‘Hi. I just wanted to thank you for being so great with my parents. You didn’t have to do that and it was really nice of you. Don’t worry, I know you just said all that stuff about a promotion to get my mum off my case, so I’m not expecting anything. I want to pay you back for all the money you spent on us and I’ll make up the extra night off this week.’ My brain was screaming at me to stop talking, but my mouth was on Mission Babble.
He sat back in his big leather chair, a languid grin on his face.
‘Number one, it was no problem – your folks are nice people. Number two, the promotion is genuine – I was going to tell you later in the week. Number three, I don’t want you to pay me back – I enjoyed myself. Number four, you don’t have to make up any time – you do so many extra hours that you’re owed a few days off.’
I was stunned. Even more surprising, I was experiencing something other than just a thudding heart now.
‘Joe, can I ask you something?’ Oh no. My gob was running away with itself and my brain was desperately trying to apply the brakes.
‘Sure.’
‘Can I kiss you?’ Brake fail. Screech. Crash.
‘Sure.’ He laughed as he stood up and leaned over the desk, turning his head to one side and proffering his cheek.
I reached up slowly and touched his chin, turning his face as I did, so that his eyes met mine. I brushed my lips against his once, then again, then I launched an all-out assault, stopping only for breath when I began to turn a mild shade of pink. This was shocking. Crazy. And absolutely bloody wonderful. But what was wrong with me that my attraction to men seemed to come out of nowhere and ambush me? It had been the same with Nick Russo in that Benidorm bar, and now Joe had gone from my lovely boss to intoxicatingly attractive in the space of a couple of days.
‘I think we need to talk,’ he whispered, panic in his voice. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘But what about the club?’
‘It’s quiet out there. Chad can look after it tonight,’ he insisted.
He grabbed his jacket and my hand and pulled me outside. We walked silently for what seemed like miles, before stopping at an ancient wooden bench on the edge of one of the canals. I waited for him to say something, too terrified to speak in case I had this all wrong. Was he going to give me a lecture about how he was the boss and couldn’t fraternise with the staff? Was he going to fire me? Did snogging the boss constitute gross misconduct? Or was he just going to say that I was incredibly stupid, pat me on the head and tell me to keep my tongue well away from his tonsils in future?
Eventually he spoke. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you for such a long time.’
Phew!
He continued, ‘You see, I’m in love with you.’
‘I know.’ It came out with a matter of fact nod and shrug.
‘You do? How?’
I giggled. ‘My gran told me.’
His eyes crinkled up in that gorgeous way as he laughed too, then leaned over and did that kissing thing again for a long, long time.
We were still smiling when the sun came up the following morning and we were still sitting on the same bench planning our future. I’d gone from zero to love in two point five seconds and it felt oh so right.
We’d decided that I would leave the hotel and move into his flat. He told me that he was going to open a new restaurant across town and he would split his time between both outlets, leaving the day-to-day running of the Premier Club to me. I argued that I was too young, and an illegal alien to boot, but he disagreed and said that I was more than capable and that my permits would be through any day now. It was the most warm and bubbly feeling. This amazing guy believed in me. And he loved me!
He took me back to his flat that morning and slowly undressed me, his hands tenderly drifting over my body, touching and probing everywhere. Thank God I’d worn my best underwear.
We stayed in bed all day – making love, talking. At one point we were discussing music and I confessed my hidden love of Elvis. Joe broke into an impromptu and really terrible rendition of ‘Burning Love’. I hoped he would never suggest the rhythm method of contraception because he obviously had none. But I didn’t care. Every fibre of my being told me I was on to something special with Joe Cain, and the next six months proved me right.
We worked in the evenings and slept late in the mornings, waking to make love before having a long lunch. The afternoons were filled with long walks and I finally did venture inside Amsterdam’s many museums and galleries. We would lie in the park, my head on his chest as he read to me or simply stroked my hair while I snoozed. Every day I fell more in love with him and I just knew, without a doubt, that we were meant to be together.
On the anniversary of my arrival in Holland, we went to our favourite Italian restaurant. Joe had been edgy all week and I was beginning to panic. What was wrong with him? Was he bored with us? I thought we’d been so happy, but maybe I’d missed something? He hardly spoke throughout the meal. I tried to be windswept and interesting, tried to draw him into conversation, but he wouldn’t have it. He was completely distracted.
Panic turned to sheer terror as he jumped up and asked for the bill the minute we’d finished our coffee.
We made our way outside and instead of looking for a
