‘Wow, Gabbie, you look amazing. I love what you’ve done with your hair. It really suits you having it loose, and of course you smell divine. Is that one of your own creations or a House of Gasnier speciality?’ asked Clara as she steered carefully along the winding roads, her nose so close to the windscreen that a niggle of worry erupted in Gabbie’s stomach.
‘It’s one of my own – actually, it’s the perfume I showcased to Jules Gasnier for next summer’s fragrance before I quit.’
‘Well, it’s gorgeous; fresh, yet filled with warmth and depth, like it should be worn by a Roman empress dressed in a column of gold, her chocolate waves cascading down around her shoulders as she waits for her emperor to return from battle.’
Gabbie giggled at the theatrical tone in Clara’s voice and knew she was teasing her. She didn’t mind. She and Fleurette had often cringed at the advertising slogans designed to persuade people to buy their fragrances.
‘Thanks. If I ever see Monsieur Gasnier again, which I seriously doubt, I’ll be sure to pass on your sentiments! Erm, Clara, why are you squinting at the road so much?’
‘Okay, you’ve rumbled me. I’ve decided to swap my glasses for contact lenses, especially on the weekends, but I just can’t seem to get the hang of them.’
‘You mean you haven’t got them in now?’
‘Oh, I have, yes. But I think the prescription must be wrong.’
‘Are you telling me you can’t see the road?’
‘Oh, I can see the road, I just need to take it a little slower than I usually do. That’s all.’
Gabbie chanced a quick glimpse of the speedometer and saw they were travelling at twenty-five miles an hour. At this rate they would be twenty minutes late for their dinner reservation! She was about to say something, to offer to take over at the wheel, but then decided that, as it would mean twenty minutes less with her blind date, Clara could take as long as she needed to get them to their destination in one piece.
‘So, are you going to tell me who you’ve set me up with tonight?’
‘No. I want it to be a surprise.’
Gabbie rolled her eyes. ‘Then at least tell me where we’re going.’
‘There’s this new Lebanese restaurant opened in Tiverton. Owen has been promising to take me for weeks, but he’s been really busy opening his new surgery in Exeter. I think you’ll love it. The boys are meeting us there so I thought we’d pop into the wine bar next door for a sneaky pre-dinner aperitif, like we would if we were living in the South of France. What do you think?’
‘Sounds great. Maybe we could stay there all night and you can fill me in on all the Oakley gossip I’ve missed over the last two years?’
‘As much as I’d love to do that, I know you’re only suggesting it because you’re worried about the date. You don’t have to be, you know. I told you already – the two of you are going to get along just fine.’
‘So how does Owen know my mysterious beau?’
‘Actually, it’s a blind date for him too,’ said Clara, a little too nonchalantly for Gabbie’s liking, which sent her suspicions into overdrive.
‘What? It’s not one of Owen’s rugby friends?’
‘Would you have preferred that?’ asked Clara, a look of panic on her face.
‘Well, it might be better than a complete stranger. Please tell me you didn’t just stop a random person in the street and beg him to go out with your desperate friend!’
‘No! And Owen agrees with me that the two of you are perfect for each other.’
Gabbie shook her head in exasperation at her friend’s shenanigans. It was okay for her. Clara had been dating Owen since sixth form. They had chosen to go to the same university, and their relationship had survived until they graduated, Clara as a graphic designer and Owen in veterinary medicine so he could join his father in his local practice. Gabbie was surprised they hadn’t moved in together, but she knew how hard it was to get on the property ladder anywhere near where they grew up.
Clara screeched to a halt in a parking space right outside Vineyard wine bar and they dashed in to order a bottle of their favourite red wine, Gabbie realising a little too late that she was expected to drink most of it herself.
‘How’s your dad doing?’ asked Clara as she topped up Gabbie’s glass.
‘Hmm, you might well ask. I actually think he’s avoiding me.’
‘Why? Because you’ve got him on a starvation diet?’
‘I have not got him on a starvation diet! Is that what he told you?’
‘Joking! So why is he avoiding you? Doesn’t sound like Jeff.’
‘The accounts for the garage are in a mess and some of the invoices haven’t been paid. I need to go through them with him – and I want to go with him when he goes back to the bank at the end of the month.’
‘So?’
‘So, when I tried to talk to him about it this morning he changed the subject. I think he knows how bad things are and doesn’t want to worry me, but if he talks to me I can help.’
‘Hey! Here you both are!’ cried Owen, striding forward to envelop Gabbie in a bear hug, crushing her ribs with the strength of his affection before dropping a kiss on Clara’s lips.
‘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 already 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.