‘I think it does.’ Nell extracted the pen and handed it back to him, very much on her dignity. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Smith.’

If she’d hoped to disconcert him, she failed miserably. P.J. only grinned and twirled the pen between his fingers as he stood back to let her past, her briefcase clutched defensively to her chest.

‘I’ll see you later then, after all,’ he said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘HE MADE me look an absolute fool,’ Nell stormed, slamming the lid onto the kettle and banging it back onto its element.

‘I don’t see how,’ said Thea, who was babysitting Clara and had heard all about the meeting over their first cup of tea. ‘It wasn’t P.J.’s fault that you stubbed your toe, or that your pen ran out, was it?’

It had felt like his fault, Nell thought darkly, but she didn’t know how to explain that to Thea.

‘And he only insisted that we go to that stupid reception tonight because he knew I had a date,’ she went on, opting to ignore her sister’s reasonable comments.

Thea reached for another biscuit. ‘He’s obviously keen to see you again,’ she said with satisfaction.

‘Well, I’m not keen to see him! If Janey asks you for my number, I utterly forbid you to give it to her!’

‘He won’t need your number,’ Thea pointed out through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘He knows where you work now.’

That was true. Nell dropped down into a chair with a gusty sigh. ‘There’ll be fat chance of getting my calls screened either. Eve would make me marry P.J. if she thought it would get her a long-term contract with Sygma!’

‘Well, you could do worse,’ her sister said thoughtfully, and Nell glowered at her.

‘Make up your mind! I thought I was supposed to be falling for this guy I’m meeting tonight?’

‘You know, I really do think you might,’ said Thea with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Still, there’s no harm in having P.J. as a fall-back position, is there?’

‘I think you should get back together with P.J.,’ said Clara, leaning over Nell’s shoulder to pinch another biscuit from the tin. ‘I thought he was really nice.’

‘You hardly met him,’ objected Nell. Why was everyone so determined to push her into P.J.’s arms?

‘He had smiley eyes,’ Clara said simply.

He did have nice eyes. Nell couldn’t dispute that. Their warmth and humour was very hard to resist, and she wasn’t that surprised that her daughter had fallen for their charm, too.

‘I could tell he was pleased to see you, too, Mum,’ Clara went on. ‘Why were you so unfriendly to him?’

Good question. Nell couldn’t explain to Clara that P.J. was much more than a charming smile and an engaging manner. If that was all there was to him, there would be no problem. She would just be able to think of him as an old friend and a nice man, the way everyone else seemed to do.

But old friends didn’t make you churn with desire, did they? They didn’t set your nerves a-jangle, or make you feel restless and breathless with something that was more fear than pleasure, as if the earth had shifted beneath your feet and sent your life and everything you thought you were, everything you thought you wanted, spinning out of your control?

Steeling herself against the way P.J. made her feel was the only way Nell could keep a grip on reality, but how could she explain that to Clara?

‘I was just a bit…thrown,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s an odd feeling coming face to face with your past without warning like that.’

Nell wanted to go back to the way she had been yesterday. Yes, it had been lonely sometimes, but she had Clara, who made everything worthwhile. So life wasn’t very exciting? At least it was safe, and she was content. Surely that was better than this twitchy, jittery, scarily alive feeling she had had ever since P.J. had crashed back into her life that morning?

‘You’re supposed to be thinking about the future, not the past,’ said Thea, who had been watching her sister’s face. Draining her tea, she got to her feet and brushed the biscuit crumbs from her fingers in a determined manner. ‘Let’s go and make you beautiful for John.’

Between them, Thea and Clara bullied Nell into putting on the dress she had bought in a burst of extravagance to celebrate Thea’s wedding the previous Christmas. At first glance it seemed quite plain, just a dress that clung to her figure and whose smoky grey echoed her eyes, but there was a sheen to the material that added a subtle glamour to the subdued colour, and the effect was softened by the chiffon sleeves and overskirt that fluttered and floated as she moved.

Something about the fabric and the cut made Nell feel wonderful whenever she put it on. Even now, when she was churning with anxiety, she was conscious of a frisson of pleasure as the soft material shimmered around her.

Maybe Thea was right. She should be thinking about the future, not the past. Her life was too small at the moment. There seemed no room for anything except Clara and work. No wonder P.J.’s reappearance had had such an effect on her, Nell thought ruefully. He had made her realise just how limited her life had become. If she had been involved in another relationship, she wouldn’t be this unsettled by him.

Well, that could change. She would make an effort tonight. This John might be just what she needed, Nell told herself. He might be nice. Thea liked him, which was a good sign, but it was hard to imagine him at the moment. Whenever she tried to conjure up a possible picture, all she could see was P.J. smiling at her.

She pushed the image aside once more and concentrated fiercely on imagining a future with a man she loved. Maybe in years to come, she and John would look back on this evening as the first night they met, and they would remember the bar, and how they had felt and this dress…

‘You don’t think it’s too revealing?’ she asked, regarding herself dubiously in the mirror.

‘That’s the whole point,’ said Thea patiently. ‘It’s supposed to be sexy.’

‘But I’ve got to go to this reception first.’ And P.J. would see her wearing it. What if he thought she had made all this effort for him? ‘It’s not really appropriate for a work do.’

Thea waved work aside. ‘If they want you to turn up in a suit, they should keep work to office hours,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a heavy date tonight, and it’s more important that you look nice for that. Now, where are those shoes…? Ah!’

‘Thea, I can’t possibly walk in those,’ Nell protested as her sister pulled a pair of exquisitely delicate sandals from the bottom of her cupboard.

‘Who said anything about walking? You can get taxis this evening,’ said Thea. ‘I’ve already ordered you a cab to get to the gallery. You spent a fortune on these shoes, Nell, and you never wear them. Anything else will spoil the dress, anyway-unless you were thinking of going in your trainers?’ she added sarcastically.

‘I could put them in a bag and change when I get there, the way I do for work,’ Nell pointed out, but Thea wasn’t having any of it.

‘You are not going to ruin everything by hulking a carrier bag along with you,’ she said. Rummaging some more in Nell’s wardrobe, she emerged after a few moments with a tiny sequinned bag, which she pushed into her sister’s hand. ‘Perfect! That is all you’re allowed to carry, and I can tell you now the trainers just won’t fit.’

She stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘You look fabulous!’

‘You do,’ Clara agreed. She had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching Thea take her mother in hand. ‘You look beautiful, Mum.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ said Nell, touched. ‘But the truth is that I’d much rather be wearing my dressing gown and staying in for pizza with you and Thea!’

‘Instead of which you’ve got to go out to a glamorous reception and a date with a gorgeous man,’ said Thea with spurious sympathy. ‘It’s a dirty job, I know, but somebody’s got to do it, and tonight it’s your turn! Don’t forget your book,’ she added as they went downstairs to wait for the cab.

Resigned, Nell went into the sitting room and ran an eye along the shelves until she found the Swahili phrase book that Thea had apparently arranged for her to carry as a signal.

She wished Thea hadn’t chosen this book of all books. Pulling it slowly down from the shelf, she stared at it in her hands and felt the memories wash over her. It was years since she had looked at it. Keeping it hadn’t even been a conscious decision, and if anyone had asked her if she had such a phrase book a week ago she would probably have said that she didn’t.

‘Why did you tell John I would have this with me?’

‘Because I’ve been noticing that book on your shelves ever since I’ve been babysitting Clara,’ said Thea. ‘If I’m here on my own and there’s nothing on television, I see if I can find something to read, and that Swahili book always seemed to catch my eye. I’ve often wondered why you had it.’

Nell flicked slowly through the pages. ‘P.J. and I used to talk about a trip to East Africa,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘It was going to be an extended honeymoon. We planned to spend a few months there and we were both going to learn Swahili…’

Her voice trailed off as she remembered how young and innocent and enthusiastic they had been. She couldn’t contemplate a trip like that now without running through all the possible complications and difficulties first. But everything had been simple then. They had loved each other, and the world had been at their feet, and that had been enough.

She remembered going to a cavernous shop in Covent Garden with P.J. and eagerly buying maps and guides and phrase books. That had been just before she’d gone back to university for the last time, and the next time she’d been home, Simon had been there…

‘I wish I could go to Africa,’ sighed Clara. ‘I want to go on safari and see the lions and giraffes and elephants.’

Yes, that was what she and P.J. had wanted to do, too.

‘What is John going to be carrying, again?’ asked Nell, still leafing distractedly through the book.

‘A Swahili dictionary,’ said Thea. ‘He’s been to Tanzania, and that’s what made me think of saying you’d take your phrase book. I thought it was a brilliant idea,’ she added complacently. ‘No one else is likely to have one, are they? So you won’t be able to mistake each other, and it means you don’t need to bother with awkward descriptions.’

‘I suppose it’ll give us something to talk about, if nothing else,’ acknowledged Nell, opening her clutch bag. The phrase book was pocket sized, but the bag was so tiny that she could only just squeeze it in. The clasp wouldn’t close properly, but it was better than carrying the book in her hand. At least this way P.J. wouldn’t see it.

It was a slow drive into the centre of London at that time of the evening, and as Nell sat in the back of the minicab and looked out at the bumper-to-bumper traffic she found herself thinking about those old dreams of camping together under a wide African sky.

‘We’ll lie in our tent and listen to the lions roaring,’ P.J. had promised, his face alight. ‘We’ll watch the sun rise over the Serengeti and we’ll be married, and we’ll be together, and we’ll be the happiest people in the world!’

But they had never made it. She had chosen Simon instead, and that was a choice she had to live with, Nell knew that. On an impulse, she pulled the phrase book out of her bag, and turned it in her hands. For some reason the anger she had felt after that afternoon’s meeting had evaporated at the sight of it.

It wasn’t really P.J. she was angry with, Nell realised. She was angry with herself for regretting the choices she had made. She was angry because he had come back and made her think about how happy they might have been, might still be, if she had chosen differently. It wasn’t P.J.’s fault that he had moved on and made a success of his life without her.

She had Clara. Nell clung to the thought. She couldn’t imagine life without Clara, wouldn’t want to imagine it. But she could imagine being with someone who loved her and cared for her, someone who would make her laugh and hold her when she was sad, who would celebrate her triumphs with her, and commiserate with her failures. Someone who would share her life instead of shutting her off into a small part of it, the way Simon had done.

P.J. would have been a husband like that. Nell stared unseeing out at the traffic and thought about the mistakes she had made. She had had her chance. She had been lucky enough to meet the right man for her, but she had blown it. She had been too young to appreciate kindness and integrity and strength and humour over good looks and glamour. Now, she could see how lucky she had been to find those qualities in her first love, but now it was too late.