‘It does make me feel a bit used,’ she admitted.
‘I don’t mean it quite like that. I need help to deal with a tricky situation.’
‘Just like I did—and you helped me, so it makes sense that I should return the favour.’ Put like that, she thought, his request was much more reasonable.
‘If it’s possible for you to change your plans for the weekend and you do agree to help me by being my date, just be yourself. That’ll do nicely.’
‘Because I’m unsuitable?’ she asked. Just when she’d started to feel OK about it, he’d made her feel bad again. Stupid. ‘That’s a bit insulting.’
‘That isn’t actually what I meant. You’re confident,’ he said. ‘You’re direct. You don’t play games.’
‘But you’re asking me to play a game. Well, play a part,’ she corrected herself. ‘Which is pretty much the same thing.’
‘I guess. I don’t mean to insult you, Bella. I apologise.’
‘Apology accepted.’ She paused. ‘So why do you need a date?’
He sighed. ‘I’m the youngest of four boys. The other three are all stockbrokers in the firm started by my great-grandfather. My family would very much like me to toe the line and follow suit.’
She winced. ‘Ouch. That’s what I called you on Friday. I said you looked like a stockbroker.’
‘I’m not one, and I never want to be one,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that it’s a bad career—just that it’s not right for me. My brothers love what they do, and that’s fine. I’d support them to the hilt, but I don’t want to join them.’ He gave her another of those wry smiles. ‘That’s why the label has its name.’
‘Got you. Insurgo’s Latin for “to rebel”.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And, no, I didn’t go to the sort of school that taught Latin. I looked it up on the internet. The only Latin I know is “lorem ipsum”—the stuff used as filler text in a design rough, and that’s not really proper Latin.’
He smiled back. ‘Actually, “lorem ipsum” is a mash-up of Cicero’s De finibus bonorum et malorum.’
‘Trust you to know that.’ The words came out before she could stop them.
He laughed. ‘I’m afraid I did go to the kind of school that taught Latin.’ He dragged his hand through his hair. ‘I love what I do, Bella. I like hearing artists play me raw songs—and then a different arrangement flowers in my head, and I can see exactly what they need to do to make it a hit without losing their original voice. I’ve never wanted to do anything else but produce music that I love—music that makes the world a better place. But my family worries about me, because the music business isn’t exactly stable. Insurgo’s doing well—well enough for some much bigger labels to have offered to buy me out, though I’ve always refused because I’m not going to sell out my artists like that—but I’m still at the mercy of the markets. We’ve managed to weather a few storms, but all it takes is one wrong decision that loses the business a lot of money, or for a couple of my biggest customers to go bankrupt and not pay me, and we could go under.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she said feelingly.
‘I knew you’d get that bit. You’ve been there,’ he said.
So either Tarquin had told him that she’d once had her own business, or he’d read her résumé. Or maybe both. ‘Small businesses fail all the time,’ she said, ‘and I kept mine going for two years. If my best client hadn’t gone bankrupt, owing me the equivalent of three months’ salary, I’d still be a freelance designer now. But when one door closes another opens—and now I have a job I like here.’
‘I take it back about being Mary Poppins,’ he said. ‘You’re Pollyanna.’
‘I’m just me,’ she told him firmly, ‘not a stereotype. But, yes, I believe in looking for the good in life.’ She whistled the chorus from ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ and smiled.
‘It’s a good philosophy,’ he said.
‘You’re right—you’re perfectly capable of being a stockbroker, but it’d make you miserable. You’re doing what you love,’ she said. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that. Why doesn’t your family see that?’
He sighed. ‘They have this little box ready for me. I’m supposed to fit in with a sensible job, a sensible wife, and two point four children or whatever it’s meant to be nowadays. A pied-à-terre in London for me during the week, and an ancient pile in the countryside for the family, where the kids can grow up until we send them to boarding school.’
Was he describing what his own childhood had been like? ‘I guess I’m lucky,’ she said. ‘All my parents and my sister want is for me to be happy and fulfilled.’
‘Are you?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes.’ But she noticed that he didn’t meet her eye. So did that mean he wasn’t? And what, she wondered, was missing from his life?
Not that there was any point in asking. She was pretty sure he’d stonewall her. Getting the information so far had been like pulling teeth.
‘OK. So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend, to show your family that you have no intention of meeting any of the criteria to fit that little box they’ve made for you. You already have a job they don’t approve of, so what you need is an outrageous girlfriend to horrify them even more. That will be the icing on the cake, if you’ll excuse me mixing my metaphors,’ she said, hoping that she’d summed up the situation without missing anything.
‘That’s pretty much it.’ He paused. ‘So will you do it?’
‘It’s one way to get from A to B,’ she said. ‘But I think a much better one would be to sit down with your family and talk to them. Make them see how much you love Insurgo. Show them your passion for it. Play them the raw stuff, and then the final version with all the changes you suggested, so they can hear exactly what you do. Then they’ll understand and be happy just to let you do it.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But, even if they listened to me about my job, that’s only half the problem dealt with. There’s still the sensible wife they want me to have.’
She shrugged. ‘You could always tell them you’d like a sensible husband.’
He grinned. ‘You mean, ask Tarquin to pretend that he’s my life partner as well as my business partner? I think Rupert—his other half—might have something to say about that.’ Then his smile faded. ‘I don’t want a sensible wife. Or husband, for that matter.’
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
What did he want?
Never to have his heart broken again.
Which meant no more serious relationships. And it had suited him just fine over the few months, dating casually and making sure that all his girlfriends knew that a diamond ring and a change of name were never going to be on offer. That he was looking for fun, not for for ever. And most of the time he didn’t even bother with that. He concentrated on work. Though it wasn’t quite the work of his heart any more. Not since he’d stopped writing music.
‘What I want right now,’ he said, ‘is to get through Nigel’s engagement party without being nagged about my choice of career or lifestyle.’
‘You know that’s not going to happen,’ she said. ‘That’s the thing about families. They’re interested in what you do, so of course they’re going to ask questions and give their opinions, whether you