‘Not really. I’ve written some short stories, but I don’t have any ambitions to write full-time. I enjoy what I do. I get a real buzz out of discovering and nurturing talent. Like yours.’
When the bill came, Mark paid. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, when Claire reached for her purse. ‘It’s on expenses.’
‘That was lovely, thank you,’ Claire said, as they stood. She hadn’t noticed the restaurant emptying, but as they walked to the exit, she realised that they were the last to leave. She had enjoyed Mark’s company so much that the time had flown. They made their way outside, where a line of taxis was waiting. ‘It was really good to meet you,’ Claire said. She was sorry that the evening was over so soon.
Mark must have felt the same because he said, ‘Do you fancy going for a drink?’
Claire looked at her watch. ‘I don’t think there’ll be anywhere open.’
‘We could go to my hotel and have a drink in the bar.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Merrion.’
‘Okay, yes.’ She was happy to spend a bit more time with him and get to know him better. He was only in Dublin for a short time so she wanted to make the most of it.
It was a quick drive to the Merrion Hotel. Mark paid the taxi driver and took her hand as they walked up the steps to the entrance.
‘I love this place,’ Claire said as they went into the gracious marble lobby with its classical columns and ornate plasterwork.
Instead of heading straight for the bar, Mark came to a halt in
the lobby, taking both her hands in his. ‘So, we could go to the bar,’ he said, gazing meaningfully into her eyes, ‘or we could have a drink in my room.’
‘Oh!’ Claire suddenly felt gauche, her thin veneer of sophistication evaporating like Cinderella’s finery, to expose her as the naïve, clueless girl she really was. She had no idea what the signals were, what the etiquette was. Had she misunderstood what he meant by coming back to the hotel? By saying yes, had she led him to believe that she was going to sleep with him? It seemed likely, considering how free and easy he thought she was about sex.
‘Um … the bar?’ she said in a small voice.
He nodded and led her across the lobby to the comfortable lounge. She tried to gauge his expression, but she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed. They sat side by side on a sofa in front of a real turf fire and a waitress appeared to take their order. Claire had felt mellow and relaxed when they’d left the restaurant, but now she was tense and on edge. Mark didn’t seem put out, but there was still that heat in his eyes when he looked at her.
She didn’t want any awkwardness between them, so she had to say something to clear the air. She waited until their drinks were served.
‘Well, cheers – again!’ Mark said, clinking glasses with her.
She clutched her glass of Bailey’s in both hands, trying to come up with something to say. She couldn’t just blurt out that she wasn’t going to sleep with him, could she? What if that wasn’t even what he’d meant? Then she’d look really stupid – and presumptuous.
‘Mark,’ she began tentatively, ‘I know my blog is kind of … out there, and I come across as this really forthright person – promiscuous, even.’ She felt her face flame. ‘But the truth is … well, I don’t usually move that fast. I mean, despite the impression you might have of me, I don’t sleep with someone on a first date. In fact, I have a five-date rule … not that this is a date, but—’
‘No,’ Mark interrupted, leaning forward urgently. ‘
I
’m sorry.
Believe it or not, I don’t usually come on that strong so quickly either.’
Come on strong
. Huh! So he
had
been asking her up to his room for sex. At least she had learned something tonight. She made a mental note: ‘Come back to my hotel for a drink’, trans. ‘Come back to my hotel and have sex with me’.
‘I guess I just feel like we’ve known each other longer than we really have,’ he said.
‘I know what you mean.’ She felt the same. She’d had a crush on him even before they’d met.
‘Forgive me?’ he asked, seeming genuinely remorseful. ‘Please don’t blame a guy for trying.’
‘I don’t,’ she said, and meant it. If she was really the girl she was pretending to be, she would probably have taken him up on his invitation. The combination of the food, the wine and her beautiful dress had left her feeling languid and sensual. She felt desirable and desired, a heady sensation.
‘You don’t forgive me?’ he asked, alarmed.
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I mean I don’t blame you for trying. I just didn’t want you to think—’
‘I don’t think anything, honestly. And I don’t presume you’re promiscuous. I’m really sorry if I offended you.’
‘No, it’s fine. Really.’ She relaxed back on the sofa, able to enjoy her drink now.
‘Could you just forget I said that and meet me tomorrow? Maybe show me around a bit?’ He looked at her pleadingly.
‘Would that be like a date?’
He smiled. ‘Only if you want it to be. It could just be two people hanging out. My flight isn’t until the evening. Maybe you could join me for brunch here. Unless you’re busy with your mum, of course.’
‘No, she’s convalescing in a nursing home at the moment, so I’m all yours.’
‘Good. I like the sound of that.’
A short time later, Claire got a taxi home. Mark walked her
out to see her off, and gave her a kiss on the cheek as they said goodbye. He smelled so good and his skin was so warm and firm as his cheek brushed hers that Claire was tempted to throw herself into his arms and say she’d changed her mind and would go up to his room after all. But she knew that, when she got there, she’d have no clue how to handle herself. So instead she skipped down the steps into the waiting cab and floated all the way home. She felt dizzy with excitement. Mark, her book deal … Suddenly it seemed that the life she’d always wanted could really be hers. She was dying to tell someone about it but, instead, she hugged it to herself like a lovely secret.
She felt keyed up the following day as she made her way to Mark’s hotel. She got off the tram at St Stephen’s Green and walked to Merrion Street. It was a beautiful day, cold, but bright and sunny. She had dressed casually in black skinny jeans with calf-length suede boots and a green V-neck sweater. After all, she figured her alter ego would have dress-down days – even NiceGirl couldn’t go around looking like a siren twenty-four/ seven. The sweater was one she hadn’t worn in years, but she had chosen it with Yvonne’s tips for sexy dressing in mind, because it was figure-hugging, and the deep V of the neckline would draw the eye to her cleavage. She had also followed Yvonne’s advice and worn a pendant, which she was supposed to play with to draw attention to her breasts. There was nothing sexy about her red duffel coat, or her woolly scarf and gloves, but she reasoned that surely even sexy girls would feel the cold.
Mark was waiting for her in the lobby. He leaped up to greet her when she arrived and they kissed each other on the cheek. Then they went down to the cellar restaurant, and ate plates of smoked salmon and creamy scrambled egg. Claire felt there was something deliciously intimate about eating together the morning after they had been out, as if they’d spent the night together.
‘So, what should we do for the rest of my time here? I’ve got about …’ Mark glanced at his watch ‘… three hours before I need to go to the airport.’
‘Well, there’s all the usual tourist stuff – Trinity College,
Book of Kells
, Guinness, Christchurch Cathedral, galleries …’ Claire reeled off the standard itinerary. ‘We could go on the hop-on/hop-off bus,’ she suggested. ‘Or there’s the Viking Splash. That’s basically a bus tour too, but you wear horned helmets and do lots of roaring, and then you go into the Grand Canal Basin at the end.’
‘I don’t really fancy anything touristy.’ Mark wrinkled his nose. ‘Something more laid back, maybe.’
‘We could go for a walk? It’s a lovely day.’
‘A walk would be good.’
‘Great. I know just the place,’ Claire told him.
They lingered over brunch for at least an hour, chatting easily. Then they headed off in the direction of Merrion Square, Claire leading the way.
‘This isn’t where we’re going,’ she told Mark, ‘but I thought we should pay our respects to Oscar since we’re in the neighbourhood.’ She brought him to visit the colourful statue of Oscar Wilde in the park, pointing out the house opposite where he had grown up.
When they had spent some time reading the quotes on the pillars that formed part of the memorial, she led him towards St Stephen’s Green, heading in the direction of Earlsfort Terrace. She had a blissful sense of well-being as they walked slowly along the side of the park. The trees were covered in young, bright green leaves and cherry blossom, and tulips were visible through the green railings. It was officially the beginning of summer, the first Sunday in May. There was a sense of newness and possibility, of the world coming to life again, and she was part of it.
‘Is this where we’re going?’ Mark asked, as she led him through the gates of the National Concert Hall with its imposing façade, the billboards outside advertising symphonies and performances by world-famous soloists.
‘No.’ Claire led him through the car park to the back of the building, then through an arched gateway into the hidden grandeur of the Iveagh Gardens. ‘This is one of my favourite places in Dublin,’ she said, as they past the statue of Count John McCormack, the famous Irish tenor, near the entrance. It was her least favourite feature in the gardens – it was too new and pristine, she thought, too prosaic and at odds with the romantic decay of the older, lichen-covered statues with their classical lines and missing limbs.
She was disappointed to hear the squeals of children as they crunched along the wide gravel path, flanked by two large ornamental fountains. She found a bench and they sat down. A couple of children were playing nearby while their father watched. Claire tried not to resent them, but she loved the gardens best when she had them to herself, when they felt like her own secret place. As if on cue, the father rounded up his children and they headed to the exit.
‘Alone at last,’ Mark said.
‘I thought they’d never go.’
He cocked his head to the side, regarding her consideringly. ‘You’re very sweet.’
‘You sound surprised.’
He smiled. ‘You’re different from how I imagined.’
‘Oh?’ Claire wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. ‘Different how?’ Did she really want to know?
‘I thought you’d be more …’ He hesitated.
‘What?’ She thought of all the ways the sentence could end – more sexy, more ballsy, more confident, more fun, more interesting …
‘Can I be honest?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
Please don’t say ‘sexy’
.
Or ‘interesting’.
‘Well, to be honest, I thought you’d be a bit … intimidating,’ he admitted finally.
‘Oh!’
‘More strident. You’re nicer than I was expecting.’
‘Really?’ She felt a warm glow from the way he was looking at her.
‘Much nicer.’
‘I did tell you I was a nice girl.’
‘The name should have been a giveaway.’
‘So, is “nice” a good thing?’
He nodded, smiling at her. ‘Nice is good.’
‘Not
too
nice?’
‘No. Just right.’
‘Come on, let’s explore some more,’ she said getting up.
They wandered in companionable silence through all the hidden nooks and crannies of the garden, down stone steps leading to dark verdant paths, passed the statues of girls in flowing robes that stood on plinths, their lichen covering blending with the bark of the trees so they seemed almost to merge with the landscape. They came across some broken pieces of large statues lying on the grass, half buried in the bushes and wondered what their story was. The gardens were empty, the only sound the crunch of their feet on the gravel.
They were walking along one of the smaller paths when Claire stopped in front of a statue. ‘She’s my favourite,’ she told Mark, shielding her eyes from the light that filtered through the trees as she looked up. ‘There’s something so … noble about her. She’s so elegant and poised.’
‘Even though she’s only got one arm,’ Mark said.
‘It’s not an easy look to pull off.’ Claire laughed. ‘But there’s something about her. I think she’s a warrior.’
‘I think she’s completely charming,’ Mark said. But when Claire looked around, he was looking at her, not the statue.
‘Sorry,’ he said, laughing ruefully at being caught. ‘That was
really
cheesy.’
Claire giggled. ‘It was a bit.’ But she didn’t mind.
‘Oh well, since we already know I’m the cheesemeister general, I might as well ask – can I kiss you?’ He was gazing intently into her eyes now, moving closer.
Claire nodded breathlessly.
‘I have to warn you – if I kiss you, this is definitely a date.’
‘Still yes,’ Claire whispered, and he bent his head slowly, tentatively to hers. His lips were soft and warm and he kissed her slowly, gently, pulling away too soon. Claire instinctively reached out, clutching his sleeve.
‘Again?’ he whispered, his breath clouding between them.
‘Again,’ she breathed. And he kissed her again, right there among the ruined statues.
Claire felt dazed and giddy as they walked back to the hotel, hand in hand. She wondered what Mark was feeling. She doubted that this was what he had expected to happen when he’d met her – chaste kisses and hand-holding, like teenagers. But he seemed happy. In fact, she was pretty sure his goofy grin matched hers whenever they caught each other’s eye. She waited in the lobby while he collected his bags, already bereft at the thought of him leaving.
‘Will you come and stay with me in London?’ he asked as they stood at the top of the steps. ‘I have a spare bedroom,’ he added, when she hesitated. ‘We could discuss the book, spend some more time together.’
‘I’d love to.’
He beamed. ‘Soon?’
‘I might be able to get over next weekend or the one after – my mother’s in a nursing home for the next few weeks. When she comes home, I’ll need to be around for a while.’