Take a Chance on Me. Fiona Harper

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      She looked at her watch as she pulled up outside the restaurant. Only half an hour late. If she smiled, and flipped her long dark hair around a bit, perhaps Charles wouldn’t mind.

      She hopped out of the sports car, ran inside, and straight up to the small bar that doubled as a reception desk. There were far too many bunches of plastic grapes and straw-covered bottles for the décor to be in good taste, but she didn’t care. It was homey.

      Someone was loading small bottles of orange juice onto the bottom shelf. She’d recognise that acre-wide Italian rump anywhere!

      ‘Hey, Maria!’

      Maria stood up so fast she sent a couple of bottles rolling across the floor. Her hands flew into the air and she yelled in the general direction of the kitchen, ‘Gino! Our girl is here!’

      A round, middle-aged man appeared from the door connecting the kitchen to the bar. ‘We thought you’d been run over by a bus—didn’t we, darling?’

      She ducked behind the bar and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. ‘You fuss like an old woman, Gino. Now, tell me—and don’t spare my feelings—what’s he like?’

      Gino made a dismissive wave towards her favourite table by the window. A monstrous potted palm blocked her view. She stood on tiptoe to get a better look.

      The table was empty.

      She turned round to Gino, eyebrows raised. ‘He hasn’t shown up yet?’

      Gino shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the tragedy, and she swallowed the urge to chuckle.

      ‘Oh, well. Bring me the usual. I’ll hang around until nine. I got here late myself, so I can hardly moan.’

      He’d better be worth the wait, though! She’d murder Cassie if she’d set her up with a first-class loser again. Her friend knew she was looking to settle down, but couldn’t quite get the distinction between stable and reliable and utterly dull. She’d only agreed to go on this date because it was less hassle than arguing with Cassie about it. If she said no, Cassie would only badger her for a fortnight until she gave in, so she might as well agree and save herself the earache.

      Gino brought her a glass of her favourite red wine, and she sat at the table and scanned the rain-swept horizon.

      She sat up and smiled as a man in a smart suit with a bunch of flowers passed the window, but he walked straight past the door and into the arms of a waiting blonde outside the tube station. Minutes ticked past. The only other person to enter the restaurant was a small bald man with bad teeth. She whipped up her menu as an impromptu shield and held her breath. Thankfully, he was greeted by a tall woman with equally bad teeth on the other side of the restaurant. She dropped the menu enough to peek over the top, then jumped as Gino appeared, apparently out of thin air.

      ‘There’s a message for you. He telephoned.’

      By the look on Gino’s face, it was not good news. She lowered the menu slightly and held her head high. ‘Let me have it, Gino.’

      ‘He said he’s very sorry, but something came up.’

      Something came up! What kind of lame excuse was that?

      The puff of air she let out lifted her fringe.

      ‘What did he say, exactly?’

      ‘He said he was not able to come, that he’s very sorry, and asked you to meet him tomorrow for lunch at Maison Blanc, one o’clock.’ Gino wrinkled his nose at the suggestion of anyone eating somewhere other than his establishment, then he grinned. ‘But he also said dinner tonight is on him.’

      She slapped the menu closed and smiled like a cat.

      ‘In that case, my good friend, it’s the caviar to start for me, followed by the priciest entrée Marco can conjure up, and a glass of champagne for everybody in the room.’

      Gino winked. ‘That’s my girl! You show him.’

      The nerve of the man. Standing her up, then practically summoning her to lunch the following day, with no thought at all as to whether it was convenient for her. The fact she was free, and could go if she wanted to, had no bearing on the matter. He was an arrogant jerk to assume she was so desperate for a date that she’d trot along at his beck and call.

      Not in this lifetime, buster! No way was she turning up tomorrow. He could be the one to sit and fiddle with his cutlery.

      Dinner was good, but revenge on Mr Jacobs was even tastier. She enjoyed every bite, because with each mouthful she could hear the ding of a cash register. By the time she had finished her espresso, she was imagining the look on his face when he saw the total. She had a mind to turn up at Maison Blanc tomorrow, just to see him wince as she delivered the news in person.

      Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She could bat her lashes and give him the Oops! Silly me! I never was much good at maths routine. The added bonus would be that Cassie couldn’t moan at her for not giving the latest offering in the husband hunt a fair go.

      Thinking of Cassie, it was time to give her an earful. She took her mobile phone out of her bag and punched in the number.

      Cassie was never one for pleasantries, and this time was no exception.

      ‘How’s it going? Isn’t he hot?’

      ‘Not noticeably.’

      ‘Really? I was sure you two would hit it off. My new project worker has talked about her brother so much I feel like he’s a long-lost friend.’

      ‘Yeah? Well, he’s also my long lost date.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘He didn’t show, Cassie! Some sorry story and an instruction to have dinner on him. You can tell your friend that she’d better get as much visiting time in with her brother as she can, because he’s going to have a heart attack when he sees his credit card statement.’

      ‘Oh …’

      ‘Yes, oh! You’d better be making that famous carrot cake of yours when I come for coffee on Wednesday, or I’ll never forgive you.’

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She knew without a doubt that Cassie had just stood to attention in her living room.

      ‘And no more setting me up on blind dates! Got it?’

      ‘Got it.’

      Yeah, right. She could practically hear the cogs whirring in Cassie’s brain as she did a mental search for the next poor sucker.

      ‘Try and resist the urge to find me a husband as lovely as yours is. We have very different taste in men, remember? I never could understand why you used to moon over the geeks with plasters holding their glasses together in school.’

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