Page 7 of Commitment Issues
“Oh, I shan’t be joining you.” A hint of laughter ripples through his words.
“What do you mean, you won’t be joining me? It was you who contacted me to—”
“Did I say meetmefor coffee?” he says, laying emphasis on the wordme.
“You didn’t have to. You called and invited me. So where are you?” I’m blocking the doorway, and I shift to the side.
“I called to invite you for coffee, but that doesn’t mean I was inviting you to take coffee withme.”
Again, that emphasis and the hint of laughter.
“James, I’ve not got the time to play around. You’re either here within the next five minutes, or I’m going back to the office, so—”
“I’ve arranged for you to meet somebody,” he says, cutting across me. “Take a look around. He’s blond, and rather pretty. He’ll also have a rolled-up copy of the Financial Times, which I think is an inspired touch from yours truly. Oh, and he’s probably looking very, very nervous.”
“What the…?” But I find myself doing exactly what he’s instructed me to.
My eyes sweep across the crowded café. And that’s when I see him. Sitting at a small round table for two, tucked away in the corner. And with a rolled up copy of the FT on the table.
Young, too damn young, blond and — pretty? That doesn’t come anywhere close.
He turns a coffee cup around and around in his hands as he chews on his lower lip. His hand stills, abruptly, as though aware he’s being scrutinised. Turning his head, he stares me full in the face.
“Who…?” I say, and James answers with a low chuckle.
“Judging from your rather breathy one-word question, I assume you’ve spotted him. Now go and be the gentleman you are, and introduce yourself to Freddie. You’re going to be taking him to the South of France.”
