‘Thank you. And it’s just a date. I’m not eloping with him or anything.’
‘Yet, eh?’ He made a sound like a laugh, which was instantly at odds with his grave expression. ‘Just be careful, lass. You deserve the best.’
Jonah’s tacit acceptance of the situation both comforted and confused Anna as she prepared for her evening with Ben. He hadn’t really elaborated on his reasons for disliking the journalist, but it was obvious Jonah didn’t trust him. How was it possible for him to reach such a conclusion based on a single, brief meeting? She had never seen him make a snap judgement about anyone before, preferring the wait-and-see approach to most things in his life. He was apparently famous for it in his family, his own mother describing him as being ‘so laid-back you’re in the middle of last week’.
Anna knew she was far from being objective on the subject. Coming from a tiny village where instant opinion was the main currency, she had learned how divisive that could be; and having a mother whose behaviour invited such judgement had made her avoid it at all costs in her own life. Jonah didn’t say he thought Anna was mistaken in Ben, but had been noticeably quieter during lunch and their journey home. For Anna, this felt more damning than the loud, uninvited opinions directed at her in her youth, as her mother went increasingly off the rails:
She’s a mess, your mother. You should be ashamed of her . . .
Senara Browne is a waste of good air . . .
I pity you, girl. What hope is there for you?
Accusing eyes in the street. Undisguised discussions behind her back in the post-office queue. Reported indiscretions repeated to her face. Year after year of judgement and criticism, while Anna did her best to rise above and shield her brother from it all. The worst thing was that deep down she had agreed with every comment. Senara was a nightmare, less of a mother than their next-door neighbour who sometimes left mercy parcels on the family’s doorstep. When Anna left the family home, the relief at being released from it all was stronger than any emotion she had known. It was the reason for her quiet life in London, for blending into the blessed anonymity of the city and her firm belief in finding the good in people.
Jonah could think what he liked: in Ben, Anna saw a man who could be trusted – and she was looking forward to getting to know him more.
At eight o’clock Anna stepped out of the black cab at the address Ben had given. She looked up at the elegant Georgian townhouse lit by white floodlights and breathed in the midsummer night air. Set in a leafy suburb of the city overlooking the Thames, the restaurant within the building had been recommended by the Daily Messenger’s food-and-wine writer, according to Ben. Anna wasn’t certain whether this meant her date had told everyone they were going out, but tonight she didn’t care. No doubt she would discover on Monday morning how many people at work knew.
A waiter led her through the restaurant, with its pale wooden chairs and tables, white tablecloths and Wedgwood blue walls, on through an open set of French doors to a river terrace. Bright paper lanterns suspended overhead cast a magical glow across the candlelit outdoor tables, as the smooth notes of a jazz quartet drifted up from the lawn beyond. Couples at the tables sat close, heads inclined towards each other, lost in the understated romance of the setting. It was perfect – and in the centre of it all was Ben. He stood as she approached, a quick readjustment of his jacket the only indication that he might be as nervous as Anna felt.
‘Hi.’ His eyes made an appreciative sweep of her. ‘You look amazing.’
The waiter left and Ben leaned in to kiss Anna’s cheek. Feeling a blush rise to where his lips had brushed, she sat down and let her gaze drift across the lantern-framed lawn to the inky blackness of the river. ‘This place is gorgeous.’
‘Miles said we’d like it. He was very interested to know who I was bringing here. Of course I was the perfect gentleman.’
Anna smiled. For tonight, at least, she could enjoy Ben’s company without the scrutiny of others. He seemed more relaxed here than in the city centre, his hair a little less styled and his shirt collar open. The light from the candle in the centre of the table framed the contours of his face and danced in his eyes. His warm laughter and eager talk betrayed a hint of nerves, which was impossibly endearing – and Anna was drawn to him in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be before. Here she felt sure of herself, able to talk and flirt a little, confident of his acceptance. She had often wondered what a night out with Ben would be like; this evening surpassed any of her imaginings.
‘If only people at the Messenger could see us now,’ he smiled, as they finished eating. ‘The news would be all over London in seconds.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Just checking we haven’t been tailed here by Ted. Knowing his security connections, I suspect he has eyes everywhere.’
‘He’ll be furious when he discovers I met you without telling him.’
‘He’ll survive.’ Ben took a sip of wine, his eyes smiling. ‘Would you mind if he knew?’
‘Not at all.’ Her voice was light and carefree – and Anna loved the new sound of it. ‘I don’t care who does.’
‘Are you glad you came?’
‘I am, thank you.’
‘I hoped you would be.’ His fingers gently met hers, the easy touch a gift in the warm summer air. ‘You’re lovely, Anna. I’ve thought so for a long time. But I wanted to wait for the right moment to say it.’
‘I think you’re lovely, too . . .’ Her breath stopped as he raised her hand to his lips and planted a gentle kiss on her fingers.
The jazz quartet on the lawn began to play ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’. Anna closed her eyes and tried to capture this moment in her mind. It was as close to perfect as it was possible to be and she longed to exist forever only here and now. The certainty of Ben’s affection for her was a wonderful gift and made the midsummer night sparkle with possibility she’d never dared to consider.
‘Would you like to dance?’ He laughed at his own question. ‘That sounds like the worst line from a film – I’m sorry.’
‘I’d love to.’ Anna rose from her chair. ‘It would be a shame to waste a good band.’
Ben took her hand and they walked down the terrace steps to the makeshift dance floor marked out by a square of star-shaped paper lanterns suspended over the lawn. Anna had never danced like this with anyone before – far removed from the awkward shuffles of clubs and parties she’d shared with previous dates. In Ben’s arms she felt safe and, when he lowered his head to kiss her, she accepted as easily as breathing. The restaurant, the river and the diners floated away as they kissed, music softly embracing them as their bodies moved in time. She was aware of the long grass brushing against the midnight-blue velvet of her shoes – and when their kiss ended, her gaze dropped to the shimmering stars at her feet.
Did the person who sent the shoes know this night would happen? The glow of the city blocked any view of celestial bodies, but the star lanterns around them swung gently in the breeze – A gift to dance under the stars in . . .
Laughing, they made their way back to their table, hand-in-hand. Happiness coursed through Anna and she was struck by a desire to share everything with Ben.
‘I had another parcel,’ she confessed.
‘You did? When?’
‘Last week. I didn’t tell anyone because . . .’ She paused, realising an excuse wasn’t necessary. It was her gift and her decision. ‘Well, I didn’t want to.’
‘Can I ask what was in it?’
She pointed to her shoes. ‘These.’
‘Lovely! But how did they know your size?’
‘I have no idea. But I don’t care. They’re gorgeous and I adore them.’
‘Do you want to know who sent them? I mean, are you curious?’
‘Of course I am. But whoever sent them doesn’t seem interested in telling me who they are. I never had a reply to my email.’
Ben’s eyes widened. ‘Email?’
She had said too much not to explain. As she had broken her promi
se not to tell Ben any more than the basic details of the parcels, she might as well share it all now. ‘The sixth parcel had an old record and directions to a vintage shop in Notting Hill. The owner showed me the email from the person who arranged it, and I sent a message to that address. But they never replied.’
‘I didn’t know you’d tried to make contact . . . How do you feel about them ignoring you?’
‘They aren’t ignoring me – they’ve sent two more parcels after my email, so they can’t have been offended. I don’t understand their reason for remaining anonymous, but I have to respect it, I guess.’
‘What did the email say – if you don’t mind me asking?’
Anna shrugged. ‘I thanked them and suggested I’d like to say it in person, but said I would respect their wishes if they didn’t want that to happen.’
He sat back as the waiter returned with coffee. When the waiter left, Ben looked at Anna, his expression still. ‘What would you say to the sender if they were here with you, now?’
Anna’s heart began to beat faster. ‘Ben, are you saying . . . ?’
His voice was low, insistent. ‘What would you say?’
She kept her eyes on his, feeling the warmth of his skin as their fingers locked together. ‘I’d say thank you, again. I’d tell him that the gifts have changed the way I see myself, the way I see the world. He couldn’t know what some of them meant to me, but they have brought back memories I thought were lost and people I’ve missed.’
Was Ben the sender after all? Anna couldn’t tell from the way he looked at her, but why else ask the question and be so intent on receiving her answer? ‘And I’d tell him that I don’t want him to be anonymous any longer . . .’
‘Great.’ Without warning, Ben’s hand left hers and he stirred a spoonful of brown sugar into his coffee. ‘I think that’s great, Anna. I mean, if you get the chance to say that to him, I bet he’d be over the moon. So, what’s the plan now?’
Confused, Anna stared at him. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Are you going to try to contact the sender again?’
‘I tried already. Were you listening to me?’
‘Of course I was.’ Misreading her confusion as embarrassment, he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘The sender clearly has a good reason for not revealing their identity right now. Maybe more needs to happen before they do. But I think you shouldn’t give up hope of finding out. Have you told anyone else about this – anyone at work?’
Pushing her reservations away, Anna looked down at her coffee cup. ‘Ted, Sheniece and Ashraf know about the first six parcels. Murray Henderson-Vitt and Rea Sinfield have asked me a couple of questions. But only Jonah knew about the email. Anyway, can we talk about something else?’ She was confused by Ben’s about-turn. Was he confessing? Asking her to wait a little longer before he told her? Or had she read too much into his reply? Feeling hemmed in by the bank of unanswerable questions, she forced them away. She wanted to return to the simple pleasure of Ben’s company. Of that, she could be certain tonight.
‘I’m sorry, blame the journalistic instinct. Forget I mentioned it. What I really want to know is: would you like to do this again, sometime soon?’
This was the easiest question of the night to answer. ‘I’d love to.’
They shared a taxi home, stealing kisses as they snuggled together. It was more than Anna could have anticipated, but as natural as if they had always been this close. When the cab pulled up outside Walton Tower, Anna turned to Ben. There was so much more she wanted to say and she was surprised to find herself considering asking him to join her. But before she asked, Ben kissed her.
It was a beautiful kiss, soft and tender, promising more. Anna let herself get lost in the loveliness of it.
When they pulled apart, Ben’s fingers remained locked with hers, as if he didn’t want to let her go. ‘Thank you for tonight. It’s been fantastic. So, I’ll see you in F & G’s on Monday?’
‘You will.’ Anna kissed him again, delighted by how easy it felt to make the first move and loving the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips as they brushed his cheek. Audaciously, she dared to think of what might follow soon . . . ‘Goodnight.’
She hardly noticed the judders of the lift as it rose to her floor and she was at her front door before she’d even realised she’d been walking along the corridor. It was as if her velvet-clad feet were still dancing on pockets of air, her heart still pressed against Ben’s under a canopy of swinging stars. She felt alive, as if energy was fizzing and coursing through her veins – and at that moment she had no other cares in the world. All she could see was Ben McAra and the promise of many more nights like this one. The shoes that had carried her to his side now spun her around the room as she giggled and danced and wished for the night to be endless. It had to end, of course: Sunday would bring time to reflect, while Monday morning would bring a return to work and the analysis that always follows a wonderful experience. Ben’s strange questions, and the possibility that he was her mystery benefactor, still skulked in the shadows of her consciousness. But they could wait – it could all wait.
For now, Anna Browne was happy. And that was all she cared about.
Thirty-Five
‘I knew it!’
Ted Blaskiewicz was not impressed. He was sore that he’d only learned of Anna’s date after the event, but his main bone of contention appeared to be that Ashraf had blurted it out over coffee that morning. ‘Why wasn’t I informed of this?’
‘Because it’s none of your business?’ Sheniece shot back, clearly happy that she’d been party to the news before the chief of security. ‘Anna doesn’t have to tell you everything, Ted.’
‘She told you. And Ashraf. Apparently everyone who didn’t need to know first, unlike me. The point is, I should know as a matter of urgency if it could affect the security of this building,’ he blustered. ‘It could have . . . ramifications.’
‘How, exactly? They met outside of work. So your pokey old nose can stay out of it.’
Anna found their verbal battle amusing. The memory of Saturday night still burned brightly within her and her colleagues’ war couldn’t extinguish it. ‘I had a lovely evening, Ted. Thanks for asking.’
Ted folded his arms. ‘And are you planning on doing it again, girl?’
‘Maybe.’ Her comment had its desired effect on the rotund security guard, whose expression simmered with beetroot rage.
‘Impossible, the lot of you,’ he stormed, huffing away to his room.
‘Was it amazing?’ Sheniece was eager to know every detail. ‘I heard you went to Riverside One. My mate knows someone who works there, and they said celebrities turn up to eat there all the time. Peter Andre, the love-rat from Made in Chelsea and that woman from Geordie Shore were spotted just last month, apparently.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Maybe if this place goes under I should go for a job there. You never know who I might bump into . . .’
While Sheniece drifted away to her own reality-TV fantasy, Anna sorted passes for the next expected visitors. ‘I didn’t see anyone famous, if that’s what you want to know, but the food was fantastic.’
‘So, did he stay the night?’
Even for the liberal-minded junior receptionist, this was direct. Anna stared at her colleague. ‘I can’t believe you asked me that!’
‘That’s a yes then.’ Rea Sinfield – summoned no doubt by the gossip searing through the building – grinned as she joined them. ‘You should see McAra this morning. Typing like a demon with a great big, dopey smile on his face.’
‘Not that either of you deserves an answer, but no, actually. He was the perfect gentleman.’
‘Oh, bore off. Trust Ben McAra to change the habits of a lifetime just when things were getting interesting.’ Scandal denied her, Sheniece headed for the kitchen.
Rea leaned closer. ‘Have you seen Ben yet this morning?’
‘We had coffee before work, but he was in a hurry so we didn’t stay long. Why?’
‘I’ve bee
n watching him upstairs. He looks really happy, Anna. And now I see you do, too.’ Checking that they were alone, Rea lowered her voice. ‘Don’t tell anyone but . . . I was hoping you two would get together.’
‘You were?’ The journalist’s sudden confession surprised Anna.
‘We’re not all cynics in the newsroom, you know. I’ve seen far too many sordid office flings lately. It makes a nice change to see the real thing happen for someone. Makes me believe it’s possible.’
‘Anything is possible.’ But before our date I couldn’t have known how wonderful it would be, Anna added to herself, her heart growing warm at the thought.
‘I was beginning to think that wasn’t true.’ Sadness passed across Rea’s eyes. ‘Everyone has an agenda in this city. Especially in the media. You take my advice, Anna: if this is the real thing, hang on to it and never let go.’
News of Anna and Ben’s date surged through the Messenger building, bringing people Anna had barely shared two words with before down to reception. Each arrived armed with a threadbare excuse: visitors that mysteriously hadn’t shown for appointments; water-cooler bottles that needed replacing immediately; enquiries after expected parcels not yet delivered. Anna calmly and politely answered them, knowing that a question about Ben would surely follow. In return, she heard more reports of his good mood and increased focus, all of which were assumed to be down to her influence.
‘He’s spent the whole morning at his desk. McAra never does that . . .’
‘I heard him humming to himself . . .’
‘He’s like a different man, Anna. What did you do to him on Saturday night?’
She wondered if the reporters, picture editors and interns who visited her would return to Ben with similar tales of Anna. Did she look different? Were her answers more confident than before? On the inside she felt as if a spotlight had been pointed at her and a raised stage planted beneath her feet. As her visitors kept arriving and the questions continued, she drifted back to the gorgeous memory of Ben’s hand holding hers, of their kisses that she’d never wanted to end.
A Parcel for Anna Browne Page 23
