‘Knows some really impressive people. Great contacts. I might meet him for a drink or something. You know... purely platonic... because... you know, I am seeing Daniel. Just networking, you know? Did you see the guy in the Hugo Boss suit and that tie? He was at Eton. Something big in property now. A developer, I think. Offices in Kensington.’
‘Emily, he’s an estate agent.’
‘Are you sure?’ Her forehead crumpled.
I nodded. ‘Definitely. He’s a mate of Barney’s. I’ve met him before. Once tried to sell me a broom cupboard in Wimbledon.’
Her face fell in disappointment. ‘Nice suit though. How about you? Going to see anyone again?’
‘Not sure. There was one guy...’ I trailed off. Ned had been quite nice and it had only been three minutes. Could there be more there if I gave him a chance?
‘Which one?’
‘Guy called Ned, he was all right.’
‘Why not give it a whirl? What have you got to lose? It’s time you had a bit of fun. Get you out of the flat. I know you had a disaster with that Mike bloke at uni, but when was the last time you went out with anyone for longer than a month. You really need to start trusting again. You’ll never find the one mooching around at home with Daniel and me all the time.’
* * *
As the cab pulled up outside the flat, Emily’s face fell. ‘Shit,’ she said, looking up at her bedroom window.
‘What?’ I asked alarmed.
‘My light’s on. Daniel’s here. I wish you hadn’t given him that key.’
‘I’m sorry but that was before you were going out. Came in handy for someone else to have a key if I locked myself out. I thought you said he was meeting his folks for dinner.’
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, at the Oxo Tower. He said there was a chance he’d come by afterwards if it wasn’t too late.’
She’d changed her tune, she hadn’t mentioned that earlier.
‘I’m surprised he didn’t invite you to meet them?’ And that she wouldn’t jump at the chance for a posh dinner. ‘They’re very laid back. Lovely, especially Miriam, his stepmum. She’s quite a character.’
Emily shrugged. ‘He did.’ She gave an impish smile. ‘I’m not a meeting-the-parents kind of gal.’
Maybe she has a point. Let’s face it, she had more luck with men than me.
‘So,’ I said, fumbling with the handle of the door while shoving a ten-pound note at the cab driver.
‘I don’t want him to know where we’ve been. He’s been a bit off ...’ She stepped down onto the pavement.
Off what? Offhand? Off as in going off her? I was dying to ask, but there was no way she’d admit a man was losing interest.
‘Where have we been?’ she said, pulling on my arm to slow my progress to the front door. ‘Think.’
‘We’ve been out. For a drink.’
‘Yes, but where?’
‘Café Lulu, perhaps?’
‘We can’t tell him that!’ she hissed in an outraged whisper.
‘Why not? It’s the truth. Just don’t mention the speed-date bit.’
‘What if he knows that they have speed-dating there?’
‘Emily, even if he did, why would he think that we’d been?’
