The Bridesmaid's Secret. Sophie Weston

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      She thrust the business card into her coat pocket and said abruptly, ‘All right. Arnie will find us a diner. Get in.’

      But in fact she gave the chauffeur directions to an all-night café in her own area of the Village. Close enough to run for home if she had to, she thought, defending her decision to herself.

      Arnie grunted disapprovingly. But he had been on duty since the morning and he wanted to go home. Bella had persuaded him to a late, late coffee in the past and she knew his habits. Now they had unloaded their guests he would want his bed as much as she wanted not to be alone. He did not protest too hard, and dropped them at the little Italian café two blocks from her building.

      Gil Whoever-he-was had the manners as well as the overcoat of a gentleman, Bella found. He held the door to the café open for her. There were a few diners, mostly drivers of delivery trucks in jeans snatching a break before getting back onto the empty early morning roads. Gil led the way past them, then stood until she had seated herself. She slid along the wooden bench against the wall but he did not crowd in beside her. He took a chair on the other side of the table and smiled at the heavy-eyed waitress who joined them.

      ‘What would you like?’ he asked Bella. ‘Breakfast?’

      She shook her head, making a discovery. ‘You’re English.’

      He smiled. ‘Don’t hold it against me. Coffee? Water?’

      It sounded as if he did not realise that she was English too. That pleased her obscurely, and not just because she had been working on her mid-Atlantic accent.

      ‘Gallons of water. And herbal tea.’

      ‘Sure.’ The waitress knew her. She was in here often enough between her late night forays with out-of-town business contacts and her early morning runs when she gave up on sleeping. The waitress knew which herbal tea without asking. ‘You?’

      He picked one of the coffee options at random, not taking his eyes off Bella.

      When the waitress had gone he leaned forward.

      ‘OK, Tina the Tango Dancer. Cards on the table.’

      For some reason, Bella’s stomach felt as if it was in a free-falling lift.

      ‘At last,’ she said loudly to disguise it.

      ‘When I saw you in the club, I thought, I know that girl.’

      ‘You don’t,’ she said positively. ‘I’d have remembered.’

      He was impatient. ‘I know I don’t. So would I.’

      ‘You need a better chat-up line,’ Bella advised him.

      He ignored that, frowning at the salt-cellar. ‘I’m not putting this well. Maybe what I meant was, I am going to know this girl.’

      He looked up quickly. She did not look away quickly enough. There was a jolt like electricity to an exposed nerve.

      ‘An improvement,’ she said flippantly, recovering.

      Not fast enough.

      ‘You felt it too,’ he said on a note of discovery.

      ‘No, I—’

      ‘Maybe not then. Later. When?’ She saw him reviewing their brief acquaintance. ‘Outside the hotel. Then. You knew then there was something about me you—recognised.’

      Bella shook her head vehemently. She was trying to forget the little moment that had tripped her up when she had thought he was lonely, and in recognising that loneliness had been forced to acknowledge her own.

      The waitress brought their drinks. He looked at his double latte as if he had never seen one before.

      ‘It’s coffee made with milk,’ she said kindly. ‘Not as strong as the stuff they put in cappuccino.’

      ‘Don’t change the subject. You knew, didn’t you?’

      The lemon and ginger tea was too hot to drink. Bella refused to meet his eyes and pressed herself back against the wall.

      She could not ever remember feeling so out of her depth. She was a seasoned flirt. She was also glamorous and sociable. Men had approached her in every conceivable way. Some had interested her, some hadn’t, but she had never felt so uncertain. Her head was whirling and her pulses were thundering as if this was somehow momentous.

      As if she was afraid of something in herself. Something completely new.

      She said, as much to herself as him, ‘All I knew was that you were a great dancer and I love to dance.’

      He leaned forward. She could feel him willing her to look up. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on her bent head. It was as physical as if he had touched her.

      She said loudly, ‘That’s all.’

      There were a couple of shift workers sitting at a corner table, stocking up on breakfast before they went into work. Bella saw them look across curiously.

      They must look completely out of place—Gil in his dark, expensive coat and handmade shoes, she with the remains of her party make-up and a cropped top under her winter-weight coat. Completely out of place but a matching couple among the truckers and shift workers. It was a long time since she had felt part of a couple.

      As if he could read her mind, he smiled.

      ‘No,’ he said quite gently. ‘That’s not all. You know it. I know it. It’s bad timing but I know it. No point in lying about it.’

      Bella looked at her fingernails. ‘I don’t believe in bad timing,’ she announced. ‘There’s only bad priorities.’

      Gil looked amused. ‘You sound like my management consultant.’

      Bella flinched. ‘My sister is a management consultant,’ she said after a moment.

      ‘And you’re telling me the consultant’s solution would be to change my flight?’

      ‘Maybe. If you’ve changed your priorities.’ She stopped herself abruptly. ‘Heck, what do I know? I’m not the brain box of the family.’

      His eyes were not only intense, they were very shrewd.

      ‘So what are you in the family? The beauty?’

      Bella gave a harsh little laugh. ‘You could say so. Much good it’s done me.’

      His smile was a caress. ‘It’s pretty damned good for everyone else.’

      ‘Oh.’ The compliment took her aback. He had not seemed to be the sort of man to pay compliments. ‘Thank you.’

      He lifted his cup of coffee, toasting her silently. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

      This time it did not sound so much of a compliment. More a kind of assessment, like her mother taking stock of what she had in her store cupboard.

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