Christmas for Beginners - Carole Matthews Page 0,37
to the supervisor and I’m going keep in touch with him.’
‘Thank you, Lucas. You did well.’
He tuts at my praise.
‘I don’t like to go out and leave you here by yourself.’
‘I’m not five.’
‘You’ll be all right, though?’
‘Of course,’ he says.
‘I won’t be late.’
‘You can party until dawn for all I care,’ is his parting shot before he disappears into his room.
I don’t want to leave Lucas like this, but I do want to see Shelby too. I seem to spend a lot of my life similarly torn. I put on my one and only nice dress again. I do my hair. I even think about make-up, but tend to end up looking like Coco the Clown without Bev’s assistance, so I think better of it. Natural. That’s me.
I’m just about ready when the dogs start barking, heralding Shelby’s car turning up at the gate.
I go to Lucas’s bedroom and hover in the doorway. ‘I’m off now.’
But he’s still cross about everything and scowls at me.
‘I won’t be late,’ I promise again.
‘You said. Enjoy yourself,’ he snaps. ‘Fill your boots with our star while he deigns to be around.’
I’m not going to win with him in this mood, so I take my leave and totter across the farmyard on high heels that I’m not accustomed too. It isn’t Shelby in the car, it’s his driver, Ken. And I know that shouldn’t disappoint me as he’s a really nice guy, but it does. He’s not Shelby and it feels like it’s not a great start to Date Night.
‘Hi, Ken.’ I slide into the car next to him.
‘Evening, Molly. I’ve already dropped Shelby off at the restaurant.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s not far, so you’ll be there in a few minutes.’
‘Thanks, Ken.’ We make small talk as we drive through the lanes, until he drops me off outside Crispin House restaurant. It’s a posh place in the quaint high street of one of the more upmarket villages near to the farm. I haven’t been here before, obvs, but I know of its reputation. Normally, you have to book months ahead, but I bet your bottom dollar that Shelby – or his assistant – got a table today with one well-aimed phone call. Such is the power of celebrity.
I thank Ken, climb out of the car and make my way into the restaurant. The only good thing about not arriving with Shelby is that no one turns to look at me. It’s very fancy in here and already quite busy. There’s a kind of hush in the place and conversation is muted. Classical music plays softly in the background and the furnishings are plush yet contemporary. I feel hideously out of place.
The place is all decked for Christmas with a huge tree covered in gold and red baubles. Swags of holly are draped from every beam. A basket of oranges sprayed with gold lustre adorns the reception desk. The air is scented with pine, citrus and cinnamon. I realise that I need to seriously up my Christmas game.
When I’ve whispered my name to the mâitre d’, I’m shown to a table in the far corner of the restaurant where Shelby is already seated and is studying the menu.
He stands up when he sees me and, for a moment, his eyes sparkle and I get a glimpse of how he used to look at me.
‘Hi.’
He kisses me and the waiter pulls out my chair. ‘This looks very nice,’ I say as I sit.
‘One of my favourite places,’ Shelby replies. ‘The food is sublime.’
‘I’ve heard all about it.’ The chef is much-celebrated and is always on the telly, apparently. Guess who told me that? Thanks, Bev.
‘You look lovely,’ my date says.
The lighting in here is soft, flattering. There’s a candle burning on the table. But Shelby needs no such devices, he always looks beautiful. He’s in a dark suit tonight with a sharp white shirt and looks like he’s off to some swanky awards ceremony. My heart tightens as I get an image of us entwined together, his body against mine.
‘A glass of champagne, madam.’ The waiter, who I thought had gone, is at my elbow.
‘Oh, yes. Thanks.’ He pours, taking time over the ritual, and then this time he does disappear.
Shelby picks up his glass and clinks it against mine. ‘To us,’ he says.
‘I did wonder,’ I admit.
‘I’ve already said I’m sorry.’ He looks duly penitent. ‘I’ve got a lot on at the moment.’