Confessions of a Serial Dater (18 page)

“Promise.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you or
ruin Flora’s wedding,” she says, and I’m immediately guilty for not trusting her. Of course she wouldn’t. “Actually, I’m impressed you had the balls. What was it like—remind me again?”

“I’ll just go and grab Clarke, shall I?” I say, determined to change the subject. I feel terrible. What would she say if only she knew I’d slept with him?

“But who did you kiss?” Jess asks, and then her eyes widen. “Not Dr. Foot Fetish?”

“No one,” I say brightly. “No one. And they didn’t kiss me, either. It’s not important,” I stress and head off to find my rent-a-man.

I really shouldn’t call him that, even in my thoughts, because everyone thinks he’s my super new boyfriend.

I feel a bit guilty deceiving everyone, but it would be even more embarrassing to admit that in my quest for a date I went to an escort agency. No, I didn’t advertise myself, because then Charlie would have known, and his mouth is larger than the Atlantic at times.

Clarke and I will simply become incompatible. In a couple of weeks’ time, he’ll disappear from my life and they’ll forget about him.

“You must get all kinds of cases,” Grace is saying to him as I approach.

“Well it’s rather like Philip, here,” Clarke tells them both. “Philip saves their immortal souls, and I save their mortal bacon.”

“I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” Philip tells him, as Grace smiles even more brightly at Clarke.

“Darling, there you are,” I say breezily as I join them. “They’re calling us to dinner.”

“Oh, good,” Granny Elsie cackles. “The Savoy does lovely food—this is going to be great.”

“I hope I’m sitting with you, Rosie,” Mum says, frowning.
“Only with all these strange people around, I want to sit with someone I know.”

“You’re with Gran at table three,” I tell her, crossing my fingers, because I don’t know any of the people who are actually sitting at her table.

“Lovely,” Granny Elsie, resplendent in fuchsia polyester dress and matching hat, jumps in immediately. “We’ll be fine together, won’t we, love?” she says to Mum. “Just you and me.”

“It’s only for the meal,” I tell her. “As soon as it’s over, people will get up and mill about, then I’ll be able to come over and sit with you,” I soothe her, because this is Flora’s day and I don’t want any panics from Mum to upset it.

“I bet you’ll have a lot of fun, Mrs. M.” Clarke flashes her his kind smile. “In fact, we’ll escort you there before we take our own places, won’t we, Rosie?”

“For goodness’ sake, you’re all treating me like some kind of invalid. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m not a child, you know,” Mum says, rather indignantly.

And after we’ve settled them, and we head to our own table, I feel like Daniel walking into the lion’s den.

“You must be Clarke,” Elaine singsongs in her little-girl voice, smiling coyly at him as we arrive at the table.

I can’t imagine why I thought Elaine’s pregnancy had changed her malicious streak. Because I know that I have her, specifically, to thank for this seating plan from hell.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Auntie Sandra, I can’t imagine why Rosie’s been hiding you away from us,” she burbles, and I can’t help it. I’m filled with nervous dread.

At this point, it would just be my luck if Elaine discovered
that Clarke and I have a financial arrangement rather than a romantic one and publicly announced it.

“I’m Rosie’s cousin, Elaine. Do sit here, Clarke.” She pats the empty chair next to her. At least there is no danger of Elaine stealing Clarke away from me, I think, smiling cynically at her flirting.

The table is arranged boy/girl, boy/girl, and so my designated place is opposite Luke, whom I am trying very hard not to look at, because I’m going to pretend that he’s not there, even though his proximity is having a very undesirable effect on my breathing.

Also, I am to sit next to Jonathan. Which is good, because Jonathan is the least of the three evils, as far as I’m concerned.

“Rosie, you sit next to Jonathan.” Elaine states the obvious as she continues to hold court. And then, “Of course, Rosie knows practically everyone here, don’t you, darling?” she adds, and I know that she’s going to somehow embarrass me.

“Except me, I think,” Rowan smiles and holds her hand out to me across the table. “I’m Rowan Smythe-Lawrence,” she adds warmly, and I take her hand. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” she tells me sincerely, and I’m puzzled.

“Rosie Mayford,” I smile a bit hesitantly, not daring to look at Luke. “And this is Clarke Bradley.” I search her features for some sign of an ulterior you-bitch-you-slept-with-my-husband motive, but don’t find it.

“Hi everyone, glad to have your company today,” Clarke says very agreeably as the rest of the table introduces themselves. Harry scowls at me a bit sourly from his position between Rowan and Elaine, and I smile sweetly at him, glad that I have (a) a handsome escort, and (b) taken to ignoring both him and his phone calls at every opportunity.

“Actually, it’s rather funny, but Harry and Jonathan are
both Rosie’s exes.” Elaine—as we know, not one for being out of the limelight—announces to the table at large, and laughs her tinkly laugh. “But it’s all water under the bridge, now, isn’t it?” she tinkles again, then stops, placing a hand to her throat. “Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your new man, Rosie.”

“You didn’t,” I say, smiling sweetly, but seething. Now I could say something really awful, like “Yes, but we both had Harry, didn’t we, you mean bitch for stealing him on my birthday?” But I don’t. Instead, I grab a bread roll and start stuffing bits into my mouth.

Why on earth this woman feels the need to belittle her family is beyond me. Actually, I do. Elaine, as we all know, is a nasty piece of work who has few friends because they all find out that she is a nasty piece of work at some point in the relationship and then drop her. How could I have believed that she’d changed?

Also, I think she hates it that I have such a great circle of old and new friends who love me. She also hates it that Flora, Philip and I get along so well with each other, and not her, and feels left out. But if only she were nice to people, she’d get on a lot better in this world, I think, feeling sorry for her, because it must be lonely being her, mustn’t it? But I don’t feel that sorry for her, because of the tortuous seating plan.

“Rosie and I don’t worry about each other’s past histories,” Clarke adds loyally. “I mean this in the nicest way,” he nods to Jonathan and Harry. “But I’m very fortunate that you’re her exes rather than her currents, or I wouldn’t be here with her.” Which is not actually a lie but is a very limited version of the truth.

Apart from the fact that I am totally ignoring him, I am acutely aware of the fact that Luke now must think that I have slept with every single man at this table. Not that I care…

“Very wise,” Rowan tells him. And then, “Rosie, I under
stand you run an alternative kind of employment agency in Notting Hill.”

She does? “Yes,” I say, my heart pounding at double speed as I wait for the other shoe to drop. How does she know that? From Luke? Surely I don’t deserve another public humiliation? God, I hope he didn’t confess all to her. Not that I like deceiving her, but God, I hope he didn’t tell her.

“Ned and Flora told me all about how you’d found an untapped niche in the market. And Luke, of course,” she adds, flashing him a warm smile, and I feel like dirt. “It’s so encouraging to see a woman succeeding in business,” she says, and I feel even worse that she’s praising me.

“Well, I do have a business partner,” I say, squirming a bit from her attention. Oh, how I just want to be left alone to stuff more bread into my mouth. Underneath the table, I slide off my pinchy shoes, because if I’m going to have a rotten time, it might as well be with comfortable feet.

“Charlie, yes. Delightful man. I was chatting to him at the church. He says you’re the lynchpin.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that—” I trail off. Why is she being so nice to me?

“I’ve always thought that I’d be good at placing people in the right jobs, myself,” Elaine says, ever one for putting herself forward. “I’m a very empathic person.”

“Actually, Rosie has a great talent for matching people to the right jobs,” Jonathan pipes up rather surprisingly and smiles at me. “I remember that failed juggler from Covent Garden,” he says to me, and then to the table, “he lost his patch to a group of fire-eating gymnasts, so Rosie came up with the perfect idea of him becoming the entertainment for children’s parties. He was doing fabulously well, the last time I heard…” Jonathan trails off, flushing, and I remember quite well the last time we talked about the juggler. We were in bed.

“Well, Charlie, my partner, has a lot of contacts in the entertainment business,” I say quickly to cover his discomfort, because it’s true. And I’m a bit baffled that Jonathan would be speaking up for me. Although it has to be said, he was always very supportive about my work.

“You know, you’re very familiar, Clarke.” Elaine changes the subject, and my nerves stand to immediate alert. “I have a feeling we’ve met before.”

Christ.
I hope not. This wedding really could not get any worse, could it? I reach for my champagne and guzzle it down. I know it’s supposed to be for the toasts, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And as I place my empty glass down, Luke is watching me, not smiling. His expression is curiously tender as he raises a sardonic eyebrow, as if to ask if I am okay, and I look away. The passing waiter obligingly refills my glass.

“I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember meeting such a beautiful woman,” Clarke smiles gallantly, and my stomach clenches even more tightly with nerves.

“I know this is supposed to be a wedding, and a party,” Rowan says to me, “but I’m putting together a fund-raiser for domestic violence awareness, and I wonder if you might be interested? I’m looking for successful businesswomen to take part. You’d be perfect. What do you think?”

“Um, yes,” I say, before I can absorb what she’s said. Um, yes? I must gain back control of my vocal cords, but I’m stunned by the turn of the tides. Not that I’m going to take her up on the offer. I mean, she’s Luke’s
wife.

“Great,” she beams and holds out a business card across the table, and I’m struck once more at the contrast between us. Of course Luke would marry someone like her. And I can’t help it, my eyes slide over to Luke. How could he cheat on someone so nice?

“Here’s my contact information. Please do give me a call, and we can chat about the details. And now I’ll shut up about work,” she says, smiling around the table.

And I hate myself even more for cheating on her. Even though I didn’t know I was cheating on her. And in that moment I hate Luke even more, because she seems really genuine.

“I might be free to help out, too,” Elaine jumps in, because she hasn’t been the focus of attention for at least thirty seconds and must be suffering from withdrawal. “As you know, I’m heavily involved in charity work, myself,” she tells the table at large with such selflessness that I’m struck by a strange desire to write to the Pope and beg him to make an exception to the rule of making someone a saint while they are still alive, and to canonize her immediately. Even though she isn’t Catholic…

“Less, these days, because of my delicate condition. And, of course, I’m the result of domestic abandonment.” She pats her bump. “I can relate to how a lot of these women are feeling.”

Heads nod around the table, because she is so convincing. It’s only because I now truly know that her sweetness is a façade that I can hear through the sincerity to the false woman behind it. And as Elaine burbles on, I phase her out.

“Everything okay?” Clarke says in my ear.

“Absolutely,” I say back in his ear, and we smile into each other’s eyes. “Tell me you really haven’t met Elaine before?” I whisper, as if I am whispering sweet nothings. “This would be a disaster, believe me,” I add, giving him my most coquettish smile.

You see, when I first interviewed Clarke as my possible escort (to be thorough and efficient), I indicated that there might be a faced-with-exes situation, and we’ve kind of prac
ticed our strategy. He is to treat me as if I am the only woman on the face of the planet.

Simple strategy, but effective,
I think as I catch Luke watching us from the corner of my eye.

“I’m pretty sure,” he says quietly. “I think you’re safe. Now just relax and let me take care of any difficulties. That’s what you’re paying me for,” he grins.

And so I determinedly keep my attention on Clarke, and he on me. And all the while I am pretending to flirt with Clarke, I am aware of Luke’s constant glances my way. I am also aware of Jonathan casting sideways glances my way, too. And Harry’s occasional scowls.

God, I’m beginning to feel like a scarlet woman. I can’t imagine why I’m the recipient of so much unwanted male attention.

And as we listen and cheer through the speeches, I drink more and more champagne for courage. And flirt even more with Clarke.

Also, my guilt increases as Rowan makes an effort to chat to me from time to time, in between being monopolized by Elaine. I am curt to the point of rudeness, which I don’t mean, but how can I make nice with her? It’s just so hypocritical. God, I’ll be glad when this is over…

The wonderful food courses for which Auntie Lizzy and Uncle Greg have paid a king’s ransom are ashes in my mouth. The top-quality wine that accompanies them is equally lost on me, and I cannot help but remember back to the Christmas fund-raiser.

“So how have you been?” Jonathan asks me as Samantha, Luke and Rowan are engrossed in conversation about a new neonatal unit and as Elaine ignores Harry and tries to charm Clarke away from me. If only she knew the truth….

“Fine, fine,” I nod my head, thinking how nice Jonathan is. And how easy he was to be with. “And you?”

“Oh, good. You know. Busy.”

“Sidney still as difficult as ever?” I can’t help it, I have to ask. “You do know that he’s Rowan’s brother, don’t you?”

“Yes—and she’s been a great help sorting out Sidney. Actually, he’s been replaced.”

“Really?”

“Well, the family decided that he needed a long holiday in rehab after receiving the threat of a lawsuit from a female executive from a company we were doing business with. I’m really sorry I didn’t support you as much as I should have done,” he says. “Got a bit caught up in the whole thing.”

“That’s alright,” I say, patting his arm. Because I mean it. “Although your breakup line could use some improvement.”

“I know,” he says, looking down at the table. “What can I say? I’m a bloke. I just thought that leaving you a voice message would be less, you know, messy. Easier on both of us. I’m just not great at all that kind of stuff. I did mean to call,” Jonathan adds. “You know, to see how you were feeling. But then, you didn’t call me, either.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the high point of my life.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was. Well, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” I say, meaning it. “God, let’s forget about it, shall we? Can we talk about something cheerful—this is a wedding. How’s your mother?”

“Oh,
Clarke,
I’ve just
remembered
where we’ve
met,
” Elaine chooses just that moment to shriek with delight. “Actually, we
didn’t
meet at
all,
but it was
you
at the Hamiltons’ engagement party last month with
poor
Mitzy Stanford, wasn’t it?”

“No, sorry, Elaine, it must be a mista—” Clarke jumps in, but before he can valiantly lie to save my pride, Elaine carries on.

“We all felt so
sorry
for
Mitzy.
I mean, having to resort to hiring an
escort
so that she didn’t have to attend on her own.
We weren’t supposed to
know,
but her sister, Agnes, had a row with her just before the party and made a point of telling everyone.” Elaine collapses in a fit of giggles.

I cringe as the whole table, apart from Elaine, obviously, who cannot contain her mirth, falls silent.

I just knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning. All I need now is for my newly mended bathroom pipes to explode and newly plastered kitchen ceiling to fall in on me.

“Grief, that’s so funny,” Clarke steps in. “Not for poor Mitzy, of course—how terrible of her sister to do such a horrid thing. But to think—I must have a doppelgänger wandering around London—goodness. But you know what they say. We all have a double, somewhere in the world.”

“And we all know that Rosie would never resort to hiring an escort.” Jonathan also leaps to my defense. “She’s such a lovely girl, she has the men lining up in droves for her.” He squeezes my hand under the table, and I’m grateful for the crumb of comfort.