***
It was a Friday afternoon and I was making my way down the road to the bus stop after work when I heard someone calling out my name.
I turned around. Coming towards me, and looking quite flushed, was Phil, the uncle of one of the kids I taught at the prep school. He’d picked up his nephew Sam a couple of times, but today the boy had already been picked up by his mother.
“Hi Phil,” I called back in reply “Your sister has already collected Sam.”
“I know, I know,” he stammered back, sounding quite breathless and a bit put out.
“Is there anything wrong?” I asked anxiously, concerned by the look on his face. Something seemed to be troubling him.
“I was just wondering” he went on a little awkwardly, “if you’d like to go for a drink sometime?”
“Ohh!” I let out, taken back. I certainly wasn’t expecting this. And, lovely though he was, Phil really wasn’t my type. I know I could have gone for a friendly drink with him and it would have been harmless, at least for me. But seeing the puppy-dog look in his eyes as he gazed at me, I didn’t think it was very fair to say yes and then crush his obvious hopes that we could be more than just friends.
“I’m sorry Phil, it’s not that I wouldn’t love to go out for a drink, it’s just I’m waiting for my fiancé to pick me up. We’re off to Paris for the weekend.” It came out without thinking and sounded somewhat far-fetched, but no one would ever know.
“Ohh!” He looked crushed. “I didn’t realise you were engaged!” (Nor did I, but no one was going to find out either way.)
“Yes, yes,” I added, trying to sound convincing, whilst simultaneously shoving my left hand into my coat pocket where Phil couldn’t see it with its non-existent ring. “He’s called Niccolo, Italian for Nicholas you know. After all he is Italian, and he’s a pilot.” There had really been no need to go into so much detail. But I was letting my imagination run away a touch, and it felt jolly good! It was a fantastic lie, but again, no one would ever know.
“That’s right” I heard, just inches behind me. I cringed on recognising the Italian accent.
I turned to find Niccolo standing beside me, smiling at me with his warm, sensual smile and holding a huge bouquet of flowers in one hand. With the other hand, giving me no warning, he pulled me close and planted a passionate kiss on my lips right in front of Phil, much to my embarrassment. But at least he played out the role to perfection.
Phil was gone in a flash, muttering something about having to take Sam to football.
Left alone with Niccolo, I just stared at him. I didn’t know where to begin. I was mad at him for using me to get back at his ex-girlfriend, but I also felt terribly embarrassed that he'd obviously heard the fantasy I’d openly related to Phil. An Italian fiancé, who was a pilot called Niccolo. I mean, as much as I could try to pretend I was talking about someone else, there was little chance that I would sound convincing.
“Please let me explain, Anna,” he pleaded, as he handed over the extravagant bouquet, took my hand and led me to a nearby bench. “I know what you’re probably thinking, Anna. That Scarlett, the girl wearing the ‘skunk’ fur, is my ex-girlfriend. That’s correct. We had just broken up the very day before I had bumped into you – and I bumped into you because I was busy turning off my phone.”
“What?” I was outraged. “How could you possibly fiddle around with your phone whilst you were driving? That's so dangerous, and not just for you, but for those around you!”
“I know, I know. But Scarlett was calling me without rest and it was impossible to drive with the constant ringing, and though I didn’t like having to do it, I turned the phone off. I needed a moment’s peace so as not to get so distracted in the car. Not that it worked, of course, as I drove right into you anyway.” He smiled at me apologetically.
But I wasn’t convinced, and I still felt a bit disturbed that he would fiddle around with his phone whist driving. Besides, he’d used me on the dinner date.
As if reading my mind, he continued, “And then Scarlett turned up at the restaurant. At first I had no idea how she’d found out that I was going to be there, but as I was getting the car and you had popped to the ladies room, the Maître d' had sought me out to apologise about the mix up. He had thought that my dinner date was with Scarlett, as she had been silly enough to phone months ago saying that if I was to have dinner there, it was because I was taking her there as a surprise, and she wanted to look her best for the occasion. She had asked the Maître d' to phone her and warn her. He had no idea that I’d never be taking her back there again. But he wasn’t to know, and she took advantage and showed up with and old school friend of mine. She was obviously trying to make me feel jealous, when all she’s achieved is to make me feel bloody sorry for my mate.”
He paused, I guess to suss out my reaction. I still wasn’t sure. He had told me about taking me for dinner ten minutes before he showed up on my doorstep. How could his ex possibly have known with enough time to get herself dressed to the nines and find a companion at such short notice?
“Sorry, Niccolo, I just don’t believe you. I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but it was all so out of the blue. How could your ex have known about our dinner date when even I didn’t know about it?” I gasped then, as it clicked that I was probably just his second choice – or maybe even his third or fourth – if his first choice to get back at his ex had turned him down. Bloody cheek!
I looked into his eyes, my spy observation skills tuned to red alert, searching for the standard signs of lying: lip pursing, hair stroking, playing with jewellery, avoiding eye contact, hand wringing, etc etc. I could go on, but all I was actually achieving by mentally going through the list was getting myself into a nervous state instead of actually sussing anything out. Whilst Niccolo just calmly stood there, looking totally charming: eyes locked into mine, showing no signs of distress, no nervy moves, no fidgeting or twitching. But I wasn’t going to let his suave air deceive me.
“If I’m honest,” I replied, “it looks to me as though you were the one who tricked the restaurant into phoning you when your ex was going to have dinner there, so that you could get her jealous, rather than the other way around.” Having said that, I realised that if he thought I was good enough to make his supermodel ex feel jealous, I guess it was quite a compliment.
Before I could go on, Niccolo interrupted me. “If I was just using you, why on earth would I keep trying to contact you after our dinner? If that had been my only reason for taking you out, I would have achieved what I’d wanted, and what would be the point in trying desperately to see you again?” He smiled at me then, that damn sexy boyish smile of his which left me breathless. “And I’d actually booked it three weeks earlier, but didn’t feel confident about asking you out for dinner until right at the last minute.”
WHAT??? Niccolo didn’t feel confident about asking me out…?
“How about dinner again?” he went on. “And a second chance?”
His enticing smile was playing havoc with my insides. Somewhere at the back of my mind I could hear my Nan’s warning alarms, which seemed to sound louder with each passing second.
I answered with my own question: “How did you find out where I worked?”
He laughed, a deep throaty laugh, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in merriment. I wanted to remain stern, but found myself smiling back at him as he continued, “I’ve spent the last three weeks phoning up all the primary schools in the area asking if a really beautiful, stunning brunette worked with the reception class because I was in need of some after-school practical assistance.” He chuckled out loud then, probably from the look of utter shock that must have been reflected on my face.
“No!” I exclaimed, embarrassed. Stunning brunette? Me?
“You’re right, I didn’t! Well, I did phone one school, but got warned that any further pervy calls and they would notify the police and have the line checked. So,” he added with a sheepish smile, “the other morning I f
ollowed you.”
I must have looked aghast. He was rapidly resuming his kidnapping, now mixed with stalking, behaviour. And I was mortified that despite boasting about my observation skills, I hadn’t been able to notice that I was being followed by a car that looked like a space shuttle. But I had to admit, he seemed keen – and in this day and age that was definitely a plus.
But I wasn’t giving in yet.
“So what happened to Scarlett? Why didn’t it work out?”
“Too high-maintenance for me,” he replied. Coming from him, that was quite a shock! At least I was safe there; give me a pint pot over a champagne flute any day! I’m simply Anna. I’m certainly not a high-maintenance girl.
“So how about dinner? Did I hear you say we had a date in Paris?”
I blushed, remembering that he’d heard all about my fanciful ramblings.
“Dinner sounds great,” I replied, linking my arm through his. “Anywhere local is fine with me, though.”
My Nan would kill me. But, then again, how did she get to be so worldly-wise anyway? It was perhaps best not to delve into that too much. Some childhood perceptions definitely shouldn’t be distorted with reality. I preferred to keep the image of my Nan as being as pure and virginal as possible. Not as if anyone’s Nan could be virginal… (Sorry if that’s a spoiler!)
But as we walked off, with Niccolo’s arm now around my waist holding me tight and my head leaning on his powerful shoulder, I do think I actually heard her whisper in my head: Go for it, Anna my love. Sometimes you have to take a risk. Love is for fools wise enough to take a chance. “But it is a risk to love, isn’t it, Nan? What if it doesn’t work out?”
To which she wisely answered back: Ah, Anna my pet, but what if it does?
THE END
A little of Chantelle Rose
By
Cristina Hodgson
“An extremely witty romance with a twist
and refreshingly different. For all the “roses”
that know the only spike should be a stiletto, here
is a new heroine to escape with. Chantelle Rose
is like chocolate something to devour in one sitting...
the perfect date night book when you're not out
on your own adventures.”
Camilla Morton,
International Bestseller of
"How to Walk in High Heels”