Forget Me Knot (15 page)

She said she’d seen the ads for
Boston Legal
on the underground but she’d never watched it. “I adore
Fargo
, though. But my favorite film has to be
It’s a Wonderful Life
. I put the DVD on every Christmas.”

He looked wistful. “God, I haven’t watched that film in donkey’s years. I’d love to see it again.”

“Why don’t I lend you the DVD?”

“That’d be great.”

She broke off a piece of chocolate cake. As she brought
it to her mouth, she found herself focusing on the attractive fan of smile lines around his eyes. “So are you single?” she blurted. The moment the question left her mouth she turned crimson. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked that. Your personal life is absolutely none of my business.”

“That’s OK.” He smiled. “I’m happy to talk about it. My girlfriend and I split up almost a year ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Her condolences were genuine, but as she offered them she felt her heart take a tiny, almost imperceptible leap of something that felt suspiciously—not to say confusingly—like pleasure.

“Thank you,” he said. “I was devastated for a while, but the truth is, the breakup was a long time coming.” He explained that he and his girlfriend, Janey, had been together since they were students, but recently they’d both started to change and lead almost separate lives. “It took us ages to admit it. But eventually we reached a point where we realized we weren’t making each other happy and we decided to call it a day.”

As she watched him pincering up cake crumbs from his plate and rubbing them slowly between his fingers, she could tell he was lost in his thoughts. She searched for something to say that would lighten the atmosphere.

“So, how did you get the nickname D.J.?”

He looked up, his face forming an expression that was half smile, half wince. “Oh, that’s just Katie. She gives everybody nicknames. It’s how you can tell that she likes you. When she found out my middle name was James, she immediately began calling me D.J. I don’t mind, but I do get a bit embarrassed when she refers to me in public as ‘the Deejster.’ People think that’s what I call myself, and they immediately think of me as a prat.”

“Oh, I’m sure they don’t. I barely noticed when Katie called you Deejster.”

“Now you’re just being polite.” He grinned.

“I’m not. Honest.”

They were both laughing. “So,” he said, “what’s your worst film of the last five years?”

She didn’t need to think. “OK, it’s not exactly my
worst
film, but I definitely think it’s the most overhyped. I know you’re going to disagree with me, because absolutely everybody does, but I was less than keen on
Brokeback Mountain
. At the time, everybody accused me of being homophobic, but I’m not. I just found the whole thing utterly tedious.”

“I agree.”

“You do? You’re not just saying that to be polite?”

“Absolutely not. I’m with you on that one. By the time the story reached the 1980s, you just wanted to scream, ‘Enough with the breast-beating already. Just get yourselves off to San Francisco and get a life.’ ”

She laughed. “I know! My thoughts exactly. But, at the time, coming out and saying it felt like committing some sort of heresy.”

“But you said it anyway.”

She grinned. “I did. And the truth is, it felt great, but I don’t find it easy to be the one dissenting voice.”

“Why’s that?”

She explained how her parents brought her up not to challenge people in public because it might cause offense. “I try not to be like that, but it’s not easy. I’ve still got a long way to go.” She sipped some coffee. “So, what’s the worst film of the last five years?”

He said that without doubt it had to be Guy Ritchie’s
Revolver
.

“It was dire. I walked out—and I was watching it at home.”

She was laughing again and realizing how much she was enjoying Dan’s company.

Whether it was subconscious guilt that she was enjoying being in the company of a man other than Toby or an awareness that Martin had been looking after the shop on his own nearly all day, something made her look at her watch. It was well after four.

“Please don’t think I’m being rude,” she said, “but I really ought to be getting back to the shop. Martin has got a load of deliveries to make, and I need to cover for him.”

“No problem,” Dan said. “Of course you have to get back. Actually, I should be getting going, too. I have another meeting at five.” They both stood up and began walking toward the door.

“I’m glad we met again,” Dan said. “I’ve really enjoyed chatting to you—”

“—while I’m calm and sober,” she volunteered with a twinkle.

“I wasn’t going to say that. In fact, I wasn’t about to add a qualifier. I’ve just enjoyed chatting.”

“Me, too,” she said, “and thanks again for sparing my blushes earlier.”

“You’re welcome.” He opened the door for her and they stepped into the street. It turned out that his car was parked not far from the shop, so they both set off in the same direction. After a few hundred yards they reached S&M. Abby could never walk past the window without tutting and grimacing. Dan picked up on this.

“I wish I knew why everybody has it in for S&M these days,” he said.

Abby laughed. “But how could you not know? The clothes are so dowdy. And just look at that window display. It’s trying so hard to be young and funky, but it’s so un-edgy. It’s more like my aunty Gwen’s idea of funky. It just doesn’t get your juices going.”

She made him look at the mannequins. “See how their jeans are just fractionally too short? And look at the tops. This season’s color is teal. But those fabrics are several shades off and look cheap, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. What’s teal?” he said.

She looked at him to see if he was teasing her. “Hang on, you really don’t know?”

“I’m a bloke. How many blokes do you know who could tell you what color teal is?”

“Toby could. Mind you, with him color and style are a bit of an obsession.”

Dan was shaking his head. “Sorry, that’s something I just don’t get. I buy a dozen pairs of socks and underwear once a year—from S&M, as it goes. When it comes to anything else, I literally have to force myself into clothes shops. Buying stuff to wear bores me rigid.”

She found herself taking another look at the trendy black jacket he was wearing. Maybe he did find clothes shopping a drag, but there was no doubt that he made some pretty good choices.

By now they were at his car. “So,” he said, “I’ll have that contract drawn up straightaway and get it in the post.” He paused. “On second thought, why don’t I drop it round and maybe you could lend me that
It’s a Wonderful Life
DVD?”

“Perfect,” she said.

WHEN ABBY
got back to the shop, the floor in front of the counter was covered in bouquets and centerpieces, which Martin was waiting to load into the van. “Great, you’re back,” he said. “I’ll be off. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

She asked him how he was feeling about the Christian/Debbie Harry incident. He shrugged. “I won’t give up fighting for her. I know some people think it’s daft the way humans bond with animals, but in some way that I can’t explain, Debbie and I really connected.”

Abby said she didn’t think it was at all daft.

“I take it you’re ignoring Christian’s threats and you’re not about to get rid of the pavement display.”

“No blinkin’ way,” Abby said. “If Christian wants a fight, he’s got one.”

“My nuts in a thoughtshell.”

“But we have to stay calm, OK? We both have issues with Christian, and neither of us is going to gain any ground by losing our tempers.”

“I know, but he just gets under my skin. I can’t help it.”

“Scozza, you allow him to press your buttons. That has to stop.”

“I know, I know, but it isn’t easy.” He paused. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Takahashi’s personal assistant phoned and left a message on the answering machine.”

She looked blank for a moment.

“You know, the Japanese software billionaire Soph mentioned?”

“Right. Yes. I’d totally forgotten.”

“His PA is a guy named Ichiro. I have to say, his voice sounded dead sexy. Did I ever tell you I’ve always had this thing about Asian men? I’ve left his number on the pad.”

“OK, I’ll phone him right now.”

“And find out if he’s gay.”

“And how do you suppose I do that? What do I say? ‘Oh, by the way, my male assistant has the hots for Asian men and would like to know if you’re gay.’ Call me over-sensitive, but I think that might just lose me the contract.”

“You don’t have to ask outright. Just read the signs.”

“What signs? Far be it from me to pull rank on a member of an oppressed minority, but I feel the need to remind you that the vast majority of gay men are not remotely effeminate.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Abby, do me a favor, just see if he gives off a vibe.”

“OK, if he invites me round to his place to watch
La Cage aux Folles
or happens to drop into the conversation that he always keeps the first day of the Calvin Klein sale circled in his diary, I’ll let you know.”

ICHIRO SPOKE
perfect English with a strong American accent. He explained that Mr. Takahashi’s daughter, Mai, had just gotten engaged and was planning a party toward the end of April at her father’s house in Knightsbridge. “We’ve heard nothing but fabulous things about you, Ms. Crompton, and Mr. Takahashi would be honored to have you flower the apartment for the occasion.”

Abby said she would be more than happy to take charge of the flowers and explained that in order to get some idea of what was required she would need to take a look around. It was agreed that she should come the following afternoon.

Abby put down the receiver. “He sounds pretty gushy on the phone,” she called out to Martin, who was walking
out the door with the last couple of bouquets. “And he did invite me to ‘flower’ the apartment, but that could just be an American thing.”

“Yeah, could be.”

Martin was of the opinion that since neither of them could decide with any confidence that Ichiro was gay, the only solution was for Abby to meet him and report back.

ABBY PUTTERED
about the shop, tidying the counter, removing what she considered to be slightly less-than-fresh stems from the large display vases. There was always a lull during the late afternoon, but she knew that by six the place would be jumping with people wanting bouquets of flowers to take to dinner parties.

This evening it seemed like the whole of Islington was entertaining, and from half past five onward, she had a constant stream of customers. Most people were more than happy to take one of the white orchid plants or ready-made bouquets from the pavement display. Others were more particular and hemmed and hawed—particularly over color combinations. Abby could never understand why people were so conservative when it came to color and why they struggled to appreciate that a purple moth orchid looked stunning against the brilliant orange of a bird-of-paradise.

She had just finished serving her last customer when she received a couple of texts. The first was from Martin, to say the rush-hour traffic was particularly bad and would she mind if he took the van home for the night instead of struggling back to the shop. She replied to say she didn’t mind at all. The second message was from Toby:
will be in 4 dinner. Get 2 u around 8
.

It was only then that she realized she’d forgotten to buy any food—apart from her still uneaten tomato-and-mozzarella wrap—while she was in S&M.

Once she’d shut up shop for the night, she popped back to S&M and picked up a couple of tuna steaks, some green beans and a small bag of new potatoes. At the last minute she added a large bar of dark chocolate to her basket. She would make a chocolate mousse.

When she got back to her flat, she put the tuna in the fridge and got together the rest of the ingredients to make the mousse. At the end of a long day, cooking always relaxed her. She poured herself a glass of sauvignon blanc, switched on the early-evening TV news and began separating egg yolks from their whites.

At a quarter past eight, Toby texted her again to say that he was stuck in a meeting and that she shouldn’t wait dinner for him as he was going to be at least another couple of hours. Usually she would have ignored his invitation to go ahead and eat and would have waited for him. Tonight she couldn’t wait. The only thing she’d eaten all day was two half slices of cake, and she was starving.

In the end Toby didn’t roll in until after eleven. She didn’t hear his key in the door, because she was fast asleep on the sofa. An edition of
Wife Swap
was playing to itself.

He woke her with a gentle kiss. “Umm, that’s nice,” she smiled, opening her eyes.

“You look knackered,” she said, watching him lay a suit carrier over the back of a dining chair. “Bad day?”

“I’ve known better.” His voice was flat with exhaustion.

“How about a glass of wine?”

“I think I’d prefer a Scotch. I’ll get it. You stay there.” He loosened his necktie and opened his top shirt button.