The Dating Game (32 page)

The university was closed, because it was outside term time,
but some companies still worked between Christmas and New Year.  But today was
Saturday and it seemed no one was around.

Gill half-wished she had arranged to meet Anton in a café or
a pub, somewhere where she would have something to do with her hands, somewhere
where they would be facing each other and this would be easier.

They walked into the campus and after a short exchange of
pleasantries, Gill blurted out, ‘I’m no longer with my boyfriend.’

Anton looked taken aback, then hopeful.  ‘Why?’ he asked.

Thinking carefully what to say next, Gill finally said,
‘Because I realised that, whilst I care about him a lot, I love someone else.’

Assuming, correctly, that she was referring to him, Anton
took her face in his hands and said, ‘Gill, I will never let you down.  I love
you,’ and he kissed her.  With that kiss, all the worry about whether or not
she was making the right decision evaporated, and when they drew apart, Gill
smiled at him and said, ‘I love you, too.’

They embraced again and when they pulled apart, Gill said,

‘Here’s to Caroline Morgan and Happy Ever After dating
agency.’

‘No,’ Anton said, ‘Here’s to
our
happy ever after.’

I hope you enjoyed The Dating Game.  You can follow me on
Twitter
@susan_buchanan
or on
Facebook at
http://www.facebook.com/susan.buchanan.author

I also have a blog which I update several times a week with
news of whichever book I am working on, as well as other fun stuff for readers.
http://www.susancbuchanan.blogspot.co.uk

If you don’t want to miss anything, be sure to follow the
blog.  For now, I will leave you with the blurb and an excerpt of my first
novel,
Sign of the Times
.

Twelve people. Twelve star signs.

Sagittarius - Holly, a travel writer, visits Tuscany to
research her next book. Seeking help when her car breaks down, she gets more
than assistance when Dario, a vineyard owner, puts temptation in her path.
Disappearing without explanation, he proves elusive. Bruised, Holly tries to
put it behind her until a chance encounter brings her feelings to the surface
again.

Capricorn – Holly’s fiancé, Tom misses her while she is in
Italy and turns to an internet chat room for solace. His construction business
is under threat, but could foul play be at work?

Gemini - Holly’s sister, Lucy, a serial man-eater finally
meets her match, which puts her long-term relationship and career in jeopardy.
Cheating she discovers, can have devastating consequences.

Libra - Holly’s uncle Jack, an eminent prosecutor, juggles a
difficult teenage son with his high profile career and finds himself lacking.
When his son’s school work starts slipping, he decides he needs to take
control, but it’s not long before the balls all come tumbling down and Jack
finds his family on the wrong side of the law.

One event binds them all…

Chapter One

Holly - SAGITTARIUS

Fun loving, friendly, philosophical,
intellectual, straightforward and optimistic.  Blunt. Dislike being tied down
and love travelling.  They require freedom of thought.  Traditional, conventional.

“Would passenger Jameson, flying to Pisa proceed immediately
to Gate 84.  Your flight is fully boarded and awaiting departure.  Passenger
Jameson, flying on BA 2600 to Pisa, Gate 84, thank you.”

Holly rolled up her sleeve to study her watch.  Damn!  It
was eleven o’clock.  Her flight left at eleven twenty.  No wonder they were
calling her name.  She always lost track of time in the shops.  She couldn’t
walk past a cosmetics counter.  Laden down with Clarins tinted moisturiser,
body crème and an eye gel, she hurried towards the cash desk.  She knew the
flight would wait.  There would be up to another two calls before they told her
that her luggage was being off-loaded.  She had just enough time to snap up
these bargains and hightail it to the gate.

The tannoy burst into life again, demanding Holly’s
presence.  Even Holly was becoming anxious now.  Unfortunately, the girl was
having trouble with Holly’s credit card,

“It’s asking us to ring for authorisation,” she explained.

“Damn,” Holly swore.  “Look, I’ll just pay cash.  I’m in a
bit of a hurry.”

“If you’re sure,” the head cashier eyed her suspiciously, as
if Holly had just presented a stolen card.

“Yes, yes!” muttered Holly, willing them to hurry up.

Transaction completed, Holly thanked them, flew out of the
shop, glanced at the signs to see in which direction the gate lay and sprinted
towards it.  She was about halfway there, when the tannoy announced that
passenger Jameson, travelling to Pisa’s luggage was now being removed from the
hold and she would no longer be able to travel on this flight.

“Shit!” swore Holly.  She quickened her step to Olympic pace
and almost sped straight past the gate.

Unable to catch her breath, she pulled out her passport,
gesticulating wildly at her name on her passport. The ground staff member
smiled, waiting for Holly to regain her breath and
then
speak.

After several attempts, Holly managed to blurt out that she
was Holly Jameson, ready to travel and to please not unload her luggage as she
was
here.  The woman smiled at her, not unlike the wicked witch of the west and
said,

“We can’t let you travel now. You’re too late.”  She acted
positively triumphant as she told her this.

“But you haven’t unloaded my luggage yet,” exclaimed Holly.

“Yes, but it’s being attended to.  As soon as they locate
it, it will be removed from the hold and the flight will depart.  That way at
least the aircraft will only have suffered a slight delay,” she replied
superciliously.  Her words were intended as a direct dig at Holly for having
held up the flight. OK, so it was partly her fault, not
entirely
her
fault mind, as without Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee serving her in the shop,
there wouldn’t have been a problem.  But how many times had Holly had to wait
for flights that were delayed?  Spurred on by this thought, Holly interjected,
“But if I board now, it’ll save them having to look for my bags.  Then the
flight can leave even sooner.”  She cast an imploring look at her tormentor,
but in the same crisp tones as before, she was informed, “There’s another
flight at four o’clock.”

Holly knew she was wasting her breath with Miss Iron
Knickers.  Defeated, she said wearily, “Don’t suppose I have much choice.”

“Not really,” replied the woman, with the same fixed smile,
which Holly would have loved to wipe off her face.

Holly looked on, as her flight rose into the air.  At least
she’d managed to secure a window seat.  It would be a treat for her not to be
squashed between two strangers. There really was nothing worse than being
jammed between an obscenely overweight man who burped and farted all the time
and an arrogant one, full of his own self- importance.

Looking for her mobile, she came across her compact and
checked to see if she looked as hot and bothered as she felt.  To her relief
her creamy complexion looked unflustered and her shoulder length, black,
naturally curly hair wasn’t as unruly as she had imagined.  Taking out her
Motorola U9, she called Tom.

“Hi sweetheart. How are you?”

“Great thanks. You?”

“Fine, thanks.  Shouldn’t you be on a plane to Pisa?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m still at the airport and now fly
out at four.  I just thought I’d give you a quick call since I have three hours
to kill.”

“OK.”

They chatted about trivial matters and then Holly said,

“Well, listen, take care and I’ll talk to you in a few
days.”

“OK. Have a good flight. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Holly said before flipping the phone shut.

They’d been together four years.  Holly was the monogamous
type. She’d met Tom when she was looking for a new flat and had ended up moving
into one not far from the town centre.  It had been a real wrench to move, as
she had great neighbours, but she was hardly ever there.  She missed Jennifer
and of course, proximity to town.  Their ramshackle farmhouse wasn’t within
walking distance of a supermarket, which killed her, but Tom had this master
plan, with six kids, ponies, dogs and plenty of room for all of them.
Fortunately he was good at DIY, or they could never have taken it on. The house
needed an incredible amount of work done to it.  She and Tom muddled along
together pretty contentedly. He was very easy to please and they rarely argued,
not like with her previous boyfriend.  Tom was always there for her and she
felt he always would be.  He had lived through some of the terrible times she
had, both having lost both their parents young.

As Holly waited for her flight, she called her friend,
Jennifer. She wasn’t home and unfortunately didn’t have a mobile, so she left a
voicemail.  Bored, Holly took out a notebook and started ticking off some tasks
she was meant to have done.  She wished that her parents were alive to see her
now.  Successful travel writer, engaged to be married, happy.  The one thorn in
her side about next year’s nuptials was that her father couldn’t give her away.

“Flight 2602 to Pisa now boarding at gate 84.”

This time Holly didn’t miss the flight.  She sat back in her
seat, fastened her seatbelt as tightly as it would allow and skimmed over what
she had written.  She hadn’t been satisfied with what she had written about
Viareggio and Fornacette and was determined to improve upon it or shelf it. 
She preferred not to write only about
places
she had visited.  Instead,
she immersed herself in the culture, picking up on the idiosyncrasies.  It
seemed to work.  She had written several travelogues, published in magazines
and adapted for TV.  Her first travel book had been published last year.  Several
TV programmes had featured her book and it had been hailed as ‘revolutionary in
its genre’.  She wasn’t so much writing as a Brit, but almost as an Italian who
had moved abroad a long time ago and was returning home. 
Secrets of the
Neapolitan Riviera
had provoked a lot of interest and had soon reached the
top ten in the non-fiction charts.  Now there was the pressure of making the
second book better. It had to be sharp, avant-garde.  Holly had chosen Tuscany
as it had always fascinated her.  From the yellow fields packed with
sunflowers, or the hope of even catching a glimpse of those elegant blooms
swaying in the light breeze, to the mules carrying sand up from the beach for
the cement mixers, from the bartering at the market, to the bend over backwards
to help you attitude, she loved it all.  She had been attending evening classes
in Italian for around three years now and took every opportunity to use it,
when she was in Italy, as she knew it was the only way to become proficient.

Emerging at Pisa airport, she noticed how much busier it was
than when she had visited in March.  She would have come back sooner, but was
so busy trying to placate her publisher’s constant demands of her, that time
had simply disappeared.  So here she found herself nine weeks later, returning
to Tuscany.  Over the next few months she would stay in a couple of hotels, and
simply travel back and forth.  As she passed through the terminal heading
towards the Hertz office, she noticed the very varied nationalities thronging
past her.  Evidently Tuscany was becoming a more popular holiday destination,
as she heard several voices speaking; in what she was certain was Arabic,
whilst some Russian gentlemen were heatedly debating something.  Cries of
“Niet”
boomed over the usual level of chatter encountered in airports.  How times had
changed.  Europe really was a veritable hotchpotch nowadays.

After waiting half an hour for the Chinese group in front of
her to be served, Holly had the chance to see if her improved Italian and
frequent Hertz visits could gain her the much desired free upgrade.  It looked
like she was in luck. The blonde haired assistant, didn’t appear to have much
grasp of English and seemed grateful that Holly had more than just a passing
knowledge of Italian.  Both inwardly sighed with relief and Holly, tremendously
pleased with herself, collected keys for her Alfa Romeo Lusso, instead of the Punto
she had been expecting.

Holly reversed out of the parking space and headed out of the
airport at a steady pace.

Normally she hated driving but ironically enough in Italy
she loved it.  She liked the
autostrade
and the tolls.  It was all so
organized.  The crazy Italian driver was a thing of the past.  Since the law
had been brought in, adopting the British system of applying penalty points and
handing out fines for speeding, the Italians had slowed down considerably. 
They really did not like being hit in the pocket. She didn’t particularly enjoy
driving in the dark, but that couldn’t be helped.

The road from Pisa to join the A1 Firenze to Milano motorway
was a winding, narrow one.  It would take her forty-five minutes to reach the
autostrada
and then perhaps another hour and a half to reach the cut off to join the road
to Arezzo and that was still another thirty miles.  She wished she had just
left the Clarins counter and managed to make the original flight.  She wouldn’t
be there now until at least midnight.  She should phone ahead and let the hotel
know.  Suddenly she heard a loud crash and then a thumping noise.  The car
listed to one side.

Shit!! I must have a puncture
.  She tried to think of
where she could stop to have a look. Not that she had the faintest idea what to
do.  She had never changed a tyre before.  She wasn’t even sure where the spare
was, nor did she know who to call.

About a mile down the road, she saw a light. It looked like
a hotel.  She squinted and tried to make out where the entrance was.  She
passed it, cursed, reversed and pointed her car up the driveway towards it. 
Putting her handbrake on, she felt around in the glove box for the
Hertz
manual and finding nothing, switched on the overhead light. She checked
everywhere
. Zilch.  Bollocks!
There was nothing for it, she’d have to go
and ask for help.  Uncertainly she approached the large portico of what looked
to her, now that she was up close, to be a residence.  Even in the
all-encompassing darkness she could see it was a beautiful building.  She had
glimpsed a little of the perfectly landscaped gardens as she had driven up. The
dimmed exterior lights cast a soft glow on the various cherubs and little
fountains which adorned the perimeter of the garden.  Having rung the bell and
heard it peal out somewhere beyond the ornate decorated panels of the oak front
door, Holly took a little step back. She was just about to leave when she heard
a voice call out “
Arrivo
.”

Brushing back her curls, Holly tried to compose herself and
prepare what she had to say. She stretched herself up to her full five feet
four.  She didn’t know exactly how to explain her situation, as although her
Italian was very good, it wasn’t every day you got a puncture in Italy.

The heavy door opened, to reveal a Greek God.  Standing at a
little over six feet, he was well-built, muscular but not bulging.  With dark
brown floppy hair, brown puppy dog eyes, and eyelashes that any girl would kill
for, he took Holly’s breath away.  It didn’t help that he was wearing only a towel
and had obviously just come out of the shower. His dark hair complemented his
deep tan, in stark contrast to Holly’s Celtic pallor.

“
Si
?’ said the man, with a smile, aware that he was
unsuitably dressed.  Holly managed to blurt out the whole sorry tale.  His
smile increasing, showing off very white teeth, he said that of course he would
help her, but would she wait in the lounge, whilst he went upstairs and
dressed.  She followed him into an austere looking hall, with oak panels and
what looked like real paintings on the walls.  Doors led off in all directions.
Holly trotted behind her new friend until he stopped, so suddenly that Holly
almost bumped into him.  She could see the droplets of water on his skin and
sense the heat of his body.  She gulped and stood back, as he showed her into
the lounge.

“I’ll be back in five minutes.  Please take a seat,” he
said, in his Tuscan singsong accent.

Holly sat gingerly on the edge of an armchair. Everything in
the room looked antique. The gold, brocade curtains the finely polished
credenza, the oil lamps which lit the room.  Rows of bookcases were stacked
high and crammed with books.  An avid bookworm, Holly found herself drawn to
the first bookcase and her eyes slid greedily over the titles.  Verga,
Lampedusa, all the classics were there, peppered every so often by contemporary
novels.  Moving to the second bookcase, she recognised some Bill Bryson travel
books and a few about Tuscany written in English.  Intrigued, she continued
along, until with delight, she found a copy of
Secrets of the Neapolitan
Riviera
.  Holly felt hot all over.  He had bought her book.  Well, perhaps
not him, but someone from this house had bought her book.