“Emily!” Jonathan waves from where he’s leaning at the bar waiting for me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have a white wine, thanks,” I say, as he gives me a warm greeting with a kiss on each cheek. “I can get this, though.”
“No, I insist,” he says, pulling a credit card out of his wallet. “You’re helping me big-time, and the least I can do is get you a drink before we start.”
“How did you find this place?” I ask, taking off my coat and admiring the homeliness of the surroundings. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Oh, I used to come here a lot when I first moved to London,” he tells me, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “One of my colleagues at my old company introduced it to me. It’s one of those rare places in London where I feel relaxed, if I’m honest. A little haven. It’s also got some very interesting history. Queen Elizabeth the First apparently danced around the tree outside.”
“Really?”
“Wonderful, isn’t it? I like to escape here when I need to have a think over a proper pint. Not many of my friends come here—unless you’re introduced to it, you might not notice it. It feels a little…”
“Hidden?” I suggest, as he searches for the word.
“Yes! Hidden. The perfect place to do some stealthy gift brainstorming.”
“Cordelia won’t happen upon us?”
“Unlikely. I brought her here once and she loved it, but it’s hardly convenient for her. Besides, she thinks I’ve got meetingsrunning late.” He passes me my glass of wine and holds up his pint. “Cheers.”
“Cheers!” I take a sip of my drink, trying to imagine Cordelia in this homey pub—the same woman who is glamorous, snobby, and usually quite rude. Although our criminal activity last night has shown me a new side to her: I’m not so sure she completely belongs in the high-society world—not now I’ve seen her scale a wall and pick a lock with ease.
I haven’t heard from her today. I admit I was expectingsomething.A message to say how much she appreciated me helping her out, how much she owes me after Ibroke the lawfor her, how maybe she was wrong to be so dismissive of me up until now.
But not a peep.
“Thanks again for meeting me,” Jonathan says. “I have no idea where to begin.”
“She hasn’t dropped any hints?”
“Nothing. I even asked her outright, because I was worried I’d missed any signs. I’m not very good at stuff like that,” he admits apologetically. “But she said the usual sort of things she always says when I ask her about birthday and Christmas gifts.”
“What are the usual things she says?”
“Oh, you know”—he blushes, twisting his pint round on the coaster—“that she doesn’t want anything, that I’m all she could ever want”—he waves a hand, his cheeks flushing pink—“that sort of thing.”
“Cordelia says things like that? That’s so… sweet.”
“Yes, well”—he grins—“she doesn’t say them very often. But, as you know, she’s a lot softer than people think. It’s all a front.”
I nod, pretending I know what he’s talking about. I guess last night she showedsomevulnerability. Her paranoia about Annabel’s wedding has to come from insecurity. And Jonathan is so nice, so warm and friendly and open. Surely he wouldn’t be with someone completely evil.
“So, any ideas?” he asks me hopefully. “It has to be personal somehow. It can’t be any old thing.”
“I agree. Let’s get a brainstorm going. I can ask you some questions and maybe it will give us some helpful ideas.”
“Good plan.”
“So, let’s start with how you two met. Cordelia has told me the general story, but no details.”
This is, of course, a lie. Cordelia has told me absolutely nothing about how she met Jonathan. After having no luck finding any details online about the happy couple and how it all began, I had to ask Lady Meade to fill me in a bit, so I could play my bridesmaid role to the best of my ability. What kind of bridesmaid doesn’t know how the bride and groom met?
“You met at a dinner,” I prompt, which is as much as I got out of Lady Meade.
“It was a charity auction, to raise funds for a ballet school. We were seated next to each other.”
“Cordelia never mentioned it was for a ballet school!”
