Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
We arrive at a restaurant in Mayfair that I’ve never been to before. It’s so completely posh, whyever would I?
“It’s kind of a small place,” Jack murmurs as we walk through a pillared courtyard. “Not many people know about it. But the food is fabulous.”
“Mr. Harper. Miss Corrigan,” says a man in a Nehru suit, appearing out of nowhere. “Please come this way.”
They know my name? Wow.
We glide past more pillars into a softly lit room decorated with huge abstract paintings, candles burning in alcoves, and only a few linen-covered tables. Three other couples are already seated. All the women have diamonds flashing on their hands and ears.
“This is so not my world,” I mutter nervously to Jack.
At once he stops. He turns to me, his face serious, while the waiter hovers. “Emma.” His voice is low, but distinct. “You are here, having dinner. This is as much your world as any other. OK?” He meets my eyes as though issuing a command, and I feel a ripple of pleasure.
“OK.”
There’s a couple to our right, and as we walk past, a middle-aged woman with platinum hair and a gold lamé jacket suddenly catches my eye.
“Well, hello!” she says. “Rachel!”
“What?” I halt, bewildered. Is she looking at me?
She gets up from her seat, makes her way over, and plants a kiss on my cheek before I can react. “How are you, darling? We haven’t seen you for ages!”
“Not your world, huh?” says Jack in my ear.
You can smell the alcohol on her breath from five yards away. And as I glance over at her dinner partner, he looks just as bad.
“I think you’ve made a mistake,” I say politely. “I’m not Rachel.”
“Oh!” The woman frowns for a moment. Then she glances at Jack, and her face snaps in understanding. “Oh! Oh, I see. Of course you’re not.” She gives me a little wink.
“No!” I say in horror. “You don’t understand. I’m really not Rachel. I’m Emma!”
“Emma! Of course!” She nods conspiratorially. “Well, have a wonderful dinner! And call me sometime!”
As she stumbles back to her chair, Jack gives me an inquiring look. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “That woman is extremely drunk.”
“Aha.” Jack nods. “So, shall we sit down? Or do you have any more long-lost friends you’d like to greet?”
“No…I think that’s probably it.”
“If you’re sure,” says Jack. “Take your time. You’re sure that elderly gentleman over there isn’t your grandfather?”
I feel a laugh rising and quell it. This is a posh restaurant. I have to behave with decorum.
We’re shown to a table in the corner, by the fire.
A waiter helps me into my chair and fluffs my napkin over my knee, while another pours out some water and yet another offers me a bread roll.
Exactly the same is happening on Jack’s side of the table.
We have six people dancing attendance on us!
I want to catch Jack’s eye and laugh, but he looks unconcerned, like this is perfectly normal.
Perhaps it is normal for him, it suddenly strikes me. Oh, God. Perhaps he has a butler who makes him tea and irons his newspaper every day.
But what if he does? I mustn’t let any of this faze me.
“Actually, my grandpa never comes to London if he can help it,” I say, and give Jack a teasing look. “He thinks it’s too full of Americans these days.”
“He’s absolutely right,” replies Jack without a flicker. “Would this be the grandpa who likes Panther bars? Who taught you to ride a bike?”
“That’s the one,” I say, watching as a waiter adjusts the flowers in our vase. “Do you have a grandpa? Any grandparents?”
“All dead, I’m afraid.”
There’s a pause. I’m waiting for Jack to add something else. Some detail or other. But…he doesn’t.
Well, maybe he doesn’t like talking about his grandparents.
“So!” I say as the waiting staff melt away. “What shall we have to drink?” I’ve already eyed up the drink that that woman in gold has. It’s all pink and has shaved slices of watermelon decorating the glass, and looks absolutely delicious.
“Already taken care of,” says Jack with a smile as one of the waiters brings over a bottle of champagne, pops it open, and starts pouring. “I remember your telling me on the plane, your perfect date would start off with a bottle of champagne appearing at your table as if by magic.”
“Oh,” I say, quelling a tiny feeling of disappointment. “Er, yes! So I did.”
“Cheers,” says Jack, and lightly clinks my glass.
“Cheers.” I take a sip, and it’s delicious champagne. It really is.
I wonder what the watermelon drink tastes like.
Stop it. Champagne is perfect. “The first time I ever had champagne was when I was six years old—” I begin.
“At your aunt Sue’s,” says Jack. “You took all your clothes off and threw them in the pond.”
“Oh, right,” I say, halted mid-track. “Yes, I’ve told you, haven’t I?”
So I won’t bore him with that anecdote again. I sip my champagne and quickly try to think of something else to say. Something that he doesn’t already know.
Is there anything?
“I’ve chosen a very special meal, which I think you’ll like,” Jack says, taking a sip of his champagne. “All preordered, just for you.”
“Gosh!” I say, taken aback. “How…wonderful!”
A meal specially preordered for me! That’s incredible.
Except…choosing your food is half the fun of eating out, isn’t it? It’s almost my favorite bit.
Anyway. It doesn’t matter. It’ll be perfect. It is perfect. “Um, so…what do you like doing in your spare time?” I ask.
Jack considers for a moment. “I hang out. I watch baseball. I fix my cars…”
“You have a collection of vintage cars!” I exclaim. “That’s right. I really, um…”
“You hate vintage cars.” He looks amused. “I remember.”
Damn. I was hoping he might have forgotten. “I don’t hate the cars themselves!” I say quickly. “I hate the people who…who…”
Shit. That didn’t quite come out right. I take a quick gulp of champagne, but it goes down the wrong way and I start coughing. Oh, God. I’m really spluttering. My eyes are tearing.
And now the other six people in the room have all turned to stare.
“Are you OK?” says Jack in alarm. “Have some water. You like Evian, right?”
“Er, yes. Thanks.”
Oh, bloody hell. I hate to admit that Jemima could be right about anything. But it would have been a lot easier if I could just have said, “Oh, I adore vintage cars!”
Anyway. Never mind.
As I’m gulping my water, a plate of roasted peppers somehow materializes in front of me. “I love roasted peppers!” I exclaim in delight.
“I remembered.” Jack looks rather proud of himself. “You said on the plane that your favorite food was roasted peppers.”
“Did I?” I say in surprise.
I don’t remember that. I mean, I like roasted peppers, but I wouldn’t have said—
“So I called the restaurant and had them make it specially for you. Peppers disagree with me,” Jack adds as a plate of scallops appears in front of him, “otherwise, I would join you.”
I gape at his plate. Oh, my God. Those scallops look amazing. I adore scallops.
“Bon appétit!” says Jack cheerfully.
“Er, yes! Bon appétit.”
I take a bite of roasted pepper. It’s delicious. And it was very thoughtful of him to remember.
But…I can’t help eyeing his scallops. They’re making my mouth water.
“Would you like a bite?” says Jack, following my gaze.
“No!” I say, jumping. “No, thanks! These peppers are absolutely…perfect!” I beam at him and take another huge bite.
Suddenly Jack claps a hand on his pocket. “My cell,” he says. “Emma…would you mind if I took this? It could be something important.”
—
When he’s gone, I just can’t help it. I reach over and spear one of his scallops.
I close my eyes as I chew it, letting the flavor flood through my mouth.
That is just divine. That is the best food I’ve ever tasted in my life.
I’m just wondering whether I could get away with eating a second one if I shifted the others around his plate a bit, when I smell a whiff of gin.
The woman in the golden jacket is right by my ear.
“Tell me quickly!” she says. “What’s going on?”
“We’re…having dinner.”
“I can see that!” she says impatiently. “But what about Jeremy? Does he have any idea?”
“Look. I’m not who you think I am—”
“I can see that! I would never have thought you had this in you!” The woman squeezes my arm. “Well, good for you! Have some fun—that’s what I say! You took your wedding band off,” she adds, glancing at my left hand. “Smart girl…oops! He’s coming! I’d better go!”
She moves away as Jack sits back down in his place, and I lean forward, already half giggling. Jack is going to love this.
“Guess what!” I say. “I have a husband called Jeremy! My friend over there just came over and told me. So, what do you reckon? Has Jeremy been having a dalliance, too?”
There’s silence, and Jack looks up, a strained expression on his face. “I’m sorry?” he says.
He didn’t hear a word I said.
I can’t say the whole thing again. I’ll just feel stupid. In fact…I already feel stupid. “It…doesn’t matter.”
There’s another silence, and I cast around for something to say. “So, um, I have a confession to make,” I say, gesturing to his plate. “I pinched one of your scallops.”
I wait for him to pretend to be shocked, or angry. Or anything.
“That’s OK,” he says, and begins to fork the rest of them into his mouth.
I don’t understand. What’s happened?
—
By the time we’ve finished our tarragon chicken with rocket salad and chips, my entire body is tense with misery.
This date is a disaster. A complete disaster.
I’ve made every effort possible to chat, and joke, and be funny.
But Jack’s taken two more calls, and the rest of the time he’s been all broody and distracted, and to be honest, I might as well not be here.
I feel like crying with disappointment. We were getting on so well. What went wrong?
“I’ll…just go and freshen up,” I say as our main-course plates are removed, and Jack simply nods.