Page 59 of For Love or Money
Rafe said nothing, but she saw the admiration in his eyes and felt a little gleam of triumph. Rafe wasn’t going to be a problem, she decided. He was a man, after all. Even if he was unsure about her, she could get him on her side. Sometimes she forgot what potent weapons she had at her disposal. This face, this body – their power could still sometimes catch her by surprise.
18
It was a short walk downhill to the local pub. Some of Stella’s confidence drained away as soon as Rafe pushed open the door and they were greeted with a wall of noise, the background hum of conversation punctuated by shrieks of laughter and the tinkle of glass. A group of five or six burly young men hugged the corner of the bar, pints of beer clutched in their fists. Stella felt their eyes flick towards her as she passed, and wished she hadn’t changed out of her jeans after all. She instinctively shrank into herself a little and clung closer to Rafe as he led them through the crush.
‘Are you okay?’ He frowned down at her.
‘Yes, fine.’ She smiled reassuringly at him to disguise her discomfort. ‘It’s just a bit noisy in here. I guess I’m not used to it – I haven’t been out in a while.’
Rafe glanced at the group of men and guided Stella to a table at the back.
‘What’ll you have?’ he asked as she settled onto the squashy sofa.
Stella had planned to just have mineral water, but now she decided it would be a good idea to have a proper drink to take the edge off. ‘I’d love a Rusty Nail. Do you have that here?’
Rafe shrugged. ‘I’m sure it can be arranged.’
When Rafe went to the bar, Stella glanced across at the group of lads. They were turned away now, talking loudly among themselves. They were perfectly harmless, she realised – just a bunch of friends in high spirits enjoying a night out together. They weren’t paying the slightest attention to her.
Rafe returned with their drinks and sat beside her on the sofa instead of taking one of the chairs opposite.
‘Well, cheers!’ He lifted his glass.
Stella knocked her glass against his and took a sip of her cocktail, feeling the warmth of it spread through her. It was delicious, the perfect ratio of Drambuie to whiskey. It had been a long time since she’d had a proper drink, so she should be careful. It’d probably go straight to her head when she was so out of practice.
‘Good?’ Rafe asked.
‘Really good. Thank you.’
‘You do drink, then.’
‘Yes, but not around Peter. I was never a big drinker anyway, so it’s not hard for me. It’s not so easy for him.’
‘Yeah, drinking was pretty much his favourite thing. He was good at it, too.’
‘Well, it’s hardly a talent,’ Stella said.
‘No, but … he was never morose or belligerent with it. He really enjoyed it. And no matter how messy it got, he never regretted any of it.’ A shadow passed across his face. ‘Well, almost never. It wasn’t so much fun for Mum.’
‘Maybe she should have joined in more, shared his life.’
‘With two young kids? Someone had to be the grown-up. She was stuck with looking after me and Scott.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t regret being a good mother.’
‘No, but maybe she resents being pushed into that life – not having a real choice.’
‘She must have known what he was like. He was the man she married.’
‘He’s the manyou’remarrying.’
‘Not really. He’s changed. I’m marrying a teetotaller, remember.’
‘A retired drunk,’ Rafe said. ‘It’s not quite the same thing. A man old enough to be your grandfather.’
‘And I’m perfectly aware of that. I know what I’m getting into.’ Stella took a sip of her drink, looking at him thoughtfully. Then she put her glass down and took a deep breath. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, facing him squarely.
‘Mind?’
