'We have complementary interests,’ she said, and beyond that I could not draw her.
Hours later, Sean, Joe and I lay sprawled before a crackling fire at my townhouse. Both men had discarded their jackets and ties, I'd kicked off my torturous heels, and we all sipped the Courvoisier Sean had bought to mark the occasion. Combined with the beer I'd drunk at dinner and the heat of the fire, the brandy had me nodding.
But I wasn't too sleepy to notice how quiet Joe had been since we left the restaurant. He hunkered before the fire, idly prodding a log with the poker, his eyes hooded with private thoughts.
Sean rolled on to his back and balanced the balloon glass on his breastbone. 'So,' he said, when the latest shower of sparks died down. 'What did Mr Broadway have to say?'
Joe replaced the poker in its stand. 'He says I've got charisma.'
'And?' Sean prompted.
Joe bit his lower lip. His chest expanded with a slow inhalation. 'He says he knows an agent in New York who'd be happy to represent me,’
"That's great.' I reached out to squeeze his knee.
Joe still looked glum. 'He says he'd represent me as an actor.' His nose wrinkled on the word. 'He says my music isn't mature enough yet.'
'Ah, what does he know?' Sean said.
Joe shoved his hair back from his face. Blue shadows smudged the hollows beneath his eyes, and the firelight picked out two faint lines radiating from the corner of each lid. The marks made my own eyes wrinkle in sympathy. 'Desmond Gerrard knows a hell of a lot more than I do,' he said, sounding as tired as he looked. 'In the last ten years he hasn't produced one flop. If he says my music needs more seasoning, he's probably right.'
I pushed myself upright and smoothed his tiny worry lines. Joe leant into the caress and closed his eyes. I knew I loved him then, with all my wary heart. I also knew I had to help him find the courage to pursue his dream. 'Would you really hate being an actor?' I asked, treading carefully. 'Because it could be a good experience. You'd learn more about the way theatre works, and you'd meet people who might be useful later on. Plus you'd be in York. If you're really serious, isn't that where you need to be?'
'Yes.' His head sank on to my shoulder. 'But I don't want to leave you.'
'Oh, baby.' Understanding his conflict all too well, I rubbed his back in slow, reassuring passes. I wished I could promise it would all work out.
'You gotta go see this guy,' Sean said, speaking for all of us. 'If you don't at least try, you'll never stop kicking yourself.'
Joe moaned a soft protest into my neck, then pushed back and shook off his melancholy. 'The agent might not even like me,’ he said more cheerfully.
But I sincerely doubted that would be the case.
I woke before dawn, a sure sign I'd overindulged the night before.
Rather than lie in bed staring at the ceiling, I decided to leave for work early and get a jump on cleaning -maybe even buy a batch of sticky buns for my hardworking employees. Christmas was coming and, in this season of irate customers and overtime, a boss could never suck up too much.
With the sun barely up, the shop's interior remained a collection of wide, oblique shadows. It creaked and groaned like an old house, and smelled deliriously of coffee beans and ageing books.
Locking the street door behind me, I dumped my bag, coat, and the platter of buns behind the front counter. After a brief debate over whether I should nab one right away, I headed for the closet where we stored the vacuum. I'd burn a few calories cleaning. Then I'd misbehave.
The sound of muffled voices, a man and a woman's, brought me up short outside our office.
The female voice could only be Marianne's - and from the groans that interspersed the conversation, she wasn't going over the books.
Damn, damn, damn. I pinched my lower lip. As I saw it, I had three choices: I could leave quietly; I could make a lot of noise and alert them to my presence; or I could barge in and demand to know why Marianne was using our office as a trysting place.
The final option tempted, but I wasn't up for a confrontation. Besides, I'd transgressed once myself. Memories of my back-room ball game with Sean flooded back. I remembered the way he'd manhandled me over to the ladder, the way he'd filled me so snugly, the sounds he'd made when he came. Worst of all, we had our tryst during business hours.
What if Marianne decided to throw that back in my face?
With that in mind, I opted for making noise. They'd pull themselves together as soon as I switched on the vacuum. I began to tiptoe past the door. Just as I did, the man's voice rose in volume - an over-enunciated literature professor's voice. No doubt about it, Desmond Gerrard was in there with Marianne.
'I simply can't, darling.' He heaved a sigh of deep carnal suffering. 'You're the best, the absolute best and it kills me to refuse you anything, but the boy has real talent.'