinness. ‘When in Ireland…’ he said to Claire, after the waiter had gone. ‘So,’ he began in a more business-like tone, ‘how do you feel about going public?’
‘Nervous,’ Claire admitted. ‘Kind of terrified, actually.’
‘Are you sure you want to do it?’
‘Yes,’ she said cautiously. ‘I think so. I mean, I really want to do the book. I’ve always wanted to be published. But the rest… I’m not so sure.’
‘Well, you don’t necessarily have to “come out” as the author. We could publish the book anonymously. It would have its own advantages. We could use the mystery around your identity as a publicity angle – build up the intrigue about who you really are.’
‘I never thought of that. Is this a plan you came up with when you thought I might be some old codger?’
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, you have to be prepared for all contingencies.’
‘Do you think it would work equally well if I published anonymously?’
‘Your blog is very popular, so you’ve got a good platform to start off from. And sex always sells. I think we can make the book a big success either way.’
‘But…?’ She heard the reservation in his tone.
‘But the fact that you’re an attractive woman is a bonus. It really helps with the media.’
‘I don’t know how good I’d be at the publicity stuff,’ Claire said. ‘I’m a bit shy.’
‘Is that what motivated you to write your blog anonymously?’
‘Well, that and the subject matter. I mean, it wouldn’t be great for work, for instance, if everyone knew I was writing that stuff.
It’s not the sort of thing you’d want your boss to know about.
I also thought it would be best if people couldn’t trace me.
You come across some very strange people on the internet, especially with the sort of stuff I write about. ’
‘Yeah, I can imagine.’ He nodded. ‘You probably get some real weirdos.’
She laughed. ‘Half of them think I should be consigned to Hell, and the other half want a bunk-up.’
Mark frowned. ‘Well, I suppose that would be a consideration, too, in deciding if you want to be identified as the author.’
They were interrupted by the arrival of their starters.
‘You must’ve told some people about the blog,’ Mark said, as they began eating.
‘Only one – a friend. None of my family know about it.’
‘They don’t know about your blog or about your, er… personal life?’
‘They don’t know any of it. I’m not sure how I’d feel about them finding out.’
‘Do you think they’d be shocked?’
‘Well… yes, probably.’ She was actually less worried that they’d be horrified than that they’d die laughing and call her on it.
They could even expose her as a fraud if they wanted to.
Her mother would probably love the whole thing, and be enormously proud.
But Michelle would be livid – and jealous.
Like Claire, she was a writer who dreamt of being a published author, and she always had something snide to say when someone else got a book deal.
She would hate Claire getting there before her, and Claire wouldn’t put it past her to blow the whistle out of spite.
She could be pretty poisonous. Of course, none of the family could know for sure that she wasn’t living a double life as a sex bomb with a string of secret lovers.
It wasn’t as if she would share it with them if it were true.
But somehow she thought they’d have a damn good idea that she’d made it all up. And how pathetic would she look then?
‘Do you think it would be possible to keep it a secret?’ she asked.
‘Well, obviously some people would have to know. But we could keep the circle as small as possible, and get everyone to sign non-disclosure agreements. What about the men?’ he asked.
‘The men?’
‘The men you write about – Mr Bump and Grind, Mr Curious, Mr Fussy, all that lot.’
‘Oh, them.’
‘I know you use fake names, but is there a chance that any of them would recognise themselves?’
‘I really don’t think they’d cause problems.’ Mainly because they don’t exist.
‘Still, if you go public and you’re on television or in the newspapers, it wouldn’t be hard for someone you’d been with to put two and two together.’