Lynne Pemberton - Platinum Coast

‘You’ll have to excuse me.’ She stood up. ‘I’m sorry. Something must have gone down the wrong way.’

Stephen stood up, concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ Her face was scarlet and two spots of Marie Rose sauce stained the collar of her dress.

‘I’m fine, really. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

She rushed into the ladies’ room and began rubbing the unsightly stains off her dress, talking to herself in the mirror. ‘You idiot! Why did you order something you didn’t know? You’ve made a fool of yourself now.’

She returned a few minutes later, quite composed, and noticed the way Stephen rose from his seat as she sat down. Christina had never before been out with anyone who had such impeccable manners.

‘Okay now.’

He looked concerned. Her avocado had disappeared and in its place was a tiny crystal glass containing something white and frozen.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s lemon sorbet to refresh your palate. I can get the avocado back if you like?’

‘No thanks,’ she said quickly, and took a mouthful of the cool, refreshing sorbet. ‘Mmm, delicious.’ She paused and then looked across the table at Stephen. She could read nothing in his expression.

‘I have a confession to make,’ Christina said, and took another scoop of her sorbet.

Stephen took a sip of champagne and looked at her over the rim of his glass.

‘You hate avocado?’ he said, and chuckled as she blushed.

‘How did you guess?’

‘Not difficult if you’d seen the expression on your face when you took the first mouthful!’

‘To tell the truth I’ve never heard of it until tonight, and I don’t think I’ll be having it again in a hurry.’

‘It’s an acquired taste,’ Stephen said, and lifted his champagne glass. ‘Like good wine.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ Christina raised her own glass and touched his.

‘To acquired taste,’ she said.

‘And to the money to acquire it,’ he replied.

The Steak Diane and Sole Bonne Femme were perfection, as were the Chablis Grand Cru and the Belgian truffles and liqueurs served after dinner, Christina having declared herself too full for anything else.

‘I think they’d like us to go, don’t you?’ she whispered to Stephen after her second Cointreau.

They were the only people remaining in the restaurant apart from two waiters hovering conspicuously behind their table. It was after twelve when Stephen paid the bill and they left.

‘Be careful.’ He grabbed her arm and saved her from falling as she tripped on a deep step at the front door.

She giggled. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had a little too much to drink.’

‘I think we both have, but my capacity is probably larger than yours, that’s all.’

He opened the passenger door for her and she slipped into the seat. Her skirt rode up to her knees and he stared at her long, slim legs for a moment before slamming the door. He walked round the car and eased himself into the driving-seat.

‘So tell me about yourself? I know so little about you. We seem to have spent the entire evening talking about me and my business.’

‘There isn’t much to tell, really. I was born in County Cork in Ireland and came to live in England at eighteen months old. We lived in several different parts of the country. My father was, as my mother put it, a dreamer, always chasing rainbows.’ Christina stopped speaking and Stephen glanced at her.

‘What is it?’

‘I lost my father two years ago – I was only seventeen. It was a bitter blow. I adored him, you see. I know now he was a hopeless romantic who found his dreams in the bottom of too many whisky bottles, but he was everything to me. After he died I was unable to concentrate. I flunked my exams. My mother went back to Ireland to be close to her sister and her three squabbling offspring, and I stayed on in Manchester and started work for Kate Mason. I accepted a job a week ago to open the Westside Shopping Mall, and now here we are.’

Christina’s voice was light, but with a sidelong glance he saw how sad she looked. He had a strong urge to stop the car and take her in his arms. They travelled on in silence for a few minutes before she said, ‘And what about you? You’ve talked about your office blocks and the shopping centres and car parks you build, the interesting places you go to and people you meet, but what about your real life? Age, where you live …’ She paused. ‘And who with.’

Christina looked at Stephen, but his face was a mask of concentration. It had begun to rain, and he was driving carefully on the narrow country lanes.

‘I’m thirty-four, born in the north-east, left in my early twenties to seek fame and fortune in the south. My father’s dead. My mother and half-brother still live in South Shields. I work too hard, don’t play hard enough. I have a country house in Sussex and a central-London flat. No steady girlfriends. That’s about it, really; not a lot to tell.’

She sensed he did not want to open up any further to her.

‘Just answer one question – are you married?’

‘I was, but she died.’

Christina looked straight ahead. ‘I’m sorry.’ Trust her to open her big mouth and put her foot in it!

‘I have had a wonderful evening; I can’t thank you enough,’ Christina said as Stephen pulled the car up in front of the little terraced house.

He turned off the ignition.

‘The feeling is entirely mutual. I’d love to do it again sometime.’

She was about to invite him in for coffee when he jumped out of the car and ran around to the passenger door to help her alight. She decided not to do as he probably expected.

‘You’ve got my number; call me next time you’re in town.’

‘Goodnight, Christina.’ He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek. She turned her face towards his and returned the kiss, lightly brushing his lips with her own.

‘Goodnight, Stephen, and thanks again for a memorable evening.’ She paused for a moment before saying, ‘If I never see you again, at least I can tell everyone I’ve been to the Legh Arms and drank Dom Perignon.’ She started to walk away.

‘You will be seeing me again, Christina, I promise,’ he said softly in the deserted street.

The following morning Christina awoke with a splitting headache. She staggered to the bathroom, almost bumping into her flatmate coming out.

Susie looked at Christina’s pale face and narrowed eyes. ‘You don’t look too good this morning. Good night, was it?’

Christina groaned, holding her head in both hands.

‘Too good. Do you have any aspirin?’

‘Hang on a tick, I’ll get you a couple. Go back to bed and I’ll bring them to you. It’s only seven o’clock.’

‘Thanks, Sue, you’re a pal.’

Christina shuffled back into her bed. The thundering in her temples increased as she lay down.

Susie appeared a few minutes later with two paracetamol, a large glass of water, and a cup of weak tea. ‘Come on, sit up. This will put you right.’

Christina did as she was told and threw the tablets down her throat, swallowing them with two deep gulps of water.

Susie propped three pillows behind Christina’s head and handed her the mug of tea.

‘So how was it?’

She couldn’t wait for Christina’s head to ease; she had to know now. ‘Where did you go?’

‘The Legh Arms,’ Christina mumbled over the top of the mug.

‘You jammy thing!’ Susie sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide and excited.

‘Nick would have to sell his old MGB to afford to wine and dine me in the Legh Arms.’ Her voice was resigned. ‘So when are you going to see him again?’

Christina shrugged her shoulders and downed the last drop of tea.

‘He said he would call me.’