Read Online Blind Date by Frances Fyfield - Free Book Online

asked.
    â€œBetter way than what he’s thinking…”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMichael. He suggested it.” Suddenly he was Michael, an authority. They all turned expectantly on Mike, who stood more than usually aloof.
    â€œSuggested what?” Joe asked, exasperated. This time they all stared at Michael, fixedly.
    There was one thing about Mike which always impressed Joe, one of those features he suspected women noticed sooner than men. His voice, which was unfailingly pleasant, with a depth to it; an accentless voice which a girl on the other end of a phone might find sexy and a man, faced with a sales pitch, would find himself heeding without quite knowing why he was being hypnotized. You had to listen to Michael, not simply because he was good to look at, but because of that voice. Mike spread his hands, shrugged elegantly.
    â€œI was simply suggesting that rather than spend our time, and rather large quantities of money in the pursuit of women, we should let them come to us. I mean, arrange for them to come to us.”
    â€œThey’ll flock, won’t they?” Joe said. “Just like always.” He found his heart was beating strangely.
    â€œWell Mike suggested the lonely hearts columns a few weeks back,” Rob said crossly. “This is only one stage worse. Or better. Cheaper in the long run. Less wearing.”
    â€œWhat is?” Joe asked.
    â€œGoing to an introduction agency,” the Owl said. “It’s the fact of thing Jack would have done.”
    â€œSHUT UP,” Rob bellowed. “Just SHUT UP! Don’t bring Jack into this. Don’t even mention Jack.”
    Owl openedhis mouth and closed it again. There was a full minute of silence.
    â€œThe most successful men I’ve ever met,” Michael was saying smoothly, “have their social lives, love lives even, organized by someone else. Usually a woman. We don’t meet women through work. We don’t live close to brothers and sisters etc., we’ve all of us moved here, not born here. So we go round the bars looking for women, like sailors coming into a port and what do we get? Divorced women, married girls out for a good time, girls who don’t want to be picked up, girls in groups, which defeats the whole object.”
    â€œWhich is?” Joe asked quietly.
    He thought about that. “To find someone who listens. Who wants to know you. Needs you,” he said. “Loves you, I suppose,” he added.
    Blimey. That was a long speech for Mike, even if it was spoken in cliches, Joe noticed; as if Mike had a script.
    Rob snorted. “Love? I don’t want that. I just want—”
    â€œShut up,” the Owl commanded. “We all bloody know what you bloody want …”
    â€œIt’s an admission of failure, that’s what it is,” Rob continued, perversely. “It’s puerile, it’s awful … Go to an agency. Pay someone to find you a shag … God if anyone knew…”
    â€œI think it’s quite a good idea,” Joe volunteered. Again that unaccountable thumping of his heart. He put his arm round the Owl. “Come on, John, it’ll be a laugh.” Then he turned to Michael.
    â€œDo you have anywhere in mind?” he asked. “I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start.”
    â€œI’ve been looking into it,” Michael said. “And yes I do. Recommended by an old girlfriend of mine. She’s married now, of course. She said the only problem with this agency is that they had too many women on the books, not enough men.”
    Rob lookedmore interested. “We’d be in a minority, eh?”
    â€œExactly.”
    Rob looked round the circular bar. Another dozen or so men. A pair of overdressed women sat at a table, not looking left or right, engrossed in their own conversation.
    â€œThey’ll come running, will they?” he said. “That’ll make a change.”
    W hen Patsy walked