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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Blind-Date Marriage

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Saying Yes to the Millionaire

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

Blind-Date Marriage

CHAPTER ONE

JAKE knew only two things about the woman he was going to meet: her name was Serena and her father had money.

Serena.

Sounded kind of horsey. She probably wore jodhpurs. Mel had refused to comment on whether she was pretty or not, so she probably looked like a horse as well. He could see it so clearly: the gymkhana trophies, the chintzy bedroom. Serena wore her mousy hair in a bun and had too many teeth.

He stepped off the kerb of the busy London street and zigzagged through the gaps in the traffic. Headlights lit up his knees as he squeezed between the bumpers. A horn blared.

That was why he liked to walk. It gave him a sense of freedom in the midst of the cloying traffic. He wasn’t about to take orders from anyone, especially not a pole with coloured lights on top.

Once on the pavement again, he stopped to shake the drizzle off his hair. It was more mist than rain, only visible in the orange haloes of the street lamps, but somehow he was wetter than if he’d been hit by big, splashing drops. He was going to look less than perfect when he arrived at the restaurant.

His long strides slowed as he contemplated the evening ahead. Should he be marching this briskly towards the unknown? Probably not. But he wasn’t going to be late. He speeded up to his former tempo. This evening he would be polite, he would be charming, and then he would be high-tailing it out of there as fast as possible.

As long as Serena didn’t have a horsey laugh to match her appearance, he could endure the temptation of the pocket-sized window in the restaurant toilet. At least he hoped there was a window. Just for emergencies.

He should have checked.

In future he would do a reconnaissance of any potential venues when forced on blind dates by his meddling little sister.

Not that there was going to be a next time if he could help it.

He was still a bit hazy about how she’d talked him into going on this one. Mel had rung him at work and slipped it into the conversation while he was studying a balance sheet and saying ‘mmm’ and ‘yup’ at suitable intervals. Before he knew it, he was meeting a total stranger for drinks and dinner at Lorenzo’s.

One day he would have to put his foot down with Mel. She’d been able to wind him round her little finger ever since she’d bestowed her very first smile on him. He was pretty sure she knew he hadn’t been listening when she’d arranged this date. Most likely she’d planned the exact timing of her call to maximise his suggestibility.

He cut through a little park in the centre of the square rather than keeping to the busy street. It was a refreshing change from the unrelenting grey of the city. Not that there was much green within the park’s wrought-iron railings at this time of year.

At least it smelled like November—acorns and rotting leaves. He took a deep breath and savoured the warm, earthy aroma. That was when he became aware of the tramp, more noticeable by his body odour than his appearance. He might easily have taken him for a forgotten coat on the bench otherwise.

The old man was oblivious to the rain. Saliva trailed from his open mouth down his chin, and the wind rolled an empty beer can to and fro beneath the bench. Jake removed the copy of the Financial Times from under his arm and spread a few pages over the man’s shoulders and torso, making sure he didn’t accidentally touch his coat. Hopefully, by the time the pages were wet through, the old guy would be sober enough to move himself somewhere drier.

He hurried through the park gate and re-entered the rush hour. The restaurant was only a few minutes away now. He didn’t go in for that kind of place much. Lorenzo’s was an odd choice for horsey old Serena.

According to the brief review he’d read on the internet, the restaurant was a small, family-run affair—nothing special in his book. He preferred places that were obviously exclusive now he could afford them. Give him women with diamonds, men with fat wallets and waiters that bowed any day.

However, the food was supposed to be tasty, and the critic had raved about a cannelloni dish. Not that it would make any difference to Serena. She was probably going to push a couple of lettuce leaves drenched in balsamic vinegar round her plate and complain about how everything went to her rather expansive hips.

The escape window was sounding more tempting with every step. Perhaps he should pop round the back and check the exact dimensions before he went inside?

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the blocked drain. He didn’t see the deep puddle that had collected over the top of it. He also didn’t see the sports car driving up behind him.

He did, however, see the great tidal wave as car met puddle. He watched, helpless, as in slow motion tendrils of spray reared up and soaked him from head to foot.

She saw the wall of water in her rear-view mirror and gasped.

She’d been so busy daydreaming about the evening ahead she’d forgotten to manoeuvre round the small pond that always appeared on this corner in bad weather. Without thinking whether it was a good idea or not, she pulled the car to a halt, got out, and ran straight up to the sodden figure on the pavement. He didn’t look as if he’d moved at all. He was just staring down at his dripping suit with his arms aloft.

‘Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry—’

He lifted his head and glared at her.

‘Are you okay?’

One eyebrow shot up. At least she thought it did. It was hard to tell under the dark hair plastered onto his forehead.

‘You’re soaked! Let me give you a lift to wherever you were going. It’s the least I can do.’

She’d been talking to him for a good fifteen seconds, but suddenly she had the feeling he was only just taking a good look at her. He was staring. Hard. She looked down at her suede boots and ankle-length skirt. Sure, she was getting a little soggy as she stood here in the rain, but it wasn’t as if she’d come out with her skirt tucked into the back of her knickers. At least she didn’t think she had.

When she looked back up he was smiling. And not just the polite tilt of the mouth you gave waitresses when they brought you a drink. This was a real one.

A shiver skittered up her spine. That was a great smile. She looked a little closer at the face it was attached to.

Nice.

This was one cute guy she’d drenched.

‘You were saying …?’

She shook herself.

‘Yes. It’s just—I … I mean it’s the least I can do. Drop you off somewhere, that is.’

‘That’s probably a good idea. I’m not sure I’m in any fit state to go out to dinner like this.’

Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘I feel just awful … Well, that settles it, then. I’ve ruined your evening. I’m dropping you off somewhere dry and warm. No arguments.’

He looked her up and down, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. ‘No arguments from me. Shall we?’ He motioned towards the car. ‘Nice wheels.’

The drizzle was making a more concerted effort at proper rain, and a drop splashed on her forehead. Without talking further, they both ran to the low-slung metallic blue sports car and climbed inside.

She watched him shake his head and run his fingers through thick dark hair as he sat in the passenger seat. He looked even better with it slicked back. She could see his face properly. How did eyes that cool blue manage to smoulder? And look at that firm jaw. He looked like a man in control of his destiny. She liked that.

‘The car’s not mine, actually.’

The smile was back. ‘What did you do? Steal it?’

‘No, of course not. Mine’s being repaired. I borrowed this from my … a friend.’

She wasn’t about to tell him she was riding round in her father’s car. It had mid-life crisis stamped all over it. Not that her father’s crazy behaviour had started in his fifties. He’d got a head start in his teenage years, and had never stopped long enough to mature.

She didn’t like admitting to her parentage when she met a man who caught her eye. She’d learnt the hard way to keep dear old dad out of the picture until it was safe to drop the bombshell—and even then she was never one hundred per cent sure if she was the main attraction.

The smouldering eyes were looking at her intently. ‘A friend?’

Drat! He’d spotted the little detour in her explanation.

He sat back in the seat and smiled, a wistful expression on his face. ‘That’s too bad. Tell him I think he’s got great taste in cars … and women.’

She fumbled with the keys in the ignition.

Come on, girl! Think of something sparkling and witty to say! Tell him he’s got the wrong end of the stick.

‘So, where can I drop you off?’

Great. Really smooth. Well done.

‘Great Portman Street. Do you know it?’

‘I know someone who lives down that way.’ She indicated and pulled away. ‘It’s not that far from here, is it?’

‘No, but in this traffic it could take a good twenty minutes.’

‘I know. Sometimes I think it would be quicker if I walked.’

‘My opinion exactly.’ He pinched at his trouser leg and inspected it. ‘Although I can’t vouch for it being the drier option.’

She sighed and started to speak, but he warded the words off with a raised hand.

‘Please, don’t apologise again. You did me a big favour, in fact. I wasn’t looking forward to my evening, and you’ve given me the perfect excuse to bow out.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I was destined for a date from hell with a girl that looks like a horse—and I’m not sure whether it’s the front end or the back end she most resembles!’

Her laugh was loud and unexpected.

‘Well, consider me your knight in shining armour, then,’ she added, giggles bubbling under the surface.

He laughed along with her. ‘My eternal gratefulness, kind lady. In fact, I should thank you in some way. How about dinner?’

Since they were sitting at yet another red light, she shot a look across at him. ‘Have you forgotten why you’re in my car in the first place? You’re dripping wet!’

‘It wouldn’t take me long to get dry and changed. We could nip out somewhere local. We’d be in a public place. You’d be perfectly safe.’

‘How do I know that? We’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name.’

‘It’s Jake.’

‘Well, Jake, I still don’t know you from Adam—except that your name’s not Adam, that is.’ Oh, God, she was rambling!

‘Then why did you let me in your—I mean your friend’s car, then? I could be anyone. I could be an axe-wielding maniac, for all you know.’

She went cold. He was right. She’d been so busy feeling bad for him she hadn’t even considered basic personal safety. Her voice was braver than she felt when she answered.

‘Don’t be daft! I rescued you, remember? You’re a Jake-in-distress. You can’t possibly be an axe-wielding maniac!’ Could he?

Now it was his turn to laugh. Her shoulders untensed, but she stayed quiet and concentrated on the traffic. Quicker than expected, they drew up in Great Portman Street.

‘Which one?’ She leaned forward and peered down the road. One side was almost entirely occupied by a red brick block of Victorian apartments.

‘Right here. Top floor.’

‘Very posh.’

She kept her eyes on the road as the car came to a halt. Even without the tell-tale reflection in the windscreen, she’d have sensed he’d turned to face her. Strange, she’d always thought that being able to feel someone’s eyes boring into you was a load of poppycock.

‘Come inside and have the grand tour.’

‘You’re very forward, aren’t you?’

‘I know what I want, and I don’t stop until I get it.’

The implication of that sentence made her cheeks burn. She was very proud of the wobble-free voice that came out of her mouth.

‘Sorry, Jake-in-distress, I have a prior commitment. Maybe another time.’

‘Couldn’t you stand him up?’

A reply like that would normally have had her spitting, but he said it with such lazy charm she found herself laughing.

‘No.’

But she wanted to. Miraculously, the prospect of an evening with Charles Jacobs seemed even greyer.

‘Too bad.’ The tone of his voice said he respected her decision more than he cared to admit. ‘At least give me your number.’

‘Give my number? To an axe-wielding maniac? You must be mad!’

She smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Boy, those smiles got more brilliant with every outing. If she didn’t get out of here quick, she was going to change her mind about dinner. Then Cassie would kill her for standing up the ‘suitable’ man she’d found for her, and that would never do. She was looking forward to the prospect of another time with Jake too much.

He reached into his pocket, fished out a business card and scribbled something on the back with a fountain pen.

‘Have it your way. Here’s my number, then.’

She took it from him. Even the little rectangle of card was soggy. She’d done a really good job with that puddle.

He looked her straight in the eye. ‘Use it.’

Her gaze collided with his. He was so sure she was going to call. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt in his expression. Women probably fell over themselves to follow his every whim on a daily basis. Part of her felt like throwing the card out of the window and into the gutter; the other part wanted to tuck it inside her bra to make sure she didn’t lose it.

Her lips pursed. She meant to look peeved, but somehow a small smile escaped.

‘Maybe. Goodbye, Jake.’

She put the car into reverse and started to move out of the parking space. Before she had a chance to pull away, he pounded on the window. ‘Wait!’

She pressed the button and enjoyed his mounting irritation as the window edged down bit by bit.

‘You haven’t even told me your name.’

‘So I didn’t.’

‘Well?’

‘I get the feeling you’re the kind of man who won’t let a tiny detail like that stop you. You’ll find out—if you want to badly enough.’

With that, she rolled up the window and drove away. She risked a glance in the rear-view mirror and a huge grin spread over her face. He was standing in the street with his mouth hanging open.

She didn’t look back. Instead, she tooted the horn and did a little finger wave.

Now, that had been smooth!

Stupid, but smooth.

Stupid, because the only reason she hadn’t told him her name was the funny reaction it provoked in almost everyone she met. She hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment, hadn’t wanted the delectable Jake to have the usual set of preconceptions about her.

What had her parents been thinking when they called her Serendipity? It was tantamount to child abuse! She’d been the target of bullies from her first day of school because of her name.

Why couldn’t she have been called Sally or Susan? Nice, sensible, traditional names. No one would think Susan was a hippy wild child. And Sally was the kind of girl whose dad worked a nine-to-five job in an office, while her mum baked jam tarts and fussed over the amount of make-up her teenage daughter was wearing.

She sighed.

Daft to run away without telling Jake her name. Now she would have to look all eager and phone him if she was interested. Which she was. She should have given him her number and let him do the running—she’d always liked the old-fashioned idea of being courted.

She turned the corner and headed back towards the restaurant. Perhaps it had been worth not telling Jake her name just to see the look on his face as she drove away. At least she’d have something to smile to herself about if Charles Jacobs turned out to be as yawn-worthy as he sounded.

She looked at her watch as she pulled up outside the restaurant. Only half an hour late. If she smiled, and flipped her long dark hair around a bit, perhaps Charles wouldn’t mind.

She hopped out of the sports car, ran inside, and straight up to the small bar that doubled as a reception desk. There were far too many bunches of plastic grapes and straw-covered bottles for the décor to be in good taste, but she didn’t care. It was homey.

Someone was loading small bottles of orange juice onto the bottom shelf. She’d recognise that acre-wide Italian rump anywhere!

‘Hey, Maria!’

Maria stood up so fast she sent a couple of bottles rolling across the floor. Her hands flew into the air and she yelled in the general direction of the kitchen, ‘Gino! Our girl is here!’

A round, middle-aged man appeared from the door connecting the kitchen to the bar. ‘We thought you’d been run over by a bus—didn’t we, darling?’

She ducked behind the bar and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. ‘You fuss like an old woman, Gino. Now, tell me—and don’t spare my feelings—what’s he like?’

Gino made a dismissive wave towards her favourite table by the window. A monstrous potted palm blocked her view. She stood on tiptoe to get a better look.

The table was empty.

She turned round to Gino, eyebrows raised. ‘He hasn’t shown up yet?’

Gino shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the tragedy, and she swallowed the urge to chuckle.

‘Oh, well. Bring me the usual. I’ll hang around until nine. I got here late myself, so I can hardly moan.’

He’d better be worth the wait, though! She’d murder Cassie if she’d set her up with a first-class loser again. Her friend knew she was looking to settle down, but couldn’t quite get the distinction between stable and reliable and utterly dull. She’d only agreed to go on this date because it was less hassle than arguing with Cassie about it. If she said no, Cassie would only badger her for a fortnight until she gave in, so she might as well agree and save herself the earache.

Gino brought her a glass of her favourite red wine, and she sat at the table and scanned the rain-swept horizon.

She sat up and smiled as a man in a smart suit with a bunch of flowers passed the window, but he walked straight past the door and into the arms of a waiting blonde outside the tube station. Minutes ticked past. The only other person to enter the restaurant was a small bald man with bad teeth. She whipped up her menu as an impromptu shield and held her breath. Thankfully, he was greeted by a tall woman with equally bad teeth on the other side of the restaurant. She dropped the menu enough to peek over the top, then jumped as Gino appeared, apparently out of thin air.

‘There’s a message for you. He telephoned.’

By the look on Gino’s face, it was not good news. She lowered the menu slightly and held her head high. ‘Let me have it, Gino.’

‘He said he’s very sorry, but something came up.’

Something came up! What kind of lame excuse was that?

The puff of air she let out lifted her fringe.

‘What did he say, exactly?’

‘He said he was not able to come, that he’s very sorry, and asked you to meet him tomorrow for lunch at Maison Blanc, one o’clock.’ Gino wrinkled his nose at the suggestion of anyone eating somewhere other than his establishment, then he grinned. ‘But he also said dinner tonight is on him.’

She slapped the menu closed and smiled like a cat.

‘In that case, my good friend, it’s the caviar to start for me, followed by the priciest entrée Marco can conjure up, and a glass of champagne for everybody in the room.’

Gino winked. ‘That’s my girl! You show him.’

The nerve of the man. Standing her up, then practically summoning her to lunch the following day, with no thought at all as to whether it was convenient for her. The fact she was free, and could go if she wanted to, had no bearing on the matter. He was an arrogant jerk to assume she was so desperate for a date that she’d trot along at his beck and call.

Not in this lifetime, buster! No way was she turning up tomorrow. He could be the one to sit and fiddle with his cutlery.

Dinner was good, but revenge on Mr Jacobs was even tastier. She enjoyed every bite, because with each mouthful she could hear the ding of a cash register. By the time she had finished her espresso, she was imagining the look on his face when he saw the total. She had a mind to turn up at Maison Blanc tomorrow, just to see him wince as she delivered the news in person.

Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She could bat her lashes and give him the Oops! Silly me! I never was much good at maths routine. The added bonus would be that Cassie couldn’t moan at her for not giving the latest offering in the husband hunt a fair go.

Thinking of Cassie, it was time to give her an earful. She took her mobile phone out of her bag and punched in the number.

Cassie was never one for pleasantries, and this time was no exception.

‘How’s it going? Isn’t he hot?’

‘Not noticeably.’

‘Really? I was sure you two would hit it off. My new project worker has talked about her brother so much I feel like he’s a long-lost friend.’

‘Yeah? Well, he’s also my long lost date.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He didn’t show, Cassie! Some sorry story and an instruction to have dinner on him. You can tell your friend that she’d better get as much visiting time in with her brother as she can, because he’s going to have a heart attack when he sees his credit card statement.’

‘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 absent-minded 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.’

Benny shrugged. ‘His aim is terrible after a few pints. He only knocked a tray of empties out of his hands—didn’t hurt him.’

‘Well, thank goodness for that!’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Listen, Benny, you see if you can get him upright, and I’ll go and chat to the landlord. We need to get out of here before the press gets wind of it.’

The press? Jake thought. A pub brawl wasn’t even going to make page sixteen of the local paper, let alone the nationals. Surely she was overreacting?

She stepped back to go and talk to the man behind the bar, giving him his first good look at the Porsche-driving god she had come to rescue. He couldn’t have been more surprised. Mike wasn’t some hot-looking young stud with a washboard stomach—he was a bedraggled-looking fifty-something with a beer belly. What on earth did she see in him?

He looked back at Serena, who was talking earnestly to the landlord. Frowns were giving way to nods and half-smiles. She marched back over to them, a less serious look on her face.

‘He says he’s not going to press charges. I’ve offered to pay for any damage, and a little bit extra for compensation. He seems quite happy, but I still think we ought to leave before he thinks better of it. Hand over the cash, Benny, and I’ll sort this out right now.’

Benny handed her a wad of notes from his pocket.

Jake had the uncanny feeling this was not the first time she’d bailed the man out of trouble. It was almost as if she was on auto-pilot. Even so, she was marvellous. Nothing seemed to faze her.

Mike looked up at him. ‘All right, mate?’

He held out his hand. Jake ignored it. The guy didn’t seem to mind.

‘She’s great, isn’t she?’ he slurred, nodding his head towards Serena.

Jake resisted the urge to punch him.

‘Yes, she is. You’re very lucky she takes care of you like this.’

His head sagged. ‘I know. She’s the best daughter in the world.’

Daughter! Of course! He was so dense sometimes. He grinned to himself. Benny gave him an odd look, obviously wondering who the hell he was, and why he found the whole situation quite so funny.

Jake looked down at Serena’s father again. Maybe his first impressions had been a little harsh, but jumping to conclusions about people was an everyday hazard when you had a runaway imagination like his. Mel was always quick to remind him of this fault. She said he needed to slow down and look at the facts, not just let his imagination fill in the blanks. He hated it when Mel was right.

Apart from being a little the worse for wear, Mike looked okay. In fact, he reminded Jake of someone. His forehead creased as he tried to find a match for the face in his memory bank. Nope, couldn’t place it. It would come to him later. He was good with faces.

When they got outside, the clamping lorry was just disappearing round the corner with the Porsche strapped on board. All four of them stood and stared at the space where it had been parked.

‘So much for a quick getaway,’ mumbled Serena.

Jake was glad of the opportunity to be more than a spectator of the afternoon’s increasingly bizarre turn of events. ‘No problem. I can give you all a lift.’

Serena turned to look at him, as if she’d only just remembered he existed—a huge boost for the ego! Two hours ago he’d been having a rather nice lunch with the most fascinating woman he’d met in months, and now he’d been demoted to chauffeur and general onlooker. Oh, well, he might as well play the part.

‘How about I drop Benny off at the car pound? I’ll pay if you’re short after forking out for damages in there—’ he jerked his thumb in the direction of the pub ‘—and then we can get your dad home.’

She closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose. ‘You know he’s my dad?’ she asked, without opening her eyelids.

‘It came up.’

‘Fabulous.’

Why was she so upset? It was hardly a matter of national security.

He put his arm round her shoulder and drew her to him. ‘What do you say? Jump in the car and I’ll take you somewhere warm. Let me return the favour and be your knight in shining armour for a change.’

To his amazement, she turned her face up to his and kissed his cheek. Her lips were warm and soft, and her hair smelled of lemons. When she moved away his cheek felt cold.

‘You’re a real gentleman, Charlie. Let’s get going before anyone spots us.’

Benny wrestled Mike and his unruly limbs into the back seat, where he lolled against the door. Jake had the feeling he would have slithered onto the floor without the seat belt to hold him up. Serena took the passenger seat while Benny babysat Mike in the back.

No one talked as they sped back towards central London. They could hardly make polite chit-chat after the sort of afternoon they’d had. Even if they tried small talk, once they got past, Isn’t it getting dark in the evenings now? or, Very mild for November, isn’t it? they’d have lapsed back into the bottomless silence.

Jake turned the radio on low, to muffle the sound of Mike’s snoring. He tuned it to an ‘oldies-but-goldies’ station. Nothing too offensive to anyone’s tastes, he hoped. The opening chords of a song he hadn’t heard for years drifted through the car. It reminded him of a summer on the housing estate when he and his mates had hung round the playground on their bikes. Before the see-saw had been vandalised. Before they’d started finding used syringes by the swings. He smiled and wondered what Martin and Keith were doing now.

Without warning, Mike burst from his coma and belted out the chorus of the song. He didn’t have a bad voice. Jake glanced back just in time to catch a virtuoso air guitar performance.

That was it! He’d known he’d get it eventually.

Serena’s dad looked like Michael Dove, the lead guitarist of Phoenix. This song had been one of their biggest sellers back in the late seventies. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not being able to place that face would have driven him mad all day.

He sneaked another look in the rear-view mirror. The resemblance was uncanny. This guy could make a good living as a look-alike, instead of getting wasted in dodgy south London pubs. Perhaps he should suggest it to Serena?

He looked again.

Yep, it was a great idea. Mike even had that same little scar on his lip …

‘Jake!’

The flat of her hand hit him hard on the shoulder. Instinctively, he stamped on the brake pedal, suddenly noticing the brake lights of the car in front were a little too close for comfort. He forgot to put his foot back on the accelerator and looked into the back seat.

‘You’re Michael Dove.’

Serena groaned. He looked across at her. The car behind tooted its horn.

‘You’re Michael Dove’s daughter.’

She looked back at him, her brows knit together.

‘I know. Funnily enough, I have been all my life.’

Great! He was going to go all starry-eyed on her. Just when she’d thought she’d found a possible candidate for Mr Serendipity Dove.

Men responded in very different ways to the news that her father was a rock legend, but the outcome was always the same. It was the kiss of death. Whether they pretended not to care, or decided to use the relationship to further their own careers, it changed things for ever.

She looked across at Jake. He was very quiet.

‘But I thought Michael Dove’s daughter was called something freaky, like Stardust or Moonbeam.’

A voice yelled from the back seat, ‘Moonbeam, my—’

‘Dad!’

‘But Mr Three-piece-suit here thinks your name is ridiculous.’

Jake shook his head. ‘There’s nothing ridiculous about being called Serena. I was just saying—’

Serena groaned again. Which was not good. It was a seriously unattractive noise, but she couldn’t stop herself. Earlier this afternoon she’d been a woman of mystery: exotic, alluring … Now Jake could find all the intimate details of her life just by picking up a tabloid newspaper.

‘Who’s Serena?’ her dad muttered.

Jake leant across the gap between their seats and whispered, ‘He must be in worse shape than he looks.’

I wish!

At least then her dad would pass out and save her from any further embarrassment. When she got home she was going to empty every bottle of spirits in their Chelsea townhouse down the kitchen sink. Including the one he kept in his guitar case he thought she didn’t know about. And the whisky that was hidden in a wellington boot beside the back door.

Her father continued to mumble from the rear of the car, more to himself than for the benefit of the other passengers.

‘Elaine named her … she was so thrilled—we thought we couldn’t have kids. Then fortune smiled on us …’

If there was an ejector seat in Jake’s BMW, she was praying fervently it would shoot her through the roof this very second.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Serendipity. It’s a beautiful name. Moonbeam. I ask you …’

Jake coughed. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard!’ she snapped.

There was a crinkle in his voice when he spoke next. She could tell he was holding back a snort of laughter, but, give him credit, he managed to arrest it by swallowing hard.

‘It seems you were a little economical with your name, Miss Dove.’

‘Yes, well, so were you, Charles!’

‘Let’s just call it quits and agree we are creatures of a similar nature.’

She allowed herself a small smile.

‘Maybe.’

She turned to look at her father. He was fast asleep, mouth hanging open, threatening to dribble on Benny’s shoulder if the car swung him in the right direction. Once again he was oblivious to the upheaval he’d created in her life. But it was hard to be cross with him. There was something so child-like about him. He didn’t mean to cause trouble; he just couldn’t help himself. It was as natural as breathing for him.

She closed her eyes and settled back into the comfy leather seat, letting the endless stopping and starting of the car journey lull her into a more relaxed frame of mind.

Later, after they’d bundled Dad into the house and up to his room, and Jake had made his excuses and left, she sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wondered if she’d ever see him again.

She thought perhaps not.

CHAPTER THREE

SERENA stared out across the London skyline in an effort to distract herself from the fact that very soon her bottom was going to be frozen to the wooden slats of the park bench. The bench’s position on the brow of a hill offered little protection from the wind, even though it circled a towering sycamore.

‘It’s lovely here. What a view.’

Jake smiled and offered her a plate full of goodies from the picnic basket balancing between them. ‘A favourite haunt of mine when I was younger.’

‘Did you live close by?’

‘Not too far.’

She could imagine him living in Blackheath, the exclusive area south of where they now sat in Greenwich Park. Blackheath itself was a mile-wide expanse of flat grass, its only vertical feature the razor-sharp spire of All Saints’ church. Along the fringes of the heath were creamy Georgian villas, and she could easily imagine a young Jake bounding out of one of them each morning—grey shorts, school cap, laces undone.

‘You can see it from here, actually,’ he said.

She stared hard, but couldn’t work out where he was pointing. The houses were too blurry and indistinct at this distance.

‘You’re looking in the wrong place.’ He put an arm round her shoulder and nudged her so she faced more to the west.

‘You can’t miss it. See the three tower blocks?’

‘Beyond them?’

‘No, in them. I used to live in the one on the far right. Fourteenth floor.’

She turned to look him in the eye. ‘Really?’

‘I could see this park from my bedroom window. A beautiful patch of green surrounded by pollution and concrete.’

She laughed. ‘Very poetic.’

‘Shh! You’ll ruin my tough businessman image.’

‘I’m not sure you’re as tough as you look, Charlie.’

He gave her a sideways look. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’

‘I don’t know. It just seems to pop out of my mouth. It must suit you.’

His jaw hardened. ‘I prefer Jake.’

‘But it’s not your real name.’

‘Ah! So I get to use your given name as well, do I?’

‘Good point. Jake it is.’ She leaned back and looked up into the leafless branches above. ‘Didn’t you have a garden where you lived? Not even a shared one?’

She could hear him fiddling with the strap of the picnic basket. ‘Do we have to do the childhood memories bit?’

‘It’s only fair. Even though I’m not famous myself, I’m related to someone who is, and that’s good enough for the celebrity-hungry media. You could probably type my name into a search engine and find out what I had for breakfast last Wednesday.’

‘I can think of better ways of finding out what you like for breakfast.’ The edge in his voice was pure wickedness.

She rolled the back of her head against the tree trunk until she could see him. ‘Nice try, but you’re not going to throw me off track. I just want to know a little more about you. It’s hardly a crime.’

‘I normally get away with that kind of tactic.’ He grinned, willing her to take the diversion he offered.

‘I bet you do.’

His expression grew more serious. ‘You’re right. It’s not a crime. I’m used to fluffing over the details my childhood. Some of my clients would faint if they thought a council estate yob was looking after their millions.’

Serena looked him up and down. How anyone could ever think of him as a yob was beyond her. Six-foot-something of pure elegance was standing right in front of her, from his cashmere coat to his hand-made shoes.

‘There were hardly any trees on the estate, so I used to come here on the weekends—on days when the prospect of school was just too bleak.’

She picked up her plate—china, no less—and pinched a stuffed vine leaf between thumb and forefinger. Jake was staring at his old home, his eyes glazed with memories.

‘I’d sit on this very bench and plot and plan my escape from the tower blocks. I’d watch the rest of the city going about its business and dream I could become a part of it one day.’

‘Is that why you got into accounting?’ She gave him a lazy smile. ‘All that rabid excitement?’

‘Ha, ha. Don’t bother going down the all-accountants-are-boring route. I’ve heard all the jokes a million times. Anyway, at first I didn’t want to be an accountant. I knew I needed money to get away from the estate, so I decided I’d better learn how to look after it properly. I got a job at a local accounting firm when I left school and it grew from there. Pretty soon I knew I’d found my niche, so I took the tests and worked hard until I qualified.’

‘It sounds like you were very dedicated.’

‘I wanted to get my mum away from there. She deserved something more than that.’

‘I’ve heard those accounting exams are really difficult.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve never stuck at anything like that. We were always moving around too much. Dad was either on tour, or recording in some far-flung place.’

‘What did you do about school?’

‘Well, up until I was eleven or so my mum home-schooled me. My primary education was unconventional, to say the very least. By the time I was ten I knew all about trees and crystals and the constellations, but I was a little lacking in the maths and science department.’ She struck a pose. ‘But I was very good at improvisational dance and mime.’

Jake gave her another one of his heart-melting smiles.

‘What happened after that?’

‘Mum got ill and I was sent away to boarding school.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘I can’t really see you in a starched school uniform, having midnight feasts with Lady Cynthia.’

‘If only! Have you heard of Foster’s Educational Centre in the West Country?’

He shook his head.

‘One of the Sunday magazines did a feature on it a few months ago—I thought you might have seen it. Anyway, it’s one of those so-called progressive schools, all fashionable psychology and no common sense. Complete nuthouse, if you ask me.’ She winked at him. ‘Needless to say, I didn’t fit in.’

‘No! Of course not. The thought never crossed my mind.’

‘Actually, I’m not joking. The other kids laughed at me because they thought I was weird after my mum’s special brand of education. And, since the teachers believed that expressing negative energy was important to our emotional development, it wasn’t hard for the other kids to find ways to torment me if they wanted to. Which they did. I was fresh meat.’

‘Ouch!’

‘I left as soon as I could, and fled back to Dad. He’d just come out of rehab for his drug addiction. I’m assuming you know about that; it’s pretty much common knowledge. He spent a few years living too fast and hard after my Mum died of cancer. He needed me home as much as I needed to get away.’

‘What about a career?’

She snorted. ‘Looking after Dad is a full-time job, believe me! I’ve been Dad’s manager for the past five years. Consider me a personal assistant, troubleshooter and babysitter all rolled into one. The band don’t do as much as they used to, but it can be pretty hectic at times.’

Jake handed her a glass of champagne. ‘What would you do if you could do anything? Travel?’

She took a small sip and shook her head. ‘No, not travel. My life has been nomadic enough. Something completely different.’

‘Run away with the circus?’

She smiled at him and said nothing. It wouldn’t do to reveal her real desires for the future. Announcing that your greatest wish was to become a wife and mother was like a starter’s pistol for some men, and she wasn’t ready to see this one disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Jake ticked all the right boxes: stable job, successful enough not to be after her dad’s money, thoughtful, charming—the list was endless.

He put one hundred per cent commitment into all he did, and everything he did was first class. Just look at this hamper of picnic food from London’s most exclusive department store. No ham sandwiches wrapped in an empty bread bag here.

But something inside her longed for ham sandwiches, lemonade, and children running down the hill with jam on their faces and grass stains on their knees.

She’d had enough champagne to fill a lifetime. It had lost its sparkle for her. Probably because she’d seen her father drink enough for two or three lifetimes. She’d been pushing him to get help for his drinking, and, although he denied it furiously, she thought he was almost ready to go back to rehab. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Dad was the only family she’d got, and she was hanging onto him. Tight. Just entertaining any negative thoughts in that direction made her shudder.

‘Cold?’

‘A little.’

Jake put a protective arm round her and she leaned back on him. They said nothing more as they ate the last morsels of their picnic, but she took great care not to give Jake an opportunity to move away. The kind of heat he was generating had absolutely nothing to do with layers of jumpers and wool coats, and everything to do with the man inside them. If only she could hibernate like this, huddled up to him, until spring. It was wonderful to let someone else do the caring, just for a little bit.

When they had finished, Jake picked up the basket and offered a hand to help her up. Such a gentleman! He didn’t release her hand when they started to walk down the path, and she didn’t want him to. Even without the tickle of electricity that crept up her arm, the simple gesture of human contact felt good. It had been too long since she’d held hands with anyone.

They passed the Royal Observatory and took the little railed path that crossed the hill beneath it. Jake refused to release her hand as they negotiated the kissing gate there. It took quite a while before they untangled themselves enough to pass through. She had more than a sneaking suspicion that Jake had been deliberately clumsy with the hamper, just to keep them squashed up together while they swung the gate open in the confined space.

Once free of the gate, she was going to walk on, but Jake stopped moving and her arm tugged taut. She glanced back at him, puzzled.

He looked down at their feet and she followed suit. A brass strip was embedded in the tarmac, symbolising the point where the Greenwich meridian dissected not only the path, but the city. Jake hadn’t crossed it, and they stood facing each other, as if at a threshold.

‘Zero degrees longitude,’ he said, looking deep into her eyes. ‘A place of beginnings.’

If Jake thought today was only a beginning, it meant there was more to come. She couldn’t stop her mouth from curling at the thought. ‘Don’t you think this is a bit surreal? We’re standing so close, but we’re in different hemispheres.’

‘We’re not that close.’ He dropped the picnic basket by his side and took hold of her other hand. ‘We could be closer.’ In demonstration, he tugged her towards him so the fronts of their coats met and her eyes were level with his chin. She could feel his breath at her hairline. If she tipped her chin up just a notch his lips would be so close.

The heat of a blush stained her cheeks. No one had ever made her feel this way. The only point of contact was their fingers, yet her pulse galloped like a runaway horse.

‘Still feeling strange?’ he whispered into her hair.

‘I think it’s worse, if anything.’ She swallowed hard, and raised her eyes to meet his. They were impossibly blue beneath his dark brows, and he wasn’t smiling any longer. Deep in his eyes she saw a flicker of something previously hidden. Beneath the smooth-talking, city-slicker image, this was a good man, with a good heart.

His voice was warm on her cheek. ‘A few more millimetres and we could really set the world spinning on its axis.’

‘That was really cheesy,’ she whispered back.

Still, it didn’t stop her eyelids fluttering closed as his lips made the achingly slow journey to hers. In the moment just before they touched, she trembled uncontrollably.

It was everything a first kiss should be. Soft, sweet, full of promise. Never mind about separate hemispheres, they seemed to be the only two people on the planet. She clung to him and buried her fingers in his thick hair—the way she’d been longing to ever since their lives had collided in the rush hour traffic only a few days ago.

His palms cupped her face and his fingers stroked her jaw.

Never had she been kissed like this. It had never been anything more than a clashing of lips and teeth with the drifters she’d gone out with when she had been younger, and stupid enough to believe they could fill the empty spaces in her heart. Kissing Jake was so different. The sensation travelled from her lips right into her very soul.

Too soon he pulled away, tugged her crocheted hat a little more firmly onto her head, and led her down the path towards his car. All she could focus on for the rest of the afternoon was when—please, let it be when, not if—the next kiss was coming.

If Cassie had been any more desperate for information, she’d have been dribbling.

‘I want to hear all the gory details.’

‘I’m pretending I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cass. Absolutely nothing about my love-life could ever be described as “gory”.’

‘Not even the crash-and-burn flings of the past?’

‘Yes … well … That was then—this is now.’ She gave what she hoped was a superior look. ‘I have evolved.’

Cassie grinned and shuffled a little closer. ‘Come on, girlfriend. How’s it going with the hot-shot accountant?’

‘You know, Cass, a vicar’s wife can definitely not pull off a word like “girlfriend”.’

‘Not even one with funky pink hair and a nose-stud?’

She smiled. Cassie was the most unconventional minister’s wife you could hope to see. Her short baby pink hair stuck up every which way, and she had four holes in each ear and one in her nose. ‘Not even close, darling.’

‘Shame. I pick phrases like that up from the youth group. I hardly notice I’m doing it. Anyway, stop being the word police and tell me what I want to know. Resistance is futile. You should know that by now.’

‘You never change, do you?’

‘Not since that day I waltzed into the common room at Foster’s and saved you from another year of sitting in the corner writing doleful little poems you wouldn’t let anybody read.’

Serena gasped in horror. ‘My poetry was never doleful! Rambling and self-indulgent, maybe, but never doleful.’

‘Whatever. You needed a little livening up.’

‘You certainly did that!’

‘What did Prudence and her gang call us again?’

Serena clapped her hands and grinned. ‘The freaky twins!’

‘Joined at the hip for evermore!’ yelled Cassie, punching the air.

‘Until you met Steve, anyway. I should be cross, but he’s such a sweetie I forgave you ten seconds after I met him.’

Cassie stared off into space and her streetwise demeanour melted. ‘He is rather wonderful …’

‘Do you remember what your parents said when you told them about him?’

‘Do I? They totally freaked! I can still hear my father—’ She dropped her voice an octave to a low rumble. ‘Cassandra. You’re only nineteen. You’re far too young to understand what marrying into the establishment means.’

They both collapsed in a heap of giggles.

Serena sighed and wiped a finger under her eye. ‘At least they came round in the end. They practically fall over themselves now to tell their friends that their son-in-law runs an inner city project for underprivileged kids.’

‘Ah, yes, but the dog collar still makes them squirm.’

‘And you love it.’

Cassie giggled into her coffee mug.

‘You’re a minx, Cassie Morton.’

‘It’s why you love me.’

‘No, I love you because you’re the best friend anyone could ever have.’ All traces of laughter left her voice and she fixed Cassie with a solemn stare. ‘You’re right. You did save me that last year at Foster’s. It would have been hell without you. I owe you big-time.’

Cassie’s eyes sparkled. ‘And I know a way you can repay me.’

Serena slumped on the kitchen table in defeat. ‘Go on. Pass me the carrot cake, and I’ll tell you everything.’

Cassie just smiled, cut a thick wedge of cake, and plopped it on a chipped willow pattern plate. Serena dragged it across the table towards her, dipped her finger in the cream cheese icing and tried to think of where to start.

She almost didn’t want to share this with Cass, which was a first. Not that she thought she would jinx it if she talked about Jake, but because it all seemed too precious. She wanted to keep all the memories locked up inside her. She’d have to tell Cass something, though, or she’d get the thumbscrews out.

‘He’s definitely in the running for Mr Right. We’ve had dinners and picnics and been to the ballet. I always thought there was more to a date than standing in the back of a smoky pub watching my other half play pool. It’s like being Cinderella …’

‘You’ve got it bad!’

She stared at the carrot cake, but didn’t take a bite, her appetite arrested by the thoughts swirling round her head. ‘Do you think so? Is this what really falling in love feels like?’

‘Well, that depends. How do you feel?’

She sighed. ‘He’s all I can think about. When I’m not with him I’ve got butterflies thinking about the next time we’ll meet, and when we’re together I get butterflies just because I’m with him! He makes me feel special. For the first time I think I’ve met a man who likes me. Not Michael Dove’s daughter, but me.’

Cassie put her coffee down and cocked her head on one side.

‘So, have you …?’

‘Have I what?’

‘You know.’

She took a large bite of cake and shook her head. Chewing and swallowing was a great way to stall, but regrettably her mouth was soon free again. ‘You know I vowed it would take a ring on my finger as a guarantee of intentions before … that. I’ve been foolish too many times in the past where men are concerned. My creep-radar is completely defunct.’

Cassie nodded. ‘I know. Every loser carrying a guitar pick was the one.’

‘You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t you? I mean, I’ve been around musicians all my life. I know exactly how reliable they are. But there’s something about arty types I can’t resist. I’ve tried to fight it, but every time I end up getting hit with a sucker-punch and I’m totally gone.’

‘Knocked out and down for the count. It’s never pretty,’ said Cassie, screwing up her face.

Serena rested her chin on her hand and stared out of the window. ‘I’ve tried to analyse it. It just doesn’t make sense. The best I’ve come up with is that it’s something to do with those wild imaginations that make every day a surprise, that passion for life—’

‘The attention span of a gnat,’ added Cassie, finishing with a huge bite of cake.

‘You’re so right. And that’s why I’ve sworn off men like that.’

Cassie mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘And why I’m doing the vetting from now on.’

Serena sat back in her chair and wondered if the reason she fell so hard and fast was simpler than she allowed herself to believe. Maybe her childhood had left her so desperate for someone to love that she grabbed anything that vaguely resembled the real thing with both hands. Of course it was invariably a mirage—looked good at the time, but ultimately left her feeling dry and unsatisfied.

That was why she was pacing herself this time, taking it slow. Jake was different from anybody else she’d been out with, but it was still early days. She wanted him to be the one, but it was too early to tell.

She took another bite of cake. The ever-present butterflies did a little waltz as she imagined the fireworks that could happen once ‘Prince Charming’ had been well and truly stamped on Jake’s forehead.

Jake couldn’t walk past the painting without having a third go at getting it straight. He nudged the left corner a little. There. He took three steps back and tipped his head slightly.

Blast! It had looked better before he’d started messing around with it.

It was just that he wanted everything right. Tonight he was cooking Serena dinner, playing on home turf—a departure from his normal routine. Now he had the money to enjoy such luxuries, he liked to wine and dine his girlfriends at good restaurants. They seemed to appreciate it too.

The perfectionist side of his nature urged him to pull out all the stops when he took a woman out, and his competitive spirit made him want to do that little bit better than the next guy. Even if his relationships didn’t last, he wanted his old flames to remember him as the perfect gentleman. It was a little vain, perhaps, but he liked to think at least one or two of his ex-girlfriends thought of him occasionally and let out a little if only sigh.

He lifted his hand to tap the frame again, but pulled it back before it made contact. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t usually this jumpy before a date. Perhaps it was because Serena was so totally different from the type of woman he was normally attracted to.

Ever since he’d had hormones in enough quantities to notice girls, he’d pined after cool, sophisticated types. Like the girls from St Bernadette’s, the exclusive private school only a mile or so from Ellwood Green.

It had never seemed odd to him that such a bastion of old money was so close to his home. The school had probably been built for the daughters of wealthy merchants when Deptford had been a bustling port. Now the docks were miles downstream, and Deptford was no longer the prosperous suburb it had once been, but the evidence was still visible if you walked the streets. You could be walking past boarded-up shops one minute and down leafy roads with ornate Victorian masonry the next. Little pockets of poverty and privilege, side by side, but worlds apart. London was like that.

He smiled. The girls from St B’s had looked so good in their crisp white blouses and pleated skirts. He’d bet they’d smelled good too. Not that they’d let a grubby little oik like him close enough to find out. Perversely, the way they’d lifted their noses when they passed him in the street had only made him want them more. Probably because they represented everything he’d ever craved—class, style, money—although he hadn’t analysed that feeling at the time.

Then, one day, when he hadn’t reeked of the council estate any longer, the snooty noses had lowered and they’d given him sidelong glances from beneath their lashes.

How stupid of him not to have seen it before. He’d been dating St Bernadette’s girls in one shape or form ever since he’d owned his first Rolex. Except Chantelle. She was the one exception—and his biggest mistake.

He glanced down at his watch. Scratches marred the surface in a few places, but he would never replace it. He’d saved every penny he could from his first pay packets at Jones and Carrbrothers until he could strut into the jewellers and slap down a wad of cash for it. It had been an important symbol. One that shouted, I’ve made it!

Once it had been paid for, he’d rented a shoebox bedsit and started the process of erasing his past—from the chain-store clothes to the flat vowels of his cockney accent. Nobody who met him now would ever suspect. He took great pains to ensure his rich clients would never guess their family money was being looked after by the son of a petty criminal.

He’d surprised himself by telling Serena his history. Okay, he’d left out some pretty major details, but he’d also let slip more than he usually did. Somehow it didn’t matter if she knew. She wasn’t impressed by his money in the slightest, which, after the initial dent to his ego, had been a huge relief. He was tired of women who earmarked him as a good prospect.

But it was more than that. Despite all their differences, they had a common bond. She knew what it was like to be an outsider too.

He walked out into the hall and headed back to the kitchen. The sight of the crease-free bedcovers through the bedroom door made his insides clench. An image flashed in his mind: he was standing holding a tray while morning sun filtered through the curtains onto a tangle of arms and legs in the duvet. Dark, silky hair sprawled on the pillow.

Abruptly, he reached for the doorknob and pulled the door shut. He had to get a hold of himself. Rushing ahead was definitely not the way to go with Serena.

He was courting her. It was an old-fashioned idea, but it fitted, nevertheless—and it was delicious. A tantalising game. They circled round each other, prolonging the inevitable, but the circles were getting smaller and smaller. Sooner or later there would be an explosive impact.

He would just have to keep himself on a tight leash until then. But that should be no problem. He was used to keeping control when it came to relationships. Women in his past had tried to push and prod him into doing what they wanted, but he’d always remained firmly anchored. He called the shots. He took the lead in pursuing his quarry at the start of the relationship, and he always decided when it was time to end it—normally the instant he saw the glitter of diamond rings in her eyes.

Mel said he was heartless, but he told himself it was for his ex-girlfriends’ protection. There was no point giving them hope of a happy-ever-after. It wasn’t in his genes.

Just as well he didn’t have to worry about all that with Serena. Her heritage was flower-power and free love. As she’d said on their first date, they didn’t need to tie themselves down. They could take the relationship one day at a time and see where it took them, which was great. He felt freer to be himself if he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea.

He reached the kitchen and hunted for the corkscrew so he could open a bottle of Pinot Noir. He’d just pulled it out of the drawer when the telephone whined.

Please don’t let this be Serena, ringing to cancel!

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, big brother.’ Mel was trying to be chirpy.

‘What’s up?’

There was a pause and a heartfelt sigh.

‘Mel?’

‘It’s Dad.’

Jake’s back straightened. ‘What about him?’

‘There’ve been a few sightings lately.’

‘On the Costa Blanca?’

‘No, not in Spain—here.’

Jake marched across the kitchen and yanked the fridge door open, although when the blast of cold air hit his face he had no idea what he’d come to fetch, if anything. ‘I’ve told you before. I don’t care what that man does, as long as he doesn’t come within fifty feet of me.’

‘It’s been ten years. Aren’t you even curious?’

‘No. He won’t have changed. Don’t fall for his flannel, Mel.’

Her tone was defensive. ‘What makes you think I’m going to see him?’

‘I didn’t say you were. Are you?’

Silence.

‘You were much younger than me when he left. You don’t remember half of what went on—and there was lots of stuff I made sure you didn’t find out. I know you’ve got these fairytale ideas that he’ll come back and it’ll be happy families, but it’s not going to happen, Mel. He’ll pick your pocket the same time as giving you a hug.’

Her voice was quiet. He knew she was on the verge of tears, but he wasn’t prepared to have her hurt. He had to be tough with her now to stop worse pain in the future. All the same, he didn’t want to unleash the anger reserved for his father on Mel.

He softened his voice. ‘I’m sorry, sis, that’s just the way it is.’

‘I know. I just wish it wasn’t, you know?’ She sniffed. ‘I thought I should tell you, that’s all.’

‘Thanks. I’m glad you did.’

Another sniff. ‘Well, I’d better be getting on …’

‘Take care of yourself. I’ll see you on Sunday, okay? Don’t cry for him, Mel. He’s not worth it.’

‘I’ll try. Bye, Jake.’ There was a gentle but despondent click as she put the receiver down.

Jake resisted flinging his phone against the dark slate tiles of the kitchen floor and carefully placed it back in its cradle. Hadn’t that man done enough damage in the past? Why couldn’t he have just stayed disappeared? He wrenched the door of the glass cabinet open. He’d bet last year’s salary that the reason for Charlie Jacobs’s return was not a good one.

CHAPTER FOUR

JAKE walked back towards the bottle of wine. Grinding the corkscrew into the cork felt good. Just the scent of chocolate and cherries as he poured it into a goblet eased the creases from his forehead. The doorbell chimed.

He walked into the hallway, glass in hand, and checked the screen of the video entry system. The camera looked down upon a head of dark, glossy hair. She was fiddling with her nails. Suddenly she turned and stared straight at the camera.

He actually jumped back slightly, almost as if he’d been caught spying. She gave the camera a saucy wink. It took him a good few seconds before he remembered to press the button, and the buzzer sounded long after she’d disappeared inside.

He swung his front door open and waited for her, heart thumping.

Calm. Calm.

Never lose your cool in front of a woman, remember? Who was he kidding? His cool had run screaming from the room the first time he’d laid eyes on Serena, and he hadn’t found its hiding place yet. Still, better not to let her know that.

He held the glass out to her as she rounded the corner. ‘Perfect timing.’

She took it and glided past him into the flat. ‘That’s what I like,’ she said, and stopped to take a sip. ‘A man who knows what I need even before I do.’

Jake took a little bow.

A naughty grin spread across her face. ‘I’m getting a little 1950s flashback here. Shouldn’t I be saying, Hi, honey. I’m home?’

‘Not if you don’t actually live here.’

She ignored him and waved the glass in his direction. ‘By rights, this should really be a martini and you—’ A finger lifted from the stem of her glass and jabbed the air. ‘You ought to be wearing a frilly apron.’

That was what he liked about her. She was always seeing things from a different angle. He pulled her close and kissed her ever so gently on the lips. When they pulled apart she whispered in his ear. ‘Actually, I think you’ll do quite nicely just as you are.’

He took her by the hand and led her into the kitchen.

‘Dinner smells nice. Where did you order from?’

‘Chez Jake. Do you know it?’

‘I’m not falling for that one! Don’t you know that’s trick number five in the bachelor handbook on how to impress women? Order a good takeaway and pass it off as your own. And if I’m not mistaken …’ She edged over to the bin and popped the lid up with a flourish of her hands. ‘Ta-dah!’

The smug smile evaporated from her face as she looked down into the carton-free bin. Her eyebrows rose. ‘You mean you actually cooked it all by yourself? I am impressed!’

‘You haven’t tasted it yet.’

‘But you really cooked? For me?’

‘Yes, I really did.’

A softness glittered in her eyes and she took a quick sip of her wine. When she looked up again it was gone.

He stirred the bubbling sauce. ‘Would you take the wine and the glasses through to the dining room for me? It’s just opposite.’

Serena hesitated, then walked over and gave him a feather-light peck on the cheek.

‘Thank you, Jake.’

He stopped stirring and frowned. Thank you for what? It was only dinner.

Serena placed the glasses on coasters and surveyed the bone china plates, silver cutlery and elegant wine flutes that were laid ready on the table. Long-stemmed candlesticks flanked an arrangement of fresh flowers in the centre. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a man would pamper her so. Jake must be really serious about her. The ramifications of that thought made her heart skip a little faster.

The most she’d ever got from a boyfriend before was a packet of peanuts thrown across the pub table after he’d been to the bar. In her experience, musicians who knew she had a rich father didn’t bother frittering their hard-earned cash on her—quite the opposite. But it wasn’t the quality of Jake’s chinaware that impressed her. It had taken time and careful thought to create all this—just for her. It was utterly seductive.

Jake called from the kitchen. ‘Sit yourself down. I’ll be there in just a sec.’

She pulled out a chair and did as she was told, still marvelling at his domesticity. A vase full of creamy white roses sat in front of her. They were lovely, buds loosening with the promise of the fullness. Just like the perfect blooms of a bridal bouquet.

Clinking dishes announced Jake’s arrival. She was about to compliment him on the table setting, but all she could do when she looked up was hoot with laughter. Over the top of his jeans and shirt he was wearing the most hideous floral apron she had ever seen. Jake just grinned back at her, not fazed at all by the combination of psychedelic blue flowers and designer shirt.

He set the starters down on the table while she wiped her eyes, trying hard to leave her mascara intact. It took quite a while before the end of her sentences weren’t hi-jacked by a burst of giggles.

‘Where the heck did you dig that up?’

Jake did a twirl. ‘You don’t think it suits me?’

‘Oh, beautifully! In fact, I think you should wear it next time we go out.’

‘How about next Thursday? At your special birthday dinner?’

She gasped. ‘How did you know it was my birthday next week?’

‘A handy little tool called a search engine.’

He’d been looking her up on the internet? If anyone else had said that she’d have found it creepy—definite boyfriend marching orders! But she already knew Jake wasn’t like that. Anyway, it would be highly hypocritical of her to be cross. Hadn’t she visited his firm’s website nearly every day, just to look at the pixellated little photo of him and convince herself he wasn’t some longed-for figment of her imagination? She was secretly flattered he’d done something similar.

She tried not to look too gooey as she smiled back at him. ‘So, where are you taking me?’

Jake put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s a surprise. But I promise you this: it’s going to be a night you’ll never forget.’

She hastily studied the goats’ cheese salad in front of her. ‘You’re too good to me.’

He sounded shocked. ‘I thought you’d be used to getting the princess treatment. I can’t believe no one has ever looked into those big brown eyes and said you deserve the best.’

She swallowed a little lump that clogged her throat. ‘Mum did. But that was a long time ago—a different life, almost. She died when I was twelve.’

He took her hand and she looked up into his bottomless blue eyes, so full of compassion. Suddenly it didn’t matter if he saw that hers were tear-filled. He saw parts of her that other men hadn’t even noticed, let alone understood. It was as if she was transparent to him. Yet she didn’t feel naked or scared, she just felt known.

He pulled her hand towards his lips and placed the tiniest kiss on her knuckle. Nothing to prepare her for the shockwave that shot up her arm and bullseyed in her heart.

Her breath caught in her throat as he said, ‘I’m going to have to do a lot of making up for lost time, then.’

Dinner was fantastic. The conversation was warm and intimate. If a world existed outside the candlelit cocoon they shared, she didn’t want to know about it. She swallowed the last bite of her seafood pasta and relaxed back into her chair.

‘That was amazing!’ The corners of her mouth curled up. ‘You could take the apron off now, if you wanted to.’

His eyes jerked downwards, then he laughed. ‘I completely forgot I was wearing it!’ He tugged at the ties behind his back and slipped it over his head.

‘So where did you get it? I’m going to be very scared if I find out you have a row of them hanging in your wardrobe!’

‘No, you’re safe. This belongs to my cleaning lady. She keeps it in the hall cupboard with her cleaning supplies. You don’t think a single guy living alone is this good at dusting, do you?’ He bunched the apron up and slung it under his arm. ‘I’d better put this back. Do you want coffee?’

‘Please.’

Serena busied herself with collecting the plates and followed Jake down the hall. So he didn’t dust—who cared? Neither did she. But in every other way Jake was shaping up to be Mr Perfect.

By the time she’d wandered into the kitchen, Jake was pouring steaming espresso into delicate little cups. He took the dishes from her hands, passed her a coffee, then laced his fingers in her spare hand and tugged her towards the living room. ‘We’ll leave the washing up for now.’

‘Fine by me.’ Her eye was immediately drawn to the tall windows that almost filled one side of the room. ‘Oh, wow! You’ve got a balcony! I’ve always wanted a balcony.’

‘There’s not much to see. In a densely populated area like this, it’s just gardens and back windows.’

‘Can I take a look?’

‘Knock yourself out.’

She put down her coffee cup, unfastened the brass catch, and stepped through the French windows onto a narrow wrought-iron balcony. She could have spent an hour out there, listening to the shuffle of the wind in the trees and nosing into the uncurtained windows.

Jake’s presence was noticeable more from the heat of his body behind hers than the sound of his footsteps. He draped his arms around her shoulders like a knotted pullover and she sank back into him.

‘If I lived in this flat, I’d spend all my time out here.’

‘Would you? I like the trees, but it’s a bit too crowded. Still, it’ll do until I’ve saved up for my house in the country.’

‘Don’t you think it looks magical? Especially now people are starting to put their Christmas lights up.’

Jake grunted. ‘It’s only the second week of December! Far too early for all that stuff.’

‘So that’s why your place is twinkle-free, is it?’

‘I don’t do Christmas lights.’

Serena thought of the dog-eared tinsel and her mother’s hand-made decorations that graced the nine-foot tree in her living room. ‘Shut up, you old humbug, and give me a kiss!’

She swivelled to face him and their lips met. All she was conscious of for the next few seconds was the heady mixture of Jake’s lips on hers and the heat trapped between their torsos. Even after three weeks, his kisses had the power to reduce her nerve-endings to frazzles. If anything, there was a cumulative effect. It seemed impossible that each kiss could be sweeter than the last, but Jake was doing his best to give her solid empirical proof.

The mood shifted. What had started out as romantic and sensual was rapidly intensifying into something else entirely. Her guard was too far down. It was all she could do to lock her knees and keep herself from puddling to the floor. Jake’s hand was under her jumper, caressing her midriff and snaking a tantalising journey up her body.

A tiny voice screeched at her from the back of her head, telling her it was too soon, too intense. She’d promised herself, no matter what, that she’d use her brain rather than her hormones to set the pace. If Jake really liked her, he’d wait …

Trembling, she let the cold air rush between their lips and slid round in the circle of his arms to face outwards again. Her heart stamped an angry beat in her chest and she took a few deep, cleansing breaths.

She closed her hands over the top of his, if only to stop the mesmerising rhythm of his fingers as he stroked her bare flesh. The slice of December wind against her face was a welcome jolt. Nearly as good as a cold shower.

However, Jake didn’t seem to notice it. He nuzzled into the side of her neck and placed tiny kisses along her jaw. She had to do something to break the spell, so she straightened a little and ordered herself to pay attention to the view.

‘Isn’t it fascinating—looking into all the windows, watching other people go about their lives?’

Jake clasped her even closer, his breath raising the sensitive hairs inside her ears.

‘Riveting.’

She struggled to ignore the exquisite tickle of his lips on her earlobe. She was pretty sure if anyone took an X-ray of her insides right now, they’d be staring at a quivering mass of strawberry jelly.

She picked a window and focused intently on a mother pacing a repetitive circuit with a tiny baby propped on her shoulder. Although the pane muffled any sound, she could tell by the infant’s red scrumpled face that it was not in a happy place. Every few seconds they disappeared as the woman changed direction, but she always reappeared in the same place.

The hypnotic quality of her movements was certainly working on Serena, who suddenly noticed Jake’s hands had worked free of hers. The combination of lips and fingertips was fatal. Her eyes slid closed and her lips parted. A tiny intake of breath that sounded very much like an ah brought her to her senses slightly.

Focus, girl. Focus.

She wrenched her eyelids open and searched for another window. Two floors down, she found one. A couple—married, probably—pottered around their kitchen. He stirred a pot; she opened a bottle of wine. They were so unhurried, hardly making eye contact, but they moved around each other in a well-choreographed sequence they must have practised a thousand times, opening drawers and cupboards, dishing up their meal. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Even the movement of Jake’s lips against her skin was almost forgotten as she watched them circling round each other in their seemingly mundane dance.

In the pit of her stomach, she ached for just a little of what they had.

‘It’s freezing out here, Jake. Let’s go back inside.’

He made no fuss, only smiled at her and opened the door for her to step through. Once inside, he fastened the catch and closed the curtains, so not a chink of the outside world remained visible.

But in her imagination she could still see the couple, sitting at a little square table, swapping stories from their day at work. She gave him an easy smile, sweet with promise. He touched her hand as she reached for her glass …

Serena tried to erase the image by taking an active interest in her surroundings. Jake’s furniture was expensive. Classic designs with a modern twist. She could have opened the pages of any one of the aspirational interior design magazines at the supermarket and seen something identical. Almost.

As she looked more closely, she noticed elements that jarred. There were too many books for a truly minimalist look—and not just work-related tomes. Novels, poetry and biographies jostled for position on the cluttered shelves. Colourful modern art canvases hung on the walls. She would have expected abstract designs in beige and brown, not Kandinsky and Chagall. In the corner, a glossy acoustic guitar with a ratty strap was propped up against a small table.

‘Do you play?’ she asked, nodding towards it.

‘I used to.’

‘Not any more?’

‘Well … I pick it up now and again. I’m very rusty. I just don’t have the time.’

‘Play me something.’

Jake shifted in his seat. Ridges appeared on his forehead. ‘You don’t want to hear me twanging away after listening to your old man. I wouldn’t compare favourably.’

‘Pass it here, then.’

‘Yes, Miss.’

She sat the guitar on her lap and, one at a time, pressed the fingers of her left hand onto the strings. It took all her concentration to strum the few bars of the only song she knew. It was about as comfortable and familiar as bungee jumping. She stopped mid-verse and looked at Jake. His eyebrows were hitched halfway up to his hairline.

‘That has to be the worst rendition of “Scarborough Fair” I’ve ever heard.’

She bowed slightly in acknowledgement. ‘The musical gene obviously took one look at me and decided to leap-frog a generation.’

‘Not a carbon-copy of your father, then?’

‘I don’t think you’d find me half as attractive if I was.’

He laughed. ‘You’re right there!’

She clapped a decisive hand against the front of the guitar. ‘Anyway, my point is this: anything you produce can only be a step up from my paltry efforts.’

He thrust out a hand. ‘I don’t think I can resist you in anything.’

She passed him the guitar and settled back into the sofa as he reprised the song she’d just butchered.

‘You’re good,’ she said, when he had finished a verse and a chorus.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, from a woman who knows what good guitar sounds like even if she can’t reproduce it.’

‘Did you ever think of taking it further?’

‘A career, you mean?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Not really. I needed to be sure I could earn a living so I could get Mum and Mel off the estate. Accountancy won out over music in that respect, no question.’

‘Do you ever wish you’d had another choice?’

He shook his head. ‘My life is exactly what I planned it would be. I wouldn’t change a thing.’

His answer made her heart sink a little. She knew she wanted safe and predictable in her future husband, but a wayward part of her still hankered after the creativity and verve of an artistic temperament.

Yes, and look where that has got you in the past! Stomped on, taken for granted and broken-hearted. Don’t even go there!

While she had been arguing with herself, Jake had started strumming the guitar again. He was staring into space, not even watching his hands, yet they seemed to remember the chords of the haunting tune he played all on their own. She closed her eyes and let the gentle thrumming wash over her, until it petered out a few minutes later.

‘That was beautiful. What was it?’

‘Just something I wrote when I was younger. I’ve messed around with it for years, but I can never seem to find the right way to finish it.’ He shrugged and slipped the guitar over the edge of his chair to rest against the bookcase. ‘Guess I never will.’

‘Don’t stop. It’s very relaxing.’

He swung the guitar back onto his lap and started picking away at the strings. She sipped her coffee and watched him lose himself in the rise and fall of the melody his fingers were weaving. He looked different while he was absorbed like that. Less polished, more vulnerable. A tingling feeling flared inside her as she realised she was seeing a side to Jake he normally kept well camouflaged. An imaginative, creative side that was totally at odds with the conservative suits and accounts ledgers.

Then it hit her like a kick in the stomach. This accountant had the soul of a musician!

It was at that exact moment Serendipity felt the familiar slap of a right hook out of nowhere.

‘Jake, I’m scared! I don’t know where we are!’

‘All will be revealed shortly.’

She liked surprises as much as the next girl, but being dragged round half of London with a woolly scarf covering her eyes was too much. Jake had insisted on securing it round her head while they were in the taxi he’d hailed outside the restaurant. As if dinner at a Moroccan restaurant, sitting on cushions and feeling pampered and exotic, hadn’t been enough, Jake now had something else up his sleeve. Something she was starting to wish would stay tucked up there.

She prised her fingers from the metal railing and let him guide her down a never-ending flight of stone stairs. It took all her resolve not to grab the rail and hang on for dear life. Every other step she felt she was falling, but Jake’s warm strong hand was there, steadying her, making her feel safe.

Finally her feet reached a large, blessedly flat area. ‘Can I take this off now?’

Jake’s hand swatted her fingers away from the knot behind her head. ‘Not yet.’

The scent of his aftershave clung to the fibres of the scarf, overloading her nostrils. It was as if he was wrapped around her. Apart from the odd twinkle of what she presumed to be streetlights through the weave, she could see nothing. The gentle slap of waves against stone told her they were somewhere near the river—probably the Thames embankment.

Jake’s arm circled her waist and he propelled her forwards into the unnerving clatter of footsteps that swirled around them. Wherever they were, it was busy. After a minute or so, he came to a halt.

‘Wait there. I’ll only be a couple of steps away.’

‘No! Don’t let go!’

‘You’ll be perfectly safe. I just need to have a word with this young man over here.’

She clutched onto him with her gloved hand, but he pulled away gently.

‘Trust me. I’ll be with you in less than a minute.’

She heard him take a few steps, and his murmured voice mixed with another. She shuffled slightly in his direction and bumped into someone.

‘Sorry!’ she exclaimed, not even knowing whether she was talking to the person she’d barged into. She didn’t dare move again, so she just stood there, letting the crowds eddy past her.

His arm enclosed her again. ‘This way.’

The hard stone beneath her heels gave way to a clanging metal ramp. Where on earth were they? Soon they came to a stop. Jake steered her to face a certain direction.

‘Now, Serena, it is very important that when I say go, you take a big step forwards. Okay?’

She nodded, suddenly feeling as if she was about to walk the plank. The lapping of water was louder, almost beneath her feet.

‘Ready …?’ She clenched her elbows to her sides, palms raised in front of her to ward off the danger she couldn’t see.

‘Go!’

She clamped her already blindfolded eyes shut and took the biggest step she could—feeling it was more a leap of faith—then clung on to Jake for all she was worth.

‘We’re moving!’ she squeaked, then gripped him even tighter as she realised they weren’t just moving sideways, they were climbing upwards too!

Jake just laughed softly, and kissed her forehead.

‘Happy Birthday, Serena.’ He prised his arms from her grasp, gently freed the knot in the scarf and pushed it back over her head.

‘You can open them now. It’s perfectly safe.’

She parted her eyelashes slowly, dazzled by the twinkling lights all around her. They were inside something. Her eyes just could not make sense of what she was seeing. Images jumbled into her brain. Lights … metal … glass. Then it all fell into place …

‘We’re on the London Eye!’

‘You said you’d always wanted to go on it that day we had lunch at Maison Blanc.’

‘How sweet of you to remember!’

She fell silent and took a good look around her. They were alone inside one of the egg-shaped glass and metal pods on the giant wheel almost directly across the Thames from the Houses of Parliament. She’d never seen London look so beautiful. It hardly felt as if they were moving, but slowly they were climbing into the night sky. A whole city of Christmas lights below twinkled just for them. She pressed her nose against the glass and stared.

The unmistakable pop and hiss of a champagne cork made her turn round. He was smiling that wonderful, heart-melting smile of his, and pouring champagne into a pair of glasses that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, along with an ice-bucket.

‘How did you do all this?’

‘It took a little bit of planning, but it wasn’t impossible. I told you we had a little catching up to do to make you feel special.’

‘I think you’ve done it all in one night!’

‘What makes you think this is all there is?’

‘There’s more?’

‘You haven’t had your present yet.’

She looked past him to the ice-bucket. No brightly wrapped parcel stood beside it. She bent down and looked under the oval-shaped wooden bench in the centre of the pod. Nothing.

‘So where is it? No, don’t tell me—you’re having it helicoptered in when we get a little higher?’

He laughed and patted the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘It’s right here, but I was going to wait until we got to the top to give it to you.’

Serena swallowed. It was getting hard to think.

Her present was obviously very special. After all, he was making the act of giving it to her a monumental occasion.

And it was small enough to fit into his pocket.

It couldn’t be … could it?

No. That was a stupid idea! It was far too soon.

Jake handed her a glass of champagne and stood beside her to survey the patchwork of the London skyline. They sipped in silence as the pod climbed higher, but she couldn’t concentrate on the illuminations on Battersea Bridge, or St Paul’s Cathedral. All she could think about was what might be sparkling inside his suit pocket.

It seemed as if the wheel had gone into slow motion. It took a torturously long time for their pod to reach the apex. Just as they watched the one above theirs start to descend, Jake turned towards her and looked deep into her eyes. The entire herd of butterflies resident in her stomach stampeded and came to settle, fluttering madly, in her chest.

‘I want you to know you are the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met …’

Her mouth went dry.

‘I don’t think anyone has had the effect on me that you do. And, because of that, I want to give you something that is uniquely for you—something I’ve never given to anybody else.’

Her eyes followed his right hand as it slipped inside his jacket and reached into the pocket that covered his heart. When it reappeared, it was holding a small, velvet-covered jewellery box. Square. Ring-sized.

One hand flew to her mouth and she clutched the glass of champagne as if it were a lifeline. She was no longer aware of the motion of the giant wheel. It seemed to have stopped on her in-breath. The world paused as they floated high above a sea of sparkling diamonds.

He faced the box towards her and gently eased the lid open, to reveal the most wonderful …

CHAPTER FIVE

EARRINGS?

She looked up at him. His eyes held a question.

She checked the box again, just to make sure she was seeing straight.

No, she was right. It was definitely a pair of silver earrings sitting on the velvet cushion. Actually, they were the most exquisite design of interwoven ivy, completely unlike anything she’d ever seen before. They were really … her. They just weren’t …

She ignored the fact that her stomach had plummeted from where they were suspended mid-air to the slime-coated riverbed below, and choked out the only words that came to mind.

‘They’re … earrings.’

Jake frowned. He almost let that mask of his slip. Just for a split-second he looked really vulnerable. ‘You don’t like them?’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I was sure the designer’s work was just your taste, but—’

‘No, Jake. They’re amazing. Really.’

He searched her face.

‘Then why do you look as if you’re just about to cry?’

She set her glass down on the bench, took his head in her hands and kissed away his frown. When she thought she’d stopped shaking enough to sound convincing, she pulled away.

‘Jake. The earrings are stunning. Nobody has ever given me a present that suited me so well. In fact, they don’t just suit me, they sum me up.’ And she didn’t have to lie. They were perfect. He’d obviously had them made just for her. ‘I’m just crying because I’m so … happy.’

The first of a hundred tears was poised and ready at the corner of her eye. She hugged him hard as it escaped down her cheek and screwed her face up against his shoulder, willing the other ninety-nine to stay put.

‘Let me put them in for you.’

She moved back enough to remove the hoops she already wore, and dropped them in her coat pocket. Jake took one of the delicate earrings from the box between his fingers and aimed for the hole in her earlobe.

‘Ow!’ The spike of the earring stabbed tender flesh.

‘I’m hurting you.’

‘No. Well, a little. Maybe I’m better off on my own.’ She forced the corners of her mouth upwards. ‘Why don’t you get me a refill?’

By the time he’d returned, with a full glass of champagne, both earrings were securely fastened in place.

‘You’re sure you like them?’

She pressed a delicate kiss onto his cheek. ‘I love them.’ I love you.

‘Well … okay. Good.’

They spent the last ten minutes of the ride in silence. He seemed a little distant. She hoped desperately that he hadn’t caught her awkward stutter when she’d opened the box. It didn’t matter that the little velvet cube hadn’t contained what her over-active imagination had conjured up. They’d been seeing each other less than a month. It had been crazy to think …

She would probably laugh about it in the morning when she spoke to Cass on the phone.

The pod reached the landing and the doors whooshed open. Back into the real world. Dirt, noise, pollution. Nothing like the fairytale scene from the top of the wheel at all, really.

Jake stood in front of the black-painted door and waited for the chime of the doorbell to fade. Part of him wished she wasn’t there, that the door would stay shut.

‘Hey! Up here.’

He squinted and looked up. Serena was leaning out of a first-floor window, looking extraordinarily beautiful, with her dark hair falling forwards and a huge smile on her face. She was so pleased to see him. He felt like an utter heel.

She pointed to a narrow passageway at the side of the enormous Chelsea townhouse. ‘Come round to the back door. I’ll meet you down there.’

By the time he’d ducked under the ivy that threatened to block the path and pushed the heavy back door open, she was already in the spacious basement kitchen, filling the kettle. She heard the squeak of his soles on the tiles and left the tap running as she rushed over to give him a hug.

Her soft lips brushed his cheek. Touching her had seemed so natural only a few days ago, yet now he couldn’t find the proper place to put his hands. He eased out of her arms and sat down on a stool near a breakfast bar.

She turned the tap off and clicked the kettle on. ‘I’m very flattered you raced over here in your lunch break to see me.’

Jake shifted his weight on the stool. ‘I have some important news.’

News you’re not going to like.

‘Good news or bad news?’

He didn’t answer. She stopped getting cups out of the cupboard and took a good look at him. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’

‘Good news, really,’ he said, trying to smile. ‘It just feels like bad news.’

That was the truth. He didn’t want to do this, but he had no other option. He really liked her, and had hoped they’d continue to see each other for quite a while, but he’d seen the way she’d looked at the jewellery box the other night. It had taken him completely by surprise.

He’d thought he’d been safe from all of that with her. It had been short-sighted of him to go over the top with her birthday celebrations, but he’d enjoyed watching her face light up at each revelation.

So stupid of him to think he could do all that and not give her the wrong impression! She was a woman, after all. And, just like any other woman, she wanted more than he could possibly give. He was almost cross at her for making him believe otherwise.

‘Jake, you’re starting to worry me! Is somebody ill?’

‘No. Nothing like that. It’s just … I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I know the time is right …’

She waved him on. ‘And?’

‘I’m opening a branch of my firm in New York.’

‘But that’s wonderful!’ Pride in him radiated from her in bucketloads. He felt like something that should be scraped off on the door mat.

‘There’s a catch.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m going to have to spend a lot of time over there in the next few months. In fact, I’m due to fly out tomorrow and I won’t be back until mid-January.’

Her cheeks paled. ‘Not even for Christmas?’

‘No. Mum and Mel might fly out for a visit, but I won’t be back.’

‘Then … when will I see you?’

‘This is what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He looked down at his bunched fists on the counter and deliberately splayed his fingers. Looking her in the eye was harder than it should have been. He’d given similar speeches before, but he’d never felt this awkward. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He wasn’t going to wimp out now. ‘I’m not going to have much time for anything but the new office for a while, so I think we should cool things off for a bit.’

Her mouth dropped open, then she inhaled and looked away. She hadn’t seen that one coming. ‘Just exactly how cold are we talking about?’

Cruel to be kind, remember! Tell her.

‘I don’t think we should see each other any more. Longdistance relationships never work.’

‘They can if you want them to. And you’re not going to be gone for ever. There’s the phone, and e-mail …’ She trailed off. ‘Oh. Stupid me. This is a brush-off.’

‘I—’

‘Don’t bother, Jake. I can smell that kind of crap a mile off. I’ve heard it enough times to know when I’m sniffing the genuine article.’

He didn’t know what else to say. All he could do was look at her angry, flushed face while his stomach churned.

‘What’s the real reason?’

‘I’m going to be busy—’

She marched over to him and leaned across the counter to look him in the eye. ‘I want the truth.’

He stared into her beautiful chocolate eyes. She was right. She didn’t deserve side-stepping and half-truths. He could have waited a few more months to open the New York branch, and even then he needn’t have stayed away for so long.

‘You really want the truth?’

‘I really do.’

‘You’re not going to like it.’

‘I don’t care. It’s got to be better than playing second fiddle to four walls and a fax machine! I thought we had something, Jake. Something special.’

‘We do—we did. But it’s just not going to work out. It’s better to end it now, before anyone gets hurt.’

Her eyes narrowed. She bit her lip and shook her head.

Okay, that had been stupid. She was hurt already. He knew that. That was why he was cutting her loose, to make sure he didn’t do any more damage. And yet this goodbye was almost as hard on him as it was on her. This time he wouldn’t be walking away without a backward glance. He was really going to miss Serena—her sense of fun, her warmth and openness, the sense that there was always another mystery waiting to be unravelled.

Then he knew why ending it with her was so hard. He’d never felt like this before, not even with Chantelle. Never considered the possibility that there was a woman out there who matched him completely. But here she was, standing in front of him, and if anything it made walking away worse. It was easy to waltz through life, believing he had immunised himself against fairytales, but it wasn’t so easy to walk away knowing that if things were different—if he were different—he could have had it all.

The phrase ‘if only’ kept echoing in his head. If only he could believe in fairytales. If only he could make her truly happy. If only …

She wanted honesty? She was going to get it. Even if it left him feeling naked. He owed her that.

‘You thought I had something else in that little black velvet box, didn’t you?’

Her lips started to form a denial, but the words never left her mouth. She let out a puff of air. Colour crept into her cheeks and she stared at the floor.

‘Is that so terrible?’

‘No. It’s just …’ God, he wanted to haul her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. It never would be where they were concerned. ‘I’m not the marrying kind, Serena. I don’t have it in me.’

She looked up, shocked, as if she’d never considered the possibility that, deep down, everybody didn’t hunger for a soul mate.

‘How do you know unless you try?’ Her voice was soft and shaky. He knew it was taking all the guts she had to ask him that.

‘I just know. It wouldn’t be fair to carry on.’

She covered her mouth with her hand. A tear rolled down her face.

‘If I really thought I could do the lifelong commitment thing, there’s no one I’ve come closer to wanting it with—’

‘Stop!’ Her voice broke, and she took a large gulp before she continued. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’

She walked over to the door and held it open for him. He hesitated, then decided to do as she asked. There was nothing he could do to make it better. She kept her head turned away from him. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, hoping it would say all the sorrys he wanted to. She squeezed her eyes shut as the tears started to run in thick trails.

He stepped though the door into the bleak winter sunshine. It slammed behind him, and as he walked up the alleyway he could hear her sobbing.

Serena grabbed the alarm clock from the bedside table, threw it somewhere else, and burrowed back under the duvet.

The ringing continued.

She poked her nose out and opened one eye to look at the clock. It wasn’t there. Somewhere in her sleep-fog she knew there was a good reason it wasn’t sitting next to the lamp, but she had no idea what that reason might be. The clanging of the alarm against her eardrums was making any efforts at conscious thought impossible.

Hair fell in front of her face as she propped herself up and tried to get her bearings. That was the thing about sitting up half the night crying into your cocoa—when you finally got to sleep, it was next to impossible to wake up again.

She spotted the alarm clock against the skirting under the window. The battery and casing lay a few feet away. Then what on earth …?

Phone.

She grabbed the receiver of the clunky old-fashioned phone next to her bed and jammed it against her ear. ‘Yes?’

‘Ren? Is that you?’

‘Cass? What are you doing, calling at this godawful hour?’

‘It’s ten-thirty.’

‘It can’t be.’

‘Well, it is. Look at the clock.’

Easier said than done.

‘Okay, okay, it’s ten-thirty. Where’s the fire?’

‘You were supposed to be here at ten, remember?’

Oops!

‘Sorry. It slipped my mind.’

‘Well, it can slide right back in again, then, can’t it? I thought your New Year’s resolution was to find something to do while your dad is in rehab.’

Serena flumped back on the pillows and flopped the duvet over her face, phone still clamped to her ear. ‘That was almost a month ago. Everyone knows that New Year’s resolutions expire on January the third—the fifth at the latest.’

‘Well, you said you would help with the youth music project, and I’m counting on you, resolution or not.’

‘You don’t really need me. After all, what can I do? I don’t know anything about kids. All I know is the music industry. I’d probably just be a liability.’

‘I’ve had enough. It’s exactly because you work in the music industry that you’re going to be useful. It’s a music project, remember? And they’re teenagers, not toddlers. You’ll be fine. To be honest, I think it’s about time you stopped wallowing.’

Serena stared at the rose-printed fabric in front of her nose. ‘I’m not wallowing.’

‘Then sit up, take the duvet off your head, and get out of bed.’

Serena stuck her tongue out at the phone. That was the trouble with best friends. They knew too much.

‘I’m allowed to be a little depressed. I loved him.’

She heard Cassie sigh. ‘I know you think you did, but you didn’t really know him.’

‘I knew enough.’

‘Not enough to know he didn’t want to settle down and produce your football team for you. I would have thought that was a pretty important piece of info to have.’

Serena was going to say she had known, because Jake had seemed so …

She punched a fist against the duvet above her head while she tried to think of the word she was looking for. It was on the tip of her tongue …

Then it hit her. She’d said it herself. It was all about how Jake had seemed to her, the assumptions she’d made. Nothing he’d said, or done, had ever given her the impression he’d been looking for marriage. He’d just looked the part, ticked all the right boxes.

Pity she hadn’t noticed that, somewhere in the small print, the ready for commitment box was glaringly empty. She closed her eyes and groaned. Had she really been more in love with the idea of Jake than the real man?

‘Ren?’

‘Sorry, Cass. Miles away.’

‘Just be here by twelve, will you?’ Cassie’s voice had softened, but Serena knew she wouldn’t leave her alone until she’d bucked herself up. There was no arguing with Cass when she got all matron-like.

‘Okay, okay. See you later.’

She pushed the duvet away and let the receiver drop back into its cradle with a satisfying thunk. She swung her legs out of bed and sat staring at the wall. The floor was cold against her bare feet.

She couldn’t stay in bed all day, moping about Jake. She had to do something before the pity party spiralled out of control. As it was, she’d probably pushed the share price of Cadbury’s up single-handedly.

The house was totally silent. She could hear nothing but the ebb and flow of her own breath. For months she’d been badgering her dad to go into rehab. Now he was there, the house felt the size of the Albert Hall. She hadn’t realised how much time and energy it took minding her dad until now, when it was somebody else’s job for a bit. And, if things worked out, he wouldn’t need her as much when he came back home in six weeks’ time. What was she going to do?

She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Jake in the park that day. Running away with the circus was still an option. She smiled. A maverick tear escaped from one eye and dripped onto her pyjamas, and the brick of lead that had been substituted for her heart contracted.

I miss you, Jake.

But he was right. She had a life to lead. She needed to find some other purpose than running around after her father. And while she was working out what that was, she might as well go and help Cassie with her mission in life.

‘Grab the bag from the boot and follow me.’

Serena did as instructed, then jumped back as the car’s central locking system beeped. Only when Cassie turned a corner round a dingy block of 1960s houses did she start to jog after her.

‘Cass, wait!’

Cassie stopped to let her catch up, then set off again at a blistering pace.

‘Where are we? I thought this youth thingy was going to happen in the church hall.’

‘Steve’s decided if we really want to reach the kids on these estates, we can’t expect them to walk into a stuffy old church.’

Stuffy? Hah! They could hear the electric guitar and drums three streets away when Steve was leading a service.

‘St Peter’s has the least stuffy services I’ve ever been to.’

Cass grinned with pride. ‘I know that, and you know that, but the kids that live here don’t. We’ve decided to revamp the old community centre here on this estate for the youth music project. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed …’

‘I think you’re mixing your faiths up.’

Cassie waved her objection away. ‘It’s the same principle.’

They stopped outside a low, graffiti-covered building in the shadow of a great tower block. The community centre had a row of narrow safety-glass windows that circled the building. Despite the grilles protecting them, every single one was broken.

‘You can’t mean to use this place.’

‘We can. All it needs is a sweep-out, and a bit of a clean today. The glazier and carpenter are coming tomorrow, and then we’re going to get busy with some paintbrushes. We have exactly a week to get this place ship-shape.’

‘You keep saying “we”.’

‘Too right. Don’t chicken out on me now, darlin’.’

Serena sighed and looked up at the neighbouring block of flats as Cassie unlocked the doors. Her heart skipped a beat.

This was Jake’s estate.

He’d pointed out these very towers the afternoon they’d picnicked in the park. She glanced between the three blocks of flats that dominated the housing estate, but she had no idea which one had been his.

Cass’s voice echoed from inside the community centre. ‘Are you coming, or are you going to stand there all day and admire the scenery?’ Serena followed her inside just in time to catch the pair of thick yellow rubber gloves that Cassie had flung in her direction. ‘I’ll move this old furniture out and you can sweep up.’

She pulled the gloves on and picked up a broom that was resting against the wall. She needed time to assimilate this new information, and she might as well do something mindless while she did so.

A couple of hours passed quickly as they immersed themselves in their tasks. Serena couldn’t dispel the uncomfortable feeling she got from being on the Ellwood Green estate. It was as if she were trespassing. She couldn’t help thinking Jake wouldn’t like it if he knew she was here.

When they stopped for a break, Serena stared out of a jagged hole in one of the windows.

‘That person’s popular,’ she said over her shoulder to Cassie.

‘Who?’

‘The person in that flat up there, on the second balcony. Quite a few people have gone in and out in the last hour.’

Cassie peered through a hole in the neighbouring window. ‘I think I know who it belongs to.’

‘You do?’

‘He’s definitely not the most likeable guy on the estate.’

‘Then how come he’s got so many visitors?’

Cassie slung an arm over her shoulder and shook her head.

‘You really do live in the proverbial ivory tower, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s a dealer. Drugs.’

Serena gasped. ‘But some of them are kids! Barely old enough to be out of primary school!’

Cassie shrugged. ‘They use the local kids as look-outs and runners. In a couple of years’ time, those same kids will be part of the network, earning them even more cash when they sell to their school-friends.’

She stared at Cassie in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand why they get mixed up with people like that in the first place.’

Cassie dragged her out through the front door and turned her to face the car park nearby. ‘See that big black BMW parked over there?’

She nodded.

‘It’s his—the dealer’s. He’s well-known round here. The kids in this place grow up with next to nothing. They see this guy, with his designer clothes, thick gold jewellery and flash cars, and they want it too. You can’t blame them, really. They don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of their lives, on the dole or in dead-end jobs like their parents. Who wants to wipe greasy tables or pick up rubbish for a living? Mr Big up there is the only role-model for success they see at close range.’

‘That’s so sad.’

‘Exactly,’ said Cassie, slapping a cloth into her hand. ‘That’s why this project is so important. It might not be much, but it’s a start. We can show them there’s something better to do with their time, that they have other options.’

Serena’s face settled into a mask of determination. ‘Let’s go, then! What do you want me to do next?’

Cassie grinned and handed her a huge bottle of cream cleaner. ‘See that little kitchen over there …?’

Serena had an epiphany while she scrubbed.

Her childhood might not have been perfect, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse! So she’d lost her mother. At least she’d had twelve good years before her mum died. Some of the kids on this estate had probably never even met their fathers.

She scraped frantically at a bit of burnt-on grime on the electric hob. She’d spent a lot of her life feeling rather sorry for herself, when really she had so much to be thankful for. The lyrics from some of Steve’s ‘happy-clappy’ songs suddenly made a lot more sense.

The little kitchenette gleamed. Serena stood back with her hands on her hips and surveyed her work, glad she’d forced herself out of bed that morning. Okay, glad Cassie had forced her out of bed that morning. Helping Cass had given her an unexpected dose of perspective.

She wiped her forehead with the glove-free part of her arm. ‘I need some fresh air,’ she called.

Cassie appeared, with a full dustpan and brush in her hand. The dust in her hair had turned it a rather dirty shade of pink. ‘I need something cold and fizzy. Do you want to nip out to the newsagents and get us something to drink?’

Serena peeled her gloves off and left them on the counter. ‘Where is it?’

‘Follow the path to the left, past the nearest block of flats. When you come to the end, go left again and you should see a row of shops.’

Serena nodded, checked her jeans pocket for change, then walked out into the bright January afternoon.

She had been walking for less than a minute when she became aware of someone behind her. Not too close, but close enough, keeping pace almost. She slowed down a little to give whoever it was a chance to overtake. The footsteps matched her own.

Her heart began to thump even before she picked up speed again.

This was ridiculous! It was probably some old lady on her way to the bingo. But if that were the case why was she scared to turn round and take a look?

She wanted to break into a jog. Instead, she tightened her stomach muscles and glanced quickly over her shoulder, hoping to be rewarded by a nod from an old dear in a tweed coat.

It was a man.

More than that was hard to say. His woollen hat was pulled down over his ears and a scarf was knotted round his neck, covering his chin and mouth. He’d burrowed even further into the turned-up collar of his scruffy grey overcoat when she’d sneaked a look at him.

He wasn’t doing anything threatening, wasn’t getting any closer, but it just didn’t feel right. Her palms itched and cold air sliced her throat as she drew it into her lungs.

They were almost in the shadow of the tower. The path ran right next to the block of flats, under the overhanging balconies of the upper floors. It looked as if it was designed to be a shelter for the entrance, but it felt as if she would be hemmed in after the open space of the walkway. The only alternative was to turn and face him, and she certainly didn’t want to do that!

Suddenly she was running towards twenty storeys of concrete and dirty glass. She shoved one of the heavy double doors open and jabbed a finger on the lift button, taking care to breathe through her mouth. The foyer reeked like a public toilet.

She glanced outside, through the glass-panelled doors. He was getting closer, but it was impossible to tell if he was just going to walk past or follow her inside.

The lift machinery was ominously silent. No distant dings of the lift on upper floors. No lights on the display. She pressed the button one last time, then darted up the staircase without waiting for a result. The sound of her footsteps bounced off the walls in the confined space. She counted off thirty steps then stopped, a foot poised on the next step so she was ready to set off again.

Nothing. No sound behind her. It would have been hard to climb those stairs without making a noise. She slouched against the wall and caught her breath.

What to do now? She didn’t want to go back downstairs just yet and risk running into the grey overcoat. She glanced up the stairs.

Fourteenth floor, Jake had said.

Her feet set up a rhythm on the stairs again, slower this time.

Each landing looked like the last. The floor numbers on the walls were often obscured by neon spray paint. Nothing artistic, though. Just name tags and obscene phrases. Finally, she stood beside the plaque reading ‘14’ and gulped oxygen into her lungs, her calf muscles screaming.

Her destination was a bit of an anticlimax. Somehow she’d thought she would have a sense of arrival, that something in the narrow corridor would shout, Jake was here! But all she saw was a row of identical blue doors. At the end of the corridor was a large window. She walked up to it and looked out on Jake’s world.

The greyness seemed to spread in every direction from the base of the block of flats for miles and miles. The oasis of Greenwich Park was nowhere to be seen. She must be looking in the wrong direction.

In her imagination, she tried to picture Jake as he would have been fifteen years ago—baggy jeans with rips and a baseball cap. Would his dark hair have been longer and shaggier, or would it have been a crew cut? The image wouldn’t come. She could only see him in crisp shirts and designer suits, his hair neat, never a tuft sticking up. She didn’t know the Jake of Ellwood Green at all.

But she understood her Jake better—the need to succeed at his career, his love of fine things and first-class service. It was a world away from the scene she looked down upon now. He’d talked about how he’d wanted to escape, and he’d done it. She admired him for that. It was a testament to his drive and determination that his BMW was parked in the underground garage of his office, and not in the car park downstairs as he waited for the next knock on the front door.

She walked back to the stairwell and started her descent. Once at ground level, she stayed well back from the doors and searched for any sign of a grey coat. When she was sure it was safe, she eased the door open and peeked out, grateful for the relief from the acrid stench of the foyer.

No sign. She let out a large breath and waited, half-in, half-out the door, for another minute before setting off again.

It wasn’t long before she spotted the small parade of shops. The newsagents sat between a boarded-up unit and a launderette.

She picked a couple of bottles out of the cold cabinet inside and took them to the counter. A pair of chatting teenage girls hushed and watched her hand over the coins to the shopkeeper. She stuffed her change into her back pocket and scurried out of the shop.

Jake’s roots were here. It was his world. And she clearly didn’t belong.

Jake rested his elbows on the bar of the trolley and scanned the luggage carousel for his cases. A willowy blonde woman on the other side of the conveyor belt made eye contact. Normally he would have stood up and smiled, but instead he picked a case to watch and pretended he hadn’t seen her.

London was a big city, but a homing beacon was calling out to him. His mind was tuned to wherever she

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