Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

She bit her lip to suppress her smile. 'Oh no, I could put it into words, but it wouldn't be polite. After all, you are practically St Marcus of the Barge, fount of all knowledge and skill in that department.’

He chuckled with pleasure and Jo realised that probably not all that many people teased him. The men were all too in awe of his boat-handling skills and the women probably too keen to catch his attention. How wonderful that she was above all that! But her complacency was short-lived. 'I do assure you that I have other skills.’

His face was perfectly serious; there was no sign that he was teasing her but she knew that he was and couldn't, at that moment, respond. She gazed intently at a perfectly ordinary electric kettle that had found itself in an eclectic collection of old radios and wished for sanity.

A few weeks ago she'd have gone into town and out to dinner with a man she didn't know very well without difficulty. Of course she'd have been a bit shy at first, but she'd have chatted away until she found what his obsessions were and then been a good listener. After all, she was pretty grown up now, her social skills were honed from years of experience of getting people to feel happy and at ease. So it shouldn't be any different with him.

‘Where's this restaurant then?' she asked, planning to ask him all about himself the moment they got there. Then she would only have to nod and murmur for the rest of the evening. It would be a piece of cake.

The restaurant was in the old part of the town in one of the narrow, leaning, half-timbered buildings that Jo had so much admired. Outside was a bench with a mannequin dressed as an old lady seated on it. Its name translated as 'Granny's Kitchen', Marcus told her. They went in.

One of the many joys of Holland was that everyone spoke English, thought Jo, ashamed of her inability to say even the simplest sentence in Dutch. They were ushered into the dining area by a beautiful young woman wearing tight jeans and a tiny apron. A little part of Jo sighed with envy.

They were given menus and looked at them. 'It's rather like Sudoku, isn't it?' said Jo. 'Trying to work out what everything is. Of course that lovely girl will tell us, but it's quite fun trying to see if anything makes sense.'

‘I think the puddings are easier than the main courses,' said Marcus after a bit. 'It helps that I happen to know that Dame Blanche is what they call ice cream and hot chocolate sauce here.’

Jo read the description. 'Oh yes, you can work it out, especially if you know what it is already.' She looked up at him, smiling. 'What's slag, do you suppose?'

‘Whipped cream.’

Jo sighed. 'I know it's awfully bad for you but I love cream with ice cream, the way it hardens as it hits the cold. One of those puddings that people say are better than sex.' Whoops! She'd dropped her guard for a moment and said something silly again. She tried to retreat. 'Mind you, I do hate that expression, don't you? I mean, you might really prefer a chocolate bar or something at four o'clock in the afternoon, but a few hours later – well, I wouldn't want chocolate.' Colour flooded over her like the sea flooding the Netherlands, in an unstoppable wave. If she didn't know perfectly well what had caused it she would have thought it really was a hot flush this time.

‘I'm very glad to hear it.’

A sort of croak emerged from Jo and she reached for her water.

‘Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I've embarrassed you,' he said.

She drained the glass.

‘It would have helped if you hadn't brought up the subject of sex in the first place, so you do have to take your share of responsibility.’

She swallowed and pulled herself together. 'I didn't, really. I was talking about pudding.'

‘Once the word has been tossed into the arena, so to speak, it's quite hard to take it out again.’

She sighed. 'So I've just discovered.’

He raised an eyebrow and then looked down at his menu again without saying anything.

An internal warmth flickered somewhere within Jo's solar plexus. Her radar with regard to men was rusty – she was very dumb when it came to realising when she was being courted but even she felt that there might be something behind his flirtation.

He looked up and stared into her eyes for long seconds before he said, 'What would you like to eat?’

A laugh rippled inside her, revealing itself only slightly. She studied the menu once again.

The proprietress appeared. 'Hi, guys,' the girl said in charmingly accented English. 'Have you decided? Shall I talk you through the menu? Or can I tell you about our special tonight? Fresh Dutch asparagus with ham and eggs. Very traditional.'

‘It sounds wonderful,' said Jo, very relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands.

‘I'll have the same,' said Marcus, 'and could we have a wine list?’

Alcohol, that was what she needed – Dutch courage, obviously. Her private pun amused her and she relaxed enough to look around her. The room was arranged as a facsimile of an old Dutch kitchen. There was a shelf with cookery books, an old wireless, a coffee grinder and a grater on it. On another wall pictures were painted directly on to it, and everywhere were simple, household objects that were decorative and amusing. Above the stairs to the upper room was a rack of very authentic-looking underwear.

Unexpectedly, Jo didn't feel obliged to make conver sation. She just sat, wondering if she'd misread the messages he seemed to be sending. Could he really be trying to get off with her? She hoped the wine would come quickly when it had been ordered.

Marcus produced his reading glasses to examine the list when it arrived. Jo, who had hardly dared even glance at him in the last few minutes, couldn't help observing that she always found men in glasses very attractive. Karen did too, and they had discussed this phenomenon. Her daughter, now that was a good occupation for her brain -Karen could keep her out of trouble even without being there.

The owner came back and Marcus murmured to her. 'I've ordered a nice bottle of Rioja,' he said. 'I think we need something sustaining.’

While most of Jo agreed she definitely needed sustain ing, part of her panicked – why did he need sustenance? Just let go, Jo, she ordered herself, just put his foolish words out of your head, you're likely to be misinterpreting them anyway. He was probably just trying to put her at her ease.

Marcus went through the process of trying the wine. Not too pretentiously, Jo was glad to note, considering how snooty he was about her wine. Remembering this old grudge gave her a little backbone and she dared to glance up at him when he raised his glass.

‘What shall we drink to?' he asked.

‘Oh, to absent friends and to arriving safely – and getting back safely too.' That was an easy one. The wine was soft and delicious. Maybe there was something in all that wine nonsense after all, she thought.

‘And to you, for being you.' Marcus didn't take his eyes off her while he drank. Jo wished she dared take off her cardigan but she had never liked her upper arms.

She fitted her glass in among the cutlery and plates on the table with care.

‘Joanna,' Marcus sounded serious. 'I think I may have frightened you earlier.'

‘Mm. Well, a bit, I suppose,' she mumbled.

‘You have no idea of how I feel about you, have you?’

‘No! I mean, if you don't just see me as an old friend you've crossed the sea with.’

He took a deep breath. 'I really don't see you as that. Apart from the crossing-the-sea part.'

‘So…?' She was very tentative.

He swallowed, rearranged his cutlery, scratched his nose and said, 'Actually, I think I fell for you when I first met you, in that pub, all those years ago. You were already with Philip.'