Page 10 of A Class Act

‘My mother’s…’ I paused ‘…lineage is more complex. She was adopted at birth, and her adopted parents never wanted her to find out her heritage so she really has no idea who her natural parents were. She knows her birth mother was English and her father from India. But apart from that, nothing.’

‘Wow, that’s an incredibly exotic background.’

‘Exotic?’ I frowned.

‘Yes. Here am I, able to trace my own family tree almost right back to the Normans – pure English, the lot of them.’

‘Weren’t the Normans French?’

‘You know what I mean.’ He laughed. ‘Whereas you are…’

‘Half English, a quarter Jamaican and a quarter Indian,’ I parroted. ‘I learned to do fractions at junior school while working that lot out.’

‘And your mum’s adopted parents?’

I put down my glass and looked across at Fabian, feeling as though I were some strange creature under a magnifying glass he couldn’t quite work out. ‘Why the third degree?’

‘I’m sorry.’ He laughed easily. ‘It’s my job to find out everything about a person. And, Robyn…’

‘Yes?’

‘For some reason, I want to find out all about you. The minute I saw you in the restaurant…’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Fabian pulled a hand through his dark hair. ‘I suppose you’re so different from the crowd I was with on Friday. You know, all the women with their blonde, streaked, straightened hair; identical clothes from some designer of the moment; ridiculously expensive handbags that are too big for gym-toned arms.’

I laughed. ‘Well, I like to thinkevery bitof me is toned – I do enough dancing to tone the lot – but, my bag, I’m afraid, is M&S. And second-hand to boot.’

‘And your grandparents?’

‘Back to them?’ I shook my head. ‘According to my mum, she was brought up by a very upright – and uptight – teacher and his neurotic wife. She’s always refused to speak about them, despite Jess and I wanting to know more.’

‘Jess?’

‘My big sister. There’s just twenty-one months between us. She lives next door to Mum, back in Yorkshire, with my niece, Lola.’

‘So, they were your grandparents, then?’

‘Well, yes, although no blood relation obviously. I’ve never met them – my mum refused to have anything to do with them once she met my dad, and they’ve never tried to get in touch with us or have any relationship with me and my sisters.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose they approved of their daughter running off with a dreadlocked mixed-race musician.’

‘Famous?’

I laughed at that. ‘Depends what you mean by famous. Probably more infamous when I hear what he’s been up to next. Jayden Allen? Heard of him?’

‘Erm no, can’t say I have.’ Fabian put his head on one side. ‘Look, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more…’

I raised an eye. ‘More?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m being utterly nosy. Downright rude almost. Shall we eat?’

I was already so full of this heavenly man in front of me I didn’t think I’d be able to eat a single thing, but I smiled. ‘I can always eat a cheese and pickle sandwich.’

‘Oh.’ For a split second Fabian looked worried. ‘I should have asked what you’d prefer. Are you vegetarian?’

‘No, why? What have you rustled up?’

‘So,’ he said, delving into the basket and bringing out what appeared to be half a deli counter, ‘we’ve a blue Stilton and broccoli quiche, coronation chicken, a sourdough loaf and the rest, I’m afraid, is straight from Waitrose.’

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