to write home about.’
‘So there’s no one special in your life?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really.’ Her heart was hammering away inside her chest.
‘London can be a very lonely place,’ he commented quietly. ‘You must have some kind of social life, surely?’
She didn’t want him getting the idea that she was some kind of stick-in-the-mud, a stay-at-home, so she said blithely, ‘Well, there’s the usual round of parties. You know what Chelsea is like. There’s always something going on.’
He grinned and seemed satisfied. Suddenly he glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist and she felt the stab of cold disappointment. He was going to finish his drink, make some excuse, then be on his way—and she’d never see him again. Was it because of something she’d said? Had he seen through her lies…even if they had just been little white ones?
What did a woman do at a moment like this? she asked herself desperately. Simply shrug off her disappointment? Console herself with the thought that he wasn’t meant to be the one, after all? Perhaps fate had someone else in mind for her, and that was a pity because she was quite willing to settle for him here and now. Given such a short acquaintance it might be foolish to imagine that she was hopelessly already in love, but how else could she explain this wild beating of her heart?
He still had that oddly penetrating and quizzical look in his eye when he asked suddenly, ‘Are you sure you’ve quite recovered, Catriona?’
She managed a bright smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ He gave a sigh of regret. ‘I’d love to sit here and chat all day and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have to leave. I’m meeting a client back at my hotel in fifteen minutes.’
She knew it had been too good to be true. Somehow she contrived another cheerful smile. ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your work. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it, Mr Hind.’
‘Good. Then perhaps you’d like to show that appreciation by having dinner with me this evening?’
She replaced her glass on the table, stared at it stupidly for a moment, then looked up to see if he was serious.
‘Th—this evening?’ she stammered.
‘In two hours’ time, to be exact,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But if that’s too short a notice for you I can arrange it for later.’
‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I mean…I’m sure I can manage that.’
‘Good,’ he said briskly. Then with a devastating smile he added, ‘It’s been one of those days. Dinner with you will make up for everything.’
Her mind was racing ahead. What would she wear? Did she have anything remotely suitable for a dinner date?
‘I’ll leave the choice to you, Catriona,’ he said gallantly. ‘I usually dine at Cardini’s but perhaps you’d prefer French…or Italian?’
‘Cardini’s will do fine, Mr Hind,’ she answered lightly. She had no idea what Cardini’s was like, but if a man with his grooming and style ate there regularly it was sure to be first rate. He’d probably be wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie, and God knows what she was going to wear but she’d think of something.
He flashed another smile. ‘Enough of the Mr Hind. Call me Ryan.’
She hoped she didn’t look as flushed as she felt when she smiled back. ‘Very well…Ryan.’ Seeing him glance at his watch again, she hurriedly finished her drink then said, ‘I, too, will have to be going.’
His hand claimed her arm lightly as he escorted her outside. At the doorway he paused. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty. Will that be all right, Catriona?’
‘Yes…’ Her voice had gone husky with excitement. ‘I…I’ll tell the security man in the foyer to look out for it.’
He smiled again, then turned, and she watched him stride off. For a moment she simply stood there, hardly daring to believe what had happened. Something was bound to go wrong. He’d change his mind. She’d get all dressed up and sit waiting for a car which would never show up.
But then again perhaps he really did mean it, and he would send a car, and she’d damn well better be ready just in case. But what was she going to wear?
With a sudden flash of inspiration she hurried back to the shop and let herself in. Telling herself that Madge would understand, she made straight for the reject corner in the stock room.
She found the dress she wanted and held it at arm’s length, then swallowed nervously. Would she dare wear this? Strapless, in pale green Chinese silk, it carried a top designer name and a price tag that would have bought a good second-hand car.
To the casual observer it was a sublime creation and worth every penny, but to eagle-eyed Madge who’d spotted the tiny imperfection in the hemline, it was worthless. As in all such cases she’d immediately got in touch with her supplier, who invariably told Madge to get rid of the items in any way she saw fit. Madge usually donated them to the charity shops in the East End. It tickled her sense of humour to think of some poor old cleaning lady going to work in a five-hundred-pound coat she’d bought for next to nothing.
Catriona found a matching silk stole, then she wrapped them up, let herself out of the shop and rushed back to the flat.
The internal phone buzzed at seven-thirty precisely. She answered it breathlessly, then rushed over to the window and saw the long black limousine drawn up in the forecourt below. Then, breathing deeply to calm herself, she took one last look at herself in the mirror.
When she’d first tried on the dress she’d eyed her reflection in despair. She’d never have the nerve to go out in this! She couldn’t wear a bra—not that that was a problem with the way it clung to her figure—but the amount of flesh and cleavage on display could only be justified in front of a husband or doctor. But it certainly looked stunning. She’d turned this way and that, getting used to the idea.
Now she completed the outfit with the stole and one of Madge’s coats, borrowed for the occasion, then took the lift down to the foyer where Charlie, the security man, had to look twice before grinning and wishing her a pleasant evening.
In the back of the chauffeur-driven car she glanced at herself in the vanity mirror. Although she wore no make-up except for a touch of lipstick, her colour was high. It was nerves, she told herself. High as a kite. She’d have to relax.
She’d have to try and be smart and sophisticated, like the women who came into the shop. They drawled their words and called everyone ‘dahling’ and…well, perhaps she needn’t go that far…they had what she supposed was style.
Could she carry it off or was she going to blow it? Was she just going to sit throughout the evening overawed and tongue-tied until he got bored to death with her company?
She scowled at her reflection, then felt gooseflesh on her neck as she imagined she heard the voice of Morag whispering in her ear— ‘I’ve never met a McNeil yet who’s afraid of a challenge.’ She blinked and drew a deep breath. Voices in her head? That was all she needed! Still, Morag had been right. This was a challenge, and win or lose she was going to give it her best shot.
The traffic in the West End was in its usual state of chaos, but soon enough the limousine drew up outside the restaurant. The chauffeur opened the rear door for her and as she stepped on to the pavement the restaurant doorman came over and tipped his hat. ‘Miss McNeil?’
‘Yes?’
‘Mr Hind is expecting you.’
He led her into the foyer, where a cloakroom attendant took charge of her coat and stole, then on into the restaurant proper, where the dignified head waiter took charge and escorted her through the length of the room towards a table in a quiet, exclusive corner.