Catherine George - Sarah's Secret

After an even busier day than usual Sarah was glad to escape at last, and, hoisting her bulging briefcase, set off through the crowds thronging the pavements in the afternoon sunshine. Sarah rarely took the car into work in summer, relying on her walk to and from the town centre for her daily quota of exercise. She was hurrying for home, her thoughts on tea in the garden, when a car stopped a little way ahead and a familiar male figure leaned out, formal in a dark suit.

‘Hello, there. Can I give you a lift?’ Jake Hogan asked, smiling.

Oh, yes, please, thought Sarah, and returned the smile warmly as he reached over to open the passenger door for her. ‘How nice of you. Though I shouldn’t, really.’

‘You don’t accept lifts from strange men?’

‘Never!’ Her eyes danced. ‘Though I really meant that the walk is my daily gesture at keeping fit.’

He cast a comprehensive glance at her as they left the busiest part of town behind. ‘It won’t affect you much to skip it for once. You were hurrying,’ he added. ‘Do you need to get home urgently?’

‘Only for tea in the garden.’

‘Pleasant prospect,’ he sighed. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting.’

‘In this neighbourhood?’ she said, surprised.

‘No, not really.’ When he pulled up in Campden Road he switched off the ignition and turned to give her the smile she’d been thinking of rather a lot since the previous Saturday. ‘Actually, my meeting’s in town. But I spotted you hurrying down the street, so I did a quick U-turn to drive you home.’

Sarah felt a rush of secret pleasure. ‘I might not have been going home,’ she pointed out.

‘In which case I would have driven you wherever you wanted to go.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Or you could have refused politely and waved me on before I got nicked for kerb-crawling.’

Sarah laughed. ‘I was very grateful for the ride. And now I’ll let you get to your meeting,’ she added, undoing the seatbelt.

‘Don’t go for a moment, Sarah,’ he said quickly, and fixed her with the familiar straight blue look. ‘I’m glad we met again, because this is the type of question I couldn’t ask over the phone. You’re not obliged to answer, of course, but there’s something I’d like to know.’

Sarah eyed him warily. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s personal,’ he warned.

‘Go on.’

‘Does your little girl’s father share your life?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He never has.’

His eyes lit with gratifying relief. ‘In that case, Sarah Tracy, will you have dinner with me?’

Oh, yes, please, she thought, for the second time in minutes, then gave him an equally straight look. ‘If you’ll answer a personal question yourself.’

‘As many as you like.’

‘Just one. Are you married?’

He shook his head, laughing. ‘No, Sarah, I’m not. So say yes.’

‘Yes, then,’ she said, and smiled. ‘When did you have in mind?’

‘Tonight?’

Sarah stared at him, surprised, and for a moment considered saying she had other plans, just to sound less eager. But only for a split second. ‘Yes. Tonight would be fine.’

‘Good. I’ll call for you at eight.’

Sarah waved as he drove off, then went indoors to find her grandmother coming downstairs, frowning.

‘I saw you getting out of a strange car, Sarah. Who brought you home?’

‘Jake Hogan.’ Sarah looked her grandmother in the eye. ‘He asked me out to dinner tonight.’

Margaret’s face hardened. ‘Are you going? You hardly know the man.’

‘I’m going out for a meal, Grandma, not a dirty weekend.’

‘Don’t be coarse!’ Margaret turned to go back upstairs, but Sarah called after her.

‘By the way, I had an invitation to Nick Morrell’s wedding this morning.’

‘Really? If it’s when I’m away in Italy I won’t be able to look after Davy for you,’ was the instant response.

‘Actually it’s mid-week, when she’s in school,’ said Sarah, swallowing the angry retort she longed to make. ‘I must go. I’ve got homework to do before I’m free to enjoy myself,’ she added deliberately, and gained the hollow victory of knowing her arrow had found its target, by the look on Margaret Parker’s face.

But Sarah refused to let the incident affect her buoyant mood as she hurried off to deal with the contents of her briefcase. She could sit in the garden tomorrow. Tonight she was dining out with Jake Hogan.

Work done in record time, Sarah went off to shower in the small bathroom lined with Jake Hogan’s Pentiles. After a prolonged session with a hotbrush and all the cosmetic aids at her disposal, she dressed, and, as a gesture of conciliation, went up to her grandmother’s sitting room to say she was about to leave. ‘Will I do?’

Margaret eyed the linen trousers and amber sleeveless top with surprise. ‘You wear that to work.’

‘I’m keeping the new dress for Nick’s wedding.’

‘So you’re definitely going, then?’

‘Of course I am. You know I’m fond of Nick. I booked a room this morning. Anyway, I haven’t a clue where I’m being taken tonight so I thought this rig would do for most places.’ She looked her grandmother in the eye. ‘And in case you’re worried about the expanse of bare flesh I shall wear my jacket all evening even if I fry.’

Although Margaret Parker had been too offended by Sarah’s parting shot to wish her a good time, from the moment Sarah opened the door to Jake Hogan she knew the evening would be a success. His fawn linen jacket was creased just enough to look good, and his smile filled her with an anticipation she had never felt before sharing a meal with Brian.

‘You look wonderful, Sarah,’ Jake informed her.

So did he, but she kept that to herself in case he took it as a come-on. ‘Thank you.’

‘In this heat I thought you might like a meal in a pub garden tonight,’ he said, handing her into his car. ‘But if not we could eat at that place near the Pump Rooms in town.’

‘I’ve been there just recently,’ she said quickly. For the farewell meal with Brian. ‘Eating al fresco sounds wonderful.’

And it was. Jake drove her deep into the Gloucestershire countryside to the Trout Inn, a pretty, unpretentious pub with a stream actually flowing through the garden.

‘This is so lovely,’ said Sarah, looking round her with pleasure as he led her to the table he’d reserved. ‘You knew how I’d choose, then.’

He gave her an outrageously smug smile. ‘I booked at the other restaurant, too. I’m a belt and braces kind of guy.’

She laughed. ‘What happens when you don’t turn up there?’

‘I told them to free the table if we hadn’t made it by eight-thirty.’ He shrugged. ‘They were happy. I’m a good customer.’

‘You dine there a lot?’ she asked, picturing a succession of glamorous companions.

‘Lunch mainly, with clients.’

Sarah sat back in her chair while Jake went off to get drinks, putting on mental brakes. She’d only just met the man. Who Jake Hogan entertained to lunch, dinner or breakfast—especially breakfast—was none of her business. Nevertheless, she liked the idea of business clients better than other women. She grinned at her own absurdity, the smile still in her eyes when Jake came back with drinks and a menu.

‘You look happy. I’m glad you like it here.’

‘It’s the kind of place Davy would love, too,’ she said, deliberately bringing her child into the conversation.

Jake gave her a questioning look over his glass of beer. ‘Did you have to pay someone to stay with her this evening?’

Well done, thought Sarah. Some men changed the subject the moment she mentioned Davy. ‘No. She’s a weekly boarder at Roedale.’