Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

I shot her a look. ‘I don’t think it’s strictly ethical, though.’

‘Well, no, but I really like him,’ Bobbi said, cheerfully. ‘Not just because he’s handsome, but he has a nice aura about him.’

‘Aura? What are you talking about?’

‘You know, the feel you get off him. He’s just so pleasant and nicely spoken. He seems like a real gentleman.’ She leaned on the counter, and looked at me appraisingly. ‘You’d look good together.’

‘Oh yes? Why’s that then?’

‘You’re both so old-fashioned.’

‘Old-fashioned? This is retro, darling. Vintage. It’s not old-fashioned,’ I said, indicating my 1940s-style swing dress. It was one of my favourites, blue with cream birds. I’d worn it to try and cheer myself up. ‘And he’s not exactly old-fashioned. That suit’s probably handmade from some tailor in Savile Row.’

‘No, but he’s got an old-fashioned charm about him. He’s so polite and well-mannered. Not like most men you meet today. Most men are like “Get your tits out, darlin’”, but I bet he’d be like “I wonder if you might possibly consider showing me your breasts?”’

‘Bobbi!’ I squeaked, starting to laugh. ‘What kind of men do you know? Besides, it’s probably his work persona. I was thinking before that’s probably how he gets people to confess. Charms it out of them.’

‘I’m sure he likes you, though,’ Bobbi said. ‘You can tell by the way he looks at you. He’s got a right twinkle in his eye.’

‘He has not.’ I touched my lips where he’d kissed me last night. ‘Besides, you only saw him yesterday before he dragged me off to the police station, and he looked guilty and uncomfortable.’

‘He hardly dragged you off, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘He looked shifty.’ I drew in a breath and let it out as a sigh. ‘I’m so fed-up today. I could scream. Why can’t I find a nice, uncomplicated man?’

‘You’ve been out with nice, uncomplicated men in the past,’ Bobbi pointed out. ‘But then you got bored.’

‘How about a nice, uncomplicated man who’s not boring then?’

‘Maybe Anthony is boring.’

‘Yes, I bet he is,’ I said savagely. ‘I bet he’s really bad in bed, too.’

‘Bound to be.’ Bobbi nodded in agreement and then gave me a sideways glance that said she didn’t believe a word of it. I didn’t either. My thoughts returned to the kiss in the bar and I sighed longingly before trying to conceal it by turning it into a yawn. I was really tired today. After Anthony had left last night, I’d spent the rest of the evening going through my calendar and trying to pinpoint the dates of the weekends I’d spent with Patrick. I’d found the tickets I’d mentioned at the police station in a hat box in my wardrobe among dried rose petals the colour of old blood. I’d tipped them out, disgusted with myself for keeping them, but kept the box because it had the address of a Parisian florist on the bottom. Patrick had sent me a few bouquets by mail from this particular florist so it was possible he held an account with them. If so, Anthony might be able to trace him through that. It was better than nothing, anyway.

I still wasn’t sure why I’d kept all this stuff after we’d broken up; it wasn’t what I usually did. But then Patrick was the first man I’d truly cared about. He seemed so sophisticated and mature compared with the other boys I’d been out with in the past. Patrick was different. He was older and already a successful businessman. I suppose I was a bit in awe of him. He had a big personality and took charge of every situation. He knew about food and wine and wore expensive suits and Rolex watches. Elena had gone mad at me when I’d told her this, ranting on about how superficial it all was and how I should be judging him on how much time he spent with me. I was so mad I didn’t speak to her for a week. Not that she noticed, of course; she was too loved-up with Daniel to realise. But I could never stay mad with her for long, and she’d forgiven me for being suspicious about Daniel when she first got together with him. It was hard to believe now that I’d ever thought he was using her. How wrong could I have been? Still, I was happy to be proven wrong where Elena was concerned.

I wasn’t so happy to be proven wrong about Patrick, though. But when I sat and thought about it, I couldn’t think of anything that meant he couldn’t be a criminal. The only thing I could think of was that I couldn’t possibly have dated a criminal. I didn’t do that sort of thing. I’d never been attracted to that whole ‘bad boy’ persona thing girls went for. I liked men who were good and smart and clean-living. Patrick had seemed to be all of those things.

The hat box and receipts were in the back of my car now, waiting for Anthony to stop by and collect them. He hadn’t said he would, but I thought it was likely. As a result, I spent the rest of the day watching out of the window for him and jumping every time a customer came into the shop. It made me cross that I wanted to see him again so badly, and it made me even crosser when closing time arrived and he hadn’t made an appearance at all. Bobbi went home and I locked up the shop before going out into the courtyard to drive home. The rain beat down on my head as I crossed to my car, soaking my hair and the shoulders of my coat. Anthony’s car glistened wetly next to mine, and I turned and glanced up at the doorway to his flat. The light was on in his hallway, so presumably he was in. I paused for a second, debating whether I should knock or not, before taking the hat box from the back of my car and going up the stone steps to his front door.

There was no answer at first and I was just starting to make my way back down the steps, thinking he wasn’t home, when the door opened and Anthony appeared, framed in the light of his hallway.

‘Oh! It’s you!’

He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and his shirt collar was open. I stared at him for a moment too long before remembering what I was there to do. Trotting back up the steps, I thrust the box at him and wiped some rainwater out of my eyes.

‘I’ve made the list and there are some receipts and things in there that might help. Also, there’s an address for the florist he used at the bottom of this box and I’m wondering if he had an account. I doubt it will help but you never know.’

My heart was hammering as I turned away to walk back down the steps. Those glasses were just too cute.

‘Don’t go, Rachel. Come in.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘I don’t want to disturb you. I just thought you’d want that as soon as possible.’

‘You’re not disturbing me at all. Come in, I’ll make you a drink. You must be freezing standing out there, and you’re soaked through.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Slowly, I walked back up the steps and into the hall, feeling awkward and uncertain. Should I be here? I could do without feeding my desire for him. Maybe I should make an excuse and leave. But even as I was formulating a reason to go, Anthony was shutting the door behind me and telling me to go upstairs. The apartment was designed with its three bedrooms on the lower floor, and an open-plan living area with kitchen, dining area and living room upstairs. It smelt deliciously of beef casserole.

‘I was just about to have dinner,’ Anthony said, following me upstairs. ‘Your mum made me a casserole.’

‘My mum?’ I said, incredulously. ‘When did she make you a casserole?’

‘She called round before. I think it’s a house-warming gift. She even apologised for not making it before. She’s very sweet, isn’t she?’

‘I haven’t even seen her this week,’ I grumbled, a bit offended she hadn’t made some for me, too. I loved my mum’s casserole. ‘In fact, she hasn’t even phoned to tell me she’s back from holiday!’

‘She said she only got back last night and was in a mad rush. Please stay and eat it with me. I’ll never eat it all. She’s made me a huge pot.’ He went to the cooker and stirred the contents of the saucepan on the hob.

‘You can always freeze it,’ I suggested, even though I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and my stomach was rumbling. It smelt gorgeous.

‘There’ll still be loads left even if you have some. I don’t know if she thinks I need fattening up or something. I’ve only warmed half of it up, but there’s more than enough for both of us. Have you eaten already?’

‘No, I’ve just finished work.’

‘Well then, take off your coat and sit down.’ He nodded towards the round oak table on the other side of the room. A pile of papers was stacked to one side of an open laptop. ‘Excuse the mess. I’ll move that in a minute.’

Unbuttoning my coat, I moved towards the table as if in slow motion. I couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Anthony placed a plate of steaming casserole in front of me virtually the minute I sat down, and then whisked away his laptop and files.

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. Your mum made it. What would you like to drink?’

‘Just water, thanks.’

Filling two glasses from the tap, Anthony carried them over before placing a plate of crusty bread in the centre of the table.

‘Mmm,’ he said, tucking into his dinner. ‘This is gorgeous.’

‘I know, I do love my mum’s stew.’

‘Can you cook like this?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. So, when did she bring it round?’

‘About four o’clock this afternoon. I’d just got in from work.’

I pulled a face. ‘That was sneaky. She could have come and said hello to me. I wonder if I’ve upset her somehow?’