‘Yes! I do.’
‘I’ll get a formal offer in the post and have a contract drawn up. But, in the meantime, can we shake on it?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
‘Definitely!’ Claire grasped and shook it heartily.
‘Great! I look forward to working with you.’ Mark beamed at her. ‘Now, do you want dessert?’ he asked, looking at the menus the waiter had just handed them.
‘I’m absolutely stuffed,’ Claire said, ‘but they do have sticky toffee pudding…’
‘Want to go halves?’ Mark asked.
‘I thought you didn’t like sharing?’
‘I need the practice.’
‘In that case, yes, please,’ Claire said eagerly, thinking he might well be the perfect man.
‘So what made you decide to work in the bookshop?’ Mark asked.
‘It wasn’t really a decision. It was more a case of what I could get. My original plan was to move to London and try to start a career in publishing.’ She wondered if their paths would have crossed. ‘I tried to find something in that field when I moved home, but… it didn’t happen.’
‘Well, I’m glad about that.’
‘You are?’ She frowned.
‘Yes. Instead of joining the hordes of writersmanquéworking in publishing, you’ve skipped that bit and actually become a writer.’
‘Well, it wasn’t part of any grand plan.’
‘Still, that’s the way it’s worked out.’
‘I suppose it is.’ She smiled. Maybe he was right and everything had happened for a reason. ‘Are you a writermanqué?’
‘Not really. I’ve written some short stories, but I don’t have any ambitions to write full-time. I enjoy what I do. I get a real buzz out of discovering and nurturing talent. Like yours.’
When the bill came, Mark paid. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, when Claire reached for her purse. ‘It’s on expenses.’
‘That was lovely, thank you,’ Claire said, as they stood. She hadn’t noticed the restaurant emptying, but as they walked to the exit, she realised that they were the last to leave. She had enjoyed Mark’s company so much that the time had flown. They made their way outside, where a lineof taxis was waiting. ‘It was really good to meet you,’ Claire said. She was sorry that the evening was over so soon.
Mark must have felt the same because he said, ‘Do you fancy going for a drink?’
Claire looked at her watch. ‘I don’t think there’ll be anywhere open.’
‘We could go to my hotel and have a drink in the bar.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Merrion.’
‘Okay, yes.’ She was happy to spend a bit more time with him and get to know him better. He was only in Dublin for a short time so she wanted to make the most of it.
It was a short drive to the Merrion Hotel. Mark paid the taxi driver and took her hand as they walked up the steps to the entrance.
‘I love this place,’ Claire said, as they went into the gracious marble lobby with its classical columns and ornate plasterwork.
Instead of heading straight for the bar, Mark came to a halt in the lobby, taking both her hands in his. ‘So, we could go to the bar,’ he said, gazing meaningfully into her eyes, ‘or we could have a drink in my room.’
‘Oh!’ Claire suddenly felt gauche, her thin veneer of sophistication evaporating, like Cinderella’s finery, to expose her as the naïve, clueless girl she really was. She had no idea what the signals were, what the etiquette was.
