The Perfect Girlfriend(64)

I yank the door shut behind me.

I’ll save the news about us becoming neighbours for another time.

In between trips to Athens, Singapore and Vancouver, contact between Miles and myself increases.

I spend hours carefully wording my emails and messages, trying to come across as someone who is desperately trying to hide her attraction to him, but who knows it is ultimately going to fail.

Our messages become less guarded, less formal and more intimate. Until it’s clear that, the next time we meet, there will be only one main item on the agenda.

The following week, on a dreary October Wednesday lunchtime, I park my car in an unfamiliar car park in Poole. It’s not too many miles from Bournemouth, but far enough away to be discreet. I walk along the quay to the hotel restaurant, where Bella’s fiancé awaits. Seagulls swoop down on to random bits of food lying near bins. Signs flap and the stench of fish masks the sea. Cold wind stings my cheeks.

Miles is waiting at a corner table. He stands up and kisses me continental-style, then pulls my chair out for me. He is well dressed in a made-to-measure jacket and a salmon shirt, which he carries off well. I sense Bella’s hand in his grooming. If I’ve learned one thing about love, it’s that you should never, ever give a man a makeover. It gives them a sense of confidence that is not channelled back to you, and another woman always benefits.

When we are both seated, he picks up the wine menu.

‘Shall I order a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé?’

‘Perfect,’ I smile. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

‘Me too.’

‘Second thoughts?’

‘No. You?’

‘No. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since we met. I was concerned that I’d misread the signals. Like some fool.’

‘Ditto. I just knew that I had to take the risk, otherwise I’d die wondering. It seemed as though we had such a connection.’

We order. I let him choose for me. I give him a little bit of the control I suspect he lacks from having a high-maintenance fiancée like Bella. Once the wine bottle is empty and the main course is cleared away, I broach the subject.

‘I feel that we should address the elephant in the room,’ I say. ‘Then, it’s out of the way and there’s no misunderstanding.’

He nods.

‘So, we don’t want to hurt Bella or Nick. Our sense of duty ties us to them. We’ll be discreet. This – us – will only stay fresh and amazing because we both know it will never lead anywhere. Agreed?’

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’ He leans forward. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking us a room here.’

My stomach lurches a touch. Miles is nice enough, but he’s not Nate. But I have to go through with this. And it’s not my fault that I’ve been forced to break my vow of fidelity. Given the choice, I’d be a one-man woman. But my hand has been forced, and I need to take action.

I smile. ‘How presumptuous. But I do like a man who takes charge. Shall we skip dessert and coffee?’

Afterwards, Nate calls whilst Miles is lying beside me.

I answer.

‘Hello, darling.’ I pull an apologetic face to Miles.

He mimes, ‘It’s OK,’ and disappears into the bathroom.

Nate gets straight to the point. ‘OK, Lily. What do you want? What will it take for you to be reasonable?’

Any reservations I felt earlier disappear. ‘I’ll let you know, darling,’ I say. ‘I’m busy at the moment.’

I stretch and yawn. I’m glad that Nate has finally seen sense. I hoped it would come to this. Because I’ve thought of a way that he can make everything up to me.





22


I arrange to meet Nate outside his place the following day.

‘Aren’t you full of surprises?’ he says as he eases himself into the passenger seat of my car. ‘When did you learn to drive?’

‘Recently.’

‘Is this a mystery tour or are you in the mood to give me a clue?’

‘It’s too complicated to explain. You’ll have to trust me.’

Nate folds his arms like a quarrelsome child and looks out the window.

I follow the signs to the M3 and head south. Every attempt I make at conversation with him is thwarted by a grunt or a shrug of his shoulders, so I switch on Guns N’ Roses, starting with the track we played in the limo on the way to our wedding.

We pass the services and continue for another hour and a half, through the New Forest, then towards my old village. I pass the small patch of green where the old red phone box remains in situ. I park on the opposite side of the lane, directly in front of Sweet Pea Cottage. The windows are curtain-less, made all the more obvious by the lack of ivy. It has all been hacked off, leaving the place bare and exposed. The hedges have been trimmed and are much lower than I’ve ever seen them. Clearly, the new owners have nothing to hide and are probably eager to involve themselves in village life. Good luck to them.

I point to the house. ‘This is where I used to live.’

He gives the place a cursory glance before turning back to face me. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve dragged me out for a trip down memory lane. Remove any notion that if I get to know you better, I’m going to change my mind. I only agreed to today because you promised that you’d cooperate if I heard you out.’