Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating Page 0,43

of those clients who made his normally pleasant job deeply unpleasant. Even in the safety of his kitchen he could picture her face as she lingered interminably in his car whenever he dropped her off at the end of an evening. She’d look up at him with a monstrous coquettishness, like an overgrown teenager waiting for a Mills & Boon kiss.

John had tried to rationalize why he hated his end-of-night goodbyes with Audrey, and he’d got it down to this: wide-eyed girlishness was wrong on anyone too old to be called a girl. Women in their thirties and above were attractive precisely because they weren’t wide-eyed; they’d lived a bit. They had stories and opinions and battle scars and triumphs. And their experiences had taught them to hold themselves high, to rein themselves in and not to hyperventilate whenever they were within touching distance of a man. John had met many women through his work: some very experienced with men, others who hadn’t had a partner in years. But they all had dignity, or at least an inner braking system that stopped them crossing an invisible line. When Audrey turned in his passenger seat and looked up at him through quivering, fluttering eyelashes, all he could see was her mountainous bosom heaving up and down and he’d wonder if her heavy breathing would steam up the car windows.

John shuddered.

He hated to admit it, because he prided himself on liking women—he’d chosen his job precisely because he liked women—but Audrey Cracknell made his skin crawl. Of course he could never bring himself to kiss her goodnight, not even on the cheek. So he’d smile, tell her he’d had a great evening and hold her gaze just long enough for her not to feel dejected. Then he’d touch his foot ever so slightly on the accelerator, just enough to suggest the idea of his leaving. Once she was on the pavement and the passenger door was finally closed he’d drive away sedately. But as soon as he turned out of her road his foot would hit the accelerator hard and he’d drive home like a reckless boy racer. It was the relief of getting away.

John tipped the remnants of his coffee down the sink. Buster’s collar jangled as he followed him around the kitchen, hoping for a walk. John ruffled Buster’s head distractedly. He cursed himself for not telling Geraldine he no longer wanted Audrey’s bookings. He’d been meaning to for years, but hadn’t had the heart to do it. He wasn’t a fool. He could see what Audrey felt for him and what their evenings meant to her. He’d have to be blind, deaf and stupid not to.

John pulled on his muddy gardening boots. Buster would have to wait. The garden beckoned.

* * *

Later, after two hours of furious digging, he felt better. He breathed deeply and drank in the fresh winter air. It was hard to stay angry when surrounded by nature. He picked up the stick that Buster had dropped at his feet and tossed it high into the air. Buster caught it with a soggy snatch of his jaws.

He’d made his decision. He would have his evening with Audrey, and he’d be the consummate professional. Only this time he’d make damn sure he rang Geraldine straight afterward to tell her that when it came to dinner dates with a certain overly hormonal lady, he was no longer on the menu.

He nodded firmly. That was it: the plan. Thursday’s ball at the Town and Country Golf Club was Audrey’s last supper. And the cummerbund was staying where it belonged—in the loft.

“Come on, Buster,” he called cheerily, picking up his spade and heading back toward the house, a small but definite spring in his step. “It’s time for your walk.”

AUDREY

“Hayley?” Audrey echoed incredulously. “The veterinary nurse? With the funny finger?”

On the other side of Audrey’s desk, Bianca shifted her weight and nodded nervously.

“Whatever makes you think they’d be a good match?”

Bianca glanced briefly through the glass wall toward the open-plan office as though searching for an answer.

“Instinct,” she replied. “I just know they’ll be a perfect fit.”

“Well,” said Audrey in surprise as she removed her glasses. “A perfect fit! Bianca, I must say, you surprise me. You can obviously see something the rest of us can’t. But what can a woman like Hayley offer a man like Max Higgert?”

Bianca faltered for a moment, as though trying to remember something.

“Softness. Max works hard all day, dealing with clients and workmen. Everybody