Blind-Date Marriage

‘Oh…’

‘Yes, oh! You’d better be making that famous carrot cake of yours when I come for coffee on Wednesday, or I’ll never forgive you.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ She knew without a doubt that Cassie had just stood to attention in her living room.

‘And no more setting me up on blind dates! Got it?’

‘Got it.’

Yeah, right. She could practically hear the cogs whirring in Cassie’s brain as she did a mental search for the next poor sucker.

‘Try and resist the urge to find me a husband as lovely as yours is. We have very different taste in men, remember? I never could understand why you used to moon over the geeks with plasters holding their glasses together in school.’

‘Darren Perkins was a god!’

‘Of course he was. See you Wednesday—and don’t forget the carrot cake. Bye.’

She sighed. If the truth be told, she was pleased her blind date hadn’t turned up. But that didn’t stop her fuming over her wasted evening. She could have taken Jake up on his offer of dinner. She looked at the phone sitting in her hand. She could still call him.

Was she really that brave? Wouldn’t it sound a little desperate if she called him now?

He’d have had time to get in, have a shower and change into something dry. She could picture him padding around a smart flat with polished wood floors, low-slung jeans resting on his hips, his hair damp and smelling of shampoo.

She felt in her pocket for the business card and looked at the number. Her heart sank. The ink had bled into the damp card, making Jake’s scrawl illegible. She could make out the first two digits—a three and a two. One of the numbers further along looked suspiciously like a seven. Or was it a one?

If she’d believed in fate, she’d have thought it was an omen. But she had outgrown the New Age hocus-pocus her parents had spoon-fed her since birth. She stuffed the card back in her pocket, doubly cheesed off at the invisible Charles.

When she’d finished her coffee she made her way to where Gino was serving at the bar.

‘See you soon, Gino. Tell Marco his cooking was superb, as usual, and give my love to the rest of the family—especially Sophia and your adorable little granddaughter.’

Gino’s eyes sparkled with pride. ‘Sophia says Francesca is sleeping through the night now.’

‘Well, you tell Sophia I will be offended if I’m not first on her list of babysitters when she wants to go out for the evening.’

One more hug for Gino and Maria and she was outside, breathing in the cold night air. The rain had stopped and the stars twinkled up above.

Time to go home and plan her next move.

She stood on the pavement and stared at her car, feeling oddly deflated. She’d been excited at the thought of another sparring match with Jake. Now she had no way of contacting him, even if she wanted to give in to temptation and phone him first.

She flumped into the driver’s seat of her dad’s car and flung her handbag over the passenger seat into the back, not caring where it landed. She pulled the card out of her pocket again and stared at it hard, willing the numbers to come into focus. If anything, they were even more blurry now. There was only one thing for it.

She jammed the keys into the ignition and stepped on the accelerator. She might not know his phone number, but she knew where he lived.

She took the quickest route she knew back to Great Portman Street—unlike earlier, when she’d taken a couple of scenic detours—and arrived there in less than ten minutes. Her parking left much to be desired. There had to be a good foot between the car and the kerb.

She turned the engine off and sat in the dark.

Funny—now she was here, her feet were decidedly icy. Not because of Jake—he was lovely—but because of what he might read into finding her on his doorstep. She was looking for love and commitment, not a fling, and turning up after ten o’clock, uninvited, would be giving a completely different set of signals.

It was exactly because of this kind of impulsive behaviour that she had ended up with some of the most worthless boyfriends in history. She reminded herself she’d turned over a new leaf. No more leaping before she looked, even if the man she wanted to leap onto looked as good as Jake.

She wound down the window and stuck her head out. Soft light glowed in a few of the penthouse windows.

Why did everything have to come down to such an all-or-nothing choice? If only there was another way to reach him. She picked the card up from where she had flung it on the passenger seat.

Of course! Talk about missing the obvious!

She had been so focused on the telephone number on the back of the card she hadn’t even thought about turning it over to find his business address. She could wait a couple of days and phone him at work. That wouldn’t be too forward.

She flipped the card over and ran her eyes over the classic black font. An accountant. She liked accountants. They were stable, sensible, and nothing like the kind of men she’d learned to shy away from—musicians, actors, tortured artists.

Jake was looking better and better. He was smart and good-looking, and he must be clever. And he might, just might, be the kind of guy a girl could hope to settle down with.

Then she noticed the name along the bottom and almost dropped the card in shock. Charles Jacobs!

Charles?

He’d told her his name was Jake!

She was about to stub the offending card into the ashtray when she stopped. Jake could be a nickname. After all, she wasn’t exactly using her given name at the moment. She’d started abbreviating it to Serena. It sounded a lot less flower-child and a lot more…well, normal, than Serendipity. She couldn’t blame Jake if he wanted to liven up a stuffy name like Charles.

She looked at the card again and smiled.

Well, well. Charles Jacobs.

Lunch tomorrow was going to be fun.

CHAPTER TWO

JAKE walked into Maison Blanc ten minutes early. Being there first gave him the edge. When Serena arrived he’d be calmly seated at one of the little square tables with its crisp linen tablecloth. He’d make sure he had a good view of the entrance, and scrutinise every female who glided through glass door.

Maison Blanc was his kind of place. The décor was white and clean, full of straight lines. No fuss. No frills. The best feature by far was that he knew how big the bathroom window was. He’d fit through it, no problem.

He walked past the bar into the main part of the restaurant and scanned the entire room from left to right—then did a double take.

It was her!

The mystery woman. Here. Now.

He very nearly swore.

The woman he’d spent most of last night trying to forget, while he punched his pillow and ordered himself to sleep, was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, sipping a drink.

Suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

She looked stunning. Her silky brown hair was swept up into a braided ponytail. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were accentuated with smoky make-up and she wore a soft moss-green cardigan open at the throat. He swallowed. Never had a cardigan looked so sexy.

She was warm and vibrant. A perfect contrast to the sterile surroundings. And something about her seemed indefinably exotic. He wondered if she had gypsy blood coursing through her veins.

She’d started to turn her head in his direction, so he dived behind a pillar and stayed there for a few breathless seconds. Then, when he was sure she wasn’t looking, he slunk over to the bar and ordered something. He sat there, hunched over his glass, hoping to heaven she hadn’t noticed him. But that didn’t seem possible. He was sure every molecule in his body was screaming Look at me and waving its arms in her direction.

He risked another glance.

She was looking at the menu. He was safe, for now.

An enigmatic smile curled her lips, as if she were remembering a secret joke. In fact, it looked very much as if she were trying not to laugh.

His fingers traced the rim of his tumbler, but it stayed on the bar as he let his mind wander.

Last night, as they’d driven through the crowded London streets, he’d prayed that every traffic light would stay red, just to keep them locked in the private world of her car a few seconds longer. He’d been fascinated by her movements as she drove, hadn’t been able to stop watching the little silver bracelet that danced on her wrist as she moved her hand from steering wheel to gearstick and back. Everything she did was fluid and graceful.

He’d even admired the cool way she’d pulled away and left him gaping in the street. It served him right for his lack of finesse. He’d been too sure she was going to call him. Minutes after her departure he’d been pacing round his flat, scorning himself for being so smug. He’d tried desperately to remember if he had any business contacts who could trace the owner of the blue Porsche.

But it looked as if he didn’t need to worry about that. She was here. In fact, he didn’t need to worry about anything—except, of course, that she would have a ring-side seat to his blind date with Serena.

Serena! He’d almost forgotten about her.

He looked at his watch. Four minutes to go. Time to pull himself together. He couldn’t let her find him sitting at the bar all a-jitter. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged by a bit of quick thinking.

He summoned a waiter and asked to be shown to his table. With any luck he’d be seated in the corner, facing the other direction. Maison Blanc was large, and there were plenty of square white pillars to hide behind.

His step faltered as the waiter led him not to the far corner, but straight towards his mystery woman. Rats! He was going to have to walk right past her table. There was nothing for it but to ooze charm and hope the matter of a lunch-date with another woman could be swept aside once he’d claimed her promise of dinner another time.

However, his best, knock-her-socks-off smile never made it past the planning stage—mainly because the waiter had stopped at the table and pulled out the chair opposite her.

He just stood and stared.

The waiter fidgeted and she waved him away. Then she smiled at Jake. He wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Jacobs. I’m pleased you could make it—this time.’

‘But you’re…You can’t be…’

‘I’m Serena. Pleased to meet you, Charles—or is it Jake?’

He swallowed.

She couldn’t be Serena—her teeth were far too lovely.

She cocked her head on one side, waiting. Reading his mind, as it turned out.

‘I wore my hair this way just for you,’ she said, and turned her head so the ponytail swished towards him. Then she leant forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Just so you could tell which end of the horse was which.’

Something inside him snapped to attention. She knew! She’d been ready and waiting for him, and he’d walked straight in to her little trap.

‘Touché,’ he said, his voice unusually croaky.

She was really enjoying this. Her eyes were bright and smiling, but without a hint of malice. She wasn’t angry, just teasing him, asking him to share the joke.

He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Okay, you got me. When did you know?’

She took a sip of her drink.

‘Oh, not until after you stood me up. I found your business card in my pocket. An amazing coincidence, don’t you think? I suppose I could have phoned you this morning and warned you, but the opportunity to have a little fun was too good to pass up.’ She stopped and gave him a very genuine smile. ‘I can’t really be cross, can I? It was my fault entirely. You only cancelled because I drowned you. I suggest we start again. Deal?’

‘Deal.’ He dropped into the high-backed leather chair and offered her his hand. ‘Charles Jacobs. But nobody calls me that any more—except my sister when she’s angry with me. My friends call me Jake.’

She clasped his hand and shook it. Hers was small and delicate and unbelievably soft. The smile he’d abandoned earlier returned without his bidding.

‘I don’t think I need to tell you my name again, do I? I think, after today, you’re never going to forget it.’

‘You don’t look like a Serena.’

‘You don’t look like a Charles, either. Why Jake?’

‘Boys called Charles got punched where I grew up. Some of my friends shortened my last name and it stuck. It was easier, anyway. I’m named after my father, and it was a relief to have a way to tell us apart.’

‘You didn’t fancy Junior, then?’

Her smile was warm and easy. He didn’t mind her teasing him one bit. Somehow it made him feel welcomed—part of an elite club where they were the only two members—rather than putting him on the defensive. People didn’t normally get away with ribbing him like this.

‘Don’t say you think it suits me!’

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Her chocolate-brown eyes held him hypnotised. It took the waiter appearing for their drinks order to break the spell.

They both ordered something non-alcoholic. Thank goodness he’d remembered he was driving before he’d downed that Scotch in one! The waiter moved away unnoticed.

‘Your turn to spill the beans,’ he said.

‘Which beans would those be?’

‘You could tell me your name.’

She frowned. ‘It’s Serena. Don’t you believe me? Do you think I’m really called Mildred or Ethel?’

‘Of course I believe you. I just want to know the rest of your name. You can’t be just Serena.’

‘Why not? Madonna only uses her first name.’

‘But she has a last name too—she just doesn’t need to use it. The same thing wouldn’t work for you. If I tried to look up Serena in the phone book, I’d never find you. You’ve got to give me a bit more. For all I know you could disappear again, like you did last night, and I’d be none the wiser.’

She looked thoughtfully at the tablecloth. ‘Oh. I see.’

‘So? Serena…what?’

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘Sorry, Charlie, that’s on a need-to-know basis only.’

He leant forward and stared straight into her eyes. ‘What if I really need to know?’

‘I’d have to be really convinced.’ She laughed and waved her hand in the air. ‘Telling you my last name is too much of a commitment; I don’t like to be tied down. But don’t worry. If I think you can handle it, I’ll tell you.’

Jake smiled. A girl on his wavelength. No ties. No strings. Just seeing what the future brought, minute by minute. She was right: he would find out her name. He liked her style—she was keeping him on his toes. It was very refreshing.

Talking to her was easy. He hardly noticed the first course slip by. She was funny and articulate, and he found himself talking back in a way that would have surprised his business associates. Sure, he could turn on the charm when it suited him. It was hard-wired into his genetic make-up. He used it as a mirror, reflecting anything that tried to pierce his armour, so no one got below the surface. Yet as he talked to Serena he found himself giving away little snippets of information he didn’t normally make public. Nothing big, just stuff he didn’t normally share: what book he’d read most recently, what kind of music he liked. Silly things.

Halfway through their main course he stopped eating and watched her butcher her steak. When her mouth closed round the fork, her eyelids fluttered shut and she let out a little sigh of satisfaction. There was an air of primal sensuality about her. And for some reason he wasn’t feeling totally civilised himself at the moment, either. It was as if all the layers of varnish he’d carefully applied over the years were peeling away, leaving him feeling like the gawky teenager he’d once been. He should be scared of that feeling.

She looked up at him as she finished chewing her mouthful, her eyes questioning.

‘I didn’t realise six ounces of sirloin could be so riveting.’

Caught red-handed—or red-faced, to be exact.

He said the first thing that popped into his head. ‘I’m just surprised to see you demolishing it with such gusto. You look more of a beansprouts-and-tofu kind of girl to me.’ He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the long hair, the intricate earrings that dangled from her ears, or the skirt that swooshed when she crossed her legs.

She dropped her knife and fork and scowled at him.

‘I’ve had enough beansprouts to last me a lifetime, believe me! My parents were dedicated vegans until—’ Her breath caught for a second. ‘Never mind. Let’s just say my love of animal flesh is probably teenage rebellion that’s way past its sell-by date.’ She grinned. ‘Since I was fourteen I’ve been a true carnivore. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I’ve never met a bit of cow I didn’t like.’

She speared the next piece of steak and blood oozed out of it.

Jake shuddered, unable to tear his gaze away.

‘Aren’t you going to finish your swordfish?’

He picked up his cutlery and shoved something from his plate into his mouth. He didn’t taste what it was. He just had to remind himself to keep cutting and chewing until his plate was empty.

Serena eyed the dessert menu when her plate had been taken away. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

‘Not for me. I don’t really eat dessert. I think I’ll just have a coffee.’

‘Mmm. Perhaps I should too, but that chocolate concoction looks—’

Her mobile phone trilled.

‘Excuse me. I forgot to turn it off. I won’t be a second.’

‘No problem.’

He leaned back in his seat and took the opportunity to study her while her attention was elsewhere.

‘Hello? Oh, it’s you. I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of…No, don’t do that! Just stay put, will you? Yes, but…Look! Just give the phone to Benny…Let me talk to Benny. I’m not getting any sense out of you…’

She mouthed ‘sorry’ at him and her cheeks flushed an appealing shade of pink. He shrugged. It was nice to see he wasn’t the only one who could lose his cool.

‘Just keep him there, will you, Benny? I’ll be there as soon as I can…Yes…don’t worry…Just don’t let him punch anybody else…’

Jake’s ears pricked up.

She snapped her phone closed and exhaled long and hard.

‘I’m sorry, I need to go. It’s an emergency.’

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘No, I’ll be fine. I just need to get to Peckham as soon as possible.’

Peckham? Why on earth was a rich girl like her going there?

‘What for?’

‘I’ve got to find a pub called The Swan.

She stood up, skirted the table, and gave him an absentminded kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks for lunch. I really enjoyed it.’

And before Jake could argue she’d rushed out through the door and onto the pavement.

He dug in his pockets for his credit card and paid as quickly as he could. By the smile on the waiter’s face, he guessed he’d left a ridiculously large tip. But he couldn’t be bothered to do the maths, so he’d just rounded it up to the nearest hundred.

He shoved the door open and almost bumped into Serena, who was standing on the kerb, waving her hands around.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m trying to find a taxi! One minute the whole street is teeming with them; the next minute there’s not one to be had for love nor money.’

He pulled her arm down and turned her to face him. Only then did he see the tremble in her lip, her pale face.

‘Hey.’ He slid his hand down her arm until he found her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’ll be okay.’

She sniffed. ‘I need to get to that pub as soon as I can, or there’s going to be a huge amount of trouble!’ She pulled away from him and ran to the kerb again as a black cab hurtled past. She looked as if she were about to sprint up the road after it when Jake reached for her again.

‘I’ll take you. My car’s round the corner. I know a way round the back-doubles that’ll cut out a lot of the traffic.’

Her eyes gleamed and threatened to overflow. ‘Would you really? You don’t know how grateful I am. But you’ve got to promise me something.’

‘What’s that?’

She grabbed both his shoulders in what, at that time, seemed like an overly dramatic gesture. ‘You can’t tell a soul about what happens when we get there. It’s vitally important.’

Her words haunted him as he turned his car towards the river and headed over Vauxhall Bridge. He left the main roads after passing The Oval, and wove through the back streets. The climbing numbers on the milometer matched his growing unease. He hadn’t been back this way for years, had promised himself he never would. He’d done everything humanly possible to claw his way off the high-rise council estate he’d grown up on.

What had she got herself mixed up in? Trouble in this neck of the woods normally meant something criminal. Although she looked unconventional, he hadn’t taken her for the kind of woman who courted real trouble. She lacked a certain brand of hardness he was all too familiar with.

But appearances could be deceptive. He’d learned that from his father—living proof that even the tastiest-looking apple could be maggoty at the core.

His eyes flicked over to Serena in the passenger seat. He’d only just met this woman. She could be anyone, involved in anything. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even know her last name.

However, his gut said he could trust her, and when he thought of her face when the black cab had sailed past, he knew it was right. Whatever she was involved in, it wasn’t drugs or dirty money. She really cared about the man—he presumed it was a man—they were racing to rescue.

A few minutes later he pulled up outside The Swan, or as close as he could get to it. A clampers’ lorry was just about to winch a car off the double yellow lines outside.

A metallic blue Porsche.

Blast! He’d forgotten all about the guy with the Porsche. What a prize doughnut he was! He’d raced halfway across London to bail her boyfriend out of trouble. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he imagined some T-shirted lout, who obviously didn’t look after Serena the way she deserved to be looked after.

Serena jumped out of the car and raced into the pub before he could undo his seat belt. Was she always this impetuous? Or was it just that the Porsche guy was so great she couldn’t wait another second to be with him?

His frown deepened and he pulled himself out of his car, straightened his tie, and followed her inside. The smell of stale smoke and beer hit his nostrils as he pushed the door open. This place was even more of a dive than it had been last time he’d been here—and that had to be a good ten years ago. The same torn, faded upholstery covered the stools and benches, only it was even more torn and faded than he remembered.

A couple of blokes with tattoos on their knuckles propped up the bar. He knew their sort. He couldn’t judge them, though. If he’d had a little less luck, made a few different choices, it could have been him standing there, whiling away his dole money on watered-down beer.

He turned his attention to the overturned table and broken glass in the far corner. Serena was leaning over a man sprawled on one of the upholstered benches. She paused every few seconds to discuss the situation with a burly man in a leather jacket. Only when Jake was a few feet away could he hear any of her hushed, staccato phrases.

‘What happened, Benny? How did you end up in this place?’

Benny, for all his height and width, hung his head like a naughty schoolboy enduring a scolding. ‘Mike said he wanted to visit some of the places he used to play when the band was just starting out. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It always does, Benny.’

‘Sorry, babe.’

She rolled her neck, as if she was trying to erase the kinks.

‘So what happened, exactly?’

‘Mike got to reminiscing with a couple of the locals. We were having a great time, buying everybody drinks and walking down memory lane, then some of the younger crowd got a bit mouthy and Mike flipped. He tried to thump one of them and tripped over a stool. They laughed, so he took another swing and hit the barman by accident.’