Carla Burgess - Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

‘If I tell Anthony I met him, do you think he’d take me for dinner, too?’ Bobbi asked.

I laughed. ‘You could give it a try. He’s a bit old for you, though.’

‘Oh yeah, he’s way too old for me. What is he, like, forty or something?’

‘He’s thirty-five, I think.’

‘He’s not too old for you then?’

‘No, but I’m part of the investigation, depressingly enough, so even if we wanted to be together, which we don’t,’ I lied, ‘we couldn’t anyway.’

Bobbi looked at me in surprise. ‘But you do want to be with him, don’t you?’

I thought about last night’s kiss and tried to remember my reasons for not wanting to be with him. I’d give myself a stern talking to last night, after he left. He’d already mislead to gain information about Patrick and I needed to protect myself. ‘Not since I found out he lied to me.’

‘He didn’t really lie, did he? He told you he was a detective.’

‘Yes, but he left out the bit about how he was investigating my ex-boyfriend and then proceeded to ask me questions about him.’

‘That’s quite clever, though, isn’t it? Because then he’d be able to gauge how you felt about the police and if you had any idea Patrick was up to no good.’

I shot her a look. ‘I don’t think it’s strictly ethical, though.’

‘Well, no, but I really like him,’ Bobbi said, cheerfully. ‘Not just because he’s handsome, but he has a nice aura about him.’

‘Aura? What are you talking about?’

‘You know, the feel you get off him. He’s just so pleasant and nicely spoken. He seems like a real gentleman.’ She leaned on the counter, and looked at me appraisingly. ‘You’d look good together.’

‘Oh yes? Why’s that then?’

‘You’re both so old-fashioned.’

‘Old-fashioned? This is retro, darling. Vintage. It’s not old-fashioned,’ I said, indicating my 1940s-style swing dress. It was one of my favourites, blue with cream birds. I’d worn it to try and cheer myself up. ‘And he’s not exactly old-fashioned. That suit’s probably handmade from some tailor in Savile Row.’

‘No, but he’s got an old-fashioned charm about him. He’s so polite and well-mannered. Not like most men you meet today. Most men are like “Get your tits out, darlin’”, but I bet he’d be like “I wonder if you might possibly consider showing me your breasts?”’

‘Bobbi!’ I squeaked, starting to laugh. ‘What kind of men do you know? Besides, it’s probably his work persona. I was thinking before that’s probably how he gets people to confess. Charms it out of them.’

‘I’m sure he likes you, though,’ Bobbi said. ‘You can tell by the way he looks at you. He’s got a right twinkle in his eye.’

‘He has not.’ I touched my lips where he’d kissed me last night. ‘Besides, you only saw him yesterday before he dragged me off to the police station, and he looked guilty and uncomfortable.’

‘He hardly dragged you off, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘He looked shifty.’ I drew in a breath and let it out as a sigh. ‘I’m so fed-up today. I could scream. Why can’t I find a nice, uncomplicated man?’

‘You’ve been out with nice, uncomplicated men in the past,’ Bobbi pointed out. ‘But then you got bored.’

‘How about a nice, uncomplicated man who’s not boring then?’

‘Maybe Anthony is boring.’

‘Yes, I bet he is,’ I said savagely. ‘I bet he’s really bad in bed, too.’

‘Bound to be.’ Bobbi nodded in agreement and then gave me a sideways glance that said she didn’t believe a word of it. I didn’t either. My thoughts returned to the kiss in the bar and I sighed longingly before trying to conceal it by turning it into a yawn. I was really tired today. After Anthony had left last night, I’d spent the rest of the evening going through my calendar and trying to pinpoint the dates of the weekends I’d spent with Patrick. I’d found the tickets I’d mentioned at the police station in a hat box in my wardrobe among dried rose petals the colour of old blood. I’d tipped them out, disgusted with myself for keeping them, but kept the box because it had the address of a Parisian florist on the bottom. Patrick had sent me a few bouquets by mail from this particular florist so it was possible he held an account with them. If so, Anthony might be able to trace him through that. It was better than nothing, anyway.

I still wasn’t sure why I’d kept all this stuff after we’d broken up; it wasn’t what I usually did. But then Patrick was the first man I’d truly cared about. He seemed so sophisticated and mature compared with the other boys I’d been out with in the past. Patrick was different. He was older and already a successful businessman. I suppose I was a bit in awe of him. He had a big personality and took charge of every situation. He knew about food and wine and wore expensive suits and Rolex watches. Elena had gone mad at me when I’d told her this, ranting on about how superficial it all was and how I should be judging him on how much time he spent with me. I was so mad I didn’t speak to her for a week. Not that she noticed, of course; she was too loved-up with Daniel to realise. But I could never stay mad with her for long, and she’d forgiven me for being suspicious about Daniel when she first got together with him. It was hard to believe now that I’d ever thought he was using her. How wrong could I have been? Still, I was happy to be proven wrong where Elena was concerned.

I wasn’t so happy to be proven wrong about Patrick, though. But when I sat and thought about it, I couldn’t think of anything that meant he couldn’t be a criminal. The only thing I could think of was that I couldn’t possibly have dated a criminal. I didn’t do that sort of thing. I’d never been attracted to that whole ‘bad boy’ persona thing girls went for. I liked men who were good and smart and clean-living. Patrick had seemed to be all of those things.

The hat box and receipts were in the back of my car now, waiting for Anthony to stop by and collect them. He hadn’t said he would, but I thought it was likely. As a result, I spent the rest of the day watching out of the window for him and jumping every time a customer came into the shop. It made me cross that I wanted to see him again so badly, and it made me even crosser when closing time arrived and he hadn’t made an appearance at all. Bobbi went home and I locked up the shop before going out into the courtyard to drive home. The rain beat down on my head as I crossed to my car, soaking my hair and the shoulders of my coat. Anthony’s car glistened wetly next to mine, and I turned and glanced up at the doorway to his flat. The light was on in his hallway, so presumably he was in. I paused for a second, debating whether I should knock or not, before taking the hat box from the back of my car and going up the stone steps to his front door.

There was no answer at first and I was just starting to make my way back down the steps, thinking he wasn’t home, when the door opened and Anthony appeared, framed in the light of his hallway.

‘Oh! It’s you!’

He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and his shirt collar was open. I stared at him for a moment too long before remembering what I was there to do. Trotting back up the steps, I thrust the box at him and wiped some rainwater out of my eyes.

‘I’ve made the list and there are some receipts and things in there that might help. Also, there’s an address for the florist he used at the bottom of this box and I’m wondering if he had an account. I doubt it will help but you never know.’

My heart was hammering as I turned away to walk back down the steps. Those glasses were just too cute.

‘Don’t go, Rachel. Come in.’