Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (13 page)

‘Max, good morning! How are you?’

Audrey was using her best telephone voice and was smiling into the receiver. Years ago she’d paid an exorbitant fee for a session with a life coach. All the other agency owners were doing it and she was damned if she was going to be left out. He’d been a total waste of money, and the only thing she could remember was his instruction to smile on the telephone. Smiling softened the vocal cords; people were more likely to do business with you, he’d promised. Audrey didn’t like to do it if the girls could see. But this morning she was smiling most determinedly for Max Higgert.

‘Ah, Audrey.’ Max sounded tense. ‘I’m well, thank you. And you?’

‘Oh, I’m marvellous,’ Audrey simpered. So few clients bothered with basic courtesies. She’d somehow known that Max was a cut above. ‘I just thought I’d give you a tinkle to see how your lunch date with Penelope Huffington went yesterday. She’s a dream, isn’t she?’

‘She was . . . um . . . a lovely woman. Very, er . . .’

‘Educated!’ Audrey gushed. She’d scoured the agency books to find the right lady for Max, and Penelope was perfect.

‘Yes, very well educated.’

‘And elegant!’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘And cultured!’ Audrey played her trump card. Men like Max prized a cultured woman.

‘Very! I felt like the village idiot!’

‘So you liked her then? You clicked? I knew you would!’

‘Ah ...’

‘I
knew
you’d have a marvellous time!’

‘It was very nice, Audrey, but, um, well, it wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for.’

Audrey blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’ Her smile dropped a notch.

Max coughed.

‘Well, as I said, or you said, or one of us said,’ he faltered, ‘. . . she’s charming and educated and cultured and probably perfect for very many people. But, ah, I don’t think I was her cup of tea, actually.’

‘You’re quite wrong. I’ve had her on the phone already. She asked me to organize a second date.’

‘Oh, right. Well, that’s very flattering. That she wanted to meet again, I mean. And please, tell her thank you. But . . .’

‘She comes from the Whitting family, you know, the merchant bankers? They own the Whitting Country Club. Such lovely people. They’ve had money for generations. And Penelope’s a great lover of the arts, always attending
launches and exhibitions. And she helps out at the cathedral with their fundraising concerts. She does so much for charity, Penelope. Such a wonderful woman!’

‘Yes, certainly. But I’m afraid I don’t think we’re right for each other.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly! You’re a perfect match.’

Audrey’s smile clattered around her jawbone. Bugger smiling; her muscles hurt.

Max continued nervously. ‘Actually, I was wondering if there was anyone else you had in mind. Someone
not
so educated and cultured and accomplished.’

‘Oh.’

‘Someone warm . . . and kind. Someone a bit more . . .
normal
!’

‘Right, I see.’ Audrey patted her hair in bewilderment. ‘But well-groomed though? And elegant?’

‘Well, I don’t really . . .’

‘Someone who can entertain your clients and accompany you to dinner parties?’

‘That’s not quite wha—’

‘Of course, Penelope is a little uptight. Actually, I’ve always thought she was a bit of a cold fish; a bit too eager to talk about her charity work. It does get a bit vulgar when she flaunts it in your face. But don’t worry! I’ve got just the woman for you!’ Audrey started to swivel purposefully in her chair again. ‘She’s a perfect match. In fact, that’s why I’m phoning – to see if I can arrange a lunch date. Her name is Hermione Bolton King. She used to be married to a fabulously successful stockbroker and did very well out
of the divorce. She’s got a six-bedroom house on the Holly Bush private road. You know, with the fountain and the electric gates?’

A few minutes later Audrey put down the phone having secured Max’s permission to instigate a date with Hermione. Honestly, he could have sounded a bit more enthusiastic, she thought bitterly. She couldn’t think why he hadn’t liked Penelope Huffington. She’d put a lot of thought into that match; he could at least have given her a second try. But never mind; he’d adore Hermione. And what an impressive house Hermione had, with its conservatory made entirely from hand-blown Venetian glass. Max was bound to be impressed!

She looked at her watch and frowned. It was 11.30. Where the devil were her flowers? They’d normally arrived by 11.00.

She swung open her door and bristled into the main office.

‘Is everything all right, Audrey?’ Bianca asked sweetly.

There were no flowers anywhere.

‘Yes, yes.’ She forced a civil tone, casting her eye around the flowerless desks. ‘Right, well, I’m very busy.’

She sailed back into her office and shut the glass door behind her. If the flowers hadn’t arrived by midday she’d have words with that florist.

She decided to cheer herself up by calling President Ernie. Audrey believed it a business imperative to keep up a personal relationship with the Dating Practitioners’ Society president.

Audrey had first met Ernie when Table For Two was in
its infancy and she was a rookie matchmaker. Ernie had already been in the business for twenty years, and what he didn’t know simply wasn’t worth knowing in the first place. With his silver-grey hair and taut figure he cut a dash at the Society meetings and was always full of clever ideas about how they could pull together. He was touching sixty now, and Audrey was dreading the day he decided enough was enough, and retired.

‘Audrey, how wonderful to hear from you!’

‘Good morning, Mr President!’

Despite Ernie’s protestations, Audrey insisted on addressing him this way. A world without hierarchy was a world going to the dogs.

‘So, you’ve heard the news about Nigel at Cupid’s Cabin then?’ he gossiped importantly.

‘Which news in particular?’ Audrey tried to keep her tone light. She hated to look anything less than one hundred per cent informed on industry tittle-tattle.

‘Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but I know I can trust you. Nigel’s laid off Beverly!’

This
was
exciting news. Audrey was glad she’d phoned.

‘He’s got so few clients now,’ Ernie continued blithely, ‘and they’re deserting him in droves. Sheryl at Love Birds has been getting several disaffected Cupid’s Cabiners banging on her doors each morning. I tell you, Nigel’s in hot water. He’ll be out of business by the ball.’

‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Audrey dizzily.

‘I’m surprised you’ve not had any of his Cupid’s Cabiners over your way . . .’

‘But of course we have!’ Audrey blustered. ‘I just didn’t want to rub poor Nigel’s nose in it. The last thing he’d want is everyone gossiping.’

‘I quite agree.’

‘But isn’t it awful? What do you think has gone wrong over there?’

‘Far be it from me to speculate, but I bet it’s got something to do with what’s going on at home. Nigel and Marjorie have been having problems. Apparently Marjorie’s developed a roving eye and Nigel’s jealous of any man she comes into contact with. He won’t leave the house in the morning until the postman’s been and gone. Business is bound to suffer!’

‘Of course!’ Audrey agreed vigorously.

‘You know as well as I do, Audrey, you can’t be in the business of creating love at work unless you’ve got love at home. Else it’s like a vicar losing the Lord, or a policeman waking up one day and deciding he’s going to be an anarchist. Without a happy home life your matchmaking mojo’s gone. We owe it to our clients to make sure our own domestic situations are in order. A happy marriage makes for a happy bureau makes for happy clients; that’s what I say!’

‘Quite! So, you think Nigel’s lost his matchmaking mojo?’

‘I’d put money on it!’

‘Heavens!’

‘But where there are losers, there are also winners; Sheryl’s really cleaning up! You’ve got to admire her!’

Audrey made a small coughing noise that could be taken as a rough approximation of agreement.

‘Of course, we’ll have to be terribly discreet at the next Society meeting and pretend we don’t know. Mum’s the word!’

‘Absolutely, Mr President,’ Audrey gushed.

‘Anyway.’ Ernie moved glibly on. ‘I hear you’re bringing Alice Brown to the ball as your “matchmaker in the making”.’

Audrey’s senses went on high alert. She strained to hear mockery in his voice.

‘Quite right too!’ Ernie continued emphatically. ‘I hear great things about young Alice. She’s quite the rising star!’

Audrey looked across the office towards Alice. She was wearing another of her porridge-coloured cardigans with what appeared to be her mother’s blouse. Surely Ernie couldn’t mean it. He had to be pulling her leg.

Audrey put down the phone, feeling unsettled. There was a knock at her glass door and Alice inched gingerly in, manoeuvring a heavy bouquet.

Audrey raised her hand to her chest in theatrical surprise.

‘Oh, that silly man!’ she said in her best fluttery voice. ‘He’s such a hopeless romantic. I keep telling him to stop, but he keeps on sending them!’

‘They’re beautiful,’ smiled Alice. ‘Your husband must love you very much.’

‘He does.’ Audrey shot her a peculiar look and clutched the flowers to her bosom. She dismissed her with a wave of her hand. She needed to think and that cardigan was giving her one of her heads.

Kate slammed the front door of her city-centre apartment and hurtled down the stairs. She hated being late.

Although she’d planned to leave work at six, take a leisurely bath and slowly apply her make-up, there’d been a last-minute client crisis and she hadn’t left until nearly 7.30. She’d been too late to pick up her carefully selected outfit from the dry-cleaners, so was going to have to make do with an old favourite standby. Her fantasy preparations scuppered, she’d grabbed a quick shower, sprinkled her hair with talc and then spent her last valuable minutes ransacking her bedroom, frantically searching for her tummy-tightening pants. It hadn’t been an ideal start to the night.

As she powered in the direction of The Privet she tried not to dwell on the fact that this was her first date in nearly two years. Sebastian was a terrifying reintroduction to dating; every time she thought about him her stomach buckled with fear. When she’d opened her email from Alice she couldn’t believe what she saw. Sebastian wasn’t a man; he was a god! His photograph had been taken
professionally, and he was looking to the left as if he was being called by a group of glamorous friends. The angle perfectly showed his straight nose, immaculate jaw and dark, luxuriant hair. He looked like he should be dating a film star, not wasting time with a size-14 nobody with talcum-powdered hair and support pants.

With a flush Kate remembered the photo Sebastian had been sent of her. It was a snap from a package holiday she’d been on with Lou five summers ago. It had been taken from quite a way away and was a bit blurry, but she’d picked it because the distance and her tan made her look ten pounds lighter.

Kate hurriedly turned the final corner and The Privet loomed intimidatingly before her. There was no going back now. This could be it, she thought giddily – the end to her single existence and the beginning of her new life! A life that begins with a date at The Privet and ends in a detached four-bedroom house with a gorgeous husband, two kids and a golden retriever!

‘Do you have a reservation?’ A tall, snooty woman eyed Kate suspiciously.

Kate cleared her throat and tried to speak assertively.

‘Yes, I’m here to meet Sebastian Lincoln.’

The woman raised an eyebrow.

‘Mr Lincoln?’ She gave Kate a quick but unmistakable once-over. ‘This way.’

Meekly Kate followed her as she swept into the dining area and snaked deftly between the tables. Kate eyed the tiny gaps between the tables with a sinking heart. Her hips
were too big for a place like this; she was bound to knock something over. But the woman was disappearing quickly and there was no choice. So she took a deep breath and ploughed ahead, squeezing herself in every time she approached a table. She noticed diners removing their wine glasses from her path whenever she loomed close.