More Than You Know (29 page)

“Great. I’ll go and find a phone and see if I can get a table.”

He came back looking rather pleased with himself.

“OK. Done. Ready at eight thirty. So we could have another.”

“What, another bottle of champagne?”

“If you like. It suits you, champagne.”

“Thank you. In what way?”

“Well … it’s got class.”

“Matt, we’d probably better not get onto that.”

“I didn’t mean that sort of class. I meant totally first-rate.”

“Right. Well … thank you. You’re pretty classy yourself. In a totally first-rate sort of way.”

“You reckon?”

“I reckon. You’re clever. And funny. And that’s a great shirt.”

“Thanks. I had it made. To my own specification.”

“Really? Where?”

“Chap in Jermyn Street. You know, by the time we’ve walked to Inigo Jones, it will be well past eight. We could just have some more champagne there.”

“OK. Pull me up. Oh, dear. I feel a bit dizzy. Might just go to the loo. I’m sure I look a complete fright.”

“You look lovely,” he said, and his voice was very serious.

“Juliet? Mummy. How are you, darling?”

“Bit better. Horrid bug, this, though.”

“Charles hasn’t got it?”

“No, no.”

“Any news?”

“Well, yes. Apparently Eliza’s going to marry Jeremy Northcott.”

“Goodness. From everything I’ve heard about him, that should solve all their problems. Stop them worrying you about it. So unfair.”

She felt very … odd. Sort of … well, very sexy. Almost uncomfortably so. She kept fidgeting about in her seat. He noticed.

“You OK?”

“Oh … yes, I’m fine. You?”

“Very OK.”

It was odd being with him when he was relaxed. And when she was relaxed. So often they were fighting. She said so.

“Yeah, I suppose we are. Why do you think that is?”

“Oh … can’t imagine. Because you’re such a stroppy bugger, maybe?”

“I am not stroppy.”

“Matt, you are very stroppy.”

There was a silence; he picked up his glass and scowled into it.

“And I suppose you’re not?”

“I don’t think I’m stroppy.”

“Yes, you are.”

“OK,” she said agreeably, and smiled at him. He stared at her and then quite suddenly smiled back.

“Yes, all right. I am too.”

“Do I make you worse, do you think?”

“Definitely.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Well, obviously because you’re stroppy. In fact, I’m the sweetest, mildest bloke when you’re not there.”

“Oh, really? And what would your girlfriend have to say about that, I wonder?”

“I have no idea,” he said, and took another gulp of champagne.

A stab of something. Not jealousy, obviously. Just … interest.

“She’s very pretty, your girlfriend. And … is she clever? Nice?”

“I don’t think I want to talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“Because … because it’s hardly the way to improve the evening.”

“There you go, stropping away. So, does she live with you?”

“Good God, no.” He looked horrified. Eliza giggled.

“But you … well, you …?” This wasn’t very ladylike of her, but she really wanted to know.

“I sleep with her,” he said, and his eyes on hers were very steady. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Of … of course not.”

“I think it was, but never mind. Now, while we’re getting down to basics, how about you? Do you live with him?”

There was no need to establish who “he” was.

“Absolutely not.”

“But you sleep with him?”

“That’s not a very gentlemanly question.”

“I’m not a gentleman. Anyway, asking me the same question wasn’t very ladylike.”

“I didn’t actually ask it.”

“Not in so many words, perhaps. So …”

“Yes,” she said almost reluctantly, “I do … sleep with him.”

“OK. That’s got that out the way. Any more questions?”

“No. No, don’t think so.”

“Good. Did you ever play truth, dare, promise?”

“Course. When I was little. Not since I grew up. Why?”

“Oh … my sister and I used to play it a lot as well. I was just thinking we were being quite truthful with each other. That’s always interesting. More wine?”

“Please. Oh, this is so … so nice.”

“Good. It’s a burgundy.”

“I don’t mean the wine. I meant sitting here, just chatting to you, getting to know you properly. All these years since we first met—”

“Do you remember that?”

“Of course,” she said, surprised. “It was at Waterloo Station, and you and Charles were home on leave and I thought how good-looking you were.”

“Really?” He looked so astonished, she laughed.

“Of course. Ask Charles if you don’t believe me; I told him.”

“Blimey. Well. I thought you were pretty good-looking too.”

“There you are then. It’s obviously a match made in heaven. Pity we’ve wasted all this time squabbling.”

“Yes. Um … let’s do a bit more truth telling. What’s the most important thing in the world to you, Eliza?”

“My work.” It shot out without even a pause for consideration. “You?”

“Sort of the same. Being a success. Making a ton of money. So … work.”

“But do you enjoy what you do so much you’d do it even if it didn’t make you rich?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “I’d find something else that did.”

“Yes, I see. For me it’s not the money.”

“Well, it’s different for girls. Anyway, they can just marry rich blokes.”

“That is the most terrible thing to say.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“OK, so you could marry a rich girl.”

“And do you think that would give me any satisfaction? Even supposing I could. Which I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Eliza, don’t be bloody stupid. What rich girl would marry me?”

She looked at him, sitting there, so cool and sexy and clever and stroppy, and she leaned forward across the table and kissed him, very gently on the mouth.

“Lots,” she said. “I should think.”

“So … suppose you got married. Would work still be so important?”

“Of course.”

“Better not marry me, then.”

“Is that a proposal?”

“Certainly not.”

“So your wife’s going to be a domestic slave, is she? Yes, I forgot, you said that the other day.”

“Well, she’s certainly going to be at home looking after me. That’s for sure.”

“How boring for her.”

“Why? Am I so boring?”

“No, you’re not, not at all, but you’re out working till all hours.”

“All the more reason to have her home, waiting for me with a good hot meal.”

“Matt Shaw! I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“Well, you are. I think it’s the natural order of things.”

“Did your mum stay at home?”

“Most of the time, yeah. She did a bit of cleaning, that sort of thing. Fitted round my dad.”

“And did your dad help in the house?”

“Course not. He paid for it, didn’t he? And all the food and that. Why should he wash up as well? Not fair, far as I can see.”

“I … don’t know.” She really couldn’t find an answer.

“Jeremy … does he wash up and that?”

“Well, if we’re eating at home, yes, he does. Especially if I’ve cooked. But he likes cooking too.”

“Blimey. What’s he do? Works in advertising, that right? And … does he … does he take his work seriously?”

“Goodness, yes. It’s one of the things I really like about him. He doesn’t actually have to work—”

“Why not? Got private money, has he?”

His eyes were very watchful on hers.

“Mmm. What does Georgina do?”

“She works in a clothes shop in the King’s Road, called Silk, Satin, Cotton, Rags.”

“Oh. I know it well. Lovely things. I must go and introduce myself—we didn’t really talk at the wedding—tell her we had dinner.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” he said. “She wouldn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re like you are.”

“Which is?”

“So bloody sexy,” he said, and then: “Ignore that. It’s the wine talking.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he said, “not really.” And he took her hand across the table and turned it over and pulled it towards him and raised it to his mouth. Kissed the palm. His tongue moving over it. She stared at him, feeling it, feeling it everywhere and, with a thud of shock, in her head and wherever or whatever her heart was, and deep, deep inside her, as if the tongue was in her, probing at her, sweetly uncomfortable. She shut her eyes, opened them again, met his.

“So bloody sexy,” he said.

“Apparently Eliza is engaged to that chap at the wedding, Jeremy Northcott,” said Carol Judd.

“Really?” her husband replied. “Well, that should stop them all bleating about not having any money. I can’t stand the way those people carry on as if they were one step from the workhouse.”

“I know,” said Carol, “and upsetting Juliet. It’s too bad of them, when they’re obviously completely loaded.”

“I really loved that house of yours,” Matt said. He had asked for the bill; they were on coffee.

“I’m so pleased. It’s so special to me. To all of us.”

“Specially the orangery. That was gorgeous.”

“Well, you must come again. See the inside. Come this weekend—Oh, no, I’m going away, but … next. I’d love to show it to you properly. You can bring Georgina if you like.”

“No, don’t think so. Not a good idea. What about Jeremy; will he be there?”

“No,” said Eliza and she could hear her own voice, very cool, very firm. “He won’t.”

“OK. It’s a date.”

“I’d like to see your flat too, Matt. The one in Rotherhithe. It sounds so cool.”

“OK. You can. It’s open to the public.”

“Right. So there’s the promise. We’ve done truth. Only thing we haven’t done,” she said, smiling into his eyes, “is the dare.”