Long-stemmed candlesticks flanked

an arrangement of fresh flowers in the

center. Never in Serena’s 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 was shaping up to be Mr. Right.

FIONA HARPER

As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started preschool she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking, good food and anything cinnamon flavored. Of course, she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

Blind-Date Marriage is Fiona’s debut novel.

Blind-Date Marriage
Fiona Harper

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the unknown man I soaked while driving through a puddle

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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 absentminded kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks for lunch. I really enjoyed it.’

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

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

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

‘What are you doing?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What’s that?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A metallic blue Porsche.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Sorry, babe.’

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

‘So what happened, exactly?’

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

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.

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