Reluctant Date

Dedication and Acknowledgements

For Michael

Who knows Dolphin Key…

Chapter One

Claire pulled off her hat and shook out her hair as she
glanced around the hotel foyer.
 
There
was no sign of anyone who looked like her date for the evening but she had
gotten used to that. She was also resigned to the fact that a lot of the men
who signed up to dating agencies seemed to have an inflated view of their own
attraction. It hadn’t taken her long to realize
tall and well built
was a code for big and overweight and
relaxed and informal
was the wrong side
of scruffy. She had also discovered that any reference to an unusual hobby
almost always meant obsessive.

She found a comfortable chair and settled down to wait.
Fifteen minutes she would give him. After that she was out of here, the crazy
challenge she’d accepted at a tedious New Year’s party over and done with.

* * *

“Twelve dates unless we get lucky,” Jenny had said as they
pushed their way out of the cramped restroom in the over-hyped nightclub where
they were celebrating.

Claire’s partner for the evening had so little personal
charisma she didn’t immediately recognize him again when she climbed the dark
and treacherous stairs back up to the dance floor.
 
Reluctantly accepting the fact that her
personal life had hit an all time low, she had thrown caution to the wind and
agreed to take up the challenge.

* * *

Jenny, who had organized their disastrous double date in a
fog of depression brought on by her approaching birthday, had tried to pass
some of the blame for the evening onto Claire as they washed their hands.

“Honestly, I don’t know what else you expect,” she had
shouted above the heavy drumbeat that was threatening to bring down the
ceiling. “You work in a library all week and then spend most of your free time
taking photographs. You’re never going to find a man that way Claire, unless
he’s a complete loser that is!”

“I know some very nice losers,” Claire replied with a grin.
“Take my boss for instance.”

Jenny rolled her eyes in disgust.
 
“It doesn’t make him marrying material
though, does it? Why else is he still living with his mother? He must be at
least fifty.”

 
Claire stopped
thinking about John, her very nice but very eccentric boss, and stared at
Jenny’s reflection in the dingy mirror. “Who says I’m looking for a husband?”
she asked.

“I do!
 
Face it
Claire.
 
We’re both pushing twenty-seven
and here we are doing the same things we were doing at seventeen.
 
It can’t go on much longer or we’ll begin to
look like a couple of real saddos.”

“Speak for yourself,” Claire had repaired her lipstick with
unnecessary energy.
 
“I happen to like my
life, and we’re
not
doing the same
things we were doing ten years ago, well not as often anyway. I live a
blameless existence most of the time. It’s only when you decide to act as my
dating agency that I have any problems.”

And that was when Jenny had come up with her plan.
 

“That’s it!” she gasped.
 
“We’ll join an Internet Dating Agency. We’ll find some real men; men who
are looking for commitment just like us.”

“I told you, I’m not looking for commitment,” sighed Claire
as, with a final glance at her reflection, she directed her friend towards the
doorway.
 
“All I want is to get this
evening over with so I can go home. Alone. And go to bed.”

But Jenny wasn’t listening. “I can’t imagine why we haven’t
thought of it before,” she said as they returned to their table.
 
“After all, anything must be better than
this!”
 

Claire, who had already spent a large part of the evening
dancing as far away from her date as she could manage, could only agree.
 
So, as the clock ticked on to midnight, and
the noise levels in the nightclub climbed several more decibels, she accepted
the challenge Jenny shouted into her ear. Signing up to an Internet Dating
Agency would be her New Year’s resolution.

* * *

That, however, had been then. Now, almost ten months later,
she had just about had it. To be fair not all of the men had been bad.
 
A couple had been okay. She had even agreed
to a second date with one of them because they read the same books, liked the
same music and enjoyed the same films. Smiling agreeably, she had persuaded
herself that compatibility was a good enough start. When he suggested they meet
for a third time, however, she had turned him down, because by then she was
bored enough to know she didn’t care if she never saw him again.

All of which had led her to the here and now, waiting for a
stranger in a hotel foyer while she watched the world go by. The problem was it
had worked for Jenny. On her sixth date she had met Mark and she was now four
months into a blissful affair that showed every sign of long-term commitment.
Unfortunately the fulfillment of her own dreams had not stopped her from
worrying about Claire’s single state.
 
If
anything, it had made her worse.

“If it can happen to me, then it can happen to you,” she
insisted when they met up for a drink after work. “You’re far more attractive
than me, and more intelligent.
 
The
problem is you’re not taking it seriously; and you have to unless you want to
end up an embittered old spinster.”

Claire spluttered into her wine.
 
“Excuse me!
 
The embittered old spinsters, as you so quaintly describe them, are
today’s feisty, independent and adventurous singletons. We live in the
twenty-first century now, in case you haven’t noticed.”

But Jenny was too wrapped up in her own version of romantic
bliss to listen.
 
Wanting each new date
to turn out to be Claire’s ‘Mister Right,’ she spent a lot of time trying to
persuade her friend she needed to adopt a better attitude.

Finally, thoroughly exasperated, Claire lost her temper.
“I’m not what they’re expecting,” she snapped.
 
“My profile says tall and slim which instantly translates into potential
model material to most men, so when they meet a six foot Amazon with big feet
they’re not impressed.”

“Rubbish!” snapped Jenny, equally exasperated.
 
“You’re just afraid of commitment, afraid of
settling down, and so you keep looking for excuses.
 
The reason hardly any of your dates has asked
to meet up again is because they can sense that you’re not serious. To you this
is just a big joke.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Claire swallowed the last of her
wine and pushed back her chair in disgust.
 
“Internet dating isn’t about men asking women out.
 
It’s about mutual attraction; the freedom for
women, as well as men, to choose. So far I haven’t met a single man I would
waste a second date on, let alone give him house room!”

“Well maybe you’re just too picky!” Jenny drained her own
glass, and then went all misty eyed as Mark pushed open the door. When he saw
her, his face lit up.
 
Thoroughly
irritated by her conversation with Jenny, Claire gave them both a cool nod and
left them to it.

* * *

Now, however, waiting for her twelfth and final date, she
wondered if Jenny was right.
 
Perhaps her
past experiences
had
made her too
picky.
 
Maybe she was waiting for
something that would never happen. Maybe it was time she gave up expecting
Prince Charming and began to consider the frogs. That was assuming she wanted
to consider anyone at all of course.

Irritated with thoughts that brought back uncomfortable
memories, she glanced at her watch.
 
Seven-thirty! It was already fifteen minutes beyond her self-imposed
deadline so it was time she got out of here and got on with the rest of her
life. As far as she was concerned a ‘no show’ counted just as much as a flesh
and blood date. Now she could retire from the Internet dating scene with her
honour intact.
 
She bundled her thick
black curls back into her woollen hat and bent to retrieve her bag. When she
straightened up a very tall man was standing in front of her with a look of
embarrassed apology on his face.

“Claire Harris?” he asked.

Bemused, she nodded.
 
This wasn’t Daniel Marchant, her date.
 
He was too old for one thing, and too tired, and too serious.
 
And yet, as she searched his features, she
saw there was a resemblance. It was as if he were a sepia image of the real
thing. He had the same eyes, the same mouth, even the same hair although it was
longer. He just didn’t have the colour and animation of the photo he had posted
on the agency website.

“You’re going?” he said it as a question. He had an American
accent.

“Yes, and I don’t usually wait this long,” she replied, her
tone and her expression equally frosty.

“I don’t blame you but I would be glad if you would stay for
a moment longer, so I can explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain. We arranged to meet at
seven.
 
I was on time. You were late. End
of story.”

“Not quite I’m afraid.
 
You see I didn’t arrange to meet you.
 
My brother organized our date and then left a message on my voicemail, a
message I have only just discovered.”

Claire’s face flushed a dull red.
 
It was bad enough going through this charade
because of a stupid New Year’s challenge without ending up with someone who
couldn’t even be bothered to organize his own dates. She drew herself up to her
full height.

“If you think that makes it better Mr Marchant then you know
nothing about women. Doesn’t your brother mind acting as your, your…agent?” She
bit back several of the more descriptive words that sprang to mind.

Daniel Marchant stood his ground.
 
“Unfortunately not!
 
He sees it as his life’s work.
 
He has a nice wife who is recently pregnant
and I think that must be what has triggered this…uh…fiasco!”

It was clear he considered he owed her a full explanation
but, as he spoke, the expression on his face was one of weary resignation.

“Carl is younger than me, so my ongoing single state while
he settles into impending fatherhood offends his romantic view of how the world
works Miss Harris.
 
And now I’ve rejected
the last of his available female friends he has obviously decided to move
things up a notch. Unfortunately he did it without informing me at any point
along the way.”

His voice, as he explained the situation, was full of
irritation.
 
He also looked very tired.
Claire knew she should feel sorry for him but for some unaccountable reason she
suddenly wanted to laugh.
 
Her lips
twitched as she struggled to control herself.
 

He gave her a sharp look.
 
“Unlike me, you seem to find the situation amusing Miss Harris.”

“Call me Claire, please,” she managed, before going into a
paroxysm of giggles that rendered her entirely speechless for several seconds.
By the time she finally calmed down Daniel Marchant had stopped glaring
although he wasn’t quite ready to smile.