‘I know what you mean, Charlie,’ I said, nodding in agreement. ‘I travel for press trips several times a year too, and it can be exhausting.’
‘Plus,’ he continued, ‘there’s the terrible carbon footprint from all the flying. Just one return flight from London to New York produces a greater carbon footprint than the whole year’s personal allowance that we need to keep the climate safe. It’s not what I want to do.’
Oh, wow. I was surprised to hear him say that.
‘What is it that you want to do, then?’ I asked.
‘I’ve always wanted to work for an organisation like Greenpeace,’ he replied, sitting up straighter in his chair as if I’d ignited a fire inside him. ‘There’s so much important work that needs to be done to secure the future of our planet. Issues like fracking, protecting our oceans and, like I said, dealing with climate change. These are real problems. Selling biscuits is just so trivial and mundane in comparison.’
He certainly sounded passionate about green issues.
‘Oh, I see,’ I replied. ‘So if you don’t want to sell biscuits, why don’t you just leave?’ I questioned.
‘If only it were that simple,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘The business means everything to my father. It was him who started the company after his mother baked the cakes and biscuits for a high-profile event he was organising and everyone went crazy for them. For the past thirty-five years, he’s dedicated his life to the company, and as his only son, he’s grooming me to take over when he retires in two years’ time. It would break his heart if I left.’
His shoulders sank. He looked visibly upset just talking about it. Can’t be an easy situation.
‘Sorry. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this and we’ve just met,’ he added.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘That must be a terrible burden for you, though. Just because it’s your father’s life, it doesn’t mean it has to be yours too. You need to follow and focus on your own dream, not someone else’s. If you don’t want to do something, speak up and tell him.’
‘I wish I could, but I can’t,’ he said, raising his voice slightly. ‘You don’t know my father. Anyway,’ he said, clapping his hands together as if to indicate it was time to change the subject. ‘Let’s not talk about this. It will only depress me. Right. You said you like cake. I can personally recommend the caramelised pineapple and coconut cake for dessert. Or the cinnamon doughnuts.’
‘Both sound lovely,’ I said, respecting his decision to change the topic of conversation. In the end we opted for both and decided to share. On the subject of dessert of another kind, I was hoping that an end-of-night snog was still going to be on the cards, but I wasn’t sure.
We were getting on well. He was certainly handsome, smart and very caring. Although he was likely to be worth tens of millions, he was very down to earth. There wasn’t the same animal attraction I’d had with Lorenzo, but that was just pure lust, and that hadn’t really gotten me very far before had it?
But at the same time, after a long relationship, I wasn’t really looking for serious husband material. Right now, passion, great sex combined with relaxed companionship were at the top of my list. Could Charlie give me that?
The waiter gently placed the bill in between us, which Charlie swiped off the table faster than you could say ‘Sexy Fish’ and requested the card machine.
‘Oh no, Charlie! I thought I was the one who was repaying you for not reporting me to the DVLA or police for my erratic driving. You must let me pay, or at the very least go Dutch,’ I suggested.
‘I won’t hear of it. I’ve had a delightful evening with you, Sophia. It’s the least I can do. It’s so refreshing to spend a few hours with someone fascinating and funny for a change. You really have no idea.’
I got it. Whilst many people might think: Poor you! Must be exhausting flying business class everywhere, getting the best seats at London’s top restaurants at the drop of a hat and being a multimillionaire to boot, I understood that often that champagne lifestyle isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. One of the reasons he probably wanted to go out for dinner with someone like me was so that he could feel more ‘normal’ and not be reminded of his massively privileged lifestyle.
‘Thank you, Charlie. I’ve had a lovely evening too,’ I said, smiling.
‘I’m so glad to hear that, Sophia. Does that suggest you’d be open to going out with me again?’ Sorry, is that too forward?’ he asked nervously.
‘Not at all. Of course, I’d love to,’ I said without hesitation.
‘Wonderful! I will certainly be inviting you out again. Now, I’m assuming you didn’t drive here as there was no debris or collision signs on the road outside when I arrived,’ he said, chuckling. Good. I like a man with a sense of humour.
‘Very funny!’ I replied. ‘No. My car is still with your mechanic guys, so I took a taxi here.’ Not that I would’ve driven even if it hadn’t been, of course.
‘Well, on behalf of London, we thank you for refraining from putting us in danger by getting behind the wheel.’ He let out a snorty laugh. ‘In that case, let me get a taxi for you.’ He went over to the doorman and asked him to flag down a black cab as he helped me with my jacket. What a gent.
The doorman gave him a nod to signal that a taxi was outside.
‘Back in a sec. It’s Clapham that you live, isn’t it?’ he asked. Good memory.
‘That’s right,’ I confirmed.
‘I won’t be a moment.’ He headed outside and I could see him lean through the window of the taxi to speak to the driver. He came back inside.
‘Your chariot awaits!’ he said enthusiastically.
‘Thank you, Charlie.’
He opened the door for me and led me outside to where the taxi was parked and we stood beside it.
Well, this is a bit awkward. What now? Might be too public for a full-on snog. I’ll let him lead.
‘Lovely to meet—I mean, see you again, Sophia.’ For a split second I could have sworn he was going to put his hand out for me to shake it, but then he remembered himself and went for a nervous quick peck on the cheek. I then went for the other cheek.
‘Oh, two!’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Gosh, I never know these days whether it’s one kiss, or two or sometimes even three! Minefield! Right, then,’ he added, opening the taxi door. ‘Do send me a text once you’re home, Sophia, to let me know you’ve arrived safely and I’ll be in touch re: a drop-off time for the car on Monday, and of course, meeting up again. It’s been truly delightful.’
‘Thank you again, Charlie, for dinner and, yes, let’s speak soon,’ I said, managing to strain a smile. I climbed into the back seat and he closed the door behind me.
A handshake? (Well, he almost went to shake my hand).
A peck on the cheek?
Is that it?
I was hoping for a snog. This gentleman thing was all very well up to a point, but sometimes a girl just needed a good…
Behave yourself, Sophia.
Surely a man wanting to shake your hand or giving you a peck on the cheek couldn’t be a good sign? I was so frustrated!
Never mind him thinking the number of kisses to give someone on the cheek was a minefield. This whole dating and understanding men thing was starting to feel more complicated than bloody rocket science.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I fluffed up the cushions on the sofa and chaise longue, checked my new photo canvases were straight on the living room wall, then went in the fridge to make sure the wine and prosecco were chilling nicely. All good.
Roxy and Bella would be round any minute. I’d called an emergency meeting. As much as I had tried to be independent and not continually ask them a million and one questions about men/dating/my love life, sometimes you had to admit defeat and rally the troops.
Thursday night was my third date with Charlie and we were still at the peck-on-the-cheek stage. I just didn’t get it and wanted a second opinion from two of the people that I trusted th
e most.
We’d all been super busy these past two weeks. Bella with juggling Paul and her teaching, Roxy with the normal stresses that come with running a sales force, and me working on various projects. That meant that, apart from the odd ‘good luck with your date tonight’, ‘what are you wearing?’ and top-line-summary-of-each-date WhatsApp messages, they weren’t fully up to speed on what had been going on.
The bell went. Right on time. I walked to the front door and let them in.
‘Hello, Soph!’ they said in unison as I gave them each a massive hug.
‘Come in, ladies,’ I said, directing them to the living room.
‘Oooh, new photos!’ commented Roxy instantly.
‘That’s a lovely canvas of your mum, dad, Harrison, Marilyn and Jasmine. Gorgeous. Was that from your birthday dinner?’ asked Bella.
‘It was indeed,’ I replied.
‘You might be bloody irritating, always asking everyone for photos, but I admit, you definitely know how to take a great picture,’ said Roxy.
‘Thanks, Rox. So what are we drinking?’ I said, walking through to the kitchen and opening the fridge. ‘Prosecco? As you’re staying over, I’ve got plenty of booze. It’s Saturday night, so we can let our hair down. No work tomorrow!’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Bella, rolling her eyes. ‘Two-year-olds sadly don’t differentiate between weekdays and weekends. They want to be entertained and waited on hand and foot 24/7. As soon as I walk through that front door tomorrow lunchtime, I’ll be back on mummy duty.’
‘Poor thing!’ said Roxy. ‘And, yes, to answer your question, Soph, prosecco sounds good.’
‘Me too,’ conceded Bella. ‘Screw it! I will worry about my hangover tomorrow. Mike can help out if I need to sleep it off. Thanks, Soph.’
I picked up the bottle along with three glasses and headed back to the living room.
They filled me in properly on what had been going on in their lives. Paul had recently started nursery part-time, so Bella had increased her teaching to three days a week. Whilst Mike’s job as an English professor meant he earned enough for her to stay at home and look after Paul full-time, as someone who had always made her own money, she’d always wanted to retain some financial independence. But at the same time, Bella admitted she was finding it exhausting juggling the demands that come with looking after a toddler, plus lesson planning and rushing from one big firm to another across London to teach each of the high-flying foreign city executives, who’d booked her to help them improve their English.
Roxy’s work was going well. Colette, the MD of the company she worked for, who Roxy credited as helping her get back on her feet after her divorce by offering her a job and a place to stay, was expanding the company, so she had offered Roxy the role of senior sales and marketing director. In terms of her love life, or rather her sex life (Roxy doesn’t do ‘love’), she had called it off with the twenty-six-year-old fuck buddy because he was starting to ‘catch feelings’, which wasn’t part of her ‘no-strings’ agenda.
When our Chinese takeaway was dropped off by Deliveroo, we all got stuck in, shunning the dining table and just eating whilst sitting on the sofa instead.
‘Sooo, Sophia,’ said Roxy with a glint in her eye. ‘Tell us about Charlie. What’s the emergency, then? Not that we don’t love to see you, but we rarely organise a catch-up with just a forty-eight-hour turnaround, so it must be pretty urgent.’
‘Well. I’ll cut to the chase. Would you consider it weird if you’ve been on three dates with a guy and at the end of the date, he’s still just giving you a peck on the cheek?’ I asked, still feeling confused.
Bella and Roxy both gave each other puzzled looks.
‘A peck on the cheek?’ clarified Roxy.
‘Yep,’ I confirmed.
‘Maybe he’s just being a gentleman,’ suggested Bella.
‘At first that’s what I thought. On the first date, he nearly went to shake my hand, which would have been super weird, but he must have realised what he was doing at the last minute and then did the one peck on the cheek. I thought maybe it was because we were outside Sexy Fish and it was busy and he wasn’t into PDA.’
‘PDA?’ queried Bella.
‘Public displays of affection,’ clarified Roxy.
‘But then on the second date, it happened again. His ritual is that he flags down a taxi, pays them to take me home—which is very sweet and did take me aback the first time as I went to pay and the driver said it had already been taken care of—but then he just kisses me on the cheek. And for the second date, the street was very quiet, so that can’t have been the problem.’
‘So what happened on date number three on Thursday?’ asked Roxy.
‘Well, he took me to Rumpus Room—you know, the really cool rooftop bar at the top of the Mondrian that has stunning views of London? Anyway, there I was thinking that maybe he’d chosen a bar that was attached to a hotel because he thought it might be a nice neutral place for us to spend the night together. You know, have a few drinks and then subtly invite me to check out the view from his room downstairs. But nothing.’
‘So there was no rumpy pumpy in the Rumpus Room, then! Ha ha’ shrieked Roxy. ‘Sorry—I couldn’t resist! I love that bar, and there’s plenty of places there or in the cosy lift going up to the rooftop for a cheeky little snog. That’s so odd! And you’ve sent me quick pics of your outfits each time and you’ve looked hot. Are you sure he’s not gay?’
‘No—of course not!’ I said, surprised at the suggestion. Then I started to consider her comment. ‘Well, at least I don’t think so…’
‘For all you know, Soph, you could be his beard. Maybe he only gets full access to the Cromwell billions when he’s married and produces a child. You hear all about that kind of shit going on in those mega rich families.’
‘You’re crazy, Roxy!’ I scoffed.
‘Okay, maybe it was just in a film I watched ages ago where the guy had a month to find a wife or he lost his inheritance, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen in real life,’ suggested Roxy.
‘Although he did say his dad would be stepping down in a couple of years and he’d expect him to take over, I doubt that’s true in this case,’ I reasoned.
‘You never know, Soph,’ added Roxy, reviving her conspiracy theory. ‘Maybe he’s on borrowed time, needs a wife and thought, “If I hook up with a pauper, she’ll be so grateful to experience my ten-star champagne lifestyle that she’ll forget about all the sex stuff as she’ll be too busy shopping on Bond Street or Fifth Avenue”.’
‘That’s a bit far-fetched, Roxy, and Soph is hardly a pauper!’ added Bella.
‘And as you well know, I’ve had plenty of practice buying my own shit on Bond Street. Not interested anymore, thank you very much!’ I said.
‘Sorry, love, but even with your million-pound business and swanky Clapham townhouse, compared to him we’re all hard up. And frankly, the only way you’ll know whether he’s gay or not is if he can get it up when you’re standing there in front of him butt naked.’
‘Roxy!’ screamed Bella. ‘You’re more direct than a bloody high-speed train from London to Manchester!’
‘Just saying!’ Roxy said, letting out one of her raucous laughs. ‘Or, if that’s too X-rated for you at this stage and you want something more PG or perhaps 18, then you need to get snogging, let your hands wander and see whether he has something stiff in his trousers and is happy to see you, or if it’s limper than a dead fish down there. Then you’ll know.’
‘Fuck. Looks like I’m going to need to take the lead and make the first move yet again.’
‘Call me old-fashioned,’ said Bella, ‘but have you ever considered talking to him and trying to gauge how he feels? For example, do you know what happened with his last relationship or how long they went out for or why they broke up? I know it sounds weird, but do you think he’s even had sex before? Maybe he’s religious and doesn’t believe in sex before marriage or something.’
/> ‘What?’ I said, shocked at the mere suggestion. ‘He’s forty-two. Of course he’s had sex!’
‘Good point, Bella,’ said Roxy. ‘Soph, have you never watched the film The 40-Year-Old Virgin?’ asked Roxy.
‘Years ago, but come on. He’s handsome, loaded and sometimes he is forward and a bit flirty. Like he didn’t seem nervous about asking me out in the first place. He only seems to get nervous and bumbly when he’s talking about money stuff or work, as you get the sense he doesn’t want to flaunt it. I definitely don’t think he’s a virgin. Or gay for that matter.’
‘Well, then, like you said, Soph, once again you’ll need to take the lead and grab the bull by the horn, quite literally.’ She cackled again. ‘In all seriousness, though, Bella has a point. Speak to him, try and find out a bit more about him and his sex life.’ Bella and I frowned in unison. ‘Okay, okay, his past relationships. And if you’ve also turned up the flirting dial and all that doesn’t work, then when he goes for that ridiculous peck on the cheek that he probably gives his Aunty Mildred, turn your face so your lips meet and then go in for the kill. When are you seeing him again?’
‘He wants to meet for brunch tomorrow. Hence why I needed to see you guys tonight, because if I don’t get a snog or preferably more than that soon, I think I’m going to explode. Vincenzo left me feeling more sexually frustrated than ever, and there’s only so much DIY a girl can do!’ I added cheekily.
‘Sophia!’ shrieked Roxy before laughing. ‘And you guys think I’m crude! I am with you on that, though. When you’re having to charge your Rabbit more frequently than your mobile phone, you know you’re in trouble!’
‘Exactly!’ I shouted in agreement. ‘I’m absolutely gasping for some male contact, preferably for longer than ten seconds too. Like Bella said, Lorenzo awoke the lioness within me and not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve been dying for it ever since. It’s been sooo bloody long since my engine has had a proper service. If I leave it any longer, it might cease up completely!’
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