Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Whose stupid idea was this? thought Felicity, three days later, as she waited for Penguin Man to pick her up from her flat for what was seeming more and more like it might actually be a date.
Her phone had been pinging non-stop with messages from Bex and Sophie who had mystically discovered that she was finally going out with James (okay, she had told them) and had threatened to come and gatecrash if she didn’t give them all the details immediately. Hell, even Andrea had dropped her a little good luck message. Bloody Andrea, who was twenty years older than her and had a much more exciting sex life. She smiled at the thought of the three of them: Bex, Sophie and – unlikely though it was – Andrea. They were her only true friends in the world. But man, they could be bloody annoying. And not just sometimes.
Bex: Time to get back on the horse, cowgirl.
Ew. And also, dear God. The prospect of having sex with someone new after all this time is actually terrifying.
Sophie: Good luck, darling! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Eye roll.
Andrea: About time you two had a bloody good shag and got it out of your system. Enjoy!
Inappropriate. Wrong on so many levels, in fact.
One small mercy was that little Holly was now well on the mend which meant at least Andrea wasn’t quite so stressed. In fact, she had even seemed quite happy to let Felicity take the night off and go out for the evening with her number one volunteer.
‘It’s not like it’s a date or anything,’ she’d said, to which her boss had just raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s not. I mean it. We specifically discussed how it wasn’t going to be a date. I have no idea if he’s even single.’
‘Single or not, it’s definitely a date,’ she said, waving away Felicity’s protestations. ‘The sexual tension between you two is off the charts. It’s a date.’
Now, sitting in her flat, she felt as though Andrea might be right. God, she was unbearable when she was right. Felicity waited. Her palms were clammy. She wondered vaguely if she still smelled of Lady Swish shaving foam after mistaking it for her deodorant earlier and spraying it lavishly under one arm. That had not been an easy clean up. The clear gel had turned instantly to foam, seeping into her only acceptable bra and leaving a huge wet stain. Mortified, Felicity had dabbed at it desperately with a ratty old towel, but in the end she’d had to abandon the silk shirt and bra altogether and now her bedroom looked like a mini tornado had hit after she’d gone through the enormous pile of clothes on her chair-cum-wardrobe in double quick time to find something that would function as an acceptable alternative outfit.
It was the nerves. It had to be the nerves. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. Adam had been her childhood sweetheart. Had she ever actually been on one with anyone else? Did she go on one with Tom? She couldn’t remember. Maybe? Although that’s not really how things worked at university. You just sort of went to a bar and got a bit drunk and then you got a lot drunk and then you accidentally bumped faces or loins with someone and then you were going out with them and that was that. Simpler times.
Her stomach did another little flip flop. What did one do on a proper grown-up date? What happened if James tried to kiss her? What happened if he didn’t? She had asked Bex and Sophie these questions on WhatsApp, but their replies had been less than satisfactory.
Bex: If he kisses you, go for it. It’s like riding a bike. You don’t forget how to do it just because it’s been a few hundred years and your fittings are a bit rusty. And by the way, if he doesn’t, dump him immediately.
Sophie: Ignore her. He’ll kiss you. You’ll see. If he doesn’t then he’s definitely married.
Felicity: What kind of advice is that? Thanks for nothing you two.
Bex: Don’t be such a grump. You’ll be fine. Just be yourself. But not too much. Channel the happiest version of yourself. Don’t go on about Cliff Richard or anything.
Sophie: Don’t forget to shave your legs. And wear some decent pants.
At that, Felicity had muted the conversation. No bloody help at all.
Just as she was beginning to think she might pull out, make up some excuse, or perhaps emigrate to Australia, the doorbell rang. She opened it to Penguin Man dressed in a suit. An actual suit. No tie, fair enough, but a white shirt open at the top and a dark grey jacket and trousers, and proper shoes. He looked good. Really good. Very handsome and clean and not covered in cat hair or mud or a soggy wet penguin suit or anything.
‘Good evening,’ he said, in that deep voice of his.
He smelled amazing too. Like chocolate or coffee beans or something equally delicious. It sort of wafted into the hallway as he leaned casually on the door frame and gave her a flash of his blue-eyed smile. It was at this point that Felicity realised she hadn’t yet spoken and quickly tried to think of an appropriate greeting.
‘Good evening yourself,’ she said in what she hoped was a light-hearted tone, smoothing down her soft navy-blue dress and wishing she’d been able to find some decent shoes herself rather than her scruffy trainers.
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he stared for rather a long time.
‘I hope this is okay, I wasn’t sure what one wears to a non-date with a tragic friend.’
‘You look amazing,’ said James.
‘Ah well, it’ll be the lack of faded polo shirt that’s made the difference there.’ She grinned, heat prickling her neck. ‘Or perhaps the absence of dog hair.’
‘Shall we?’ he said, holding out his arm.
‘Oh yes, let’s,’ she said, taking it lightly and resisting the urge to squeeze.
It sure felt like a date.
They’d talked about going to the pub, but unbeknownst to her, James had booked them into the poshest restaurant in town instead.
So, there was that.
The Victorian House was well known for its wonderful food but, as James explained rather proudly on the way over, it was almost impossible to get a table because spaces were so limited. There were only thirty diners each night for a single 8pm sitting, and the dishes were not served by menu in the usual way but…
‘Well, you’ll see,’ he had said, mysteriously. Despite her badgering he refused to say any more, an enigmatic smile on his face. Felicity was already intrigued but her mouth dropped open when she walked in.
The restaurant was tiny. The size of a large living room, really, and it was intricately decorated like an authentic Victorian parlour, or at least, how you might imagine one to be. There was dusky pink patterned wallpaper in panelled sections on each wall, an elegant painted ceiling, fine bone china ornaments on every surface and glossy dark furniture. This is all very Jane Austen , thought Felicity, as she sat down at a table heaving with expensive-looking silverware and candles. She ventured a glance at James as they did so, and her tummy did a little boogie-woogie dance. He looked incredibly handsome in the candlelight. Funny place to bring a non-date , she thought, and a thrill of excitement prickled down her spine.
Excitement, tinged with anxiety.
The first course arrived, and they took it in turns to ladle onion soup from a large porcelain Victorian tureen, and then practised moving the spoon away from them daintily and slurping it off their spoons, little fingers raised, giggling like schoolchildren.
‘This is way better than the pub,’ said Felicity, mid-slurp.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ James replied with a grin.
As their plates were being cleared away there was a loud trumpeting sound from the hallway and Felicity jumped and banged her knee on the table, letting out a small yelp. The lady on the next table gave her a sharp look and she nervously looked up, fully expecting to see every single diner staring at her with the same wasp-munching expression. But – thank you, God – they were all far too busy. All around the room guests were murmuring and looking at the door expectantly. She followed their gaze just in time to see a troupe of waiters entering the room pushing wooden trolleys laden with enormous silver warming dishes.
Felicity let out another squeal – of delight this time – and there were audible gasps from the other diners. After a short pause, and with immaculate timing, the servers lifted the lids in perfect unison, revealing plates piled high with gleaming hand raised pies and steaming roasts, all semi-authentic to the period of course. Game pie, lamb cutlets, enormous hunks of roast beef, venison and pork, and vats of dauphinoise potatoes swimming in creamy, decadent sauce.
‘Wow,’ whispered Felicity.
‘I know,’ said James. ‘Isn’t it incredible? You can have as much as you want.’ This last was said with eyes shining.
Felicity couldn’t help but wonder how he knew all this. More importantly, who else he might have been here with, and whether that was an appropriate question if this was genuinely not a date. She was also wondering whether she was going to have to ask about a vegetarian option amongst all these piles of meat, when a very smart waiter arrived and presented her with her own individual hot water crust vegetable pie that was golden and glossy and looked like something out of a cartoon.
Felicity looked up at James, delighted.
‘Did you tell them I was a vegetarian?’
Because I think I love you.
‘I may have.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’
They stared at each other, faces flushed, eyes bright, until they were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter who began to serve James his choice of roast venison and potatoes from a silver dish.
‘Please tell me you’re also going to have some pie,’ said Felicity.
He laughed. ‘You’re right. It’s got to be done.’ He turned to the waiter. ‘A small piece of the steak pie too, please.’
‘Very good, sir.’
When the waiter had gone, they looked at each other for another long moment, grinning like idiots, and then down at their plates, which were piled high with food.
‘Shall we?’ said James.
‘Yes please,’ said Felicity, diving in. And then, ‘This is incredible,’ through a mouthful of pastry.
‘I know, right? I’ve always wanted to come here,’ said James, sawing at an enormous slice of venison with a knife that was patently not up to the task.
So… he hasn’t been before.
‘Apparently the desserts are bloody fantastic too so make sure you save some room. If that’s, you know, even possible.’
‘It’s okay, there’s a different stomach for dessert.’
James laughed at that. ‘I like a lady who can appreciate her food.’
Felicity wondered if that was a back-handed compliment but decided not to overanalyse.
There was a pause.
‘Do you know something?’ said James, after a few moments of happy munching silence. ‘I still can’t get over how incredible you were with Holly and Gennie that night. I meant what I said. It was all you. You were amazing. You saved their lives.’
Felicity paused with her fork in mid-air. A chunk of carrot dropped back to her plate, flicking a bit of gravy at her face, which she chose to ignore.
‘It was a team effort. You were the one who found her in the first place.’
‘I know but still, seeing you whisk her away like that. Take charge. It was… just brilliant. Like watching a superhero at work.’
‘Oh, stop it,’ said Felicity, waving her fork at him, but feeling her cheeks burn. ‘It most definitely was not. It’s my job, anyway, isn’t it? Although to be fair it feels more like a life obsession some days!’
‘It was pretty damn sexy too. You taking charge and all that.’
Felicity nearly choked on her food. Which was definitely not sexy.
‘I thought you said this wasn’t a date, Mr Penguin Man,’ she managed eventually, with a giggle.
‘I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just telling it like it is.’
‘Well, can you not do that while I’m trying to stuff my face with food, please? It’s hard enough to maintain this sexy public image without accidentally choking in front of a room full of strangers.’
James threw his head back and laughed so loudly that a family at a neighbouring table looked over. He didn’t seem to care.
He shook his head. ‘You are a very funny girl, Felicity Brooks. Very funny indeed.’
Felicity grinned. ‘And sexy. Don’t forget sexy. Do I have broccoli in my teeth, by the way?’
‘Ooh, broccoli, now you’re just talking dirty,’ he said, looking at her mouth, which she quickly hid behind a hand in case she actually did have broccoli in her teeth. ‘And no. No, you don’t. You’re perfect, in fact.’
They looked at each other again. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. It was just starting to get uncomfortably intense when the waiter came up to ask if everything was okay.
Phew. For a non-date it certainly is getting hot in here.
‘So,’ said James, later. ‘We’re on dessert and you still haven’t told me your sad story. Go.’
‘I’m not sure you really want to hear it,’ said Felicity, scraping up the last of her crème br?lée (which the menu referred to as Trinity cream, of course, because Britain) and contemplating licking the bowl. She was almost painfully full, but it was so damn good.
‘Besides, I want another one of these first.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, clearly impressed. ‘I get you another one of those and some coffee and you tell me why you hate Christmas. Deal?’
Felicity looked up at him. Looked him right in the eye. Resisted the urge to look away. There was a moment or two more of that heavy, loaded silence.
‘Fine. Bring me more of this wondrous burnt custard and I’ll tell you all.’
He smiled and looked over to try and grab the waiter’s attention and Felicity took the opportunity to study the side of his face and tried to steady her nerves. Would he hate her when he heard her story? Surely he was going to think less of her. It was inevitable. Perhaps she should enjoy this last moment of bliss just in case? They’d had such a lovely evening so far and, apart from a bit of gravy, she had even managed not to drop anything down herself, which was quite an achievement.
When he had tried and failed to catch the waiter’s eye for several moments, James stood. ‘I’m going up there,’ he announced, and before she could protest, he’d left the table to go over and order her an extra pudding. Felicity couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken her out for a dinner like this, if ever, and she felt strangely proprietorial as she watched James chatting casually with their server. He returned to the table with a big grin on his face.
‘Did he say I was a fat pig?’ Felicity laughed as he sat down.
‘What?! Oh no, nothing like that! There was no judgement at all, surprisingly,’ he added, with a cheeky grin. Then, ‘Ow!’ as she gave him a swift kick under the table.
‘So… what was he saying, then?’ said Felicity, still giggling as a magical second bowl of Trinity cream appeared before her.
James gave a wide smile and for the first time she noticed he had a dimple in one cheek. It gave him a slightly lopsided smile which was far from unpleasant to look at.
‘Never you mind…’
She glanced over at the waiter, who was now lurking in the corner of the room next to an ornate grandfather clock, watching them intently. He gave her a little discreet thumbs up and Felicity raised an eyebrow.
‘This is very suspicious.’
‘Oh, just eat your custard.’
They both laughed and the simmering tension dissipated a bit. Only a bit.
‘Right then, enough distractions,’ said James. ‘I think it’s time you told me your story.’
‘Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. You of all people might decide you never want to speak to me again after you’ve heard it.’
‘I seriously doubt that,’ replied James in that low, slightly suggestive voice of his.
Felicity took a long, slow breath.
‘Just you wait,’ she said.