Mhairi McFarlane 3-Book Collection: You Had Me at Hello, Here’s Looking at You and It’s Not Me, It’s You. Mhairi McFarlane

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      I’d worried that the adversarial nature of conversation with Simon could be difficult once I was his date. I needn’t have. He keeps things bouncing along with a stream of polite questions. He tells me about colourful clients, I tell him about colourful court cases. We trade tales about barristers and judges we’re mutually acquainted with. He moans about intrusive, slapdash reporters, I complain about standoffish, unnecessarily secretive solicitors to even things up.

      He seems genuinely interested and amused, and after a while I notice how much I’m enjoying being listened to. His attentiveness is slightly intoxicating, though not as intoxicating as the heavy red he chose.

      Rhys would sit here grunting, eyes flicking towards the exits, foot tapping a rhythm on the floor, impatience greeting my every utterance. Band practice aside, he liked to move in an established pattern between three points on a triangle – home, work, pub – and any deviation left him agitated, almost resentful.

      While I appreciate the contrast, it gradually dawns on me that while Rhys was rough going, Simon is all planed, slippery surfaces. There’s nothing to throw a grappling hook into and actually make some headway in getting to know him. There’s one moment his composure unexpectedly wobbles, when I mention a colleague of his who gets all the females in crown court swooning.

      Simon snaps ‘Really?’ as if this is incomprehensible and promptly changes the subject. I vaguely wonder if he’s the jealous type.

      The discussion turns towards a couple in the same department at Simon’s firm, and how the employees get drawn into their domestics.

      ‘I’ve always thought it’s a bad idea to be in the same line of work. Too much shop talk, and rivalry.’

      ‘Ben and Olivia seem to do all right,’ I say.

      ‘They have their moments.’

      ‘Do they?’ I’m not entirely sure what he means and try to conceal my curiosity.

      Simon pours out the last inches of the wine. ‘Liv wears the trousers, no question. I think moving up here’s the first time Ben’s asserted himself and she’s still getting used to it. I told him, never marry a woman with that much more money than you. She’s going to think she’s the manager in the marriage. And lo and behold …’

      ‘Does Olivia earn that much more?’

      ‘It’s not what she earns, it’s the money she’s from. Her dad sold his haulage firm and retired when he was forty or so. Olivia doesn’t have to work.’

      Goodness, all those gifts and rich too.

      ‘Perhaps she likes her independence,’ I say.

      ‘Oh yes. Don’t get me wrong. Totty breaking the glass ceiling is a fine thing.’

      ‘Most of what you say is ironic, right?’

      ‘I’m only sexist insofar as blaming womankind alone for James Blunt’s success. Nightcap?’ Simon asks, beckoning the waitress for the bill.

      ‘I’d like to get this,’ I say, decisively, also gesturing for the bill.

      ‘That’s good to know.’

      The waitress assesses the balance of power and the bill is handed to Simon on a saucer. He slips his card on top and hands it straight back.