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They were led through to where gorgeous couples and groups were sipping their beverages and making conversation. Again, she noticed that certain pause as they passed.
He had an effect on everyone, Mary realised, but then she wondered if all these people were simply curious as to what on earth he was doing with a woman in someone else’s shoes carrying a rather scruffy purse.
The bar area was sophisticated indeed, and his reserved table was tucked away in a gorgeous alcove, with plump chesterfield chairs and a low walnut table. There was a violet orchid floating in a small glass jar, but there was no candle or anything to denote romance—this was where, she realised, he had been intending to speak with Eric.
Thank God he had gone.
Gratefully she sank into a seat as he did the same, and for a moment closed her eyes in quiet relief. Costa’s rather indelicate dressing-down had hit home. Indeed, had he not intervened, Mary knew she might well have found herself in serious trouble tonight.
‘Shall I ask for the menu?’ Costa broke into her thoughts. ‘I wouldn’t mind something to eat.’
‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ll just have...’ She looked up to the waiter. ‘A hot chocolate, please.’
‘That’s not some cocktail I don’t know about, is it?’ Costa checked, and for the first time she properly smiled. Not a big smile, a subtle one, but unlike before it wasn’t forced.
‘No, just a hot chocolate.’
‘With marshmallows?’ the waiter checked.
‘Yes, please!’ It was so nice to be asked that she dared ask for more. ‘Extra-sweet, please.’
‘Of course.’
Costa gave his own drink order and ordered some nibbles, then they made polite small talk as they waited for them to arrive—or rather, Mary tried to. She was truly awful at it, though.
‘The weather is dreadful,’ she said.
‘It always is when I come to London.’
‘I don’t think that’s very fair.’
Costa shrugged. ‘It’s just an observation, not an insult—I’ve never had a sunny day here.’
‘Well...it was gorgeous yesterday.’ Why was she defending the weather? Mary had no idea.
‘That was yesterday. I can assure you there will be solid rain all week.’
‘Is that how long you’re in London, then?’
‘Yes,’ Costa said, a touch surprised that he had given this information away so readily, for he usually kept his plans to himself.
Always.
‘I’ll keep an umbrella handy, then,’ Mary said.
‘Do.’
Then there was no more small talk. Mary just sat, somewhat defeated, and Costa simply let her be.
Their drinks were served—his preferred cognac and for Mary hot chocolate in a delicate porcelain cup and saucer, along with some delectable tiny pastries and chocolate-dipped fruits.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, having taken a sip of the velvety drink and seemingly revelled in its sweet warmth.
‘Enjoy,’ Costa said, surprised at his relief when she picked up the tongs and selected some food.
Despite his determination not to get involved, he knew he could not leave the sum total of their conversation as a discussion of the weather.
‘So,’ Costa prompted, ‘tell me about you...’
