Wh000sh, ice-cold water promptly ricocheted off the spout, drenching her from neck to navel.
When you were in the grip of lust it was hard to concentrate.
‘Why don’t I make the tea?’ Amused, he said, ‘You’d better go and change out of those wet things.’
Which was how real life differed from the movies because if this hadn’t been real he might have offered to help her.
By the time she re-emerged in dry clothes she’d figured it out. ‘I’ve heard all about you too,’
Sally announced as he carried the tea through to the living room. ‘You’re Lola’s dad.’
‘Nick James.’ His humorous dark grey eyes crinkled at the corners. Gorgeous eyes, gorgeous corners. And the way he dressed ... well, that was right up her street too. A dark greenshirt, black trousers and black shoes, you couldn’t get plainer than that, but they were of excellent quality and so well-cut, and he wore them like a Frenchman. The glamorous citified kind you saw sitting at pavement cafes on the Champs Elysees, not the gnarled leathery farmer types with strings of onions slung around their necks.
Unlike grungly Gabe with his bleached T-shirts and disintegrating jeans, this was a man with elan, with savoir faire . . a man who knew how to dress. He even — mais naturellement! —
smelled fantastic. And he was Lola’s father. Would this make things tricky or awkward?
Sally considered the facts then decided there was no reason why it should. If Lola was allowed to have a crush on her brother and yearn for him shamelessly, it seemed only fair that she should be allowed a shot at Lola’s dad. Crikey, if Lola married Doug and she married Nick, she’d be Lola’s stepmother and her sister-in-law; wouldn’t that be a turn-up for the books? It was the kind of thing that got you invited onto TV shows and ... um, OK, maybe getting a teeny bit carried away here, just the weeniest bit ahead of herself .. .
‘The ice cream had pretty much melted,’ said Nick. ‘So I put the bowl in the sink.’
‘Right. Um, thanks.’ Oh God, please don’t say he was going to turn out to be another neurotic-obsessive- compulsive-tidierupper. But he hadn’t cleared away anything else, so that was good.
He had lovely hands too, capable-looking fingers and clean, well-shaped nails. Ooh, and if we all had children they’d be simultaneously each other’s cousins and uncles and aunts . . .
‘What are you thinking?’ Nick was regarding her with interest, his dark head tilted to one side.
Again, probably best not to tell him. ‘Just wondering if I’m allowed to ask how it went today, meeting up with Lola and her mum.’
‘Not brilliantly. It wasn’t a fairytale reunion.’ He paused, stirring his tea. ‘Hardly surprising, I suppose. Bit of a shock for Blythe. That’s why I came over to see Lola, to find out how things are now. Relationships are ... complicated.’
‘Ha, tell me about it.’
Nick grinned. ‘Lola did happen to mention you’d had your share of bad luck with men.’
Oh Lola did, did she? Cheers, Lola. Then again, maybe it had been fate all along, nature’s way of forcing her to wait until Mr Right — no, Mr Absolutely Perfect — turned up.
And since he already knew, there was no point trying to deny the past.
‘That’s a very polite way of putting it,’ Sally said ruefully, ‘but I think you mean my share of bastards.’ On the TV a groan of disappointment went up from the audience and she pointed to the pair of skaters sprawled on the ice. ‘It’s like that, isn’t it? One minute it’s all going so well, you’re twirling and flying through the air and actually starting to think you’re in with a chance of gold. And the next minute, splat, you’re flat on your face. That’s why I love watching my old video of Torvill and Dean doing Bolero. Because I know it doesn’t go wrong, nobody falls over and they carry on being perfect right to the end.’ She paused then said with a lopsided smile,
‘Wouldn’t it be great if our lives could be like that?’
Oops, had that been a bit too heartfelt? Did it make her sound needy and desperate? Was he going to make fun of her now?
But that didn’t happen. Instead, nodding in agreement, he said, ‘It’s what everyone wants, if they’re honest. We just can’thelp buggering things up. But the right man’s out there somewhere, I know he is.’
Sally looked innocent. ‘For you?’
He smiled easily. ‘For you. It’s just a question of tracking him down.’
They carried on chatting for another hour. He was so wonderfully easy to talk to. She learned about his career in advertising and told him about her own job — you couldn’t really call it a career — as a receptionist in a busy doctors’ surgery in Wimbledon.
Nick was surprised. ‘And this is NHS? I wouldn’t have had you down as a doctors’ receptionist.’
‘Because I’m not tidy?’ Hurt, Sally said, ‘I’m very organised at work.’
‘I actually meant you look too glamorous.’
She flushed at the compliment, smoothed back her hair. ‘I love my job. OK, it’s not high-powered and it isn’t glamorous, but the doctors I work with are great. Really friendly. It’s never boring. And I’m good at what I do,’ she added with pride. ‘Dr Willis says I’m the most efficient receptionist they’ve ever had.’
‘So this surgery then, is it not a good place to meet men? What are these doctors like?’
‘Old and married.’ Hastily, because she knew Nick was forty-eight, Sally said, ‘I mean, ancient.
Sixties. Much older than you.’
His mouth curved at the corners. ‘Glad to hear it. How about the patients, then? Must be a few promising ones there.’
‘Well, yes, until you look through their medical notes.’ Sally pulled a face. ‘And read all about their stomach
