‘I’m Hannah.’ She held out a formal hand as that seemed to be the only way she could regain some semblance of control.
‘Conor.’ He shook her hand. ‘Can I get you another drink?’ he asked with a gesture towards her empty glass.
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I think that might have been what got me into this predicament in the first place.’
‘Predicament.’ He rolled the word around his mouth in his soft Irish accent and she found it gave her a little thrill somewhere in her solar plexus. ‘I’m a predicament, am I?’
‘Well.’ She lifted her shoulders.
‘I think I like being a predicament. What were you drinking?’
She couldn’t resist.
‘Red wine. The Bordeaux.’
‘You know about wine?’
She laughed. ‘No. Only that I liked that one.’
‘With wine that’s all you need to know.’ He stood up and raised a hand at the barman, lifting Hannah’s empty glass.
‘And just like that. Does everyone do your bidding?’
Conor grinned, his eyes twinkling with a touch of devilment. ‘Of course.’
‘You’re very sure of yourself.’
‘If I’m not, who else will be looking out for me?’
‘Good point,’ Hannah acceded with a nod of her head.
‘So what brings you to our fair city? Hen do? Stag do? Weekend break? Business?’
Hannah hesitated. Enough people at home thought she was crazy to just suddenly up sticks and go on a cookery course for six weeks, she didn’t need a stranger concurring with them. ‘Just a holiday.’
‘I’m afraid you haven’t had the weather for it today.’
‘I’ve not heard that people come for the weather.’
He smiled. ‘There is that. But when it’s fine there’s no place more beautiful.’
‘Spoken like a true Irishman.’
‘Whereabouts in England are you from?’
‘Manchester.’
‘Ah. I have cousins there.’
‘Don’t you have cousins everywhere?’
He laughed again. ‘Pretty much. That’s Catholic families for you. And we’re big on emigrating. So what do you do in Manchester?’
‘I’m a lawyer.’
He looked impressed.
‘What do you do?’
