‘So you admit that you are!’ Ali’s eyes lit up with delight.
They were interrupted by the waiter arriving with their starters.
‘So, are you friends with benefits? Booty-call buddies?’ she asked, diving into her smoked salmon. ‘How would you describe your relationship?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ he said implacably, as he picked up his spoon and started on his soup.
‘You’re no fun,’ she said crossly.
‘But in answer to your question?—’
‘Yes?’ Ali sat up eagerly.
‘I do miss her.’
Ali grinned happily.
‘As a friend,’ he added. ‘We’re just friends, Ali.’
Ali gave him a doubtful look. ‘I’ve seen you with her, remember? You know what I think?’
‘No.’
‘I think you’re in love.’
‘No, I’m not. Don’t be stupid,’ he snapped.
‘Hey, don’t look so scared,’ she said, covering his hand with hers. ‘I think she feels the same way about you.’
Luca considered telling Ali that Claire was in London with another man right now and putting paid to any romantic notions she had about them. But if she was convinced he was in love with Claire, she would only worry and feel sad for him so he said nothing. He knew how badly Ali needed him to be happy because if he wasn’t, she felt it was her fault – their mother had seen to that when she had written her book.
He knew it wasn’t intentional, but in describing the circumstances of their adoption – Ali’s inconsolable grief at being separated from him, how she had screamed and clung to him when they had tried to take her away – Jacqueline had cast Ali as the architect of his unhappiness, burdening her with the responsibility for the course his life had taken.
‘So what about you?’ he asked, to change the subject, when their mains were served. ‘Any special someone in your life?’
‘Ugh! I’m not discussing my love life with mybrother.’
‘Ha, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.’
‘Shut up and eat your vegetables.’
After spending the day with Mark’s friends at the picnic, Claire was relieved to be alone with him on the drive to the airport – not that she didn’t like them, but she found it a strain spending a lot of time with a group of people she didn’t know and was glad when they could finally get away. Besides, she had found Sophie’s constant clamouring for attention exhausting – especially when so much of it was directed at Mark. All morning she had gone out of her way to make a point of how long she had been a part of Mark’s life, constantly reminiscing about places they’d been, meals they’d shared, mutual friends they’d lost touch with, and Claire had no doubt it was all aimed at unsettling her. But though she found it wearisome, she couldn’t bring herself to resent Sophie – not when she remembered what she’d said last night about Mark: ‘He’s all there is.’ When she felt like that about him, who could blame her for putting up a fight?
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That was a baptism of fire. I hope it hasn’t put you off ever coming back.’
‘No. I had a really nice time. Thank you.’
‘Good. I know Sophie can be a pain in the arse – but she’s going through a tough time at the moment.’
‘I know. She seemed nice, really.’
He smiled at her. ‘You’re very sweet.’
Sweet. Claire felt a little knocked off balance by that. She wasn’t sure it was a good thing that he found her ‘sweet’. He’d said it before, and it sounded like a compliment, but she couldn’t help feeling patronised. Besides, she wasn’t sure ‘sweet’ was really his thing. It wasn’t a word anyone would ever associate with Sophie, for instance, and although they weren’t together any more, he obviously still liked her a lot. He might not realise it, but he lit up like astruck match whenever she was around. She seemed like a take-no-prisoners kind of girl, and Claire got the impression men found her challenging and exciting in equal measures. She was ballsy, blunt and upfront about what she wanted, and she was more like NiceGirl than Claire would ever be. Mark had told Claire the first time they’d met that she was very different from what he’d expected. Maybe he’d thought she’d be more like Sophie.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Mark broke into her thoughts. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes, fine. I’m just tired.’
