Errors of Judgment(42)

‘I ordered some sandwiches,’ Andrew said. ‘Crayfish and rocket. Didn’t have a clue, really. Hope that’s all right.’

‘Fine,’ smiled Rachel.

He nodded. ‘Good. And I thought a little champagne might be a nice way to break the ice.’ He filled their glasses and handed one to Rachel, raising his own.

‘To new friendships.’

Rachel smiled and took a sip. She didn’t really want to drink at lunchtime. She wasn’t hungry, either, but she put a sandwich on her plate.

‘So – time to get to know each other,’ said Andrew. ‘You’re a lawyer?’

‘That’s right. I’m a partner in a City law firm.’

Andrew pushed out his lower lip and raised his eyebrows. ‘Impressive.’

‘Not really.’

‘I don’t know about that. Not many girls at senior level in our outfit. But then, commodities trading is something of a male preserve.’ Andrew eyed her, keeping his smile in place. Stunning looking, but a bit on the chilly side. Definitely in need of defrosting.

Rachel, detecting her own lack of warmth, did her best. ‘So, tell me all about commodity trading. Is it interesting?’

It wasn’t, as it turned out. Rachel sat with her chin on her hand, taking an occasional nibble at her sandwich, and said not a word for ten minutes while Andrew expounded on what he did all day, what the market was like, what his colleagues were like, the things they occasionally got up to after work, the enormous freebies they got by way of hospitality from generous clients – the tickets to Wimbledon, the private boxes at Ascot, the boozy private lunches at Twickenham before important matches. Did Rachel like rugby?

‘Not really. I don’t know much about it. My ex-husband was very keen. But then, he’s Welsh.’ Why on earth had she mentioned Leo?

Andrew lifted the bottle, about to refill her glass. Rachel covered it quickly with her hand.

‘No, thanks. I have a meeting later.’

Andrew shrugged and refilled his own.

To rekindle the conversation, Rachel said, ‘You have two children, don’t you?’

‘A boy of sixteen and a girl of fourteen. You have a young son, as I recall.’

‘Yes. Oliver. He’s just six.’

‘Lovely age. Wait till you hit the drama of the teenage years. A nightmare, I promise.’

Andrew proceeded to tell her about his children, and then Rachel talked about Oliver for a while. From this the talk drifted to their homes, the problems of commuting, the usual talk of City people. The conversation wasn’t exactly stilted, but it reminded Rachel of small talk that people made at parties. Maybe she could like Andrew, if she could get to know him. It wasn’t his fault he’d been a bit boring about his job. People generally were. He had a handsome, sensual face, and an easy manner, but there was something missing in their conversation, a lack of connection, of genuine interest. He asked her questions, he listened to her answers, he smiled and nodded and laughed, but it seemed to Rachel that his mind was elsewhere.

They had spun out the sandwiches and the champagne for forty minutes. There was only a small amount left in the bottle. He offered to refill her glass.

‘No, really. I’m fine, thanks. You finish it.’

‘Waste not, want not,’ said Andrew, tipping the remains of the bottle into his glass. ‘What time’s your meeting?’

‘Half three. Why?’

‘Should be time enough. I’ve booked us in at the Novotel round the corner.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Only an hour to get to know one another properly, but better than nothing.’ He smiled openly at her, with just a hint of insinuation, as though what he’d said amounted to no more than a bit of casual flirting.

The implication of what he’d said sank in. Rachel stared at him. ‘You think I’m going to sleep with you? Today? Having just met you?’

It was Andrew’s turn to look surprised. ‘Sorry – am I missing something? What on earth do you think this is all about?’

‘It’s – it’s a date.’

‘A date? You sound like my daughter.’ He laughed, and then frowned. ‘We seem to have some crossed wires here. I thought you understood.’

‘I don’t think I do.’ She knew she sounded absurdly prim, but she couldn’t help it.

‘Right. Well, I apologise. I thought …’ He sat for a long moment, rubbing his chin – in bemusement, it seemed, rather than embarrassment. ‘Look, I need to go to the little boys’ room. Back in a tick. Then we’ll talk. Sort things out.’

She watched him head off in the direction of the gents, wondering whether she should just get up and leave. But how rude would that be? On the other hand, what he’d just said had been grossly insulting. Or had it? Maybe this was all online dating was about. Looking for sex partners. She felt foolish, naive. It was the way things were nowadays. Everybody rushed at everything. Even relationships. She should get over it. When he came back she would make it clear that what he’d said or assumed didn’t matter, but that she’d prefer to take things a bit more slowly. At that moment the waiter slipped the bill onto the table.