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‘Goodnight.’
He knew he should turn to go, but instead he stood there, trying not to notice her shabby coat and the broken umbrella being handed to her as the doorman asked if he could summon her car or, when she declined, call a taxi.
‘No, thank you...’
Mary had told him she had arrived by bus, and he guessed her mode of departure would be the same. He tried to remain unmoved. He had done his best, Costa told himself, and she had made it clear that she did not want his help.
But then, on some sort of reluctant autopilot—for he would by far prefer to walk away—he heard himself address the doorman. ‘Could you arrange a car for Miss Jones, please?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘It’s fine,’ Mary said. ‘There really is no need.’
‘I invited you for a drink,’ Costa said as the car was swiftly arranged. ‘I practically interviewed you. It is right that I ensure you get safely home.’
‘I didn’t accept the job,’ Mary pointed out.
‘As is your right. But that doesn’t mean I leave you to take the bus.’
‘Well, thank you.’
They stepped out into the cool evening to find that the rain had stopped but all was shiny and wet. For Mary, London had never looked so beautiful as it did this night.
It was as if everything had been swept clean. The terrible error of judgement she had made in accepting tonight’s dinner date had been rectified and her birthday had been acknowledged.
It was almost like waking up to find the fairies had been while she slept.
She used to dream of that.
She used to fall asleep dreaming that she would wake up and her world would have changed. That her mother would be downstairs and her dad would be putting on a tie and heading to work. That the nightmare her childhood had become was just a dream from which she had finally awakened.
‘Goodnight, Mary,’ Costa said again. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’
He said it so politely that for a moment she thought he might shake her hand, but he didn’t, and when he spoke next there was a slight edge to his tone.
‘I wish you well in whatever path you choose...’
His tone might be a little bit sarcastic, but she got why—given she had told him a little of her plight and then turned down such a stunning opportunity.
‘Costa, I’m flattered by your offer. It really is the nicest proposal I’ve ever had. It’s just that I have other commitments...’
‘It was just a suggestion.’
‘A very nice one,’ Mary said. ‘Thank you for thinking of me.’ She swallowed. ‘And for earlier...’
‘No problem,’ he lied.
She melted him.
Costa didn’t quite know why.
There was a lot going on behind those china-blue eyes and thick honey lashes, and before he could think twice he cupped her cheeks with his hands in the gentlest of farewells as he offered his final warning.
‘These other commitments...’
He still thought her an escort.
But even if it only served to compound his theory of her, she did not want to bring up her father.
