Love to Hate You (29 page)

I look at him worriedly. “Really? Where?”

“The man behind you who hasn't taken his eyes off you since he arrived about ten minutes ago,” says Eliott, continuing to observe him.

“You're sure he's looking at me?” I ask, puzzled.

“Pretty sure,” he says.

“Could you describe him?” I ask, trying not to alarm him.

“Dark hair, light blue eyes, looks tall, certainly got plenty of money.”

Unfortunately, I think I know who it is.

How the hell did Ian find out that I was coming here tonight?

“Who's he with?” I ask.

“A girl, about twenty, blonde. Looks like a model or something.”

“They are always so bloody tall and so bloody blonde,” I let slip, acidly.

“You know him?” asks Eliott, curious.

Before I say anything, I'd better check for myself. I turn round and I find myself staring into Ian's face which, to be honest and given that he's here with the most striking looking girl he could find in his little black book, is not looking particularly cheerful.

Because, I have to admit, the girl in question really is the type of beauty who doesn't go unnoticed, and in fact the entire restaurant is staring at her. Or rather, the entire restaurant except for Ian, who stares right back at me, completely unintimidated by being discovered. It almost looks as though it is what he was waiting for.

I turn towards Eliott. “I'm afraid I know him,” I admit reluctantly.

He tries to re-assure me. “I'd worked that out for myself,” he says, with a smile.

“He's just a colleague,” I explain, blushing more than I should.

“At the risk of being indiscreet, his body language is telling quite a different story. An ex-boyfriend who hasn't quite thrown in the towel?” he asks.

“Ex-boyfriend!?” I exclaim, a little brusquely. “Absolutely not! I mean, have you seen him? And that Barbie he's brought along with him?”

Eliott looks at me almost compassionately. “If it makes you feel any better, it's obvious he doesn't care about her at all.”

“Oh, right—” I say, about to tear into him when I should really be directing my anger at Ian.

“Look out – colleague approaching at seven o'clock—” he warns me.

This can't be happening – it must be a nightmare that I'm going to wake up from. That I
have
to wake up from!

A menacing figure has meanwhile approached our table. “Good evening,” thunders Ian, for whom the evening apparently isn't good at all.

I glare at him furiously. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, not hiding my anger.

“I am having dinner. That is still allowed, isn't it?” he answers, looking equally annoyed. He's acting as though I'm in the wrong, obviously.

“London is full of restaurants. What are you doing
here
?” I ask again, not hiding at all what I think.

He shrugs. “Pure coincidence.”

Right, and he even expects me to believe it. I stand up, eyes blazing. “If you think I'm going to fall for that, you're very wrong.”

“Well, that wouldn't be anything new, would it – though of course, you're
never
wrong.”

“Don't make me any more angry than I already am: who the hell did you bribe to find out where I was going?” I demand.

He just grins.

“I get it: you used Tamara to get to George, and that way you saw my appointments.” I absolutely must stop putting everything in the office diary. This way, I'm just playing his game.

The other guests start looking at us with evident curiosity. If his aim was to attract attention, I'd say that he's made a good job of it.

Eliott also gets up, almost as if he's going to separate us. “We haven't met. Eliott Paulson,” he says, holding out his hand in a friendly way. How the hell does he manage it?

His attitude seems to have an effect even upon Ian, who quickly regains his composure. “Ian St John”, he says, shaking Eliott's hand and looking much calmer.

“A friend of Jennifer's, I presume,” says Eliott, presuming rightly or wrongly, depending on your point of view.

“A colleague,” I correct him, before Ian can say anything awful.

Both Eliott and Ian give me a look.

“Will you join us?” asks Eliott politely, seeing that Ian has no intention of leaving.

That's exactly what Ian was waiting for. “Why not?” he thanks him, and even dares to smile.

The worm! He wants to ruin the only decent date I've had in years! He nods to the waiter and asks him to move everything over to our table. And everything includes his companion of the evening, who diligently follows her instructions like an obedient dog. She must be at least six feet tall, I think in annoyance as I watch her approach: her hair is blond and straight, her blue eyes framed by huge false eyelashes. Exactly what I expected.

Ian introduces her. “This is Dina,” he says quickly, sitting down.

The girl looks annoyed. “Actually, it's Donna,” she corrects him, as she sits down at our table, pulling down the shortest miniskirt I've ever seen. Did they actually let her in here dolled up like that? And there was me thinking it was a classy place.

Like the good psychologist he is, Eliott tries to put everyone at ease. “Donna's a nice name,” he says in a kind voice, and she takes the bait instantly and gives him a happy smile. See? It doesn't take much.

“What do you do, Donna?” I ask, making an effort to appear interested.

She gives me a puzzled look. “I go to dinners and parties and stuff,” she says doubtfully, not quite understanding the meaning of my question.

“You're in PR?” I ask, attacking a piece of bread.

“No, I just go,” she says, as if I were a Martian. “Daddy would never let me work,” she adds innocently.

It would probably have been better if she hadn't specified that, because now we're all staring at her aghast, and even Ian looks a bit disconcerted with her answer. Perhaps he's now regretting his choice of dinner partner.

The only one who might actually be enjoying himself is Eliott, who probably finds us all very interesting from a clinical perspective. And he's right – we all need locking up.

“Do
you
work?” asks Barbie, widening her blue eyes.

“Yes, my father is very poor and so I have to—” I reply sarcastically. But it's obvious that she doesn't get the joke.

Eliott laughs while Ian shoots me a nervous look. “Jenny's a lawyer. Don't listen to her, she's very good with words,” he warns, as he cuts into his rare fillet steak.

“Actually, I'm a tax lawyer and so I'm very good with numbers,” I say, noting with annoyance what's on his plate. When we went out together, he always ordered fish to avoid making me watch this kind of thing. If he could, he'd slice up a cow right in the middle of the restaurant today just to annoy me.

Barbie looks at us with a lost expression. Poor little thing, she's not used to this kind of conversation.

“How long have you two known each other?” Eliott asks Ian.

“Jenny and I have known each other for seven long years,” he says, emphasizing the words to make it clear to all present that our knowledge of one another is not just superficial.

“
Extremely
long,” I confirm angrily, glaring.

“Actually, I meant you and Donna—” says Eliott, hiding a smile behind a perfect poker face. This guy is a real surprise.

“Errrm—” exclaims Ian, wrong-footed. “Donna, when
did
we first meet?” It's clear that he doesn't remember.

“We met two years ago at that charity thing,” she reminds him. “Although this is actually our first date,” she says, proud to have finally managed to wangle it.

“Looks like it's an evening of first dates,” I comment loudly.

Ian looks at me as if to say ‘first and last, my dear.' Of course, because it's obvious that after an evening like this, there's no way Eliott will want to see me again. Who on earth would want to take someone to dinner who is being stalked by a windbag like you – one who even manages to worm their way into someone else's evening?

Although there are four of us sitting at the table, there are in fact only three of us. With the best will in the world, I can't consider Barbie a participant because it's obvious that when it came to giving out brains, mother nature skipped her altogether. I'm being cruel and I'm envious of her looks, I know, but I'm also sincere in my judgment.

“So what do you think of Jenny?” Ian asks Eliott.

“An exceptional girl, from every point of view,” he replies calmly.

“Erm, yeah—” says Donna, not hiding her perplexity. She should probably have kept quiet.

“You know,
some
people actually think it's important to be able to handle complex discourse in company,” I say snarkily.

“But one doesn't speak about complicated matters at the table! It's just not done,” she answers with conviction.

Come to dinner at my house and we'll see about that. Or drop by Ian's family and see what delightful conversation they come up with, I reflect with satisfaction.

Ian must have thought the same thing because, when our eyes meet, a look of understanding passes between us, in spite of myself.

The moribund conversation limps on for another half hour, and Ian, after working so hard to ruin the evening, has almost stopped speaking entirely. The odd little cutting comment here and there, but apart from that, silence. Barbie tries her hardest, but isn't able to speak about anything except shopping. Moral of the story – Eliott and I end up trying to liven up the evening.

It's hard work, but Eliott is doing an extremely good job: anyone else would have been furious and felt perfectly authorised to go off in a huff, given all of Ian's far from veiled insinuations. Which, if I have to be honest, aren't even really insinuations at all. Like it or not, in this precise moment I'm still bound to him. I can tell, because I can't take my eyes off his grim face, its features much more tense than usual. And I feel awful, because it wasn't my intention to hurt anyone. In fact, I went out with Eliott thinking that I was acting in everybody's best interests.

After finishing their sweet, Ian and Barbie finally decide to leave. Ian raises his hand and motions for the waiter to bring the bill.

“You can't pay,” I say immediately.

“It's the least I can do,” he says in an oddly flat voice, as if he were prey to a sudden crisis of conscience.

He can stick his remorse, I have no intention of letting him.

“Sorry Ian, but as you've surely understand this is my first date with Jenny and it wouldn't look great if I let you pay for me,” Eliott points out, before I start to argue.

Ian lowers his shoulders. “Ok, if it's ok with you, we can go halves,” he agrees reluctantly.

The two go off for a few minutes to settle the bill, leaving me alone with Donna. How nice.

“So do you like Ian?” I ask her, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh yes!” She exclaims. “Who wouldn't? I mean, a rich count, right? And one day he'll be a duke.”

That story again. Is it really possible that none of them is aware of what Ian is actually worth as a person, without the coat of arms and family jewels? Is it possible that none of them understands how much he hates being chased after just because of these trivial things?

“Firstly, Ian is extremely professional and competent in his work. And he is a sincere, determined, fair and proper person. The fact that he's a member of the aristocracy is almost a disadvantage for him because everyone feels entitled to think he got where he is through the old boys' club, whereas the truth is that he worked as hard as any of us to get there.” I'm getting extremely worked up, now – I'm off and running, and nothing's going to stop me. “Why should I pass as some kind of genius in the bank while he's always seen as the one who's had everything served to him on a silver platter, even though it's not true?”

An impressed Donna looks at my flushed face. “Wow,” she says, then stares off into space, so impressed is she by my words.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she says a moment later, and disappears.

Ian advances slowly, watching me as if he'd just witnessed a miracle.

“What?” I ask, annoyed and angry.

“Eliott went out to make a phone call,” he says. “Jenny—”

I cut him off. “Please, don't say anything,” I plead.

He looks at me and smiles. “Okay.”

We stare at one another for a moment. “I'm sorry,” he says, “for ruining your evening.”

I snort. “Oh, I can imagine. You're mortified, I'm sure.”

He smiles again. “Believe me, I really am sorry. I shouldn't have done it.”

“That goes without saying,” I say, trying not to show how affected I am by his words.

He freezes, as though trying to find the courage to reveal something. “I was jealous,” he says softly. “Very jealous.” The phrase is unexpected, and his tone almost sweet. I lift my head and look him in the eyes, which this evening are darker than usual.

“And if I could, I'd kiss you now,” he says finally, but he doesn't move closer to me.

I don't say anything, and just stand there looking bewildered, because I would really like to kiss him too.

“Eliott's a nice guy, I won't deny it, but he got here too late. Whether you like to admit it or not, we're together now,” he concludes. “I never thought I'd have to actually
say
it, like we were a couple of teenagers. I'd have thought it was obvious. But if you need me to tell you, I've got no problem doing it. The two of us are together. Get it through your head.”

I blink doubtfully, unable to answer.

“Do you feel as though you're single?” insists Ian. “Do you really feel as though you're ready to meet someone else now?”

“No,” I admit sincerely, “not really. Poor Eliott, this must be the worst date he's had in his entire life.”

“I'll be honest, I've had worse,” says Eliott, appearing next to us. “But it's pretty obvious that you two have got a lot to talk about. I just turned up at a bad time.” His tone is serious.