‘And I’m curious as to why you’re asking me how I like my meat,’ I retort. ‘Shouldn’t you be asking me proper questions, like ... like ...’ I trail off as I’ve never applied for a position like this, and I have no idea what questions he should be asking.
Stupid sodding job. I didn’t want it anyway. So what if I would have lived in a fancy house and been paid a decentwage? It’s not meant for the likes of me. He’s earmarked one of his hoity-toity Kensington girls for it. I let out a doleful sigh. There’s no point trying to carry on the pretence, so I may as well come clean. Aunt Ivy is going to be livid that I haven’t stuck to my story.
‘All right, if you really want to know, I live in Spitalfields with my aunt. She applied to your advertisement and wrote me the reference because she thinks ... Well, never mind what she thinks. But if you’d known my background, you’d never even have given me a chance.’
‘Possibly,’ he says. ‘But lying about who you are doesn’t give a good first impression, does it?’
I hang my head, ashamed. ‘No, sir. But if it’s any consolation, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with lying about it.’
‘So do you have any experience being a governess? Have you taught any children at all?’
‘No. Well, unless you count how to steal a hot potato when the seller’s back is turned.’
Dr Dryden lets out a loud bark of laughter. The sound is alarming, but at least he’s amused. I smile faintly as he chuckles away.
Speaking of children, where is his son?I wonder.Upstairs, playing?Yet from the quick peer down the dimly lit hall before I was shown into his study, I got theimpression the house was completely devoid of life. And since I’ve been in here, there’s been no thumps, bumps, or squeals issuing from overhead—no noises that could be associated with a happy young boy playing at least.Perhaps he’s out with his nanny or is just very quiet?
Chapter 3
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
Why on earth did I ask out a patient? What the hell possessed me? I could leave now, and she’ll never know I was here.
I’m sitting in a speakeasy cocktail bar but my thoughts are anything but ‘easy’ about this situation. I’ve arrived early enough that leavingisstill a possibility. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.Standing her up is a dick move, I tell myself.You asked her out, now you have to go through with it.SoI force myself to stay where I am. Part of me is curious to see if Florence shows up, and I haven’t been on a date in ages, though I’m not sure what we’ll have in common.
For something to do, I flick through the black art deco menu with its eclectic assortment of cocktails while glancing surreptitiously at the entrance every five seconds.
I usually don’t have any issue with beautiful girls who lie in my chair with their pearly whites on display. They’re patients. Off-limits. I most certainlyneverask for their phone number at the end of an appointment. But Florence just smiled, shrugged, and typed it into my phone as if it happened to her all the time. Our text conversation that night went off without a hitch. I asked if she was free on Friday. She replied right away, said that she was, and suggested The Brief Encounter, this bar in Stockbridge.
I roll back my shoulders and check if my hair gel is holding.
Just play it cool. Maybe get yourself a drink for something to do. That’s an excellent idea.
At the bar, I order a dram of Glenlivet and down it in one. It tastes like caramel fire as it slides down my throat, and my ears start burning, then my chest. But my nerves remain on edge.
‘Another please,’ I say, and the barman looks amused.
‘Hard day at work or a hot date?’
‘Both,’ I mutter, slinking back to the table, clutching my refill.
I’m three sips in when Florence appears, poised in the doorway, scanning the room. Looking for me.
Holy hell, she’s even prettier than I remember.
I have but moments to observe her before she notices mehidden away here in the back. Her flowing jet-black hair, large violet eyes, and pale skin are a striking combination. The dark-purple lipstick is a new addition; she wasn’t wearing that when I was inspecting her teeth. She has on a high-necked white blouse, a long ruffled purple skirt, and a black fur coat that doesn’t seem fake. On anyone else, clothes like that would look hideously old-fashioned, but she’s tall enough and gorgeous enough to pull it off. Anyway, I like that she has her own look: Victorian goth.
Her eyes lock on mine; she smiles, and a shiver runs lightly down my spine as she walks over. That same floaty feeling I had at the end of her appointment washes through me. Like I’m not in control of my thoughts. Like I’m going to do or say something ridiculously inappropriate in her presence.
Get a grip, Damian,I tell myself sternly, clutching my Scotch glass so tightly it’s liable to shatter. It’s just one date, and nothing’s going to happen. Especially not what your dick is hoping for.
‘Hey, Dr Rhodes.’ Florence grins at me, shrugs off her coat, and swings into the banquette beside me. ‘Sorry I’m late, bus issues.’ She pulls her long black hair forward over one shoulder, and I breathe in the scent of dried roses. It smells like nostalgia.
Reluctantly, I drag my eyes from her to glance at mywatch. It’s 7.06 p.m.
‘You’re not late,’ I say. ‘I was way too early.’
She crosses her legs and smiles properly at me. God, I’m a sucker for good teeth and hers are almost perfect, apart from a slightly twisted left lateral incisor.
