CATHERINE GEORGE - An Italian Engagement

Max gave a sudden yawn and, apologising, took out his phone. ‘I’d better ring Dad and say I’m on my way.’ He got to his feet. ‘What time do you get home in the evening?’

‘Whenever I finish for the day—usually fairly late.’

‘Have you anything planned for tomorrow night?’

‘No.’

‘Will you be home by eight?’

‘I could be,’ she said with caution.

‘Then I’ll be here at eight-fifteen to take you out somewhere. What do you say?’ he added, smiling at her.

Abby didn’t hesitate. ‘I say, yes please. Only I’ll probably be too tired to go out. Would you mind eating here instead?’

‘Not if that’s what you prefer,’ he assured her. ‘Tell me which type of cuisine you like and I’ll bring dinner with me.’

‘No need. I’ll visit my favourite deli in my lunch-hour.’

‘Not a chance. You’re working. If that’s your choice I’ll find a deli myself somewhere.’ Max put a finger under her chin. ‘Go to bed and get some sleep.’

‘Yes, sir!’

He grinned and kissed her briefly, then released her to pick up his jacket. ‘Goodnight, Abby. Sweet dreams.’

* * *

In her bedroom later, Abby chuckled as she looked in the mirror. No make-up, hair left to its own devices to dry, and a towelling dressing gown long past its prime. And she’d been worried that Max intended to stay the night! It was a wonder he’d even stayed for coffee. But he wanted to see her again tomorrow, she thought with satisfaction, so maybe it was the beauty of her mind that attracted him.

* * *

Abby spent next day in a hectic round of checking up on hotel bookings and the dressing rooms at the concert venue, but when she got back to base she told Simon she needed to get home a bit earlier for once.

‘Hot date?’ he asked indulgently. ‘Dash off, then. Have fun.’

Abby smiled to herself as she travelled home. The kind of evening she was looking forward to would probably sound nothing like fun to friends who led a more hectic social life than hers. She’d enjoyed the parties and rowdy pub evenings of her student days with a crowd of both sexes, including the summer balls. Since living in London she’d been out now and again with men she’d met in the course of her job, but she enjoyed evenings out with girlfriends just as much, sometimes more. With Max Wingate it was the prospect of a peaceful night in that sent her running along the street of tall old houses in Bayswater. She unlocked the outer door in the pillared portico and raced down the stairs to her flat, fumbling with her key in her eagerness to get in.

She shed her clothes in a tearing hurry to get in the shower, laughing at herself as she turned on the spray. Rachel went wild with excitement in these situations, not Abigail Green. But for once Abby knew how she felt. And it felt good. By eight she was ready, in slouchy gold velvet trousers and a thin black sweater, humming as she did a last-minute tidy-up in the flat. She grabbed the receiver when the doorbell rang at exactly eight-fifteen, breathless as she answered it.

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