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Authors: Lynne Barrett-Lee
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previous. Lots of it.’
‘Well, that’s something. I mean not that he had previous, of course. But that it wasn’t too messy.’
‘No. It wasn’t.’ She frowned. ‘Lots of other awful things but not messy. You?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Um. Let’s see. Let me grope for a word here. Sort of expected. Which is three, I know. But not messy. Let me think. Sad. Sad, mainly. Yes, sad about does it.’
‘It is sad, isn’t it?’
He frowned. ‘Very. They don’t tell you, do they?’
‘They don’t. But, well, I guess we live and we learn.’
He looked serious suddenly. ‘And tell me, what have you learned?’
Hope shrugged. ‘Nothing good, really.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Oh, dear. Not to trust, I suppose. I wish I hadn’t. Had to learn that, I mean. It makes you feel so vulnerable. So, well, fragile. You know?’
He nodded sympathetically, and she felt suddenly self-conscious. And as if she’d been hoodwinked into saying too much. Why had she said that? It had sounded so pathetic. It was true, but it was so not how she wanted to come across. The victim. The cuckold. The one who got dumped. The one who was sitting in a restaurant at this moment, palpitating in such a juvenile fashion about being out socially with a man, for God’s sake. She’d no idea it would be such a terrifying business. That she’d feel so overwhelmed with apprehension.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. But you can unlearn it, you know.’
Hope picked up her glass. Yes, she thought. She should. She just didn’t feel equal to the task yet. ‘What about you?’ she said. ‘What have you learned, then?’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Thought you’d be coming to that. Um. Let me see. That I married too young, that I married the wrong person… that I was the wrong person… ’ He grinned. ‘But mainly that I’m forty, I’m free, and I have one hell of a lot of lost time to make up for.’
‘I wish I felt like that.’
‘You should try it on for size.’
God, she envied him his confidence. Why didn’t he feel as she did? It didn’t seem fair. ‘Your ex-wife – sorry. I don’t mean to pry. But what –’
‘Oh, pry away. Same as you. Infidelity was the one we plumped for in the end. But that was just detail. Just for the sake of speed, really. If there’d been a “sorry, Jack, just got fed up with you” option, I think it might well have been her first choice. She’s dumped him already, of course.’
He said this without a trace of self-pity. A grin, even. Hope, who had laboured under a similar cloud for so long, shook her head firmly. ‘I can’t imagine anyone getting fed up with you,’ she said, meaning it but immediately kicking herself furiously for actually having said it. He poured them both more wine and considered her as he did so.
‘Know what, Hope Shepherd? I rather like you,’ he said.
Oh dear, thought Hope. Damn. So much for plans. Hers seemed to have been sidelined now. Utterly. Somewhere between the main course and the dessert she realised that despite her absolute conviction that she wasn’t going to get involved with any man at any time in the foreseeable future (or indeed the unforeseeable one, just for good measure), she was beginning to find herself more than a little taken with Jack Valentine. There was the way he looked. He was so achingly good-looking. With his dense ochre hair and his big turquoise eyes. Then there was the way he looked at her. He was looking at her now, as he threaded his way through the tables to rejoin her after visiting the men’s room. It was a speculative kind of looking, an appreciative kind of looking. Not lascivious exactly, but definitely the kind of look that made her feel she wouldn’t mind in the least if it was. And there was the feeling. It had been so long since Hope had felt that simmering excitement in the pit of her stomach that it quite took her breath away.
She didn’t know what to say to him when he sat back down again. She felt
‘Well, that’s something. I mean not that he had previous, of course. But that it wasn’t too messy.’
‘No. It wasn’t.’ She frowned. ‘Lots of other awful things but not messy. You?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Um. Let’s see. Let me grope for a word here. Sort of expected. Which is three, I know. But not messy. Let me think. Sad. Sad, mainly. Yes, sad about does it.’
‘It is sad, isn’t it?’
He frowned. ‘Very. They don’t tell you, do they?’
‘They don’t. But, well, I guess we live and we learn.’
He looked serious suddenly. ‘And tell me, what have you learned?’
Hope shrugged. ‘Nothing good, really.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Oh, dear. Not to trust, I suppose. I wish I hadn’t. Had to learn that, I mean. It makes you feel so vulnerable. So, well, fragile. You know?’
He nodded sympathetically, and she felt suddenly self-conscious. And as if she’d been hoodwinked into saying too much. Why had she said that? It had sounded so pathetic. It was true, but it was so not how she wanted to come across. The victim. The cuckold. The one who got dumped. The one who was sitting in a restaurant at this moment, palpitating in such a juvenile fashion about being out socially with a man, for God’s sake. She’d no idea it would be such a terrifying business. That she’d feel so overwhelmed with apprehension.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. But you can unlearn it, you know.’
Hope picked up her glass. Yes, she thought. She should. She just didn’t feel equal to the task yet. ‘What about you?’ she said. ‘What have you learned, then?’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Thought you’d be coming to that. Um. Let me see. That I married too young, that I married the wrong person… that I was the wrong person… ’ He grinned. ‘But mainly that I’m forty, I’m free, and I have one hell of a lot of lost time to make up for.’
‘I wish I felt like that.’
‘You should try it on for size.’
God, she envied him his confidence. Why didn’t he feel as she did? It didn’t seem fair. ‘Your ex-wife – sorry. I don’t mean to pry. But what –’
‘Oh, pry away. Same as you. Infidelity was the one we plumped for in the end. But that was just detail. Just for the sake of speed, really. If there’d been a “sorry, Jack, just got fed up with you” option, I think it might well have been her first choice. She’s dumped him already, of course.’
He said this without a trace of self-pity. A grin, even. Hope, who had laboured under a similar cloud for so long, shook her head firmly. ‘I can’t imagine anyone getting fed up with you,’ she said, meaning it but immediately kicking herself furiously for actually having said it. He poured them both more wine and considered her as he did so.
‘Know what, Hope Shepherd? I rather like you,’ he said.
Oh dear, thought Hope. Damn. So much for plans. Hers seemed to have been sidelined now. Utterly. Somewhere between the main course and the dessert she realised that despite her absolute conviction that she wasn’t going to get involved with any man at any time in the foreseeable future (or indeed the unforeseeable one, just for good measure), she was beginning to find herself more than a little taken with Jack Valentine. There was the way he looked. He was so achingly good-looking. With his dense ochre hair and his big turquoise eyes. Then there was the way he looked at her. He was looking at her now, as he threaded his way through the tables to rejoin her after visiting the men’s room. It was a speculative kind of looking, an appreciative kind of looking. Not lascivious exactly, but definitely the kind of look that made her feel she wouldn’t mind in the least if it was. And there was the feeling. It had been so long since Hope had felt that simmering excitement in the pit of her stomach that it quite took her breath away.
She didn’t know what to say to him when he sat back down again. She felt
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