Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (28 page)

No, the more Alice thought about it, the more she was sure she’d got the wrong end of the stick. And what must he have thought when she ran off like that?
Again!
She felt embarrassed even thinking about it.

Alice shook her head. She needed to concentrate; she had to make a match – a
good
match – for Maurice. She made herself comfortable, looked out of the window and let herself drift . . .

When Alice re-emerged she had several names written on her notepad: Felicity Dingle, Abigail Brookes and Rita Harrington.

Felicity was a vivacious, raven-haired taxi driver whose job meant she rarely had the luxury of free time in which to meet men. But the payback was that she could turn her hand to any possible conversation, from sport to politics to astronomy. If her evenings were her own to spend sociably then Alice had no doubt she’d be nabbed by a lucky suitor within the week.

Abigail was an artist whose dishevelled style Alice had always admired. She
was
a bottle blonde, but kept her dark roots at a defiant five centimetres. She was an ironic blonde with attitude.

And Rita was a headmistress and former head of her university debating society. If Rita couldn’t blow away the cobwebs with a rigorous intellectual argument, then Alice didn’t know who could. She’d certainly keep Maurice on his toes.

None of the women were divorced, and none could possibly be branded as bland.

Alice reached for the phone to call Maurice but something caught her eye. It was yet another outsized floral delivery walking through the door. Now that Alice knew how much John loved his garden, the frequency of the floral deliveries made sense. But something about this particular delivery didn’t. Rather than being the usual collection of roses and lilies, this was an exotic cluster of bird of paradise. It was wild and vibrant, and could only have been chosen by someone who really knew about plants. Instinctively Alice rose to admire the bouquet more closely. But strangely it seemed to be heading her way. Every step taken by the human legs beneath the flowers brought them closer to her desk.

‘Alice Brown?’ asked the legs.

Alice nodded dumbly.

‘These are for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Alice was astonished. The bouquet was thrust into her arms.

‘Bloody hell! Who sent you those?’ Hilary slammed down her phone and hurried over as fast as her pregnant body would allow.

Alice suddenly became aware of Audrey studying her closely from across the office. Numbly she delved for the card.

Dear Alice
– she read.

From one plant lover to another, with the greenest of intentions. Please reconsider that coffee.

There was no signature, just an email address.

‘It’s a mystery admirer!’ Hilary shouted excitedly, reading the card over Alice’s shoulder.

Audrey was still watching her like a hawk. Alice studiously avoided eye contact. The delivery was obviously from John. But what if Audrey guessed? She was frightening enough when she didn’t have a reason to be angry.

‘Do you have any idea who they’re from?’ Hilary demanded.

Alice did her best to look casual.

‘No one. Just a friend having a laugh, that’s all.’

She placed the bouquet on the floor beside her desk, sat down and tried to look engrossed in her paperwork. Disappointed, the girls returned to their desks. Normal business resumed, and Alice finally felt the weight of Audrey’s gaze shift away. But inside, her heart was thumping. John had sent her flowers! He didn’t think she was an idiot for running away from him at the garden centre. Or for blubbing into his hanky at the ball. He didn’t care that Sheryl had humiliated her, that she was a matchmaker without
a boyfriend, or that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth before going to the garden centre.

John wanted to meet!

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She needed to forget all thoughts of those smiling eyes and that sunshine-coated skin. She had to be sensible.

It wasn’t John who wanted a coffee; it was John
Cracknell
– Audrey’s husband – and that was a whole different kettle of fish. Either he was a married man wanting a torrid affair or he was a married man wanting an innocent friendship with a fellow gardener to discuss drainage techniques for pot plants or the best way to get rid of slugs. Neither option was anything to get carried away with.

Alice longed to read the card again, but she daren’t, in case anyone saw. So she tried to remember the wording and decipher its meaning. He’d said his intentions were green, but could she believe him? There was only one way to find out.

Though how on earth could she explain to Audrey that she was arranging a rendezvous with her husband . . . ?

But maybe Audrey already knew? Maybe she and John had laughed all through their Sunday lunch at the vision of Alice hurtling off, terrified by the proposition of a hot drink. Maybe that was why Audrey had been studying her so strangely when the bouquet had arrived.

Alice’s head was beginning to ache. And time was ticking on. She still needed to talk Maurice through her suggested suitors. And then there was the round of Monday-morning phone calls to see how her weekend matches had got on. She didn’t have time to daydream.

Alice reached for her phone again and dialled Maurice’s number. She’d made her mind up. It was good manners to thank someone when they sent you a gift, so she’d send John a quick email. She wouldn’t mention the coffee, but she also wouldn’t delete the autosignature that automatically appeared at the bottom of her emails and included her mobile number. If John called her on it, it wouldn’t be her fault. It would all be innocent and above board: totally greenly intended! Besides, she’d never had a gardening buddy before, and he might just have some suggestions to help save her geraniums from greenfly.

The ringing phone was picked up by Maurice, sounding calmer now. Alice opened her mouth and confidently began to talk him through her matches.

Audrey sat in her favourite position in the front row of the elevated section on the lower deck of the 119 bus. She never went upstairs; it was always full of teenagers and drunks. Instead she preferred her lower-deck vantage point from which she could cast withering verdicts on the alighting passengers.

But tonight, scathing judgements of the general public couldn’t hold Audrey’s attention. Her eyes kept straying to the grey, wet streets and her thoughts kept returning to John.

It had been six whole days since the ball and the awful conversation in the passenger seat of his Audi. For six days and six nights she’d gone over his words until they’d become embedded in her dreams when she was asleep and stamped before her eyeballs when she was awake.

I didn’t know you were like that . . . hard . . . devoid of compassion
.

So many times Audrey had almost picked up the phone to ring Geraldine and demand to know what he’d meant. Sometimes her hand had even touched the receiver, but
she hadn’t made the call. After all, how could she explain without admitting she’d somehow incurred John’s disapproval? John, who was so equable about everyone.

No, it would be much better if Geraldine simply gave Audrey John’s number so she could call him herself. She’d apologize, promise to change, donate to his favourite charity, anything that meant she’d be forgiven.

But she hadn’t phoned to ask for his number either. She knew it wouldn’t be given. She’d tried before, years ago. She’d been as persuasive as she’d known how, but John’s number had remained firmly out of reach. It was agency policy. Audrey hadn’t the heart to try again. She couldn’t face refusal, not when she was feeling so weak.

Instead she’d forlornly hoped John would get in touch with her, apologize, and implore her with his Paul Newman eyes to forget the whole unhappy incident. Audrey’s hopes had soared when the unscheduled floral delivery had arrived today. She’d held her breath whilst the delivery man pulled his paperwork from his pocket and was pointed towards the correct desk. By the time it was clear he wasn’t heading for her glass-walled office, Audrey’s breath had been held so long that her vision was peppered with small black dots. She should have known John wouldn’t apologize that way. Besides, he’d never have chosen such a disagreeable bunch of flowers.

But if she wasn’t going to phone Geraldine, and if John wasn’t going to phone her, then what was she to do? Could she live in limbo until another professional occasion arose? What if John’s feelings hardened during the wait? What if
last Thursday‘s discontent got stronger? Was it a risk she could take? And just when she’d been sensing a breakthrough in their relationship too! The last few times she’d seen John she’d felt him inch closer towards a declaration of love. But now the thought of sliding back down the ladder made her want to cry with angry frustration.

No, she couldn’t just leave everything to sort itself out. If there was one thing she knew, it was that men could
never
be left to their own devices.

Audrey began considering another option. She could book John for a night – not to accompany her to a function, just a normal weeknight date for them to enjoy each other’s company. They could go to dinner. It would be the kind of night that other couples took for granted, and without the withering spotlight of a formal function maybe their love could blossom again.

But it was a big step to take. Firstly there would be the embarrassment factor of making the booking. Geraldine was bound to ask the purpose of the date. She’d see straight through Audrey’s request and know she was desperate. And there was also the hit to her bank balance to consider. An evening with John didn’t come cheap, and she wouldn’t be able to disguise this one as a business expense.

The bus veered into Sidwell Street and she hit the bell. She swept through the double doors and onto the pavement. It had begun to drizzle.

What choice did she have about John? she asked herself as she quickstepped up the road, the light spots of rain already turning her hair to frizz. She’d have to do it. She’d
have to brave Geraldine, book a restaurant and stump up the cash for a functionless night with John. It was a risk, but maybe her gamble would pay off. John would see that she wanted to spend time with
him
, and not just book him for professional reasons. And this could be the spur he needed to make his feelings known. To hell with the money! If all went to plan she might never have to pay for his company again! It could be the first of hundreds of functionless nights with John. It could be the night when eleven years of dreams finally came true!

Audrey’s step became springier. That was it, she thought to herself, the weight of inaction lifting from her shoulders. She had a plan!