The Great Christmas Breakup Part 12

It was only a few years later that the regrets about being too hasty began scratching at my consciousness.

But that was all in the past now, wasn't it? I was married, and nothing could change that.

*I don't want him to love me,' I said. *I want him to give me work.'

*You used to want him to love you,' Lolly observed, and then suddenly sucked in her breath.

I realized that lately, I'd been a rubbish friend. Lolly wasn't dating anyone a and hadn't in ages. At least I had a family, and if you excluded the feral Teeson element, they weren't half bad.

*Are you alright, Lols? Maybe you need to go after him? I mean, who wouldn't want a piece of good looking corporate a.r.s.e?'

It was a joke but my friend wasn't laughing.

Then Lolly nudged me and I turned to find the man in question standing directly behind us.

Sod it.

*Oh, Robert,' I mumbled, self-consciously pulling at the long sheer top Lolly had provided, suddenly wondering if, despite the image I'd seen in the full-length mirror moments before, I was way too plump to be wearing black jeggings.

I needn't have worried.

*Wow, Scarlet! You look amazing, better than I remembered.'

*Really?' This from Lucinda. *Hugo Boss?' she added, indicating his grey flecked suit just visible beneath a heavy wool overcoat with a velvet collar.

I looked at his face and noted his eyes were bluer than I thought. Contact lenses?

Surely not? What man would wear colored contacts? Carson wouldn't even wear boxers to comply with fas.h.i.+on, let alone poke a different hue onto his eyeb.a.l.l.s.

*Zegna,' Robert replied to Lucinda proudly.

*Oooo,' Lolly and Lucinda duly nodded their appreciation.

Carson would never know one brand from another; at that moment in time he couldn't tell his own wife from a piece of furniture.

An awkward silence followed, broken only by a brunette even shorter than me shoving into the shop and demanding someone sell her one of those *darling sheepy things in the window, immediately!'

*Shall we?' Robert said to me, holding open the gla.s.s door.

Behind us, Lolly was tactfully telling the woman that the sheep weren't for sale, but the jumper it was wearing would look great on her.

Following Robert into the street, I was. .h.i.t by two thoughts. One: this could be the start of a great new career; and two: I'd left my coat behind and a thin layer of silk and a bra provided absolutely no protection from the elements.

Ironically, similar thoughts had run through my head on my very first date with Carson.

- Cue cute first date story: I'd arranged to meet Carson in midtown because I had to get something decent for my parents for Christmas. Every year I sent a homemade item from the stall, but I suspected that there were only so many puce berets Royal Mail would deliver before it reported me to the local constabulary for parental neglect.

So I stood looking in the huge gla.s.s-fronted windows on Fifth Avenue, wondering who on earth could afford to pay three hundred dollars for a weird box with a couple of stones on top, or many hundreds more for a pen set from Switzerland.

New York City was at its best at Christmas. Even though I couldn't afford to skate myself, it was magical watching people who could whizzing about on the rink at the Rockefeller Centre. Even jumping up and down to see over the crowds to catch sight of Tiffany's window displays was now part of the delights of the festive season for me.

I couldn't image being back in Bath, with its sedate decorations, and quiet peace.

And its secrets: Mum baking treats lovingly while all the while Dad wasted his cash on his *bit on the side'.

Pus.h.i.+ng thoughts of Bath aside, I spied a delicate little candlestick on special for forty dollars.

Reduced from one fifty.

Mum would love that, and she had the perfect spot for it: the corner table near the downstairs' loo.

Walking into the store I was. .h.i.t by the blast of hot air from the heating system. Immediately, I began to swelter a how was it possible to ramp up the heat to such an extent that you could comfortably get about in a bikini?

Not wanting to ruin my first date with a Harvard graduate by smelling of dried sweat, I slipped out of my coat.

*Hey, love that!' the sales a.s.sistant said, coming over and taking up the thick brocade coat lined with fox fur. The boy had thick black gla.s.ses, a round cheery face and the tightest trousers I'd ever seen on a man a or woman.

*Real fur, but recycled,' I told him. *No foxes were recently killed in the making of this coat.'

He fingered the brocade lovingly. *I've got someone who'd love this for Christmas a will you sell it?'

*How much did you have in mind?' I had no attachment to it. The coat had been hanging about on the stall for over a month, and no one had so much sniffed at it.

*Two hundred,' the a.s.sistant said, stroking the collar. *Cash'.

It took all of a second for me to respond. The rent was due, plus we were only asking one hundred for it on the stall.

*It's yours.'

The transaction complete, I headed outside, purse full, into a blizzard. Ten minutes later, when I met Carson and saw his beaming smile and his curls peeking out from under his woolen cap, I thought two things.

One: I was freezing and completely inappropriately dressed.

And two: this night might be the turning point in my life.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Monday, November 27, p.m.

*No one should blame a partner for one solitary indiscretion. Two, maybe, but not one.'

Jocelyn Priestly.

I THOUGHT ABOUT THAT quote as we neared the cafe. Dear, deluded Jocelyn might have point, I had to admit, as rain pounded me. For once I wasn't completely repulsed by her advice. Carson was up to something, and while I hoped it wasn't what I thought it was a an affair a I figured that me having dinner with an old crush didn't const.i.tute more than a minor blip on any average morality scale.

That first conversation with Cecily about law a and the law student that Carson had given up a glittering career for a more than occasionally crossed my mind. There had never been any reason to doubt his commitment, not in a physical sense. Even my increased weight hadn't put him off wanting me.

Unlike his pathetic att.i.tude to our home life, which definitely put me off him.

But that law student was always there, in the back of my mind.

What if they'd hooked up?

People found their way back to each other, didn't they?

Like Robert and me.

*Scarlet? You okay?'

Robert was holding the door to the eatery open, watching me with one eyebrow c.o.c.ked, amused that I was daydreaming in the rain.

*Sorry, just remembered something about Lolly's window.'

*How conscientious.'

*Always work, work, work with me.'

*Right.'

Stop acting like a freak, Scarlet and get inside.

*Look,' Robert pointed. *There's a table. Why not grab it and I'll round up a couple of menus?'

As I sank, squelching, into the overly designed high-backed leather chair, I took a better look at my coffee date. Robert Simpson appeared to be different to what I remembered, and not in bad way.

More like in a bed way.

The thought, clearly channeled by the foul-mouthed Cecily 2, was instantly pushed aside.

I am married.

Unhappily and, considering my family-in-law, unsafely, but still, I was married.

Robert was clearly one of those men who had grown into his looks, shrugging off the geekiness of youth and replacing it with a six pack and gently graying movie-star hair.

Lolly was right, he was definitely in the George Clooney mould.

I'd thought he was completely out of my league when I was in my early twenties and ogling him from afar. Even when he asked me out I kind of suspected Lolly might have put him up to it a sort of like a pity date.

Even now, it was still as if he was playing premier league and I was coaching the under 2s.

Pulling my gaze from Robert, I considered my surroundings. The cafe was one of those trendy places where a coffee was an espresso and cost eight dollars. I was starving, having been put off my *con-flakes' by Hammertro and Cecily 2's gross behavior, but I suspected a sandwich in the slick diner cost more than I earned working a whole day at Flindes.

Robert would probably pay a his suit looked to be worth more than our yearly rent a but I didn't want to be obliged to him.

Returning with the coffees and, joy, a little plate of pastries, he immediately said, *You look as stunning as I remember.'

That was more than a little forward. He did know I was married, didn't he?

I suddenly hoped that this wasn't some one-night stand thing. Perhaps he was married too and needed some recreational s.e.x? Well, he wasn't going to get it from me.

My idea of recreation was a cream donut in front of Homeland.

*I'm not sure your wife would approve of you chatting up women in cafes,' I said, in an attempt to confirm my suspicion.

*No, she wouldn't. He grinned. *If I had one.'

So then I felt like an over-reactive fool.

Time to get things back on a track I was comfortable with.

*Let's talk business. This chain of shops . . .'

I rested my chin on my palm, trying to look businesslike and intense, but I missed and my elbow slid off the molded gla.s.s table top and my chin cracked into the s.h.i.+ny surface.

*Doof,' I spluttered.

Robert sprang up. *Christ, Scarlet? What happened? Are you hurt? Is that blood?'

I saw the drops on the table. People were looking our way, and one of the waitresses was signaling Robert, asking if we needed help.

I grabbed my purse and pulled out my compact. Surveying the damage, it seemed the blood was coming from my mouth. I'd bitten into my tongue.

*Scarlet, do you want me to call someone?' Robert's face was close a his aftershave smelled amazing.

*Just my tongue, it'll heal. Looks worse than it is.'

Relieved, Robert sank back into his chair, and the waitress appeared with some napkins and a dish of warm water so that I could clean myself up.

When I was fairly confident I'd got all the blood off my chin, I gingerly took a drink and tried not to flinch.

What a moron I was.

As if someone like Robert Simpson would do business with a ditz like me?

*Are you sure you don't want me to run to the pharmacy for you? Get something for your tongue?'

*No, *at's o'kah,' I tried to say, but my tongue had swelled up and I could hardly form words.

Wondering what to do, Robert decided there was no other option but to discuss the shop windows he'd mentioned.

*I don't know how many retail food windows you've done . . .' He looked at me questioningly.