‘Damn! I forgot. It’s all cobbles. Are you going to be able to manage?’
‘Oh, I expect so.’
‘Sure? We can always go somewhere else.’
‘No, this is fine, honestly.’
It wasn’t actually that easy, but I managed it with Josh’s hand hovering over my elbow ready to catch me should I stumble. He pushed open the door to the bar and held it while I manoeuvred my way through, with some relief, on to the relatively flat flagged floor.
Though I’d sometimes come to the King William with friends in my youth, it was a very long time since I’d been here. Yet it hardly seemed to have changed at all. The bar was cosy and warm, with a log fire burning in an open fireplace, and softly lit, so as not to detract from the candles and tea-lights that were scattered about. Over the bar a string of blue icicles, presumably left over from the Christmas decorations, winked, but strangely did not look out of place.
‘What would you like?’ Josh asked, and that did feel strange. Tim had known what my tipple was – of course!
‘Bacardi and Coke, please.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring it over.’
I picked my way to a vacant table in a nook beside the fireplace, only to find it had a ‘Reserved’ sign on it. I was about to look for somewhere else, but Josh was signing at me from the bar: ‘It’s OK – that’s ours.’
‘You reserved a table?’ I asked when he came over with the drinks.
‘Thought I should. It can get pretty busy on a Friday night.’
‘But – aren’t reservations for diners?’
‘Probably. But we’re having something to eat, aren’t we?’
‘Oh Josh! You didn’t say anything about eating!’ I groaned. ‘I’ve already had tea.’
‘Oh.’ He looked crestfallen. ‘Couldn’t you manage something?’
My heart sank. I seemed to have been doing nothing but eating all day – apart from the missed lunch. But not only had Josh reserved a table, I was pretty sure that he had been waiting for this meal, and was very hungry.
‘Well, something light, perhaps – a starter, maybe,’ I said tentatively. ‘But don’t let that stop you.’
‘Don’t worry, it won’t.’ His expression told me he meant it, and I found myself laughing.
What was it about Josh that made him such easy company? Strangely I felt as if I had known him forever and my anxiety over what we’d talk about, and how I should behave, was fast receding.
Josh fetched some menus and I chose a goat’s cheese tartlet from the starters menu, whilst he selected a rib-eye steak with all the trimmings.
‘So,’ he said when we’d placed our order, ‘I know next to nothing about you, Sally.’
‘And I know next to nothing about you.’
‘Then perhaps it’s time we introduced ourselves properly.’
‘Go on then. You first.’
‘Josh Williams. Photographer. Thirty-five years old. Divorced. No children. That’s about it.’
‘Divorced?’
‘’Fraid so. Nothing spectacular. It just didn’t work out. One of the drawbacks of the job, I expect. Irregular hours.’
‘Not that irregular, surely?’
‘Oh, you know – evenings, weekends, bank holidays . . . Anyway, it was all pretty amicable. We’re still quite good friends. Your turn.’
‘Sally Proctor. Recently split from long-term boyfriend, and, as you already know, a journalist by profession.’
‘Yes.’ He was looking at me thoughtfully. ‘An investigative journalist.’
‘Not really.’
‘A wannabe investigative journalist, then.’
‘Perhaps.’ For some reason this was making me a bit uncomfortable. ‘How long have you been with the Gazette, then?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.
‘About nine months. So no, I didn’t know Dawn Burridge, if that’s what you’re asking.’
At that moment the food arrived – my tiny plate with a tartlet nestling in a bed of rocket and frisée lettuce, and Josh’s huge platter overflowing with steak, chips, mushrooms, tomatoes and peas.
‘Let’s forget about Dawn Burridge,’ I said.
‘And enjoy our food,’ Josh was unwrapping his cutlery from the napkin it was rolled in.
‘Yes – let’s.’
But I thought that what I really wanted was not so much to enjoy the food as to enjoy Josh’s company.
It was a very long time since I’d felt that way about anyone.
We’d finished eating and were enjoying liqueur coffees when I heard a mobile chiming.
‘Oh sorry – that sounds like mine.’ I pulled it out of my bag, wondering if it was Alice. ‘I’d better get this. I’m half expecting a call.’