Читать книгу Take a Chance on Me: Blind-Date Marriage / Saying Yes to the Millionaire - Фиона Харпер - Страница 8

JAKE walked into Maison Blanc ten minutes early. Being there first gave him the edge. When Serena arrived he’d be calmly seated at one of the little square tables with its crisp linen tablecloth. He’d make sure he had a good view of the entrance, and scrutinise every female who glided through glass door.

Maison Blanc was his kind of place. The décor was white and clean, full of straight lines. No fuss. No frills. The best feature by far was that he knew how big the bathroom window was. He’d fit through it, no problem.

He walked past the bar into the main part of the restaurant and scanned the entire room from left to right—then did a double take.

It was her!

The mystery woman. Here. Now.

He very nearly swore.

The woman he’d spent most of last night trying to forget, while he punched his pillow and ordered himself to sleep, was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, sipping a drink.

Suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

She looked stunning. Her silky brown hair was swept up into a braided ponytail. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were accentuated with smoky make-up and she wore a soft moss-green cardigan open at the throat. He swallowed. Never had a cardigan looked so sexy.

She was warm and vibrant. A perfect contrast to the sterile surroundings. And something about her seemed indefinably exotic. He wondered if she had gypsy blood coursing through her veins.

She’d started to turn her head in his direction, so he dived behind a pillar and stayed there for a few breathless seconds. Then, when he was sure she wasn’t looking, he slunk over to the bar and ordered something. He sat there, hunched over his glass, hoping to heaven she hadn’t noticed him. But that didn’t seem possible. He was sure every molecule in his body was screaming Look at me and waving its arms in her direction.

He risked another glance.

She was looking at the menu. He was safe, for now.

An enigmatic smile curled her lips, as if she were remembering a secret joke. In fact, it looked very much as if she were trying not to laugh.

His fingers traced the rim of his tumbler, but it stayed on the bar as he let his mind wander.

Last night, as they’d driven through the crowded London streets, he’d prayed that every traffic light would stay red, just to keep them locked in the private world of her car a few seconds longer. He’d been fascinated by her movements as she drove, hadn’t been able to stop watching the little silver bracelet that danced on her wrist as she moved her hand from steering wheel to gearstick and back. Everything she did was fluid and graceful.

He’d even admired the cool way she’d pulled away and left him gaping in the street. It served him right for his lack of finesse. He’d been too sure she was going to call him. Minutes after her departure he’d been pacing round his flat, scorning himself for being so smug. He’d tried desperately to remember if he had any business contacts who could trace the owner of the blue Porsche.

But it looked as if he didn’t need to worry about that. She was here. In fact, he didn’t need to worry about anything—except, of course, that she would have a ring-side seat to his blind date with Serena.

Serena! He’d almost forgotten about her.

He looked at his watch. Four minutes to go. Time to pull himself together. He couldn’t let her find him sitting at the bar all a-jitter. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged by a bit of quick thinking.

He summoned a waiter and asked to be shown to his table. With any luck he’d be seated in the corner, facing the other direction. Maison Blanc was large, and there were plenty of square white pillars to hide behind.

His step faltered as the waiter led him not to the far corner, but straight towards his mystery woman. Rats! He was going to have to walk right past her table. There was nothing for it but to ooze charm and hope the matter of a lunch-date with another woman could be swept aside once he’d claimed her promise of dinner another time.

However, his best, knock-her-socks-off smile never made it past the planning stage—mainly because the waiter had stopped at the table and pulled out the chair opposite her.

He just stood and stared.

The waiter fidgeted and she waved him away. Then she smiled at Jake. He wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Jacobs. I’m pleased you could make it—this time.’

‘But you’re … You can’t be …’

‘I’m Serena. Pleased to meet you, Charles—or is it Jake?’

He swallowed.

She couldn’t be Serena—her teeth were far too lovely.

She cocked her head on one side, waiting. Reading his mind, as it turned out.

‘I wore my hair this way just for you,’ she said, and turned her head so the ponytail swished towards him. Then she leant forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Just so you could tell which end of the horse was which.’

Something inside him snapped to attention. She knew! She’d been ready and waiting for him, and he’d walked straight in to her little trap.

‘Touché,’ he said, his voice unusually croaky.

She was really enjoying this. Her eyes were bright and smiling, but without a hint of malice. She wasn’t angry, just teasing him, asking him to share the joke.

He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Okay, you got me. When did you know?’

She took a sip of her drink.

‘Oh, not until after you stood me up. I found your business card in my pocket. An amazing coincidence, don’t you think? I suppose I could have phoned you this morning and warned you, but the opportunity to have a little fun was too good to pass up.’ She stopped and gave him a very genuine smile. ‘I can’t really be cross, can I? It was my fault entirely. You only cancelled because I drowned you. I suggest we start again. Deal?’

‘Deal.’ He dropped into the high-backed leather chair and offered her his hand. ‘Charles Jacobs. But nobody calls me that any more—except my sister when she’s angry with me. My friends call me Jake.’

She clasped his hand and shook it. Hers was small and delicate and unbelievably soft. The smile he’d abandoned earlier returned without his bidding.

‘I don’t think I need to tell you my name again, do I? I think, after today, you’re never going to forget it.’

‘You don’t look like a Serena.’

‘You don’t look like a Charles, either. Why Jake?’

‘Boys called Charles got punched where I grew up. Some of my friends shortened my last name and it stuck. It was easier, anyway. I’m named after my father, and it was a relief to have a way to tell us apart.’

‘You didn’t fancy Junior, then?’

Her smile was warm and easy. He didn’t mind her teasing him one bit. Somehow it made him feel welcomed—part of an elite club where they were the only two members—rather than putting him on the defensive. People didn’t normally get away with ribbing him like this.

‘Don’t say you think it suits me!’

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Her chocolate-brown eyes held him hypnotised. It took the waiter appearing for their drinks order to break the spell.

They both ordered something non-alcoholic. Thank goodness he’d remembered he was driving before he’d downed that Scotch in one! The waiter moved away unnoticed.

‘Your turn to spill the beans,’ he said.

‘Which beans would those be?’

‘You could tell me your name.’

She frowned. ‘It’s Serena. Don’t you believe me? Do you think I’m really called Mildred or Ethel?’

‘Of course I believe you. I just want to know the rest of your name. You can’t be just Serena.’

‘Why not? Madonna only uses her first name.’

‘But she has a last name too—she just doesn’t need to use it. The same thing wouldn’t work for you. If I tried to look up Serena in the phone book, I’d never find you. You’ve got to give me a bit more. For all I know you could disappear again, like you did last night, and I’d be none the wiser.’

She looked thoughtfully at the tablecloth. ‘Oh. I see.’

‘So? Serena … what?’

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘Sorry, Charlie, that’s on a need-to-know basis only.’

He leant forward and stared straight into her eyes. ‘What if I really need to know?’

‘I’d have to be really convinced.’ She laughed and waved her hand in the air. ‘Telling you my last name is too much of a commitment; I don’t like to be tied down. But don’t worry. If I think you can handle it, I’ll tell you.’

Jake smiled. A girl on his wavelength. No ties. No strings. Just seeing what the future brought, minute by minute. She was right: he would find out her name. He liked her style—she was keeping him on his toes. It was very refreshing.

Talking to her was easy. He hardly noticed the first course slip by. She was funny and articulate, and he found himself talking back in a way that would have surprised his business associates. Sure, he could turn on the charm when it suited him. It was hard-wired into his genetic make-up. He used it as a mirror, reflecting anything that tried to pierce his armour, so no one got below the surface. Yet as he talked to Serena he found himself giving away little snippets of information he didn’t normally make public. Nothing big, just stuff he didn’t normally share: what book he’d read most recently, what kind of music he liked. Silly things.

Halfway through their main course he stopped eating and watched her butcher her steak. When her mouth closed round the fork, her eyelids fluttered shut and she let out a little sigh of satisfaction. There was an air of primal sensuality about her. And for some reason he wasn’t feeling totally civilised himself at the moment, either. It was as if all the layers of varnish he’d carefully applied over the years were peeling away, leaving him feeling like the gawky teenager he’d once been. He should be scared of that feeling.

She looked up at him as she finished chewing her mouthful, her eyes questioning.

‘I didn’t realise six ounces of sirloin could be so riveting.’

Caught red-handed—or red-faced, to be exact.

He said the first thing that popped into his head. ‘I’m just surprised to see you demolishing it with such gusto. You look more of a beansprouts-and-tofu kind of girl to me.’ He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the long hair, the intricate earrings that dangled from her ears, or the skirt that swooshed when she crossed her legs.

She dropped her knife and fork and scowled at him.

‘I’ve had enough beansprouts to last me a lifetime, believe me! My parents were dedicated vegans until—’ Her breath caught for a second. ‘Never mind. Let’s just say my love of animal flesh is probably teenage rebellion that’s way past its sell-by date.’ She grinned. ‘Since I was fourteen I’ve been a true carnivore. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I’ve never met a bit of cow I didn’t like.’

She speared the next piece of steak and blood oozed out of it.

Jake shuddered, unable to tear his gaze away.

‘Aren’t you going to finish your swordfish?’

He picked up his cutlery and shoved something from his plate into his mouth. He didn’t taste what it was. He just had to remind himself to keep cutting and chewing until his plate was empty.

Serena eyed the dessert menu when her plate had been taken away. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘Not for me. I don’t really eat dessert. I think I’ll just have a coffee.’

‘Mmm. Perhaps I should too, but that chocolate concoction looks—’

Her mobile phone trilled.

‘Excuse me. I forgot to turn it off. I won’t be a second.’

‘No problem.’

He leaned back in his seat and took the opportunity to study her while her attention was elsewhere.

‘Hello? Oh, it’s you. I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of … No, don’t do that! Just stay put, will you? Yes, but … Look! Just give the phone to Benny … Let me talk to Benny. I’m not getting any sense out of you …’

She mouthed ‘sorry’ at him and her cheeks flushed an appealing shade of pink. He shrugged. It was nice to see he wasn’t the only one who could lose his cool.

‘Just keep him there, will you, Benny? I’ll be there as soon as I can … Yes … don’t worry … Just don’t let him punch anybody else …’

Jake’s ears pricked up.

She snapped her phone closed and exhaled long and hard.

‘I’m sorry, I need to go. It’s an emergency.’

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘No, I’ll be fine. I just need to get to Peckham as soon as possible.’

Peckham? Why on earth was a rich girl like her going there?

‘What for?’

‘I’ve got to find a pub called The Swan.

She stood up, skirted the table, and gave him an absent-minded kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks for lunch. I really enjoyed it.’

And before Jake could argue she’d rushed out through the door and onto the pavement.

He dug in his pockets for his credit card and paid as quickly as he could. By the smile on the waiter’s face, he guessed he’d left a ridiculously large tip. But he couldn’t be bothered to do the maths, so he’d just rounded it up to the nearest hundred.

He shoved the door open and almost bumped into Serena, who was standing on the kerb, waving her hands around.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m trying to find a taxi! One minute the whole street is teeming with them; the next minute there’s not one to be had for love nor money.’

He pulled her arm down and turned her to face him. Only then did he see the tremble in her lip, her pale face.

‘Hey.’ He slid his hand down her arm until he found her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’ll be okay.’

She sniffed. ‘I need to get to that pub as soon as I can, or there’s going to be a huge amount of trouble!’ She pulled away from him and ran to the kerb again as a black cab hurtled past. She looked as if she were about to sprint up the road after it when Jake reached for her again.

‘I’ll take you. My car’s round the corner. I know a way round the back-doubles that’ll cut out a lot of the traffic.’

Her eyes gleamed and threatened to overflow. ‘Would you really? You don’t know how grateful I am. But you’ve got to promise me something.’

‘What’s that?’

She grabbed both his shoulders in what, at that time, seemed like an overly dramatic gesture. ‘You can’t tell a soul about what happens when we get there. It’s vitally important.’

Her words haunted him as he turned his car towards the river and headed over Vauxhall Bridge. He left the main roads after passing The Oval, and wove through the back streets. The climbing numbers on the milometer matched his growing unease. He hadn’t been back this way for years, had promised himself he never would. He’d done everything humanly possible to claw his way off the high-rise council estate he’d grown up on.

What had she got herself mixed up in? Trouble in this neck of the woods normally meant something criminal. Although she looked unconventional, he hadn’t taken her for the kind of woman who courted real trouble. She lacked a certain brand of hardness he was all too familiar with.

But appearances could be deceptive. He’d learned that from his father—living proof that even the tastiest-looking apple could be maggoty at the core.

His eyes flicked over to Serena in the passenger seat. He’d only just met this woman. She could be anyone, involved in anything. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even know her last name.

However, his gut said he could trust her, and when he thought of her face when the black cab had sailed past, he knew it was right. Whatever she was involved in, it wasn’t drugs or dirty money. She really cared about the man—he presumed it was a man—they were racing to rescue.

A few minutes later he pulled up outside The Swan, or as close as he could get to it. A clampers’ lorry was just about to winch a car off the double yellow lines outside.

A metallic blue Porsche.

Blast! He’d forgotten all about the guy with the Porsche. What a prize doughnut he was! He’d raced halfway across London to bail her boyfriend out of trouble. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he imagined some T-shirted lout, who obviously didn’t look after Serena the way she deserved to be looked after.

Serena jumped out of the car and raced into the pub before he could undo his seat belt. Was she always this impetuous? Or was it just that the Porsche guy was so great she couldn’t wait another second to be with him?

His frown deepened and he pulled himself out of his car, straightened his tie, and followed her inside. The smell of stale smoke and beer hit his nostrils as he pushed the door open. This place was even more of a dive than it had been last time he’d been here—and that had to be a good ten years ago. The same torn, faded upholstery covered the stools and benches, only it was even more torn and faded than he remembered.

A couple of blokes with tattoos on their knuckles propped up the bar. He knew their sort. He couldn’t judge them, though. If he’d had a little less luck, made a few different choices, it could have been him standing there, whiling away his dole money on watered-down beer.

He turned his attention to the overturned table and broken glass in the far corner. Serena was leaning over a man sprawled on one of the upholstered benches. She paused every few seconds to discuss the situation with a burly man in a leather jacket. Only when Jake was a few feet away could he hear any of her hushed, staccato phrases.

‘What happened, Benny? How did you end up in this place?’

Benny, for all his height and width, hung his head like a naughty schoolboy enduring a scolding. ‘Mike said he wanted to visit some of the places he used to play when the band was just starting out. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It always does, Benny.’

‘Sorry, babe.’

She rolled her neck, as if she was trying to erase the kinks.

‘So what happened, exactly?’

‘Mike got to reminiscing with a couple of the locals. We were having a great time, buying everybody drinks and walking down memory lane, then some of the younger crowd got a bit mouthy and Mike flipped. He tried to thump one of them and tripped over a stool. They laughed, so he took another swing and hit the barman by accident.’

Benny shrugged. ‘His aim is terrible after a few pints. He only knocked a tray of empties out of his hands—didn’t hurt him.’

‘Well, thank goodness for that!’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Listen, Benny, you see if you can get him upright, and I’ll go and chat to the landlord. We need to get out of here before the press gets wind of it.’

The press? Jake thought. A pub brawl wasn’t even going to make page sixteen of the local paper, let alone the nationals. Surely she was overreacting?

She stepped back to go and talk to the man behind the bar, giving him his first good look at the Porsche-driving god she had come to rescue. He couldn’t have been more surprised. Mike wasn’t some hot-looking young stud with a washboard stomach—he was a bedraggled-looking fifty-something with a beer belly. What on earth did she see in him?

He looked back at Serena, who was talking earnestly to the landlord. Frowns were giving way to nods and half-smiles. She marched back over to them, a less serious look on her face.

‘He says he’s not going to press charges. I’ve offered to pay for any damage, and a little bit extra for compensation. He seems quite happy, but I still think we ought to leave before he thinks better of it. Hand over the cash, Benny, and I’ll sort this out right now.’

Benny handed her a wad of notes from his pocket.

Jake had the uncanny feeling this was not the first time she’d bailed the man out of trouble. It was almost as if she was on auto-pilot. Even so, she was marvellous. Nothing seemed to faze her.

Mike looked up at him. ‘All right, mate?’

He held out his hand. Jake ignored it. The guy didn’t seem to mind.

‘She’s great, isn’t she?’ he slurred, nodding his head towards Serena.

Jake resisted the urge to punch him.

‘Yes, she is. You’re very lucky she takes care of you like this.’

His head sagged. ‘I know. She’s the best daughter in the world.’

Daughter! Of course! He was so dense sometimes. He grinned to himself. Benny gave him an odd look, obviously wondering who the hell he was, and why he found the whole situation quite so funny.

Jake looked down at Serena’s father again. Maybe his first impressions had been a little harsh, but jumping to conclusions about people was an everyday hazard when you had a runaway imagination like his. Mel was always quick to remind him of this fault. She said he needed to slow down and look at the facts, not just let his imagination fill in the blanks. He hated it when Mel was right.

Apart from being a little the worse for wear, Mike looked okay. In fact, he reminded Jake of someone. His forehead creased as he tried to find a match for the face in his memory bank. Nope, couldn’t place it. It would come to him later. He was good with faces.

When they got outside, the clamping lorry was just disappearing round the corner with the Porsche strapped on board. All four of them stood and stared at the space where it had been parked.

‘So much for a quick getaway,’ mumbled Serena.

Jake was glad of the opportunity to be more than a spectator of the afternoon’s increasingly bizarre turn of events. ‘No problem. I can give you all a lift.’

Serena turned to look at him, as if she’d only just remembered he existed—a huge boost for the ego! Two hours ago he’d been having a rather nice lunch with the most fascinating woman he’d met in months, and now he’d been demoted to chauffeur and general onlooker. Oh, well, he might as well play the part.

‘How about I drop Benny off at the car pound? I’ll pay if you’re short after forking out for damages in there—’ he jerked his thumb in the direction of the pub ‘—and then we can get your dad home.’

She closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose. ‘You know he’s my dad?’ she asked, without opening her eyelids.

‘It came up.’

‘Fabulous.’

Why was she so upset? It was hardly a matter of national security.

He put his arm round her shoulder and drew her to him. ‘What do you say? Jump in the car and I’ll take you somewhere warm. Let me return the favour and be your knight in shining armour for a change.’

To his amazement, she turned her face up to his and kissed his cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and her hair smelled of lemons. When she moved away his cheek felt cold.

‘You’re a real gentleman, Charlie. Let’s get going before anyone spots us.’

Benny wrestled Mike and his unruly limbs into the back seat, where he lolled against the door. Jake had the feeling he would have slithered onto the floor without the seat belt to hold him up. Serena took the passenger seat while Benny babysat Mike in the back.

No one talked as they sped back towards central London. They could hardly make polite chit-chat after the sort of afternoon they’d had. Even if they tried small talk, once they got past, Isn’t it getting dark in the evenings now? or, Very mild for November, isn’t it? they’d have lapsed back into the bottomless silence.

Jake turned the radio on low, to muffle the sound of Mike’s snoring. He tuned it to an ‘oldies-but-goldies’ station. Nothing too offensive to anyone’s tastes, he hoped. The opening chords of a song he hadn’t heard for years drifted through the car. It reminded him of a summer on the housing estate when he and his mates had hung round the playground on their bikes. Before the see-saw had been vandalised. Before they’d started finding used syringes by the swings. He smiled and wondered what Martin and Keith were doing now.

Without warning, Mike burst from his coma and belted out the chorus of the song. He didn’t have a bad voice. Jake glanced back just in time to catch a virtuoso air guitar performance.

That was it! He’d known he’d get it eventually.

Serena’s dad looked like Michael Dove, the lead guitarist of Phoenix. This song had been one of their biggest sellers back in the late seventies. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not being able to place that face would have driven him mad all day.

He sneaked another look in the rear-view mirror. The resemblance was uncanny. This guy could make a good living as a look-alike, instead of getting wasted in dodgy south London pubs. Perhaps he should suggest it to Serena?

He looked again.

Yep, it was a great idea. Mike even had that same little scar on his lip …

‘Jake!’

The flat of her hand hit him hard on the shoulder. Instinctively, he stamped on the brake pedal, suddenly noticing the brake lights of the car in front were a little too close for comfort. He forgot to put his foot back on the accelerator and looked into the back seat.

‘You’re Michael Dove.’

Serena groaned. He looked across at her. The car behind tooted its horn.

‘You’re Michael Dove’s daughter.’

She looked back at him, her brows knit together.

‘I know. Funnily enough, I have been all my life.’

Great! He was going to go all starry-eyed on her. Just when she’d thought she’d found a possible candidate for Mr Serendipity Dove.

Men responded in very different ways to the news that her father was a rock legend, but the outcome was always the same. It was the kiss of death. Whether they pretended not to care, or decided to use the relationship to further their own careers, it changed things for ever.

She looked across at Jake. He was very quiet.

‘But I thought Michael Dove’s daughter was called something freaky, like Stardust or Moonbeam.’

A voice yelled from the back seat, ‘Moonbeam, my—’

‘Dad!’

‘But Mr Three-piece-suit here thinks your name is ridiculous.’

Jake shook his head. ‘There’s nothing ridiculous about being called Serena. I was just saying—’

Serena groaned again. Which was not good. It was a seriously unattractive noise, but she couldn’t stop herself. Earlier this afternoon she’d been a woman of mystery: exotic, alluring … Now Jake could find all the intimate details of her life just by picking up a tabloid newspaper.

‘Who’s Serena?’ her dad muttered.

Jake leant across the gap between their seats and whispered, ‘He must be in worse shape than he looks.’

I wish!

At least then her dad would pass out and save her from any further embarrassment. When she got home she was going to empty every bottle of spirits in their Chelsea townhouse down the kitchen sink. Including the one he kept in his guitar case he thought she didn’t know about. And the whisky that was hidden in a wellington boot beside the back door.

Her father continued to mumble from the rear of the car, more to himself than for the benefit of the other passengers.

‘Elaine named her … she was so thrilled—we thought we couldn’t have kids. Then fortune smiled on us …’

If there was an ejector seat in Jake’s BMW, she was praying fervently it would shoot her through the roof this very second.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Serendipity. It’s a beautiful name. Moonbeam. I ask you …’

Jake coughed. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard!’ she snapped.

There was a crinkle in his voice when he spoke next. She could tell he was holding back a snort of laughter, but, give him credit, he managed to arrest it by swallowing hard.

‘It seems you were a little economical with your name, Miss Dove.’

‘Yes, well, so were you, Charles!’

‘Let’s just call it quits and agree we are creatures of a similar nature.’

She allowed herself a small smile.

‘Maybe.’

She turned to look at her father. He was fast asleep, mouth hanging open, threatening to dribble on Benny’s shoulder if the car swung him in the right direction. Once again he was oblivious to the upheaval he’d created in her life. But it was hard to be cross with him. There was something so child-like about him. He didn’t mean to cause trouble; he just couldn’t help himself. It was as natural as breathing for him.

She closed her eyes and settled back into the comfy leather seat, letting the endless stopping and starting of the car journey lull her into a more relaxed frame of mind.

Later, after they’d bundled Dad into the house and up to his room, and Jake had made his excuses and left, she sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wondered if she’d ever see him again.

She thought perhaps not.