Her retreat was as hasty as her stiletto heels would allow. A few short feet to the foyer and she would be free with her secret safe.
She collided with a man entering the dining room, whose arms grasped her in an attempt to keep them both from falling. Glancing up with an apology, she felt the words die on her lips.
"We meet again." Christopher Stanley's lips curled into a smile that seemed almost charming. It must be the atmosphere that made her think such things after this afternoon's encounter.
"I was ... if you'll release me, I have a phone call to make," she answered, coldly. He released her arms and gestured towards the lobby.
"Be my guest," he said. She slipped past him quickly.
"Who is your dining companion tonight?" he called after her.
She hesitated, reproaching herself for this pause on the threshold of escape. Why on earth would you answer his question? Shifting her weight impatiently, she wished for a magical excuse that would let her vanish and reappear at home.
"I was intending to meet someone, but they had an urgent reason to cancel," she answered, turning to face him lest he assume she was eager to flee. "I was going to call a friend to meet me here instead."
Liar, liar, she mentally chided herself. It would have been better to tell him she changed her mind about dining altogether. Then she could hail a cab and figure out a way to rescue Henry from his predicament at the bar.
"In one of those extraordinary coincidences, my date has cancelled for the evening also." He studied her intently, with a little smile which Miss Darcy couldn't quite fathom. "Suppose we combine our tables for the evening. That way your friend isn't forced into a last-minute dash–and I'm not forced to dine alone."
"Well, I ... I haven't really ... I don't think ..." Every sentence she began trailed off on its own. She faltered, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her bag as if it contained her nerves. "That would be perfectly fine with me," she continued.
How had those words escaped from her mouth? Her eyes widened slightly at the realization of what she'd just agreed to, as if volunteering to fling herself into the London Zoo's lion pen for dinner.
"Then allow me," he said, offering her his arm. Her story about the phone call would never do as an escape. With a weak smile, she allowed him to escort her into the main dining room.
Mr. Stanley's regular table at Rosing's was a semi-circular booth of crushed red velvet and a marble table. As Miss Darcy slid into her seat, she was afforded a very uncomfortable view of Henry alone at the bar.
A shot of pity stabbed through her. Whatever made her think her secret was worth the torture of a good friend stood up at a swanky bar? Henry, whose lovelorn status was no secret to every member of the Morning Post staff.
Almost reflexively, she pictured his shock if she had been the one sitting at the bar with the pink rose. What would he think if he found out she was the client of a dating agency? Even if he were sympathetic to her secret, it was doubtful if he would respect her romantic opinions ever again.
"Are you quite all right?" The sound of Stanley's voice jerked her back to the present.
"Perfectly," she answered. "Perhaps you've never had your mind on your work so intently, Mr. Stanley, but I'm afraid an advice columnist sees material virtually everywhere they look." She flipped open the menu the waiter placed in front of her.
"They see the opportunity to share their opinion at every occasion also," he answered.
A saccharin little smile from Miss Darcy was all that met these words. To her surprise, a short laugh escaped his throat.
"There, I did it again," he said. "Bringing up our feud when we're supposed to be making pleasant conversation." His menu was open to the most expensive items; she couldn't help but notice how casually he glanced over prices that rivaled her flat's weekly rent.
"Do you like shrimp?" he asked.
"Love them," she answered, forcing a pleasant smile. Over his shoulder, she could see Henry picking through the bowl of nuts forlornly. No doubt in search of cashews, of which he kept a full can stashed on his mail cart at all times.
"I‘ll be back in a moment," she said. "I really must make a phone call." Rising from the table, she made her way towards the entrance. Glancing back to make sure Stanley wasn't watching, she ducked behind one of the velvet-draped partitions.
She pulled a pad from her purse and scribbled a note on it. Apologies from your date– she was detained tonight and won't be able to make it. Doing her best to disguise her handwriting, she made certain Henry wouldn't be able to recognize the writer. She folded it in half and flagged down a passing waiter.
"Give this to the gentleman in the tan suit at the bar," she whispered. "Tell him it's a telephone message from the person he's meeting." She dug a few bills from her purse and pressed them into the waiter's palm along with the note.
"I assume you do not wish to be pointed out to the gentleman?" asked the waiter, glancing in Henry's direction. She shook her head.
"Just say it's a telephone message, please." Closing her eyes, she listened to the sound of his soft tread dying away on the carpet. Five minutes should do it–maybe ten–before she could safely return to her seat. By then, Henry would surely go home. Tomorrow they would see each other at the office and everything would be the same as always.
Except for her guilt over leaving a good friend stranded on a blind date, all for the sake of keeping a secret from her closest friends. Perhaps even the general horror of being stuck with her current dinner partner wasn’t punishment enough for this sin.
The First Book in an All-New Inspirational Romance Series from Author Laura Briggs!
Late to the Wedding Page 13
