‘No, we decided against children,’ he explained, over lukewarm coffee in a quiet bar away from the seafront which Janey had suggested because nobody she knew ever went there. ‘They cost an absolute fortune. My wives tried to make me change my mind, of course, but I wasn’t having any of it. There’s no way I could have afforded to keep the Porsche on the road and bring up kids as well.’ Leaning across the table he added confidentially, ‘So I got out each time they started hankering, before they had a chance to pull the old 'Oops, how did that happen?' routine.
It isn’t as if they really wanted children, after all. They just saw their friends doing it and didn’t want to miss out. It didn’t even occur to them to consider the expense.’
It was truly astounding, thought Janey, that someone so mean with money should be so generous with his aftershave. Great wafts of Old Spice were whooshing up her nose. It even seemed to have invaded her cup of coffee, which hadn’t tasted great in the first place. She wondered how soon she could decently leave.
But meeting Alexander was an education, at least. He wasn’t bad looking, he had a nice voice and he was tall. The packaging, she decided, was as much as anyone could possibly hope for. The only let-down was the fact that it belonged to a complacent, penny-pinching bore.
But there was also the irresistible challenge of discovering just how awful he could be.
Summoning up a Maxine-ish smile and working hard not to inhale too much Old Spice, she said,
‘So has advertising been a success? I expect you’ve met lots of girls.’
‘Ah, but it’s quality that counts.’ Alexander gave her a knowing look. ‘Not quantity. I’ve found the initial telephone conversations to be revealing, Jane. All some of these females are interested in is a free meal, which is when I make my excuses. That’s why I was so interested in meeting you,’ he added happily. ‘As soon as I read your letter, I felt we had something in common. And when you suggested we meet for a quick drink, I knew I was right.’
‘Thank you,’ murmured Janey, by this time struggling to keep a straight face. ‘After all, why should people need to eat in order to get to know one another?’
‘Exactly my point!’ Alexander looked positively triumphant. Finishing his cold coffee, he pushed the cup and saucer an inch or two in her direction. ‘And when you consider the ridiculous prices restaurants charge for an omelette ... well, I call it money down the drain. I’d rather stay at home and know I wasn’t being ripped off. How about you Jane?’ he added, gazing at her with renewed interest and approval. ‘Do you cook?’
Thanking her lucky stars she hadn’t pinned all her hopes on Alexander Norcross, Janey was longing to tell someone the story of the brief encounter which - bizarrely - had gone some way towards restoring her own self- confidence.
‘It was so ghastly it ended up being funny,’ she said to Bruno the following morning, grinning as she recalled the way Alexander had complained to the bar manager about the price of a cup of coffee. ‘He was so awful, but he really thought he was Britain’s answer to Mel Gibson.
If you could have seen the look on his face when I said I wouldn’t be seeing him again—’
Was he handsome?’
‘Oh yes, but such a jerk! When I got back to the flat I was dying to phone Maxine to give her all the gory details, but I’d already decided not to tell her anything about answering the ad. I shouldn’t be telling you, either.’ Janey tried to look repentant, and failed. ‘You’re just as likely to make fun of me as she is. But it was funny, and I had to tell someone.’
‘It certainly seems to have cheered you up,’ remarked Bruno, inwardly appalled that she should have been driven to reply to a newspaper advert in the first place. ‘But Janey, aren’t you taking a bit of a risk? You don’t need to do that kind of thing. A gorgeous girl like you could take her pick of men.’
Colouring at the compliment, even if it was only Bruno saying what he would no doubt say to anyone under the age of ninety, she resorted to flippancy. ‘Yes, well. The neighbours were starting to complain about the queues outside my front door so ‘I thought I’d try going about it another way.’
‘Hmm.’ Bruno, who wasn’t stupid, surveyed her through narrowed eyes. ‘Or does it have something to do with that noisy, pushy sister of yours?’
Janey could have hugged him. She’d been so sure he would be entranced by Maxine. Her self-confidence rose by yet another notch. ‘Not at all,’ she lied, relaxing visibly but still not quite daring to admit that she’d placed an advertisement of her own. ‘I just thought I’d give it a go. It didn’t work out. End of story.’
‘I should bloody well hope so.’ Bruno glanced at his watch and saw that he’d have to get a move on if they were to open for lunch. Janey was gorgeous, he thought. She deserved a hell of a lot better than a guy with a Porsche and a padlocked wallet. ‘Look, I could get away early tonight.’ As he spoke, he began unpacking the box of flowers she had brought to the restaurant, pink carnations and sweet-smelling lilac today to match the new tablecloths. ‘If you aren’t doing anything, why don’t we go out for something to eat?’
‘Oh!’ Janey looked astonished. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, ‘But this is your restaurant. Shouldn’t we eat here?’
‘That would make it business.’ Bruno gave her one of his most irresistible smiles. ‘What I had in mind was pleasure.’
‘But you’re—’
‘I’m not married,’ he reminded her. ‘And I don’t argue with bar managers about the price of coffee, either.’
‘But—’
‘No more excuses,’ said Bruno, his tone firm. ‘I’ll pick you up at ten.’
‘Oh, but—’ said Janey, torn between delight and the hideous prospect of having to get up at five o’clock tomorrow morning.
‘Stop it,’ said Bruno, very firmly indeed. ‘It’ll be fun.’ Then he winked. ‘Besides, better the devil you know ...’
The drawback to being picked up at ten o’clock in the evening was that it left one with far too much time to get ready. Instead of flinging on the first decent thing that came to hand, Janey found herself racked with indecision. None of the more casual skirts and tee-shirts she wore for work would do; Bruno had seen them all a hundred times. The black sequinned dress was wonderfully slimming but it would be way over the top, and the only other really decent outfit she owned, a violet crepe-de-Chine affair with no back and swirly skirts, made her look like something out of Come Dancing.
