Some Girls Do

Chapter Ten




‘Okay, you can do this,’ Claire told herself, taking a deep breath and pulling open the door of the restaurant. She tossed her head back and strode confidently towards the ma?tre d’. Half of her had been hoping Mark would already be there waiting, so she wouldn’t have to sit at the table by herself, and the other half wanted to get there first so she would be seated when he arrived and wouldn’t have to walk towards him while he watched. But when she gave her name to the man and told him she was joining Mark Bell, he informed her that Mark was already there. When he had taken her coat, he led her to the table. Claire made a determined effort to keep her head up and appear confident as she followed him. The dress helped. She knew she looked good, and the sheer material swishing around her legs sensually as she walked boosted her confidence. Yvonne had worked her magic on her makeup and hair, and she felt sophisticated, glamorous … and, yes, sexy.

She saw Mark first, recognising him instantly. Just as they reached the table, he smiled at her and, to her surprise, her nerves melted away because he seemed so friendly and familiar. It was like meeting an old friend. She knew this person and was happy to see him.

He stood as the ma?tre d’ walked away. ‘NiceGirl, I presume?’ he said, holding out a hand to her.

She nodded as they shook. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Claire Kennedy.’ He was taller than she remembered, but just as handsome.

‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ He leaned in, kissing her cheek, and she felt a little shiver of excitement as his stubble brushed against her face and she breathed in the warm sandalwood tone of his aftershave. He waved her to the seat opposite him.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked. ‘I thought maybe we should start with some champagne. We have something to celebrate, after all – at least, I hope we do.’

‘Champagne would be lovely, thank you.’

She was aware of his eyes on her as the waiter fussed around with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne, but she didn’t feel self-conscious or want to squirm. Far from making her uncomfortable, the frank appreciation in his eyes gave her a warm glow. Maybe this was a magic dress, she thought whimsically. It was certainly helping her to get into character, like an actor’s costume. She jumped when the champagne opened with a loud pop.

‘Well, here’s to the beginning of a successful partnership,’ Mark said, as he raised his glass.

‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass with his.

‘So, I love the blog,’ he said. ‘Obviously.’

‘Thanks.’ Now she was uncomfortable, her nervousness returning as she thought of all the things he thought he knew about her. She was proud that he liked her writing, but she’d written some pretty filthy stuff on her blog, and he thought it was true. He thought she was completely upfront about laying bare the most intimate details of her sex life for all the world to see – and it was a pretty lurid sex life. She took a slug of champagne to cover her embarrassment. She had to try not to think about that too much.

‘It’s nice to meet you in the flesh. I have to admit I’m quite relieved,’ Mark said, with a cheeky smile.

‘Relieved? Why?’

‘Well, you hide behind that avatar on Twitter and you write your blog anonymously. I had no idea what you looked like or who you really were. You could have been a ninety-year-old man for all I knew. You could have looked like a sumo wrestler.’

‘Oh, I never thought of that.’ She had been so caught up in her own anxiety about the meeting that it hadn’t occurred to her he might be nervous too.

‘Mm. I was quite tempted to run away before you turned up. I didn’t want my illusions shattered.’

‘Well, I may not look like a sumo wrestler, but I don’t look anything like my Twitter avatar either.’

‘No, you’re much prettier.’

Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘I think my avatar is hot.’

‘She’s okay,’ Mark said, ‘if you like that whole overblown, cartoonish thing. Me, I’m a sucker for a woman in three-D.’

Claire laughed. ‘Anyway, you’ve read the blog,’ she said. ‘Surely you could tell from that that I wasn’t an old man. Or a sumo wrestler.’

‘It could have been made up. Lots of people pretend to be something they’re not online. It’s easy.’

‘I suppose so.’ She frowned, feeling guilty. He was talking about her, only he didn’t know it. Now was her chance to tell him that she wasn’t really the person in her blog. He probably wouldn’t mind – it would still be better than finding out she was a ninety-year-old sumo wrestler or whatever.

But then she felt needled by the implication of his words. ‘Would it make any difference if I was a ninety-year-old man? Or if I looked like a sumo wrestler? Would you have changed your mind about wanting the book? I mean, I’d still be the same writer.’

‘Of course the writing would be the same, but I don’t know that I’d be interested if it turned out to be the sordid fantasies of some decrepit old pervert.’

She laughed. She had to admit he had a point. She could imagine the shocked reaction of her followers if it turned out she was a dirty old man.

‘As for how you look,’ he said, giving her an admiring glance, ‘it’s not just about the writing. It’s the whole package, and it’s a lot easier to sell an attractive young woman than an old man.’

Claire blushed, and was glad when the waiter appeared to run through the specials. When he had gone, she buried her face in the menu to regain her composure. The food sounded wonderful.

‘Are you ready to order?’ Mark asked her, as the waiter returned.

‘I’ll have the crab cakes, and then the duck, please,’ she told the waiter.

Mark ordered smoked salmon followed by beef in Guinness. ‘When in Ireland …’ he said to Claire, after the waiter had gone. ‘So,’ he began in a more businesslike tone, ‘how do you feel about going public?’

‘Nervous,’ Claire admitted. ‘Kind of terrified, actually.’

‘Are you sure you want to do it?’

‘Yes,’ she said cautiously. ‘I think so. I mean, I really want to do the book. I’ve always wanted to be published. But the rest … I’m not so sure.’

‘Well, you don’t necessarily have to “come out” as the author. We could publish the book anonymously. It would have its own advantages. We could use the mystery around your identity as a publicity angle – build up the intrigue about who you really are.’

‘I never thought of that. Is this a plan you came up with when you thought I might be some old codger?’

He grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, you have to be prepared for all eventualities.’

‘Do you think it would work equally well if I published anonymously?’

‘Your blog is very popular, so you’ve got a good platform to start from. And sex always sells. I think we can make the book a big success either way.’

‘But?’ She heard the reservation in his tone.


‘But the fact that you’re an attractive woman is a bonus. It really helps with the media.’

‘I don’t know how good I’d be at the publicity stuff,’ Claire said. ‘I’m a bit shy.’

‘Is that what motivated you to write your blog anonymously?’

‘Well, that and the subject matter. I mean, it wouldn’t be great for work, for instance, if everyone knew I was writing that stuff. It’s not the sort of thing you’d want your boss to know about. I also thought it would be best if people couldn’t trace me. You come across some very strange people online, especially with the sort of stuff I write about.’

‘Yeah, I can imagine.’ He nodded. ‘You probably get some real weirdos.’

She laughed. ‘Half of them think I should be consigned to Hell, and the other half want a bunk-up.’

Mark frowned. ‘Well, I suppose that would be a consideration, too, in deciding if you want to be identified as the author.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of their starters.

‘You must’ve told some people about the blog,’ Mark said, as they began eating.

‘Only one – a friend. None of my family know about it.’

‘They don’t know about your blog or about your, er … personal life?’

‘They don’t know any of it. I’m not sure how I’d feel about them finding out.’

‘Do you think they’d be shocked?’

‘Well … yes, probably.’ She was actually less worried that they’d be horrified than that they’d die laughing and call her on it. They could even expose her as a fraud if they wanted to. Her mother would probably love the whole thing, and be enormously proud. But Michelle would be livid – and jealous. Like Claire, she dreamed of being a published author, and she always had something snide to say when someone else got a book deal. She would hate Claire getting there before her, and Claire wouldn’t put it past her to blow the whistle out of spite. She could be pretty poisonous. Of course, none of the family could know for sure that she wasn’t living a double life as a sex bomb with a string of secret lovers. It wasn’t as if she would share it with them if it were true. But somehow she thought they’d have a damn good idea that she’d made it all up. And how pathetic would she look then?

‘Do you think it would be possible to keep it a secret?’ she asked.

‘Well, obviously some people would have to know. But we could keep the circle as small as possible, and get everyone to sign non-disclosure agreements. What about the men?’ he asked.

‘The men?’

‘The men you write about – Mr Bump and Grind, Mr Curious, Mr Fussy, all that lot.’

‘Oh, them.’

‘Even with fake names, is there a chance that any of them would recognise themselves?’

‘I really don’t think they’d cause problems.’ Mainly because they don’t exist, she thought.

‘Still, if you go public and you’re on television or in the newspapers, it wouldn’t be hard for someone you’d been with to put two and two together.’

‘True,’ she said, deciding it would be as good an excuse as any if she decided she wanted to remain anonymous.

‘It’s something to think about anyway. You don’t have to decide anything right now. And if we do publish anonymously, you can always decide to go public further down the line, if you want. It could even give the book a second bite of the cherry when the initial publicity has died down.’

By the time their starters were cleared, the champagne bottle was empty, and they ordered some red wine.

‘So, tell me a bit about yourself, Claire,’ Mark said, when their main courses had been served.

‘Like what?’

‘Anything. I know absolutely nothing about you – except for the explicit details of your sex life, of course.’ He grinned.

She smiled ruefully, the champagne buzz overriding her shyness. ‘Well, let’s see. I’m twenty-eight, the youngest in my family. I have two older brothers, both married with kids. I have a degree in English literature. I work in a bookshop – an independent.’

‘But you’d like to write full-time?’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Well, hopefully we can make that happen.’ He smiled. ‘Do you write other stuff?’

‘Yes, I write fiction. I’m working on a young-adult novel at the moment.’

‘I’d be happy to take a look at if you’d like.’

‘You would?’

‘Sure.’

‘That would be great. I mean, it’s not ready to show to anyone yet, but when it is, I’d love you to read it.’

‘I’d be glad to.’

‘Anything else you’d like to know?’

‘Well … I know you don’t have a boyfriend as such – you’re still auditioning for the role, yes?’

‘Sort of.’

‘How many candidates are there, now that Mr Handy’s out of the picture?’

‘Actually … I may exaggerate a bit on the blog,’ she admitted.

‘Really? How much?’

She took a deep breath. ‘At the moment there are …’ she looked up at the ceiling as if counting ‘… none.’

‘None?’ His eyebrows shot up, but she couldn’t help thinking he seemed rather pleased.

‘Do you think I’m an awful fraud?’

‘I’m just surprised. I did allow for a certain amount of artistic licence – several of my female friends who read your blog tell me that no single young woman could be getting that much action.’

‘Well, they’re right.’

‘You’re not going to tell me you make it all up, are you?’

‘Oh, no!’ she gasped, in mock horror. ‘It’s sort of a blend – part reality, part fiction. Like Made in Chelsea.’

‘Some scenes have been created for our entertainment?’

‘Exactly. Some of the men I describe are actually a mash-up of a couple of guys I’ve dated. Or I write about stuff that’s happened in the past. Some of the guys I made up completely, for my own amusement,’ she admitted with a guilty smile.

‘Mr Bossy?’ he guessed.

‘Mr Bossy’s real, but he was a long time ago,’ she heard herself saying. She had no idea where that had come from. Surely it would have been simpler to make him fictional, and the more straightforward guys real. Well, it was said now – too late to take it back.

‘So there’s no one in your life at the moment?’

‘It’s my guilty secret.’

‘Would it be very cheesy to say I find that hard to believe?’

‘Very cheesy. But I happen to love cheese,’ she smiled, ‘so I’ll let you away with it.’

‘So, seriously – how did that happen?’

‘Well, your friend is right. Good men aren’t that thick on the ground. And I’m quite fussy. There’s also the fact that I live with my mother now.’

‘You live with your mother?’

‘She’s been ill. She has a dodgy heart and she’s quite incapacitated with arthritis, so I moved back home to look after her,’ she said.

‘Well, I can see how that would curtail your social life.’

‘It’s fine. I think it came at a good time, actually – gave me a chance to take stock. I was getting tired of playing the field anyway. I think I’m ready for something more serious.’ Wow, she had no idea where all this material was coming from, but she liked it. Turned out improvisation was her thing! Who knew?


‘Well, at the risk of sounding even cheesier, may I say I’m glad to hear that?’ he said with a slow smile.

Claire smiled back. ‘So, what about you?’

‘Well, I’m a publisher, as you know. Thirty-two. I run. I live in Highgate with Millie and we have a pretty volatile relationship—’

‘Millie?’ Claire was surprised by how disappointed she felt.

‘My cat. I told you about her.’

‘Oh, yes! The feline one.’ She smiled in relief. ‘How is she?’

‘I’d like to say she was jealous about me coming to meet you, but she’s not arsed, as usual. Sometimes I think she’s just using me for my money. She has very expensive tastes.’

‘You should ditch her. She doesn’t deserve you.’

‘I know, but I’m a besotted fool,’ Mark said, putting his hand on his heart and pulling a pathetic face.

‘What about your family?’

‘I’m an only child. But don’t believe the propaganda,’ he said, with a grin. ‘We’re a much-maligned group.’

‘So you weren’t a spoiled brat who thought the world revolved around you and didn’t know how to share?’

‘Well, I have to admit I’m not good at sharing. I was a nightmare at playschool.’

‘What about your parents? Do they live in London?’

‘They moved to Cornwall when my father retired. I visit as often as I can, which isn’t often enough.’

‘So … girlfriend?’

‘No. I’ve been dating a bit, but nothing serious. I broke up with my last girlfriend about six months ago. Sophie,’ he added, with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘She was even more high maintenance than Millie.’

‘Had you been together long?’

‘About five years, off and on. Mostly on.’

‘That’s a long time. What happened?’

‘We were fighting all the time. We made each other miserable. So we decided to call it a day.’

‘Well, at the risk of sounding cheesy, may I say I’m very glad you did,’ she said. She couldn’t believe how easy she was finding it to flirt with him. She hardly recognised herself. She didn’t know what had got into her, but whatever it was, she liked it. It was fun, dressing up, flirting her socks off with Mark, seeing the admiration in his eyes when he looked at her. She was really enjoying being this person, and she was delighted that the spark between them was still there in real life. She liked Mark, and she felt they already had a connection that went way beyond a superficial Twitter flirtation.

When the mains had been cleared away, Mark became more businesslike again.

‘Do you have an agent?’ he asked her.

‘No. Do I need one?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, but it would probably be advisable. It shouldn’t be hard to get one when you already have a deal on the table.’

‘And do I?’

‘If you want one.’

‘Yes! I do.’

‘I’ll get a formal offer in the post and have a contract drawn up. But, in the meantime, can we shake on it?’ he asked, holding out his hand.

‘Definitely!’ Claire grasped and shook it heartily.

‘Great! I look forward to working with you.’ Mark beamed at her. ‘Now, do you want dessert?’ he asked, looking at the menus the waiter had just handed them.

‘I’m absolutely stuffed,’ Claire said, ‘but they do have sticky toffee pudding …’

‘Want to go halves?’ Mark asked.

‘I thought you didn’t like sharing?’

‘I need the practice.’

‘In that case, yes, please,’ Claire said eagerly, thinking he may well be the perfect man.

‘So what made you decide to work in a bookshop?’ Mark asked.

‘It wasn’t really a decision. It was more a case of what I could get. My original plan was to move to London and try to start a career in publishing.’ She wondered if their paths would have crossed. ‘I tried to find something in that field when I moved home, but … it didn’t happen.’

‘Well, I’m glad about that.’

‘You are?’ She frowned.

‘Yes. Instead of joining the hordes of writers manqué working in publishing, you’ve skipped that bit and actually become a writer.’

‘Well, it wasn’t part of any grand plan.’

‘Still, that’s the way it’s worked out.’

‘I suppose it is.’ She smiled. Maybe he was right and everything had happened for a reason. ‘Are you a writer manqué?’

‘Not really. I’ve written some short stories, but I don’t have any ambitions to write full-time. I enjoy what I do. I get a real buzz out of discovering and nurturing talent. Like yours.’

When the bill came, Mark paid. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, when Claire reached for her purse. ‘It’s on expenses.’

‘That was lovely, thank you,’ Claire said, as they stood. She hadn’t noticed the restaurant emptying, but as they walked to the exit, she realised that they were the last to leave. She had enjoyed Mark’s company so much that the time had flown. They made their way outside, where a line of taxis was waiting. ‘It was really good to meet you,’ Claire said. She was sorry that the evening was over so soon.

Mark must have felt the same because he said, ‘Do you fancy going for a drink?’

Claire looked at her watch. ‘I don’t think there’ll be anywhere open.’

‘We could go to my hotel and have a drink in the bar.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Merrion.’

‘Okay, yes.’ She was happy to spend a bit more time with him and get to know him better. He was only in Dublin for a short time so she wanted to make the most of it.

It was a quick drive to the Merrion Hotel. Mark paid the taxi driver and took her hand as they walked up the steps to the entrance.

‘I love this place,’ Claire said as they went into the gracious marble lobby with its classical columns and ornate plasterwork.

Instead of heading straight for the bar, Mark came to a halt in the lobby, taking both her hands in his. ‘So, we could go to the bar,’ he said, gazing meaningfully into her eyes, ‘or we could have a drink in my room.’

‘Oh!’ Claire suddenly felt gauche, her thin veneer of sophistication evaporating like Cinderella’s finery, to expose her as the na?ve, clueless girl she really was. She had no idea what the signals were, what the etiquette was. Had she misunderstood what he meant by coming back to the hotel? By saying yes, had she led him to believe that she was going to sleep with him? It seemed likely, considering how free and easy he thought she was about sex.

‘Um … the bar?’ she said in a small voice.

He nodded and led her across the lobby to the comfortable lounge. She tried to gauge his expression, but she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed. They sat side by side on a sofa in front of a real turf fire and a waitress appeared to take their order. Claire had felt mellow and relaxed when they’d left the restaurant, but now she was tense and on edge. Mark didn’t seem put out, but there was still that heat in his eyes when he looked at her.

She didn’t want any awkwardness between them, so she had to say something to clear the air. She waited until their drinks were served.

‘Well, cheers – again!’ Mark said, clinking glasses with her.


She clutched her glass of Bailey’s in both hands, trying to come up with something to say. She couldn’t just blurt out that she wasn’t going to sleep with him, could she? What if that wasn’t even what he’d meant? Then she’d look really stupid – and presumptuous.

‘Mark,’ she began tentatively, ‘I know my blog is kind of … out there, and I come across as this really forthright person – promiscuous, even.’ She felt her face flame. ‘But the truth is … well, I don’t usually move that fast. I mean, despite the impression you might have of me, I don’t sleep with someone on a first date. In fact, I have a five-date rule … not that this is a date, but—’

‘No,’ Mark interrupted, leaning forward urgently. ‘I’m sorry. Believe it or not, I don’t usually come on that strong so quickly either.’

Come on strong. Huh! So he had been asking her up to his room for sex. At least she had learned something tonight. She made a mental note: ‘Come back to my hotel for a drink’, trans. ‘Come back to my hotel and have sex with me’.

‘I guess I just feel like we’ve known each other longer than we really have,’ he said.

‘I know what you mean.’ She felt the same. She’d had a crush on him even before they’d met.

‘Forgive me?’ he asked, seeming genuinely remorseful. ‘Please don’t blame a guy for trying.’

‘I don’t,’ she said, and meant it. If she was really the girl she was pretending to be, she would probably have taken him up on his invitation. The combination of the food, the wine and her beautiful dress had left her feeling languid and sensual. She felt desirable and desired, a heady sensation.

‘You don’t forgive me?’ he asked, alarmed.

‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I mean I don’t blame you for trying. I just didn’t want you to think—’

‘I don’t think anything, honestly. And I don’t presume you’re promiscuous. I’m really sorry if I offended you.’

‘No, it’s fine. Really.’ She relaxed back on the sofa, able to enjoy her drink now.

‘Could you just forget I said that and meet me tomorrow? Maybe show me around a bit?’ He looked at her pleadingly.

‘Would that be like a date?’

He smiled. ‘Only if you want it to be. It could just be two people hanging out. My flight isn’t until the evening. Maybe you could join me for brunch here. Unless you’re busy with your mum, of course.’

‘No, she’s convalescing in a nursing home at the moment, so I’m all yours.’

‘Good. I like the sound of that.’

A short time later, Claire got a taxi home. Mark walked her out to see her off, and gave her a kiss on the cheek as they said goodbye. He smelled so good and his skin was so warm and firm as his cheek brushed hers that Claire was tempted to throw herself into his arms and say she’d changed her mind and would go up to his room after all. But she knew that, when she got there, she’d have no clue how to handle herself. So instead she skipped down the steps into the waiting cab and floated all the way home. She felt dizzy with excitement. Mark, her book deal … Suddenly it seemed that the life she’d always wanted could really be hers. She was dying to tell someone about it but, instead, she hugged it to herself like a lovely secret.


She felt keyed up the following day as she made her way to Mark’s hotel. She got off the tram at St Stephen’s Green and walked to Merrion Street. It was a beautiful day, cold, but bright and sunny. She had dressed casually in black skinny jeans with calf-length suede boots and a green V-neck sweater. After all, she figured her alter ego would have dress-down days – even NiceGirl couldn’t go around looking like a siren twenty-four/ seven. The sweater was one she hadn’t worn in years, but she had chosen it with Yvonne’s tips for sexy dressing in mind, because it was figure-hugging, and the deep V of the neckline would draw the eye to her cleavage. She had also followed Yvonne’s advice and worn a pendant, which she was supposed to play with to draw attention to her breasts. There was nothing sexy about her red duffel coat, or her woolly scarf and gloves, but she reasoned that surely even sexy girls would feel the cold.

Mark was waiting for her in the lobby. He leaped up to greet her when she arrived and they kissed each other on the cheek. Then they went down to the cellar restaurant, and ate plates of smoked salmon and creamy scrambled egg. Claire felt there was something deliciously intimate about eating together the morning after they had been out, as if they’d spent the night together.

‘So, what should we do for the rest of my time here? I’ve got about …’ Mark glanced at his watch ‘… three hours before I need to go to the airport.’

‘Well, there’s all the usual tourist stuff – Trinity College, Book of Kells, Guinness, Christchurch Cathedral, galleries …’ Claire reeled off the standard itinerary. ‘We could go on the hop-on/hop-off bus,’ she suggested. ‘Or there’s the Viking Splash. That’s basically a bus tour too, but you wear horned helmets and do lots of roaring, and then you go into the Grand Canal Basin at the end.’

‘I don’t really fancy anything touristy.’ Mark wrinkled his nose. ‘Something more laid back, maybe.’

‘We could go for a walk? It’s a lovely day.’

‘A walk would be good.’

‘Great. I know just the place,’ Claire told him.

They lingered over brunch for at least an hour, chatting easily. Then they headed off in the direction of Merrion Square, Claire leading the way.

‘This isn’t where we’re going,’ she told Mark, ‘but I thought we should pay our respects to Oscar since we’re in the neighbourhood.’ She brought him to visit the colourful statue of Oscar Wilde in the park, pointing out the house opposite where he had grown up.

When they had spent some time reading the quotes on the pillars that formed part of the memorial, she led him towards St Stephen’s Green, heading in the direction of Earlsfort Terrace. She had a blissful sense of well-being as they walked slowly along the side of the park. The trees were covered in young, bright green leaves and cherry blossom, and tulips were visible through the green railings. It was officially the beginning of summer, the first Sunday in May. There was a sense of newness and possibility, of the world coming to life again, and she was part of it.

‘Is this where we’re going?’ Mark asked, as she led him through the gates of the National Concert Hall with its imposing fa?ade, the billboards outside advertising symphonies and performances by world-famous soloists.

‘No.’ Claire led him through the car park to the back of the building, then through an arched gateway into the hidden grandeur of the Iveagh Gardens. ‘This is one of my favourite places in Dublin,’ she said, as they past the statue of Count John McCormack, the famous Irish tenor, near the entrance. It was her least favourite feature in the gardens – it was too new and pristine, she thought, too prosaic and at odds with the romantic decay of the older, lichen-covered statues with their classical lines and missing limbs.

She was disappointed to hear the squeals of children as they crunched along the wide gravel path, flanked by two large ornamental fountains. She found a bench and they sat down. A couple of children were playing nearby while their father watched. Claire tried not to resent them, but she loved the gardens best when she had them to herself, when they felt like her own secret place. As if on cue, the father rounded up his children and they headed to the exit.


‘Alone at last,’ Mark said.

‘I thought they’d never go.’

He cocked his head to the side, regarding her consideringly. ‘You’re very sweet.’

‘You sound surprised.’

He smiled. ‘You’re different from how I imagined.’

‘Oh?’ Claire wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. ‘Different how?’ Did she really want to know?

‘I thought you’d be more …’ He hesitated.

‘What?’ She thought of all the ways the sentence could end – more sexy, more ballsy, more confident, more fun, more interesting …

‘Can I be honest?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ Please don’t say ‘sexy’. Or ‘interesting’.

‘Well, to be honest, I thought you’d be a bit … intimidating,’ he admitted finally.

‘Oh!’

‘More strident. You’re nicer than I was expecting.’

‘Really?’ She felt a warm glow from the way he was looking at her.

‘Much nicer.’

‘I did tell you I was a nice girl.’

‘The name should have been a giveaway.’

‘So, is “nice” a good thing?’

He nodded, smiling at her. ‘Nice is good.’

‘Not too nice?’

‘No. Just right.’

‘Come on, let’s explore some more,’ she said getting up.

They wandered in companionable silence through all the hidden nooks and crannies of the garden, down stone steps leading to dark verdant paths, passed the statues of girls in flowing robes that stood on plinths, their lichen covering blending with the bark of the trees so they seemed almost to merge with the landscape. They came across some broken pieces of large statues lying on the grass, half buried in the bushes and wondered what their story was. The gardens were empty, the only sound the crunch of their feet on the gravel.

They were walking along one of the smaller paths when Claire stopped in front of a statue. ‘She’s my favourite,’ she told Mark, shielding her eyes from the light that filtered through the trees as she looked up. ‘There’s something so … noble about her. She’s so elegant and poised.’

‘Even though she’s only got one arm,’ Mark said.

‘It’s not an easy look to pull off.’ Claire laughed. ‘But there’s something about her. I think she’s a warrior.’

‘I think she’s completely charming,’ Mark said. But when Claire looked around, he was looking at her, not the statue.

‘Sorry,’ he said, laughing ruefully at being caught. ‘That was really cheesy.’

Claire giggled. ‘It was a bit.’ But she didn’t mind.

‘Oh well, since we already know I’m the cheesemeister general, I might as well ask – can I kiss you?’ He was gazing intently into her eyes now, moving closer.

Claire nodded breathlessly.

‘I have to warn you – if I kiss you, this is definitely a date.’

‘Still yes,’ Claire whispered, and he bent his head slowly, tentatively to hers. His lips were soft and warm and he kissed her slowly, gently, pulling away too soon. Claire instinctively reached out, clutching his sleeve.

‘Again?’ he whispered, his breath clouding between them.

‘Again,’ she breathed. And he kissed her again, right there among the ruined statues.


Claire felt dazed and giddy as they walked back to the hotel, hand in hand. She wondered what Mark was feeling. She doubted that this was what he had expected to happen when he’d met her – chaste kisses and hand-holding, like teenagers. But he seemed happy. In fact, she was pretty sure his goofy grin matched hers whenever they caught each other’s eye. She waited in the lobby while he collected his bags, already bereft at the thought of him leaving.

‘Will you come and stay with me in London?’ he asked as they stood at the top of the steps. ‘I have a spare bedroom,’ he added, when she hesitated. ‘We could discuss the book, spend some more time together.’

‘I’d love to.’

He beamed. ‘Soon?’

‘I might be able to get over next weekend or the one after – my mother’s in a nursing home for the next few weeks. When she comes home, I’ll need to be around for a while.’

‘Well, see what you can arrange. I’ll be in touch.’ He kissed her goodbye, then jumped into a waiting taxi.