on.”
“You didn’t.”
“Really?”
“I promise.”
They sat drinking their tea. “By the way,” she said eventually, “your face is covered in soot.” She took a clean hand-kerchief from her jacket pocket and began wiping his face. “You look like a panda,” she giggled as some clean skin emerged around his eyes.
He told her not to worry and that he’d have a shower when he got to his friend Matt’s apartment. She told him to hang on to the hand-kerchief anyway.
“Actually, I think you might want to keep it,” he said.
She ran her hand over her cheek. “Oh, God,” she said, looking down at the black coating, “I’m going to turn up at the Ivy looking like one of those dancing chimney sweeps in Mary Poppins.”
“Yes, but on you it looks good,” he laughed.
Underneath the soot, she was blushing.
“Right,” she said, “I’d better get going.” She looked at her watch. It was just after nine-thirty. She had been due to meet Toby and his mother at the Ivy more than two hours ago. She assumed they had gone ahead with dinner without her and would still be there.
“Although I’m not sure the doorman at the Ivy is going to let me in looking like this.” Even if her face didn’t look too bad now, there was still the question of the massive patch of soot on her jacket. On top of that, her stockings, already grubby from the soaking she’d received earlier, were now full of holes.
“I’m sure they’ll let you in once you explain.”
“Hope so.” She held out a hand for him to shake. “Thanks again for keeping me sane,” she said.
“Anytime.” He smiled, taking her hand in his. “And good luck with the wedding.”
“Thanks.”
She headed down Long Acre. Her pace was brisk, occasionally breaking into a run. She was desperate to get to the restaurant before Toby and Lady Penelope left. She couldn’t run for very long, though. Her high heels made it impossible.
She’d gone a few hundred yards when it struck her that she knew virtually nothing about the man who had so skillfully prevented her from turning into a hysterical, carpet-chewing loon. She didn’t know his last name, what he did for a living or where he lived.
How rude of her to have said good-bye without at least getting his address so that she could send him a bottle of something to say thank you for his kindness.
By now she was a few yards from the restaurant. As she broke into a trot again, a memory of something she had said in the elevator came flooding back. She felt her face flush. While she was drunk, she’d told Dan about her relationship with Toby. She’d revealed details. Intimate, personal details. Her pace slowed to a walk as she remembered telling him how they hardly ever did it. Then the phrase trying to force jelly into a letter box leaped into her mind. Abby was horrified that she could have displayed such crassness, such lack of discretion, not to mention such disloyalty to Toby. Abby was so full of embarrassment that she could feel her pancreas turning scarlet.
“Omigod,” she heard herself blurt out, “a perfect stranger is au fait with my fiancé’s penis.” A couple of passing teenage girls, dressed up to the nines, heard the remark and burst into giggles. Suddenly her regret that she and Dan hadn’t exchanged addresses or phone numbers turned to immense gratitude. At least this way she wouldn’t have to face the humiliation of seeing him or speaking to him ever again.
ONCE ABBY HAD EXPLAINED about being trapped in the elevator, the restaurant doorman and maître d’ couldn’t have been kinder. The maître d’ directed her toward Toby’s table and said that a very large brandy—strictly on the house—was on its way. The last thing Abby felt like was more alcohol, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful by refusing.
Abby headed toward the table. The restaurant was packed, and a couple of times she had to stand to one side to let a frazzled, plate-laden waiter get past.
At first
“You didn’t.”
“Really?”
“I promise.”
They sat drinking their tea. “By the way,” she said eventually, “your face is covered in soot.” She took a clean hand-kerchief from her jacket pocket and began wiping his face. “You look like a panda,” she giggled as some clean skin emerged around his eyes.
He told her not to worry and that he’d have a shower when he got to his friend Matt’s apartment. She told him to hang on to the hand-kerchief anyway.
“Actually, I think you might want to keep it,” he said.
She ran her hand over her cheek. “Oh, God,” she said, looking down at the black coating, “I’m going to turn up at the Ivy looking like one of those dancing chimney sweeps in Mary Poppins.”
“Yes, but on you it looks good,” he laughed.
Underneath the soot, she was blushing.
“Right,” she said, “I’d better get going.” She looked at her watch. It was just after nine-thirty. She had been due to meet Toby and his mother at the Ivy more than two hours ago. She assumed they had gone ahead with dinner without her and would still be there.
“Although I’m not sure the doorman at the Ivy is going to let me in looking like this.” Even if her face didn’t look too bad now, there was still the question of the massive patch of soot on her jacket. On top of that, her stockings, already grubby from the soaking she’d received earlier, were now full of holes.
“I’m sure they’ll let you in once you explain.”
“Hope so.” She held out a hand for him to shake. “Thanks again for keeping me sane,” she said.
“Anytime.” He smiled, taking her hand in his. “And good luck with the wedding.”
“Thanks.”
She headed down Long Acre. Her pace was brisk, occasionally breaking into a run. She was desperate to get to the restaurant before Toby and Lady Penelope left. She couldn’t run for very long, though. Her high heels made it impossible.
She’d gone a few hundred yards when it struck her that she knew virtually nothing about the man who had so skillfully prevented her from turning into a hysterical, carpet-chewing loon. She didn’t know his last name, what he did for a living or where he lived.
How rude of her to have said good-bye without at least getting his address so that she could send him a bottle of something to say thank you for his kindness.
By now she was a few yards from the restaurant. As she broke into a trot again, a memory of something she had said in the elevator came flooding back. She felt her face flush. While she was drunk, she’d told Dan about her relationship with Toby. She’d revealed details. Intimate, personal details. Her pace slowed to a walk as she remembered telling him how they hardly ever did it. Then the phrase trying to force jelly into a letter box leaped into her mind. Abby was horrified that she could have displayed such crassness, such lack of discretion, not to mention such disloyalty to Toby. Abby was so full of embarrassment that she could feel her pancreas turning scarlet.
“Omigod,” she heard herself blurt out, “a perfect stranger is au fait with my fiancé’s penis.” A couple of passing teenage girls, dressed up to the nines, heard the remark and burst into giggles. Suddenly her regret that she and Dan hadn’t exchanged addresses or phone numbers turned to immense gratitude. At least this way she wouldn’t have to face the humiliation of seeing him or speaking to him ever again.
ONCE ABBY HAD EXPLAINED about being trapped in the elevator, the restaurant doorman and maître d’ couldn’t have been kinder. The maître d’ directed her toward Toby’s table and said that a very large brandy—strictly on the house—was on its way. The last thing Abby felt like was more alcohol, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful by refusing.
Abby headed toward the table. The restaurant was packed, and a couple of times she had to stand to one side to let a frazzled, plate-laden waiter get past.
At first
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