‘Me. You never know, I might just be serious.’
It was what half of her longed to hear. Yet it was nerve-racking too. Relieved to spot the waiter approaching with their bill, she said, ‘You’re never serious.’
‘Never say never.’ Bruno remained unperturbed. ‘Who gave you that necklace anyway?’
‘My husband.’
‘Still miss him?’
Janey opened her mouth to say yes, because that was the standard reply, the one she’d been trotting out for the past eighteen months. But was it still true?
‘Sometimes,’ she amended. ‘It isn’t as unbearable now as it used to be. Whenever anyone said time heals all wounds, I wanted to punch them.’
Bruno grinned. ‘Good.’
‘Why, do you think I should have punched them?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s good that you only miss him sometimes. You’re getting back to normal.’
Right now, Janey wasn’t feeling the least bit normal. She was hopelessly attracted to Bruno and she was sure it wasn’t wise. And since it was by this time almost midnight she wasn’t likely to be feeling too normal when she woke up tomorrow morning either.
‘Here, let me pay half,’ she said, reaching for her handbag as he placed a credit card over the folded bill. She couldn’t bear to think how much such a spectacular dinner must be costing him.
‘Because you don’t think you deserve to be taken out for a decent meal?’ Raising his eyebrows, Bruno gave her a knowing look. ‘Put that purse away, for God’s sake. My name isn’t Alexander Norcross.’
‘Oh help,’ murmured Janey minutes later as they were leaving. Almost wrenching Bruno’s arm out of its socket, she dragged him behind one of the magnificent marble pillars flanking the main entrance to the hotel. ‘That’s my mother over there.’
‘Pity’ Bruno grinned. ‘For a moment I thought my luck was in.’
‘Sshh.’
‘Why the panic anyway?’
‘You don’t know my mother.’ Janey pulled face. ‘She’d interrogate you.’
‘She’s over-protective?’
No, just incurably nosey. Before you knew it, she’d be asking when we were going to get married.’ Edging a cautious inch away from the pillar, she peered across at the man with her mother. ‘I don’t believe it, they’re holding hands! This must be the new chap she was so excited about the other week, the one with the Rolls.’ Really, she thought with a trace of despair; if her mother had taken to frequenting five-star hotels the least she could do was wear a bra. That glossy white shirt was practically transparent.
‘He must be sixty at least,’ said Bruno, watching as they picked up their room key and headed for the lift. Grinning, he added, ‘Isn’t it reassuring to know that old people can still enjoy sex? When I was younger I was always terrified it might stop at thirty.’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before,’ whispered Janey, who could only see his profile. ‘I can’t place him, but he definitely looks familiar.’
‘He’s certainly familiar with your mother.’ Bruno’s grin widened as the lift doors slid shut.
‘He’s got his hand inside her shirt. Janey, did you notice that your mother isn’t wearing a bra?’
Chapter 18
Back at Janey’s flat, Bruno pointed out the splash of red wine on the knee of her white jeans.
‘You should soak them in cold water. Go and take them off,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’
Janey, standing in the bedroom and gazing at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, wondered what on earth she was supposed to do now. Slip into something more comfortable?
Lever herself into another pair of jeans and pray the zip would stay up? Envelop herself in her oldest towelling dressing gown and furry slippers, surely the most effective contraceptive known to woman?
By the time she emerged from the bedroom Bruno had made the coffee, switched off the overhead light in the living room in favour of a single table lamp, and mastered the stereo. Ella Fitzgerald was crooning in the background and the cushions had been rearranged on the sofa.
Feeling absurdly self-conscious, Janey sat down at the other end.
‘That’s better.’ He nodded approvingly at her pale pink shorts. ‘You should show off your legs more often.’
Janey immediately wished she’d settled for the dressing gown and slippers after all. When all you were wearing were a pair of shorts, trying to hide your legs was a physical impossibility.
‘They’re fat.’
‘They’re the best legs in Trezale,’ Bruno replied evenly. ‘What you mean is, they aren’t a pair of matchsticks like your sister’s.’ He gave her a sidelong, knowing look. Janey, we’re going to have to do something to get you over this ridiculous complex. You’re a gorgeous girl and you don’t have to compare yourself unfavourably with anyone, least of all Maxine.’
It was nice that he should say so, but the belief was so deeply ingrained that she couldn’t take him seriously. Scatty, extrovert Maxine, forever embroiling herself in drama and emerging unscathed, was the beautiful slender sister to whom all men were drawn like magnets. Janey, hard-working and about as scatty as Margaret Thatcher, was the one best known for the fact that her husband had disappeared without trace. What a riveting claim to fame.
‘Won’t Nina be wondering where you are?’ Compliments embarrassed her anyway. And it was almost . one o’clock.
