Million Love Songs(35)

I concentrate on my food and we talk about nothing in particular. Charlie doesn’t mention Mason and I think I might have got away with it. When we are full of tea and bacon, I say, ‘Shall we go for a walk in the woods?’

‘Exercise?’ Charlie looks horrified. ‘In the fresh air?’

‘It’s a lovely day.’

She does an exaggerated shudder. ‘But we’re going to be on our feet from lunchtime until silly o’clock at work serving the great and good of Buckinghamshire. Isn’t that exercise enough?’

‘Come on,’ I urge. ‘It will do us good.’

‘Red wine is good for you,’ Charlie protests.

‘Not in the quantities you drink.’ I stand and button up my coat. ‘You’ll love it when we get going.’

So Charlie hauls herself out of her chair and I link my arm through hers and steer her towards the woods.

‘Shouldn’t we borrow a dog or something?’ she says. ‘We’ll look stupid going for a walk without one.’

I love this place. It’s a little pocket of solitude in the busy city. There’s a pond as you leave the café filled with a mass of tadpoles at this time of the year. By the side of it there’s a brass sculpture of a band made up of frog characters that always makes me smile.

The sun filters through the fresh green leaves, recently uncurled. The ground beneath us is soft and spongy with bark. As we turn along the path, we’re greeted by a carpet of bluebells spread out ahead of us, threading through the trees as far as the eye can see.

‘Nice,’ Charlie says with an appreciative purse of the lips.

I nudge against her. ‘Glad I dragged you in here now?’

‘Yes, it’s been totally brilliant.’ Said in the manner of someone who didn’t think it was brilliant at all. She rubs her hands together. ‘Now can we go back to the café and have celebratory cake?’

I laugh. ‘Of course. You must be quite dizzy with all this fresh air.’ So we take a few snaps of the bluebells with our phones and turn to take a different route back to the café so that I can stretch out the walk for a little bit longer.

‘I know you’re hiding something from me,’ Charlie says conversationally. ‘I just haven’t worked out what yet.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You do,’ Charlie insists. ‘I’m like Hercule flipping Poirot. I will find out, so you might as well fess up and save me the trouble. I know it’s to do with Shagger. I’ve deduced that much.’

I sigh and don’t turn to look at her as I spill the beans. ‘I’m going to Paris with him,’ I spit out. ‘This weekend.’

‘You muppet,’ she mutters darkly. ‘You right bloody muppet.’

‘He’s nice,’ I say, defensively. ‘We have a laugh when we’re together. Besides, how many men have ever offered to take you to Paris? I was flattered.’

‘I don’t want to rain on your parade, but you’d better put your umbrella up, chummie.’ Charlie fixes me with knowing eyes. ‘There’s no easy way to break this, but this is Shagger’s standard play. He’s already taken about half a dozen of the waitresses to Paris. Research for a new restaurant chain, romantic Paris, it would be so much better with you at my side.’

Yikes. That stings.

‘Yada, yada, yada.’ Charlie frowns at me. ‘I take it you didn’t know that?’

‘No,’ I admit. ‘I didn’t.’

‘That’s how he got his nickname.’

‘Now I feel foolish.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She says it in a teasing voice, but I know deep down that she really means it. This would be on my own head. We walk along a bit more. ‘Do you think I should cancel?’

‘I’ve no idea, Ruby. That’s up to you. I’m simply trying to tell you what he’s like. You’re too nice for him. I don’t want to see him treat you the way he does most women.’

I let out a wavering breath. ‘I’m not sure that I can back out now. He’s bought the tickets. That was him texting me earlier. It might make things awkward at work.’

‘Another very good reason for not shagging the boss.’

‘Point taken.’ We walk a few more steps. ‘Did he ever ask you to go to Paris?’

‘Of course he did. He asks everyone.’

‘And you said no?’

‘Yeah. I’m not that desperate.’

My friend gets a dark glare for that. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’

She sounds exasperated rather than penitent when she says, ‘You know what I mean. I’m only trying to explain to you what you’re getting in to. Go to Paris, shag him senseless if you want to, but please tell me that you’ll keep him at arm’s length. He’s a player. A charming one, I give you that – but a player, nonetheless. This can only end badly and it won’t be Shagger Soames who comes out worst.’

My heart feels as if it’s dropped to my Converse.

Charlie puts her arm round me. ‘He’s supposed to be very good in the sack, if that’s any consolation.’

‘I think it makes me even more terrified.’