by Daisy James
‘Weren’t we supposed to be meeting you at the restaurant?’ asked Clara, rolling her eyes at Gabbie.
‘You were, but in case you haven’t noticed, that was forty minutes ago. We were starting to think we’d both been stood up.’
‘Ooops,’ laughed Clara, sliding down from her bar-stool and urging Gabbie to drink up.
Gabbie wasn’t stupid. She knew it was a thinly disguised attempt to encourage her to polish off a whole bottle of wine before she met her date. She knew Clara meant well, but she wanted to be in full possession of her faculties when she met the guy so she could decide for herself what kind of alcoholic assistance she needed to get her through the evening.
‘You look fantastic, Gabbie. The South of France obviously agrees with you.’
‘Thanks, Owen.’
Gabbie looked down at the cream-belted tea dress that had hung in her wardrobe in Grasse for two years awaiting a debut. She had twisted her hair into an elegant chignon, adorned with a couple of diamanté clips to hold back any escaping tendrils. She had even added a little mascara and a slash of nude lipstick. She had to admit she was nervous; butterflies flew amok in her stomach and she cursed Clara for the hundredth time for putting her through the ordeal, when she could have been watching a romcom and munching her way through a bag of toffee popcorn.
‘You look great too, Owen.’
Actually, he looked exactly the same as she remembered him, with an infectious smile, broad shoulders and a bump in his nose as testament to his chosen hobby. She had always thought he looked like one of her childhood teddy bears: curly, sand-coloured hair, kind, hazel eyes and a tendency to wrap everyone he met in a warm hug of welcome. He was usually one of the most laidback people she knew, comfortable in his own skin and happy to let Clara do most of the talking.
However, that evening, Gabbie detected a slight nervousness around the corners of Owen’s mouth and caught him raising his eyebrows at Clara when he thought she wasn’t looking. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his smart black trousers and he was incapable of standing still, like a toddler desperate for the bathroom but not wanting to miss any of the excitement.
Gabbie giggled. Owen seemed even more jumpy about the approaching date than she was. She allowed Clara to link her arm and guide her from the wine bar. Again, she caught the exchange of meaningful glances, this time Clara rolling her eyes at her boyfriend and adding a warning headshake. This should have given her a clue, but the wine and rampant nerves had dulled her senses.
‘Don’t want to keep our friend waiting, do we?’ smiled Clara.
As soon as Gabbie stepped into the restaurant and saw who her date was, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry – or remove her stilettos and make a run for it. A few awkward moments passed before she was able to connect her brain to her internal modem, during which time she knew she was giving a fabulous impersonation of a gobsmacked goldfish. She should have guessed really; all the clues were there.
‘Sorry, Gabbie,’ muttered Owen as he guided her towards their table and her date for the evening. ‘I warned Clara not to meddle, but I’m afraid once she has an idea in her head there’s no shifting her.’
‘It’s fine, Owen. Really.’
But it wasn’t fine. A firework of emotions had exploded in her chest and she struggled to catch her breath and remain calm. The man sitting at the table, his ankle casually draped over his thigh as he scrolled through his phone, was drop-dead gorgeous and wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Milan catwalk. Of course, she couldn’t blame Clara for thinking she was the queen of matchmakers, because, in any other situation, the person she had chosen to set her up with probably would have been her dream date. How was Clara to know about the attraction she felt when she hadn’t even admitted it to herself?
‘Good to see you again, Max,’ breezed Clara, oblivious to the sparks of electricity flying in all directions.
‘You too, Clara.’
Max turned to Gabbie and, before she could utter a word to explain and apologise for her friend’s interference, leaned forward to whisper in her ear, causing a spasm of pleasure to rush through her veins as his warm breath licked at her earlobe.
‘I’m so sorry, Gabbie. I had no idea, I assure you.’
‘Me neither,’ she whispered back, enjoying the helix of pleasure climbing through her body despite the caution being recommended by her brain.
Gabbie was suddenly ambushed by a fit of giggles at the surprising turn of events, especially when she saw the gleam of amusement in Max’s ebony eyes, and any remaining hint of awkwardness melted away. She took her seat next to him at the table and relaxed. She was here now and she intended to take full advantage of the opportunity to spend Saturday night with three people she was lucky enough to call friends. She also realised, with a surge of delight, that if Max had agreed to a blind date with one of Clara’s mystery friends, it meant there was no one called Scarlet, or anyone else for that matter, waiting for him at home, and that nudged her spirits up even further.
‘Okay, as this is a celebration of old and new friends coming together, I think a bottle of champagne is in order, don’t you?’ declared Owen, waving his hand in the air to attract the waiter’s attention, clearly relieved Max and Gabbie had taken the ‘not-so-blind’ date in their stride.
‘Mmm, perfect!’ agreed Clara, nodding enthusiastically.
Gabbie rolled her eyes at her friend, who simply gave her a beaming smile. She knew Clara was probably already planning what sort of hat to wear at their wedding and which gift to buy them for the christening of their first child.
The food, when it came, was delicious, and the conversation flowed freely, covering a wide variety of subjects, from the new branch of Owen’s veterinary practice, which was encountering numerous planning problems, to the merits of classic cars over electric cars, to the quirks of the French perfume industry and the riotous exploits of Owen’s rugby friends when they went on a stag weekend to Barcelona.
‘So, how’s the job search coming along, Gabbie?’ asked Owen, munching on a celery stick laced with homemade hummus and topped with pomegranate seeds.
‘Not brilliantly, I admit. I don’t want to go back to France, I’ve decided that at least. Now I’m home, I realise how much I missed everyone while I was away.’ A lump appeared in her throat as she leaned forward to squeeze Clara’s hand. ‘What I’d really like to do is find a job in a perfume boutique where I can use my expertise to create bespoke perfumes for people, to design that dream fragrance for special occasions like their engagement party or wedding day, or remind them of a particular childhood memory. Unfortunately, there aren’t many of those kinds of positions available in Oakley, so it’ll have to be London.’
‘Why don’t you start your own business? Go freelance?’
‘I’d love to do that, but there’s just the small issue of start-up capital. Anyway, I don’t think I’m quite ready to do that yet. I’ve only really worked in the research and development part of the perfume business, so I’d like to gain a bit more experience of the retail side first, learn about stock supply, advertising and targeted marketing at a small or medium-sized cosmetics company before branching out on my own.’
‘Don’t you think you already have those skills?’ asked Max, sipping his beer thoughtfully.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you might not realise it, but you’ve been learning how to run a business all your life. It doesn’t matter whether it’s brake pads or lavender oil, the rules are the same. You need to know your product inside out and, from what I’ve seen, you don’t just understand fragrance but have an instinctive flair for what your customer needs, which is priceless. Don’t worry about the sales stuff, Gabbie. You just need to believe in yourself and go for it.’
‘Really?’
‘If it’s your dream, why not? What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘I agree with Max,’ said Clara. ‘You are an amazing perfumer – just look at the pleasure you’ve a
lready created since you got back home. Andrea never stops singing your praises, Jacob is convinced he’s met a real-life Hermione Granger, and Max, doesn’t the garage smell much more inviting too?’
‘Well, I’m not sure car-repair shops should be top of Gabbie’s potential customer list!’
‘All I’m saying is, there’s a market out there for an extra dose of happiness. And if it means you get to stay in Oakley instead of relocating to the buzzing, burgeoning metropolis of London, then so much the better. Will you think about it, Gabbie?’
‘Definitely!’
Could she really do it? Max had certainly planted the seed and there was nothing stopping her from at least exploring the possibility – if she could get over her reluctance to return to the sanctuary she had created with her mother. But, this way, maybe something good could come from her sorrow – wouldn’t that be a fitting tribute to her mother’s memory? And going freelance would have the additional benefit of letting her keep an eye on her father, as well as the declining fortunes of the garage – perhaps she could even make a bit of money to tide them over until he could persuade the bank to give them a loan?
By the time their desserts arrived, the combination of excellent food, inspiring encouragement and chilled Pinot Grigio had produced a mellow sensation of wellbeing in Gabbie. She was thoroughly enjoying her blind date, totally at ease in Max’s company, and she didn’t want the evening to end. She had seen a different side to him that night and, from the glances he had been sending her whenever Clara tried to steer the conversation round to romantic matters and the possibility of another date, hoped he felt the same way.
While they waited for coffee to arrive, Clara diplomatically excused herself from the table, motioning for Owen to follow her. He rolled his eyes – it was obvious Clara was still clutching her matchmaking crown.
‘I’ve had a great time, Max. I’m so glad it was you Clara chose as my blind date.’
‘The evening isn’t over yet!’
Max met her gaze and Gabbie’s stomach performed a somersault of desire. Maybe her rule of three-dates-before-rushing-for-the-hills could be revisited, because, according to her calculations, if she counted their visits to the lake, this was their third ‘date’ and there was something that continued to draw her to Max like a piece of stretched elastic.
For several moments, time seemed to stand still. The swirl of muted conversation in the restaurant seemed to recede into a mirage until there was just the two of them, attraction zinging in the space between them. Gabbie moved forward until her lips were inches from Max’s, her heart pounding out a cacophony of anticipation that turned into a sonata of pleasure when at last they kissed.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday dawned fresh and bright. The church’s bells rang out a jolly welcome, but when Gabbie looked out of her bedroom window, huge, bulbous clouds hung over its spire, their bruised underbellies threatening a deluge. Orange and yellow leaves dotted the village green, signalling the fact that autumn had well and truly arrived.
Gabbie contemplated the possibility of staying in bed to relive every delicious moment of the previous night – and to prolong the exquisitely intimate dream she had enjoyed starring Max in the central role. It was Sunday after all; the garage was closed, she had tidied every room in the house, dealt with the accounts as far as she could, and the flowerbeds were looking as neat as they had when her mum had been in charge of the gardening. However, she had never been one to wallow, preferring action to contemplation, and she really needed to pin her father down to talk about the business.
She jumped into the shower, towel-dried her hair and twisted it into a high ponytail. Selecting a pair of dark-blue jeans and a sunflower-yellow sweater that matched her mood, she added a little blusher to her cheeks, a generous spray of her signature perfume, and she was ready to face the world head-on. She made it as far as the bedroom door, paused, then skipped back for her lipstick. A girl couldn’t get through the day without a dash of lippy, whatever destiny had in store!
‘Hey, Gabbie? You awake yet? There’s scrambled egg on toast if you come down to the kitchen now!’
She grinned, relieved her father had taken so quickly to his more health-conscious diet, and galloped down the stairs to claim her breakfast
‘Hi, Dad. How was your trip to Bickleigh yesterday?’
‘Great. I bought the bow and a set of new arrows, too. Can’t wait to try them out this afternoon at the club.’
‘What shoot are you doing?’
‘It’s a Vegas – so that should put the bow through its paces!’
Gabbie smiled at the person she loved most in the world. His eyes sparkled at the excitement of owning a new bow, regardless of the fact that he and Mike probably had at least a dozen between them. She didn’t want to rain on his parade, but she knew there was no better time to broach the subject that had become a massive elephant in the kitchen. She swallowed her last bite of toast, took a fortifying sip of her coffee and turned to face him.
‘Dad, we need to talk.’
Jeff’s eyes dropped to his mug and he exhaled a long sigh of resignation.
‘I know we do, sweetheart,’ her father said, offering her a weak smile. ‘And I owe you an apology because I have been avoiding you. I know you’ve finished going through the books. I’ve seen the worry on your face and I’m upset I caused that.’
‘You haven’t caused it, Dad.’
‘It’s my fault I let the accounts slide, but the paperwork was always your mum’s arena – she did an amazing job over the years. I just couldn’t face…’ Jeff gulped down on the surge of emotions, struggling to catch his breath.
‘Dad…’
‘No, let me finish. I should have realised how bad things were getting and paid for some professional help. I should have found a bookkeeper and left everything in their capable hands instead of soldiering on. Now look what’s happened. The bank refused to extend the overdraft and when I eventually got an appointment to see their business advisor, she said she couldn’t agree to a loan until she’d seen the accounts – which, as you know, were in no fit state, so, well… Oh God, Gabbie, what if I lose the garage? What will happen to Max and Wil?’
Gabbie’s heart softened – it was typical of her father to think about other people before himself. No matter that the business which had been in the family for three generations was teetering on the verge of liquidation, what about its employees? For a moment she was overwhelmed with love for the man opposite her, his face creased with trepidation, and she resolved there and then to do whatever she could to come up with a strategy for rescuing the situation before it was too late.
‘Dad, you have to let me come with you to the bank at the end of the month. I’ve managed to identify what the problem is. There are three rather sizeable outstanding invoices, but I don’t understand why we can’t pay them and I need more time to get to the bottom of it. If we can just get the bank to agree to a short-term loan to cover these, I think we might be able to work things through.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Now, don’t worry.’
‘I’m so lucky to have you, Gabbie. I love you, you know that, don’t you? I might not tell you as often as I should, but I’m so grateful you decided to come home when you did. Now, enough of my woes. Let’s talk about you. First of all, I want to know what happened last night? How was your blind date?’
‘Well, you’re never going to believe this,’ laughed Gabbie, before going on to explain who Clara had set her up with and what an amazing time they’d had, but leaving out the epilogue, which had involved a very enjoyable goodnight kiss.
Jeff laughed, his eyes twinkling.
‘Always did say Clara knew you better than you know yourself! I’m delighted to see you’re back on the dating horse, darling. Max is a decent guy and you could do a lot worse. He’s honest, hard-working and an amazingly intuitive mechanic – in fact, he has the same affinity with engines as you and Sofia with fragrances, and he’s ju
st as passionate. And what about the job hunt? How’s that going?’
Before she had tumbled into the oblivion of sleep the previous night, she had decided to wait until the next morning to see if her sensible side trampled over her fledgling dreams. If she did take the plunge and go freelance, she knew her father would be right behind her, urging her onwards and upwards.
‘I’m actually toying with the idea of starting my own perfume business, Dad. What do you think? I’ll start small, maybe just use the essential oils in the summerhouse to start with, and expand as I build my reputation and client base. That way I’ll be able to stay here in Oakley and contribute to the garage finances – it won’t be much, but it might be enough.’
‘Gabbie, what’s going on at the garage isn’t your problem. It’s up to me to sort…’
‘Hello? Is anyone home?’
‘Hi, Mike, come on in, the door’s open,’ called Jeff.
‘Morning, Gabbie. Did your dad tell you about his new bow?’
‘He did – and the new set of arrows!’
‘Yeah, the problem is we can resist anything except temptation! Say, why don’t you come along to the centre this afternoon and watch the shoot? It’s a Vegas, which should be fun.’
Gabbie smiled at her father’s best friend, who had walked by his side through good times and dreadful times, their friendship carrying him through the darkest hours. Mike and his wife, Helen, always invited her father along to everything they did, which had kept him going on the days when things were especially tough: anniversaries, birthdays, Christmas.
‘You know what? I’d like that.’
‘Great.’
Mike eased himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table with a grunt of discomfort.
‘What’s up?’ asked Jeff.
Mike cast a quick glance at Gabbie before saying, ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘Sure it is. Looks like you’re in a bit of pain?’
Mike sighed and shuffled around in his seat to get more comfortable. ‘I think I might have overdone it with the curry last night. Shouldn’t have had that beef Madras, always plays havoc with my stomach. Should have stuck with the chicken korma.’
