‘I thought so,’ came the reply. ‘You English are always apologising, even when it’s not your fault. It’s a cultural reflex.’
Cleo swallowed. ‘But itwasmy fault. I didn’t look where I was going.’
The lopsided smile widened.
‘True. However, what you failed to notice is that I wasn’t looking either. I was focused on my friend, who was chatting to someone I hadn’t seen before. I was curious to know who she was and didn’t see you coming.’
This made Cleo feel a little better, though she suspected he was just being gallant. Even so, she felt her body untense and she stopped frantically wiping his front.
‘I’m afraid your shoes are spoiled,’ he said now, looking down at her trainers, which were stained with red wine. She followed his gaze. ‘Perhaps it will wash off.’
‘It’ll probably come off in the washing machine,’ she agreed. ‘But they’re old anyway. It doesn’t really matter. I’m much more worried about your shirt.’
Glancing up again, she accidentally caught his eye and he held her stare for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Taken aback, her heart pitter-pattered and shivers ran up and down her spine.
‘Where in England do you come from?’ he asked softly, lingering on her features: her lips, her nose, and back to her eyes.
For some reason her mouth was suddenly so dry, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak.
‘London,’ she whispered.
Could he hear the crackle in her throat? She hoped not. She was behaving like a silly schoolgirl.
She took a deep breath and tried to gather herself together, but her hands were shaking and her legs felt like jelly.
‘I love London,’ Achilles said, before reaching out and taking the pile of damp tissues from her. ‘Here, let me get rid of these. Can I buy you a drink before you go? To show there are no hard feelings?’
His tone was jokey, but electric sparks zipped backwards and forwards between them, making her skin prickle. It was so long since anyone had fancied her or she them, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining it.
Swept up in the excitement of the moment, she would have said yes; she’d forgotten all about her friends. But a tap on her shoulder made her spin round. It was Maya.
‘Are you ready?’ Maya asked, looking at Cleo then Achilles with a slightly puzzled expression. ‘Tash and I are pretty hungry. We could do with some supper.’
Cleo nodded. ‘Me too, sorry.’
Achilles let out a laugh, which made her stomach flip.
‘There you go again – apologising.’ He scratched his head with three fingers, still hanging on to the empty glasses in both hands. ‘We’ll have to have that drink another time.’
Cleo had a sinking feeling. What if she never saw him again? He might not be back here tomorrow evening and she didn’t know where he lived.
Her mind started racing. She could ask for his number, but feared she wasn’t capable of sounding sufficiently nonchalant. She dreaded coming across as too eager and besides, what if she’d misinterpreted the situation? Perhaps when he’d offered the drink he was just being kind. He was probably relieved to get out of it.
Gathering herself together, she managed to give a polite little smile without meeting his eye.
‘I hope your shirt washes clean,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the fantastic music.’
And with that, she turned on her heel. She thought she could feel him staring after her, but told herself not to be soppy.
‘God, that was embarrassing,’ she said, when she and Maya met up again with Tash and started walking towards the steps. ‘Talk about making a fool of myself.’
‘I don’t think he was too upset,’ Maya commented drily. ‘In fact, I think he rather liked you.’
Red spots blossomed on Cleo’s cheeks and burst into flame. Luckily, it was so dark no one noticed.
‘Rubbish,’ she said. ‘He took pity on me.’ She swallowed. ‘I must say, he did have a very nice singing voice, though.’
