out everywhere: his clothes hang a little too perfectly from his frame, and his skin has a glow to it, as though he’s wearing make-up.
Oh, he is wearing make-up. Well I never – I suppose he must have just come from the theatre, but still … What would Wade say?
‘Eileen?’ he asks me. I realise I am peering at his face, and feel myself blushing. That’s the second time I’ve blushed this week. I must get a grip on myself.
‘Yes,’ I say, stretching my hand out to shake his.
He gets up to pull my chair out for me. He moves very nimbly for a man of his age, and I catch a waft of cologne as he comes past me. It smells of woodsmoke and oranges, and I’d say it’s probably every bit as expensive as his dark wool coat.
‘You are just as beautiful as your picture,’ he says, settling back in the chair across from me with a smile. His teeth are startlingly white.
‘Now, I know that’s not true, because my granddaughter chose that picture, and it’s at least ten years out of date,’ I say. I wince at how prim I sound, but Tod just laughs.
‘You’ve not aged a bit,’ he assures me. ‘Coffee?’
‘Oh, I’ll …’ I reach for my purse, but he waves me off with a frown.
‘My treat. Please, I insist. A flat white?’
‘A … Sorry, I beg your pardon?’
‘Would you like a flat white?’
‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,’ I tell him.
He roars with laughter. ‘Oh, I think you are going to be very good for me, Eileen Cotton.’
I really don’t see what’s funny, but I smile anyway, because he’s very handsome when he laughs. And the rest of the time, too. At first the make-up is a little disconcerting – his skin looks rather strange, being all one colour like that. But I seem to be getting used to it.
‘A flat white is a type of coffee,’ Tod explains, waving down a waiter with one expert hand. ‘Trust me, you’ll love it.’
‘I’ll give it a go, then,’ I say, and Tod orders the drinks. He’s much less intimidating than I expected, and I feel myself relaxing as he jokes with the waiter, smoothing his hair back from his forehead as he speaks.
‘Now,’ Tod says, turning his attention to me. He flashes an extremely charming smile. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we’re too old to mess about. I’m going to put my cards out on the table.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say. ‘Well, that’s good?’
‘I’m not looking for a serious relationship,’ Tod says. ‘I was married once, to a truly wonderful woman, and they were the happiest years of my life – I have no interest in trying to replicate them because they cannot be replicated.’
‘Oh,’ I say, rather moved, despite his perfunctory tone. ‘Well, that’s very romantic, actually.’
Tod laughs again. ‘What I’m looking for, Eileen, is a bit of fun.’
‘A bit of fun?’ I narrow my eyes slightly. ‘In the interests of putting our cards out …’ I tap the table between us. ‘Could you be a little more specific?’
He reaches to take my hand across the table. ‘May I?’ he says quietly.
‘Yes,’ I say, though I’m not quite sure what I’m agreeing to.
He turns my hand over and presses his thumb very gently to the soft skin between my wrist and my palm, and begins to stroke in slow, languid circles.
My breath quickens.
‘Specifically,’ he says, ‘I would like us to enjoy good coffee, and good food, and good wine, and then I would like us to go to bed together.’
‘To … bed,’ I repeat, dry-mouthed. ‘Together.’
He inclines his head. ‘A casual fling, as it were. Non-exclusive. Purely sensual. Just for the duration of your stay in London, and then we say goodbye with no regrets.’ He slowly lets go of my hand. ‘How does that sound, Eileen?’
‘That … sounds …’ I clear my throat, rubbing at my tingling palm with the other hand. I’m tingling everywhere, in fact. I’m surprised you can’t hear me creaking like a radiator that’s just warming up. ‘That sounds fun,’ I finish, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
*
‘The date was very nice,’ I tell Leena, in my firmest end-of-discussion voice. I settle myself on the sofa, tucking a cushion behind my back. ‘How was your first Neighbourhood Watch meeting?’
‘Oh, all fine, all fine,’ Leena says. ‘Come on, you have to tell me more about this mystery man!’
‘A lady never tells,’ I say. ‘And Marian? How