He tried several times to politely veer away from her, but no, each time Annabelle clutched his elbow and chattered away brightly to all and sundry. Prying her off with a crowbar was the only thing that would work and, unfortunately, not actually be considered polite.
Damn it.
“Hey! Rick!”
It was with relief that Rick watched his old school friend approach in his gangly, long-legged stride. “Tim. How are you?”
“Doin’ well, mate. How about you?” Tim shook his hand vigorously.
Annabelle eyed him with her top lip slightly curled. Not enough to be noticed by anyone except Tim, who leered back at her, and Rick when he glanced sideways.
Amused, Rick introduced them. “Annabelle, meet my oldest friend, Tim Clarke. Tim, this is Annabelle Forbes.”
“Daughter of the General Surgeon, Peter Forbes.” Annabelle smiled coldly and shook Tim’s hand limply.
Grinning widely, Tim pumped her hand up and down energetically. “Of course. Ol’ Pete’s offspring. Wouldn’t expect that sour-faced old bastard to have such a stunning kid, but then again, I expect his sperm can cause many surprises if we studied them closely.”
Rick grinned.
Annabelle didn’t miss a beat. “Are you, by any chance, in the sexual health field, Timothy?”
“Vet, actually.” Tim’s smile only got wider. “Depends what I’m up to at the time. Oh, get it?” He nudged Rick and guffawed loudly. “Sex field and up to?”
“You have real wit,” Rick said dryly.
Annabelle looked at Rick like she was mentally wiping shit off her shoes. Obviously he’d scored really badly. What a shame.
“I do believe,” she said coldly, “That my father wants me.”
“Really?” Tim peered over at the cluster of surgeons who were importantly – and loudly - discussing the current trend of lap banding. “He seems involved in something already.”
Annabelle turned and left without a word.
“Oh dear.” Tim raised the beer can to his mouth. “Something I said?”
“Yes, thank God.” Rick raised his wine glass in salute.
“You had that desperate look about you. A drowning man.”
“With The Barracuda circling.”
Tim snorted a laugh and took a healthy chug of beer.
“What are you doing here?” Rick asked curiously. “I didn’t think these sorts of gatherings were up your alley.”
“Mother split with her latest boyfriend, so I was her next choice of escort.”
“You?” Rick somehow doubted that Margaret Clarke, the city’s most respected paediatrician, would willingly choose her own son as her escort.
Tim grinned widely. “They broke up five minutes before they were due to come here. I was the next poor bastard in an emergency.”
He might have been laughing outwardly, but Rick saw the shadows in his friend’s eyes. Margaret wasn’t the most motherly woman around, which was pretty rich, considering her profession.
Rick gave him a light punch in the shoulder. “Thanks for saving my arse. I was worried she’d take a bite out of it.”
“My mother?”
“No, you jerk. Annabelle.”
“She’s looking for a prospective husband. Somehow I don’t fit the bill.”
“Count yourself lucky.”
Tim and Rick clinked beer can and wine glass cheerfully.
Tim glanced around. “What say we ditch this joint and head off for friendlier fields?”
The proposition was a most welcome one. Rick glanced down at his watch. He’d been at the affair for about three hours and could now bid his host farewell without offending anyone. Not that he really cared about offending anyone, but he didn’t think putting himself on the wrong side of his colleagues so soon would be wise.
“Give me five minutes to make my farewells and I’m all yours.” Rick paused. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Where are you staying?” When Rick told him, Tim nodded. “There’s a good bar across the road from it. Let’s go.” He chugged down the last of his beer and took careful aim at a bin partially – and tastefully –hidden by a rose bush.
Before he could let fly with the can, a waiter politely plucked it from his fingers and placed it on his tray, smiling vacantly the whole time. “Would Sir care for another?”
“No, Sir wouldn’t,” Tim replied. “Sir is going to a place where he can sit down and slurp without fear of offending the majority.”
“As Sir pleases.” The waiter walked off, the tray balanced perfectly on his hand.
“Sir actually isn’t very pleased right now,” Tim informed Rick gravely. “Sir really needs a drink from a burly barkeeper who calls him ‘arsehole’ instead. It suits my class better.”