Page 14 of A Class Act

‘…you were able to ascertain I was a waitress? At a particular restaurant in Mayfair?’ Anger at what I’d just overhead Julius Carrington say was rendering me sarcastic, the smile I’d plastered on my face to get us through the drive home slipping in direct proportion to the Porsche eating up the miles on the motorway.

Fabian looked sheepish. ‘No, of course not… I…’

‘What?’

‘Robyn, I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘You’ve still not told me. Did you follow me? Stalk me?’

‘No, of course not!’ Fabian was laughing at the very idea. ‘I asked Shirley who you were.’

‘Shirley?’

‘Who you were sitting with in the public gallery.’

‘Oh, Shirl, the famous Old Bailey groupie?’

Fabian smiled at that. ‘Shirley’s been sitting in the public gallery as long as I’ve been defending. I made sure I was on the concourse at lunchtime, hoping to bump into you, but you’d already left. Shirley, as always, was there, ready to say hello, and I simply asked who she’d been sitting with. She didn’t know your name, but did know where you worked, which was obviously handy.’

When I didn’t say anything, Fabian apologised once more. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t stalking you.’

‘Well, I think you probably were. And you were lucky I was working on the Friday shift – I don’t work every evening.’ I paused. ‘And lucky that you managed to get a table.’ I still couldn’t smile and show Fabian how ridiculously happy I was to be at the centre of his detective work. Not now, not after hearing Julius Carrington’s unpleasant words.

‘It did take three weeks for a table to be free.’

‘Which coincided with your birthday? That was fortunate.’

‘I thought so.’

We drove in silence until we hit the centre of London, and I realised I’d no idea where Fabian actually lived in the city. ‘So,’ I finally asked, ‘does Shirl often score women for you?’

‘Goodness, that’s harsh.’ Fabian appeared genuinely shocked. ‘Robyn? What is it? I’ve really enjoyed this afternoon, really enjoyed talking to you, and I’m so sorry if my method of finding out who you were, my wanting to get to know you, seems underhand. Sleazy even? But I wanted to be upfront with you. I can’t think of any other way I could have had of making contact with you.’

We were heading for Marylebone and I saw my chance at a red light: ‘You can let me out here, Fabian, please. Really. You’ve a lot to do and I can get the bus from here.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Fabian put out a hand. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Fabian, I’ve had such a lovely afternoon. Thank you so much…’ I hesitated. ‘The thing is, you see, I heard what your brother said…’

Fabian closed his eyes briefly. ‘He’s my half-brother and a pillock into the bargain. Always has been. I’m so sorry you had to hear that… I didn’t realise…’

‘It’s OK, really.’ It wasn’t. ‘Thank you again… Look, there’s a 453 bus… that’s mine…’

‘Robyn…’

I opened the car door and, with as much dignity as I could muster, ran towards the town hall where my bus was just about to leave.

6

And that, I decided, was that.

Never mind falling in love at first sight with a man who was not only way out of my league but had a horrible racist brother to boot. I had other things to concentrate on, namely getting back into the West End. While I’d loved every single second I’d spent with Fabian Mansfield Carrington on the riverbank, and couldn’t stop reliving the ice-cream kiss, it was a fairy tale. I intended putting him and his repugnant brother where they belonged – in Marlow – and out of my head and dreams.

‘You OK?’ Jess answered my call on its first ring. ‘How’s the big city?’

‘Big. You?’

‘Oh, you know.’

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