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It was always better to be safe rather than sorry.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARLOTTE propped her chin in her hand and looked intently at Ben, whose niceness over the past two weeks had been teetering precariously on the brink of boring. She was determined, however, not to find him boring, and in fact at moments like this, when her mind was beginning to glaze over as he enthused over some particularly tedious event at work, Robinson, Hathaway & Sons, she reminded herself that niceness was the stuff of all good, successful relationships. All that ‘frisson’ business was much overrated, as she had discovered to her cost. And she and Ben were beginning to have a relationship. They hadn’t slept together but they had shared a few lingering kisses, which he had attempted to progress. But she had firmly told him it was simply too soon and he had gallantly respected her decision.
She had breathed more than one sigh of relief that Riccardo, having appeared from thin air to throw her into panicked disarray, had also disappeared similarly quickly. He had spoken to Aubrey, who had been fully briefed on fending off any questions about her, had told him that he would go away to think things over in connection with the house, and that had been the last the agency had seen of him.
The fact that his appearance had reignited a maelstrom of memories was just something she knew she would have to deal with. And she was, by really focusing on Ben and harnessing her stubborn mind with frequent, stern lectures.
She snapped out of her daydream to find that Ben was waiting for her to say something. What? What? What on earth had he been talking about?
‘Yes,’ she said automatically, which produced a smile of pleasure.
‘Great. I know some women don’t like being the first on the dance floor, but you’re a game gal. My lady…this dance!’
Charlotte watched in horror as she realised what she had agreed to. They were in a jazz club, one which was currently sporting an empty dance floor, despite the fact that the music was good and the tables arranged around the circumference were brimming with people. And she was about to make a complete fool of herself by strutting her stuff with Ben.
‘Sorry!’ She smiled brightly and ignored the outstretched hand. ‘Misheard. Thought you asked if I’d ever been to France!’
Ben had started doing a little wiggle in front of the table, hand still beckoning. Lord, why? Even though he was not in full flow, Charlotte could see that he would be one of life’s enthusiastic dancers as opposed to one with rhythm.
Now he was threatening to move round the table and hoist her to her feet and she stood up, glancing with deep embarrassment around her, and took to the dance floor.
‘You should have warned me about this!’ she yelled into his ear. ‘I would have prepared myself!’
‘How?’
‘By drinking twelve bottles of wine beforehand!’
‘You’re doing fine!’
She swore that the wretched live band stretched the short number out for as long as possible just for the cabaret spectacle, and even more mortifying was the round of applause that greeted them at the end of the number. And she had been right about Ben. He flung himself around the dance floor like someone hopping on red-hot bricks and, having broken the ice, didn’t seem inclined to do the decent thing and scuttle back to the table.
But at least the dance floor was filling out the way it did when two people had broken the ice by making perfect fools of themselves. And it was a slow number, so no more kangaroo hops, at least for the moment. When he wrapped her in his arms, Charlotte forced her body to relax against his and was just beginning to believe that really, yes, she was feeling some kind of physical link between them, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She raised her head and there he was, staring at her with something close to amusement, and she felt her stomach clench into a knot of pure horror.
