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“Your usual table, sir?”
“Yes, please, Giacomo.”
Arnie smiled. He hadn’t been to Scalini for over four years, but these people made an effort with the service. “And a gin and tonic while I wait for the ladies.”
r /> “Of course, Mr. Meyer.”
Arnie Meyer loved England. He was glad he’d made this trip, glad Teddy De Vere had badgered him into coming. Once his two favorite girls arrived, the evening would be just about perfect.
Summer woke as the train rattled to a halt. Has an hour gone by already? Her chestnut hair was greasy and matted and stuck to her cheek, and there was a deeply unattractive wet patch on her shoulder from where she’d drooled onto her T-shirt.
She longed to shower and change, crawl between a pair of newly laundered sheets, and sleep for about a year. Instead she was supposed to be at a fancy Italian restaurant in less than fifteen minutes. With her suitcase lost over the Atlantic, she didn’t even have the option to change in the station bathrooms. At this point even a clean T-shirt and a spritz of perfume would have been a luxury.
If only she could ditch this damn dinner. But Summer knew what her father would say if she wimped out now. “Are you a Meyer or a mouse?” Thinking of Arnie’s silly expressions, imagining his voice in her head, she started to laugh, then cry.
I really do have to get a grip.
Lucy Meyer arrived at Scalini’s breathless, weighed down with bag after bag of expensive clothes.
“Sorry I’m late.” She kissed Arnie on the cheek.
“Really late.”
“I know, honey. I’m afraid I got a little carried away.” She smiled sheepishly.
Arnie bit back his irritation. He didn’t know how Teddy De Vere did it, constantly waiting around for his wife, playing second fiddle. The man must be a saint. Then again, at least Alexia had better excuses for her lateness than an extended shopping spree in Harrods.
“Where’s Summer?” Lucy asked, apparently oblivious to her husband’s bad mood.
“You tell me. I guess she inherited her mother’s sense of punctuality.”
“I’m sure she’ll be here in a minute. Why don’t we order some appetizers while we wait. All that shopping’s gone and worn me out.”
Yup. A saint.
Definitely a saint.
Summer was late.
The PA who’d given her directions to the restaurant was either confused, or deliberately messing with her because in no sense was the restaurant “a straight shot” left from the railway station. Nor had any of the people Summer stopped on the street heard of it, despite the PA’s insistence that it was “a landmark. Really famous.”
At last, at almost nine o’clock, she found herself standing outside. The place looked cozy rather than fancy, entirely lit by candles and with an inviting smell of garlic and truffle oil floating out to the street through the open windows. Inside, a low hum of laughter and conversation added to the warm, relaxed atmosphere.
If only I felt warm, or relaxed. But I’m here now. It has to be done.
Painting on a smile and holding her head high, Summer walked in. She saw the table immediately, walked over, and sat down.
“Summer! Oh my God, w-what are you doing here?”
The blood drained from Michael De Vere’s face like water out of a bath.
“I think we need to talk, Michael. Don’t you?”
Arnie Meyer hung up.
“Well, at least she’s safe. She’s in Oxford with Michael.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oxford? That’s kind of last minute, isn’t it? I wonder why she didn’t call to let us know.”
