Chapter 38 #2
Almost an hour later, one of the women slid into the obnoxious man’s place on the bench as he and the other men got up to go outside for a smoke.
As if he could make himself more repugnant.
He would come back stinking of cigarettes and lech all over me again.
I’d had enough. I’d managed to eat the double chocolate brownie with whipped vanilla-bean cream, savouring every decadent mouthful, whilst the group who had infiltrated my evening chatted noisily amongst themselves.
I’d had another glass of wine, and a coffee, and now I was ready to call it a night.
On my terms. I was glad I hadn’t scurried off with my tail between my legs and let them ruin my evening completely.
‘He likes you,’ said the woman, her leg inching ever closer towards mine, her breath pure alcohol fumes as she leaned into my personal space. Her name was Sarah. I’d heard it across the table enough times that it felt like fingernails scraping down a blackboard now.
‘What?’
‘Thomas.’ She laughed, shaking her head as if I was stupid.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t. You have nothing to worry about,’ I replied, my tone so icy it would have served as a warning to a more sober woman.
Sadly, in her current state, she was incapable of picking up on that.
How ridiculous it was that women allowed themselves to drink until they became a walking target.
She’d surrendered every ounce of control and had nothing but blind hope that the men she was with would keep her safe.
I couldn’t do it. Leave my fate up to the good judgement – good nature – of others.
I liked a glass of wine as much as the next person, but I forced down a pint of water or a black coffee after every two drinks, knowing it was the sensible choice.
This woman needed a few harsh truths, some near misses to give her a damn good wake-up call.
She let out a high-pitched burst of laughter.
‘Oh, I’m not worried. I’m with Graham, the one with dark eyes.
We’ve been married almost two years.’ She grinned, wiggling her fingers close to my face to show me her wedding ring, a simple band dotted with tiny diamonds.
I wondered where her engagement ring was.
Why some women decided to wear only the wedding ring once they’d signed the papers. I’d want both. I wanted it all.
‘Congratulations.’ My tone was dry, and I gestured to the waitress to bring my bill, but she didn’t see me. Irritated at the thought of having to go up to the bar to pay, I rifled through my bag for my new purse, stuffed with cash.
‘Poor Thomas has been single for years,’ Sarah continued conversationally, as if we were the best of friends.
She reminded me of those awful drunk girls in the toilets on a Friday night – the ones who tried to make you their best friend and tell you their life story whilst badly reapplying their lipstick in a smeared mirror.
Why did they always try and hold your hand as you were walking back out to the bar? It made me want to slap them away.
She gave a dramatic sigh, as if begging me to ask for more information, and when I didn’t, she went on as if I had.
‘He finds a girl he likes, and then a few weeks in, he realises there’s nothing below the surface.
Vapid.’ She laughed again, then slung an arm round my shoulder.
‘ I’m not vapid,’ she whispered, too close to my ear, the fumes making my eyes water.
‘I’m actually a teacher. Primary school.
They say kids drive you to drink, don’t they?
’ She answered her own question with another gulp of wine, then, mercifully, leaned back, trying to focus on my face.
‘Thomas might not seem like it tonight, but he’s deep.
He doesn’t go out like this often. He’s more likely to be off hiking or wild swimming than at a bar.
But the boys just got leave and’ – she gave a sudden wide yawn that showed her surprisingly perfect back teeth – ‘we missed them. Rose is with James. Four years.’ She touched my hand.
‘He likes you,’ she repeated. ‘Give him a chance. He’s been so unlucky.
Girls find out he comes from money and they change, you know? Start sizing him up for a Birkin.’
I paused, already halfway out of my seat, lowering myself down and turning to face her. ‘He attracts gold-diggers?’ I asked, meeting her bloodshot eyes.
‘Oh, like you wouldn’t believe. His parents—’ She broke off, burping long and loud, then giggled, wafting the smell away with her hand. ‘Sorry. Too much wine.’
‘His parents?’ I pushed, interested now.
Her eyes widened. ‘ Rich… ’ She pressed her hand to her mouth as if she was spilling state secrets.
I hoped she wasn’t about to evacuate her stomach over my nice dress, but I wasn’t worried enough to walk away from what was turning out to be a very enlightening conversation.
She dropped her hand. ‘So very, very rich,’ she finished.
‘Thomas doesn’t give a shit about money, though. ’
‘But he’ll be getting an inheritance someday, though, I should think?’ I mused.
‘Oh, they died a year or two back. Boating accident or something. He never talks about it, but from what I can tell, he walked away with a small fortune… or a big one!’ She laughed again, pleased with herself.
‘Their house was like something out of a movie. Picture-perfect, and the biggest in the best spot of a very la-di-da village. I could do country living,’ she added, more to herself than to me now. ‘I’d love my own sheep…’
She glanced up at the sound of male laughter as the men returned to the warmth of the pub.
‘Shh,’ she whispered, far too theatrically.
‘They’re coming back.’ She squeezed my arm, and I didn’t shrug her off.
‘Just give him a chance, okay?’ She moved out of his space without waiting for an answer, going to join the other woman and the barmaid, who were cackling loudly about some idiotic joke.
Thomas slumped down on the bench, and I waited a few seconds, then adjusted my position, my leg pressing firmly against his.
Slowly, I turned my head, meeting his eyes, and smiled, a slow, sexy smile, letting my hand brush against his as I reached for one of the half-empty wine bottles and topped up his glass.
‘I had this one at a little pub in the South Downs a few weeks ago,’ I said, making my voice husky, a skill I’d practised to perfection.
‘It’s good. Hits the spot. Especially after a long day of hiking.
Nothing like a country pub roast after a day out in nature.
But I suppose in your line of work you don’t get much time for walking for pleasure? ’
I pressed the glass into his hand, our fingers grazing briefly, smiling softly at the unmistakable light that now shone in his eyes.
He opened his mouth to correct me, instantly reminded of his favourite spots in the South Downs, and I leaned in, giving him my full attention.
I hadn’t expected it to fall into my lap. I hadn’t thought it would be so easy.