Page 5 of The Woman Who Said Yes

‘Hi, Dom.’ Sam bobs up and shakes his hand. Then we’re all seated, with Dom next to Eva – of course that’s why she chose to sit there, next to the vacant chair.

‘I’ve heard so much about you both,’ he announces.

‘Us too,’ I start. ‘About the cruise and how amazing it was—’ I stop as his attention seems to have drifted elsewhere. He is looking around distractedly and waves to attract Tara’s attention as she sets a table at the other side of the room. Oh, I think – he’s going to apologise. Sorry about nearly sending you flying there! He was just excited, I decide, as he cantered towards our ravishing friend. And who could blame him? I’ve forgiven him already: this man who’s so wildly besotted as to not even notice that he virtually mowed Tara down.

However, Dom doesn’t apologise. He doesn’t even wait until Tara has reached our table to call out, at a volume far louder than necessary, ‘Could we possibly have a bottle of champagne?’

3

We insist that we’re fine with wine and Sam asks if he prefers red or white. Or is there something else he’d like? Ignoring this – as if none of us had spoken – Dom flips open the menu, which I hadn’t realised was still on our table, and speedily locates the drinks section. I’d never even noticed they have champagne here.

Dom selects a bottle and, looking bemused now, Tara glides away. I catch her murmuring something to her father, who glances over quizzically as if the new arrival has ordered something outlandish – a watermelon drenched in vodka which we plan to suck up through straws – and they’re conferring on whether they can make this happen.

As Niko disappears to the mysterious basement, I reflect that Dom is probably keen to make a good impression. Perhaps he’s even a little nervous, meeting Eva’s closest friends for the first time? Or maybe he drinks champagne with the casualness that the Knitwits quaff house wine? ‘Sorry to gatecrash your evening,’ he offers.

‘Not at all,’ Sam says quickly.

‘Eva’s idea.’ Dom shrugs apologetically and winds an arm around her shoulders. ‘I wasn’t sure about barging in on your time together. I’m sure it’s precious…’

‘Honestly, no – it’s great you’re here,’ I say as Tara sets out four more glasses and pours the champagne. ‘So, did you love the cruise?’

‘Oh, absolutely!’ He launches into what, for him, were the highlights: fresh pasta in Lucca, pinchos in Barcelona and a deeply cheesy potato dish in Marseille, made with something called Reblochon, which he pronounces properly Frenchly. ‘A mountain cheese,’ he adds.

‘Oh, right!’ I nod. ‘That sounds delicious.’

‘Of course,’ he goes on, ‘the best part was meeting this beautiful creature.’

The word ‘creature’ lands oddly but I brush it aside. ‘That’s so lovely,’ I enthuse.

‘Yeah. Really great,’ Sam agrees, shifting in his seat.

‘He’s being ridiculous,’ Eva says, laughing.

In the pause that follows I try to pin down what it is about Dom that’s a little unsettling. Never mind the Tara incident, or the insistence on ordering champagne. Something else is niggling away at me, just below the surface, and I’m not sure what it is. He’s just not Eva’s usual type, I remind myself. She said he was ‘different’ – a ‘proper grown-up’ – and she loves that about him. Gardener Harry didn’t actually seem to get around to doing much gardening, and DJ Giacomo had the air of someone who encountered very little sunlight. With his gleamingly white, even teeth, and in his expensive-looking navy shirt, Dom strikes me as most definitely being a daytime man. I guess his polished grown-upness will just take a bit of getting used to. ‘So, Eva was saying you’d gone on the cruise by yourself?’ I say lightly.

‘Yep, all on my ownsome,’ Dom replies with an easy smile. I sip my champagne, cringing at my clumsy comment. Did it sound like I was suggesting he doesn’t have any friends?

‘He’d been working crazy hours,’ Eva explains. ‘That was it, wasn’t it, Dom? You wanted an easy, low-effort holiday?’

‘That’s right,’ he confirms. ‘The laziest option. It was all I was good for at that point…’

‘Eva said you’re in property?’ Sam says.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘D’you mean building?’ I ask, hoping he doesn’t feel as if he’s being grilled by us.

‘I guess you’d say I have more of a property portfolio.’ Dom laughs in recognition of how the term might be perceived by the likes of Sam and me, who have only ever used it in a Monopoly context. ‘But I’m more on the design and consultancy side these days,’ he adds. ‘Casting a final eye over things, you know?’

‘Ah, right,’ I say, although I don’t know. Casting a final eye over what?

‘Making sure we’re on brand,’ Dom adds. ‘Sticking my oar in and getting in everyone’s way. I’m lucky to have a fantastic team who keep everything rattling along smoothly… So, how about you, Sam? What do you do?’

‘I have a picture-framing business,’ he replies.

‘That must be very satisfying.’

Sam nods. ‘I guess so. It definitely has its good points…’