Million Love Songs(33)

‘I’m not only treating you with respect, I’m trying very hard to spoil you.’ He lowers his voice and checks that no one else is within listening distance. ‘Come to Paris with me,’ he cajoles. ‘I meant it. We’d have fun. And it would be work too, of course. I’m booking it in the next few days. Premier class Eurostar, bijou little hotel with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower.’

I go to speak, but he holds up a hand. ‘I know that you don’t like heights, but you won’t get dizzy just looking at it. Tell me that it isn’t sounding tempting.’

Sighing at him, I lower my voice and say, ‘Of course it is.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

Charlie is glaring at me from across the bar and, traitor that I am, I turn my back on her. ‘You’re my boss. I’m your employee.’

‘This hasn’t escaped my notice.’

‘A junior employee. It puts me in a compromising position.’

‘Oh, I do hope so.’ Then he looks at me sincerely. ‘Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get good, reliable staff who the customers love?’

I confess that I don’t.

‘I don’t want to lose you,’ Mason assures me. ‘This will not affect our working relationship.’

He sounds so very sure of it that he almost has me convinced.

The worrying thing is that I’m already imaging myself sitting at those pavement cafés, glass of red wine in one hand, a baguette in the other. I can see my hand in his, him moving above me at night. That’s quite a strong imagine, if you must know. And we would have a good laugh together. I already know enough about Mason to realise that. It’s just that … I chew my lip with indecision.

‘I’ll pay for everything,’ he adds. ‘Happily. It won’t cost you a penny.’

My mother always used to say there’s no such thing as a free lunch. What about a trip to Paris? What would the cost of that really be?

‘I’m not looking for a relationship,’ he leans close to me and speaks softly. ‘We’d have a great weekend. Lots of fun. We’re both adults. Where’s the harm in it?’

‘I’m not the sort of person who jets off to Europe for the weekend.’

‘Then maybe you should become that woman.’ Those blue eyes twinkle for all they’re worth.

I think of the miserable time I’ve had recently. Don’t I deserve a bit of fun? Paris with Mason sounds sophisticated and elegant. No one’s ever taken me to Paris before. My ex took me for a surprise weekend to Alton Towers once, but that’s hardly the same is it? If Simon can take up with a younger model, then why the hell shouldn’t I? We could have a glamorous weekend of no-strings sex and gourmet food in the international city of love. This is exactly the sort of thing I should be doing as a newly divorced, single person. The whole of the world is out there for me to explore. I might as well start with France. Infinitely better than a gravel pit in Leicestershire, no?

‘Yes,’ I rush out. ‘I’ll come.’

Mason grins and it is the contented grin of a winner. Damn him, he knew I’d cave in. He’s played me very well. I realise that.

‘I could switch your shifts around and we could go this weekend.’

One of the benefits of fraternising with the boss, I guess. ‘So soon?’

‘I don’t want you changing your mind.’

‘OK, then.’ Now my grin matches his. I feel as if I’m doing something really naughty. I know he’s twisted me round his little finger, but at least he’s made an effort to woo me in style. It’s flattering. Head-turning, in fact.

‘I’ll book tomorrow and let you know the details.’

With that he swings out of the restaurant and leaves me there feeling both elated and terrified. I think I might have just joined the jet set.

I look round and see my friend’s eyes locked on me. Oh, bum. I’ve no idea how I’m going to break it to Charlie.





Chapter Twenty-Eight





I’m still contemplating this matter later that evening while I’m sitting on the bottom of Wolverton swimming pool with Bob. I snuck out of work, avoiding a conversation with Charlie whereby I’d have to confess that I’d agreed to go on a dirty weekend with Mason to Paris. Do people still even call them dirty weekends? I don’t know. I feel so out of the ways of dating and its associated minefields. Whichever way, Charlie will go bonkers when I tell her.

I know what I said about not doing any more diving lessons, but I felt as if I was being inexorably drawn here by a force outside myself. Ahem. Plus I sort of wanted to see Joe again. I was a bit childish after our last lesson and am feeling guilty. He’s a nice guy and it wouldn’t hurt to be friends with him. He could probably do with a friend right now. Plus, if I am going to finish this course, then I don’t want there to be any friction between us. He’s at the other side of the pool when I arrive helping a big, military-looking guy put his tanks on, so I give a friendly wave in greeting – that’s all it takes, nothing more – and then I get on with the job in hand. Sort of.

Even though my mind is more on Paris than demand valves and whatever, I do quite well with my diving practice. Well, I manage to survive without drowning, which you have to agree is a good thing. Bob is less distracting as an instructor and I find that I do actually listen to what he’s saying rather than just watching his mouth. All round, it makes for a better diving experience. And my heart rate stays normal. Bonus.