Marriage and Other Games Read Free Page B

at speed in the morning, then relax and enjoy some spa-style leisure time together in the evening. The double shower introduces the twin elements of convenience and decadence—’
     
    Ed put a large hand over the CAD drawing on the desk in front of them and looked into her eyes.
     
    ‘Stop.’
     
    She frowned at him anxiously. ‘You don’t like it? We can go for something more traditional. A roll-top—’
     
    ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a fucking bathroom. You’ve got the job, OK? Let’s go out for lunch.’
     
    For a second, Charlotte was tempted to take umbrage. No one had ever interrupted a pitch before. She stared at Ed. He was ignorant. Impatient. And rude, she decided. But there was something else about him. Something . . . quixotic? Impulsive, at the very least. And Charlotte loved people who acted on impulse. Not for her the careful, measured, cautious type. She was intrigued. He was looking at her, his eyes bright and urgent with challenge. He made her feel, in that moment, as if the end of the world was nigh and this was their last chance of happiness.
     
    Thus she had found herself following him to a table for two in Quaglino’s, where he had ordered a bottle of Billecart-Salmon and a plateau de fruits de mer. He barely spoke during the meal, just gazed at her as she devoured her way salaciously through the lobster and langoustines, aware that she was re-enacting every literary and filmic cliché as she licked the juices from her fingers. She was behaving both in and out of character - it was in Charlotte’s make-up to enjoy herself, but she never usually let the barriers down while she was working. Within half an hour, and definitely once the champagne had kicked in, she felt as if she had stepped over a line with Ed. She felt as if she could be herself. As if, in fact, they had been together for ever.
     
    The seafood devoured, they shared a chocolate fondue. He fed her strawberries and kiwi and bananas and marshmallows dipped in Valrhona chocolate. When she could eat no more, she sat back, glazed and sated and smiling.
     
    ‘It’s wonderful to sit with a girl who enjoys her food,’ he noted.
     
    ‘It’s one of life’s pleasures,’ replied Charlotte, wiping the last trace of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. Ed gazed at her, thinking of another of life’s pleasures. She crumpled her napkin and smiled at him sweetly. She had a strong suspicion what was coming next. There was no denying the current between them.
     
    To her astonishment, he didn’t hit on her, but found her a taxi and put her inside, waving his arm in farewell as it drove away from the kerb, then turning on his heel and walking away in the other direction. She craned her neck to watch him disappear out of sight. Her tummy felt funny, probably not surprising after seafood and champagne and melted chocolate. She felt rather deflated, then wondered if, when, he would phone. She dived in her bag and checked that her mobile was on, that there was a signal. She’d never done that before. She sat back in her seat, her mind whirring. No one had ever had this effect on her. For two pins she would have asked the taxi driver to turn round and find him, but her instincts told her to play it cool. He would be in touch. And anyway, she had the perfect excuse to call him, to follow up on her pitch. At which point she realised she had left her portfolio in his office - all the sketches, the samples and the costings. She chewed on her thumbnail and wondered whether to go back and fetch it in person, then decided she would send a bike. He’d probably just been bored, and had decided that going out for lunch was more interesting than listening to her twittering on about recessed lighting. Any illusions she had had about mutual attraction must have been courtesy of the champagne. By the time she got back to her office, she felt filled with gloom, telling Connor that the pitch had gone as well as could be