Fuchsia
The bar is dimly lit and decorated in shades of plum and faded gold. The shelves behind the counter are a beacon of light in the gloom, glistening with coloured bottles and polished glasses. Two barmen in white coats look up as they enter. There are several small tables around the edge of the narrow room, but Alistair heads to the tall stools at the counter at the back of the bar. The walk through Kensington has done much to dissolve any constraint between them. Alistair didn’t ask why she was so upset earlier, but he told her about his family, who now live in Edinburgh and about his four older sisters who are forever trying to organise his life for him. He told her his favourite sister is also called Emma and that he always calls her ‘Em’.
As they sit down, one of the barmen comes up and introduces himself as Jan. Emma guesses Jan is in his late twenties; he has short brown hair, a slight beard and hazel eyes. He wears his white barman’s coat neatly rolled to just below the elbow. and Emma cannot help but watch his hands and arms as he puts out small, square serviettes on the bar and offers them each a cocktail menu.
‘Let me know when you’re ready.’
Jan speaks with a slight accent. Emma, the linguist, isn’t sure where it is from and, quite frankly, she couldn’t care less. Just looking at Jan is enough for her.
As Jan walks away, Alistair catches her look and gives a small snort of laughter. ‘Your face!’
Jan has moved to the front of the bar to serve new customers, and Emma is suddenly very aware that her slim-fitting, navy skirt is riding up above her knees. ‘I know!’ she says, trying to simultaneously read the cocktail menu, pull her hem down and stop herself from laughing. ‘But he’s gorgeous.’
‘Not my type,’ Alistair says, looking at Jan critically.
‘Oh, God, I’m not being serious– it’s just he took me unawares.’
‘You wish,’ Alistair mutters, laughing.
She puts her head down, pretending to read, shoulders shaking. Eventually she draws a deep breath. ‘I think I’ll see what Jan recommends.’
Alistair says nothing but raises both eyebrows.
Jan is back. ‘Come to a decision yet, or would you like a recommendation?’
Alistair speaks for both of them, which is just as well, because Emma’s tongue seems to have become stuck to the roof of her mouth. ‘Yes, we do need your help, Jan. Do you have anything that has a floral twist to it?’
‘Floral,’ he says slowly. ‘I think I can do that. Do you fancy something that has a sour note, or would you like to start with some bubbles?’
‘Oh, bubbles, I think,’ Alistair says.
Emma makes a huge effort to get hold of herself. ‘I know that sounds like an odd request, but I’m doing research for a book that’s all about flowers.’ Emma hopes her voice is a nice blend of scientist and schoolteacher.
‘That’s a first, for sure. Leave it with me.’ Jan looks at her and smiles, and Emma knows she has never felt less like a schoolteacher in her life. She tries to ignore Alistair, who is now silently laughing beside her.
The first cocktail Jan suggests is a Parisian Rose. ‘This has a base of Grey Goose vodka, flower shop tincture,’ he explains.
Emma looks at him in disbelief. ‘Flower shop tincture?’
‘Better believe it,’ Jan says, looking up briefly from constructing their drinks. ‘Grey Goose is a French vodka– then I’m adding a little lemon juice and syrup, and topping it up with pink Champagne.’ He places the tall, fluted glasses in front of them. ‘Now for some extra flowers,’ he says, sprinkling the tops with pale-pink, sugared rose petals.
‘It’ssopretty,’ she enthuses.
‘And do the bubbles go up your nose?’ Alistair asks innocently.
Emma kicks him on the ankle.
Jan is soon away, serving some hard-drinking Russians further down the bar.
‘This is exhausting,’ Emma exhales. ‘I’d forgotten what it’s like to fancy someone.’
‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’ Alistair asks.
‘No, this is fun.’ Emma sips her Parisian Rose. ‘Do you have someone in your life?’ she asks, then immediately worries that she sounds like a women’s magazine.
‘Did have– didn’t work. Left me for his personal trainer.’
‘I’m sorry.’
