Page 119 of For Love or Money
Her mobile rang as they got into Rafe’s car. It was Peter.
‘Hello, darling. How’s the house-hunting going?’
‘Great.’ She glanced at Rafe. ‘Are you at home?’
‘No, that’s what I was ringing to say. ‘I’m going to eat with some of the company, so I won’t be home for dinner.’
‘Oh, okay.’ She tried not to sound put out. She had wanted to tell him about her father later, when they were alone. It would be comforting to be able to talk about it with someone, and she knew he’d be sympathetic. But it would have to wait. ‘Well ... enjoy yourself.’
‘Thank you, darling. You too. It’ll be a chance for you to have something really evil. You should order a pizza.’
‘Yes, I might do that.’
‘Dad?’ Rafe asked her when she’d hung up.
‘Yes, he was just ringing to say he won’t be home for dinner.’
‘Well, in that case, why don’t I take you out for dinner as a thank-you for all this.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said. ‘I told you, I love it.’
‘Still ... we have to eat anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, Dad’s out enjoying himself, and you deserve a break.’
She considered. She liked Rafe. They got on well, and she felt they were friends now. And itwouldbe lovely to go out for a change.
‘Okay, then.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Oh God,do you think they’ve seated us here on purpose?’ Jane nodded to the wall behind Peter as he settled himself on the red plush banquette opposite her in Trocadero.
Peter turned to see he was sitting beneath a photograph of Jane. She was about twenty-five and breathtakingly beautiful. He could almost pinpoint exactly when it had been taken, shortly after they’d first met.
The restaurant had a long association with Dublin’s theatre community, and the walls were lined with photographs of stars of stage and screen who had frequented it over the years. The faces of many old friends looked back at him as he scanned the room. He was up there too, a little further along the wall from Jane – young and preposterously handsome. They’d spent a lot of time here in those days, and he had fond memories of first-night suppers and long evenings of table-hopping with friends. The place was as warm and comforting as a much-loved cardigan, and it was a buzz to be back and feel part of it all again. Several of the waiters were old friends, and Peter enjoyed the attention they got, the little stir in the room as they walked in, the sideways looks from other diners who recognised them, the nods and waves from old acquaintances.
‘God, look how handsome I was,’ Peter said disgustedly. ‘No wonder you fell madly in love with me.’
Jane laughed. ‘I wasn’t so bad myself.’
‘You were stunning.’ Peter turned back to her and smiled. ‘Still are.’ He took her hand across the table. ‘Beatrice to my Benedick. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The minute you walked into that rehearsal room on the first day, I was lost – completely bowled over. I knew my life would never be the same again. You slew me.’
‘You recovered quickly enough,’ Jane said, slipping her hand from his.
He shook his head. ‘I’m not over it yet. And it was the same for you, don’t pretend otherwise.’
‘I’m not pretending anything. I was dazzled.’
‘It was fate. We’d both met our match and we were helpless to do anything about it. Nothing could stand in our way.’
‘Tough luck for that girl you were with at the time. Leah, was it?’
Peter felt a distant pang of guilt at the mention of the girlfriend he’d rapidly dispatched the moment Jane had come into his life. ‘Leah, yes. The stage manager.’
Peter had always loved the first day of rehearsals, when it was all fresh and exciting – new people and ideas, the strange combination of competition and collaboration that electrified the room as they all tried to impress and outshine each other, buoyed up on a heady mixture of adrenaline, sexual tension and creative energy. And beneath it all was the ever-present promise of sex as they checked each other out, forming tentative friendships, making allies, finding lovers. That day he’d met Jane had been the most exciting of all, the energy crackling between them so fierce, he’d almost expected everyone else to be burned by the sparks.
‘You were such a star,’ Jane said.
‘Me?’ Peter reared back in surprise. ‘Not then. I was just a chancer with more neck than talent. But then I met you.’
‘I was no star myself.’
