Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

“Well, I… That’s very kind. I’m not… well, I don’t like dance. Not too keen on Shakespeare…”

“Fine. Canterbury Tales then. The tickets are for Saturday week. Any good? And then we could have a meal afterwards.”

“I’m not… sure. I’ll have to check my rota. Can I… can I get back to you?”

“Of course.” She gave him her office number. He rang off sweating.

It was Francis who’d dared her to do it. She’d been telling him how the day had gone, how difficult Georgia had found it, how sweetly grateful Maeve had been, how much she thought they’d helped. And then threw in a little anecdote about Alex and how they’d had a spat over the phone and then made up in the car park.

“He turned out to be quite… quite sweet. Apparently he’s going through a hideous divorce, Georgia informed me. She got all the goss from Maeve Connell.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Well, I’d be on the wife’s side, I think. He’s clearly very arrogant. Sexy, though. Nice smile. Which, of course, isn’t enough to keep a marriage together. I should know.”

“Sexy, eh? Your type?”

“No, of course not. Well… maybe. Dark and brooding.”

“Maybe you should ask him out.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Francis.”

“Why is it so ridiculous? Or is this not the woman who sat and moaned through an entire evening that she was lonely and longed for a man?”

“Not very seriously.”

“I’d say pretty seriously. Actually.” There was a pause; then he said, “I dare you, Linda. To ask him out. What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity.”

“What’s so great about dignity? Doesn’t warm the other side of the bed. Go on. You ask him out; I’ll pay for everything when we go to Bilbao.”

“Really? First-class, five-star?”

“Yup. Promise.”

She was silent, considering this; then she said, “All right. You’re on. I’ll ask him. Is that all I have to do?”

“Well… and take him out if he says yes.”

“He won’t say yes.”

It was Amy who’d made him accept. Dared him to accept. He got home that night and found her watching Sex and the City instead of doing her homework, and switched the TV off. She glared at him.

“First Mum, now you.”

“Where is Mum?”

“She’s gone out with Larry.” She avoided his eyes. Both she and Adam adored both their parents, patently found the breakup painful. “He looked so ridiculous; he’s such a medallion man. They were going to some concert or other. Duran Duran. I mean, please. Good thing you don’t go out on dates, Dad.”

“And how do you know I don’t?”

“Well… you’re too old. For a start. I mean, much older than Mum.”

He was stung. “Not that much. Thanks, Amy. And actually, and just for your information, I was asked on a date today.”

“What? An actual date? Not some medical lecture?”

“An actual date.”

“By?”

“By some woman I met.”

“How long have you known her?”

“I don’t, really. We only met a few days ago.”

“Dad! Dad, that is… what’s her name? What’s she do?”

“Her name is Linda Martello. Something like that. And she’s a theatrical agent.”

“God! No kidding. Is she as old as you?”

“No. Not quite.”

“Good-looking?”

“Yes, I would say so.”

“And she’s asked you out?”

“Yes. To some play and then to dinner.”

“That is so cool. Are you going?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Well… because… because I don’t particularly like her. I’d have nothing to say to her.”

Amy sat studying him; then she said, “I dare you. I dare you to go out with her. She sounds really cool. And she could be a big help in my career on the stage. And it might be fun. Your life is so not fun. I really think you should.”

“Amy…”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell Miss Jackson. And she’ll tell the whole hospital.”

“You wouldn’t!”

She laughed. “No, probably I wouldn’t, but I do think you should go. I’d like you to. Go on, Dad; live dangerously.”

They met outside the theatre: arrived at exactly the same time, exactly fifteen minutes before curtain-up. Not a lot of time to talk, to run out of talk, the awkwardness kept at bay by the various rituals: drink, programmes, settling into seats.

Very good seats. Maybe it was going to be all right.

The musical was terrible; Linda said, as the curtain came down on the first act, that there was no reason they should stay.

“Honestly. I don’t mind. I’m not enjoying it, and if you’re not either, where’s the point?”

He agreed there was none and they went to the restaurant. She had booked it: Joe Allen, in Covent Garden. Alex, while appalled by the noise, did manage to absorb the fact that it offered the opposite of a romantic atmosphere, so at least she had spared him that. Their table wasn’t ready, as they were so early, so they sat at the bar. And tried to talk. It was difficult; they had very little in common, no knowledge of each other’s worlds. She told him one of her best friends was married to a surgeon; he told her his daughter wanted to be an actress. There was a silence. She apologised for the play; he said he hoped the management or whoever had given her the tickets wouldn’t notice their empty seats. There was another silence.

“So… how many actors and actresses do you have on your books, then?” he said.

“Actors. No such thing as actresses anymore. I mean, you don’t have doctoresses, do you?”

“No, indeed. So… how many actors?” He stressed the second syllable, sounding slightly derisive.

“About two hundred.”

“That sounds like quite a lot.”

“It is quite a lot.”

Another silence, a very long one. Then she suddenly said, “Look… this was probably a bad idea. This evening. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, not at all. Very nice idea.”

“Same as the play really. If you’d rather go, I won’t mind. I mean, there doesn’t seem a lot of point.”

He looked at her; she really was… what? Not pretty. Features too strong. Beautiful? No, not really. But… arresting. The amazing auburn hair, and the dark eyes. She had a wonderful figure: tall, slim, good bosom, fantastic legs. And very nice clothes. She was wearing a black dress, quite low-cut but not embarrassingly so, and a bright emerald green shawl. And emerald green shoes, with very high heels. It was a shame, really, that she was so… well, a bit harsh. Very direct, very opinionated. And he hadn’t liked being corrected over the actor business. Not charming.

She looked at him; he really was… what? Not handsome. Features too irregular. But… attractive. Sexy. The wild dark hair, the probing dark eyes. Surprisingly nice clothes: that dark navy jacket… really well cut, and the blue-on-white stripes of the shirt really suited him.

“Well… look,” he said, “it’s been very nice. Really, I’ve enjoyed meeting you. I appreciate your asking me out. But… well, I’m on call tomorrow. So maybe not dinner. If it’s all the same to you.”

“Absolutely,” she said.

She smiled at him, totally in control. She was a very cool customer. Much too cool for him. And hadn’t he sworn never to get involved again with someone who didn’t understand the medical profession? Not that he was going to get involved.

“Well… we’ve ordered this.” She gestured at the bottle of wine. “May as well finish it.”

“Good idea.”

She looked at him as he picked up his glass. What a disaster. Well. She’d done it. Never would again, though. Bloody Francis. What a thing to make her do. So not her.