‘Anyone can see he’s crazy about you when he looks at you,’ I say firmly. ‘I expect he’s just being polite.’
‘I’m not so sure, and I’m certainly not going to hang around here waiting for him to finish his conversation.’ She continues with spirit, ‘I’m going home.’
‘Izzy! Are you okay?’ a familiar-looking guy calls as he appears in the doorway. It’s Matthew, I remember him from the Regency Dance evening. ‘Do you want a lift home?’
‘I’m fine,’ Izzy snaps, grabs my arm, and propels me towards the door.
‘I wish he’d mind his own business,’ she whispers to me.
‘Who? Matthew? He seems very nice.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ Izzy grumbles. ‘He’s too nice.’
I’m not sure how to answer that one. ‘Do you want to share a cab?’
‘Yes please,’ she replies gratefully and we step out onto the street together.
I don’t know about First Date, this has been more like first heartbreak evening and has given me quite a lot to think about.
Chapter 14
I’m still mulling over the events of the First Dates evening when back at work the next morning. It was all a bit surreal. And the more I think about it, the more familiar the characters and their stories from last night seemed. It’s as though I have entered a parallel Jane Austen universe. I did wonder if it was some kind of set-up but I hadn’t spotted any television cameras anywhere and the people appeared to be genuine.
These musings are certainly more interesting than my current sales total. I’m never going to win a place to go to Victoria Beckham’s Spring Summer show at this rate. Maybe Mum’s right, I should start looking up PGCE courses.
The phone rings, making me jump, and I answer it quickly, hoping it might be a returning customer from my bridal list. It isn’t; it’s Emma from the dating agency. It hadn’t occurred to me she’d have my work number – courtesy of Miffy, probably.
‘Hi, Sophie, I have some exciting news!’
‘Oh, that sounds good.’ I’m speaking quietly as I don’t want the rest of the office earwigging again.
‘That was a successful evening last night, wasn’t it?’
‘Erm, yes.’ I try to sound enthusiastic.
‘And you’ll never guess who’s been straight on the phone this morning, asking for a second date?’ she asks brightly.
‘Not Rob Bright.’ I’m really hoping against hope it isn’t as I can’t stand one more date with this guy.
‘No. I didn’t think you liked him,’ Emma replies innocently, and I can imagine her smiling to herself on the other end of the line. ‘No, it’s Daniel – he loved meeting you last night and has requested to see you again.’
‘Oh my God.’ I’m amazed and my heart beats rather fast. The thought of meeting up with Daniel again is pretty exciting and he likes me. Someone cute, funny and normal actually likes me at last.
‘Would you like to go out with him?’ Emma persists, obviously not quite sure how to take my response.
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I reply, trying not to appear too keen but simultaneously grinning and punching the air with my fist, to the consternation of the rest of the sales team. Kelli gives me a scornful look from the other side of the partition and I swing my chair round so that I have my back to her.
‘I mean, that’s great. What happens next? I’m kind of new to all this.’ Some complete hunk asking me out is most definitely an unfamiliar experience for me.
‘Daniel has suggested a champagne picnic at Box Hill. I told you this man has sensitivity and class.’
‘Yes, he has,’ I reply. ‘It sounds amazing.’ (I’ve given up playing cool, calm and collected by now – I’m at the ‘thank you very muchly, thank you’ Miranda Hart school of dating stage.)
Emma rings off once we have made arrangements for Daniel to pick me up on Sunday afternoon for a strawberry and champagne picnic. It sounds heavenly and I am totally overexcited.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ Mark says when he finds me rather bizarrely humming while photocopying the month’s sales forecast.
‘Oh yes,’ I reply happily, ‘I have a date!’
‘Oh no. Who is it this time? Sir Henry?’ Mark teases.
‘Er no, not quite that good. I’m just going to have to make do with Daniel instead. Strawberry and champagne picnic – it’s a hard life but someone’s got to do it!’
‘Oohh, well done you! That’s so exciting!’ Mark gives me a bear hug. ‘I wish I was going to be a fly on the wall on this date, darling. When are you going? Sunday? Make sure you give me a blow-by-blow account afterwards or I’ll never speak to you again.’
Typically, the week drags by really slowly as it always does when you’re looking forward to something. Strangely, my sales figures go up drastically as I’ve bagged a couple of new bridal salons wanting to advertise, who are part of a larger chain. All things considered, I feel a bit more positive about work – perhaps I’m meant to be part of the fashion world after all.
Maybe I can do this. I can really belong.
I’m also overexcited for my forthcoming date with Daniel.
Sunday dawns fine and perfect much to my relief. I have been stressing all week about the weather until Mel’s got fed up with me.
The short drive to Box Hill with Daniel, in contrast to the start of my date with Rob Bright, whizzes by as we fly down the country lanes in his convertible. Our chat is easy and relaxed, and I feel quite comfortable in Daniel’s company in spite of my underlying nervousness. My only concern is that convertibles are a lovely idea in theory, and I have always wanted one, but the reality is they wreak havoc with your hair. I’ve a horrible feeling I’m going to arrive at the picnic site looking as though I’ve been crawling through thick undergrowth.
Upon our arrival at Box Hill, we wander in companionable silence up to a quiet spot where the whole view spreads out uninterrupted before us, with quaint little patchwork fields and tiny trees. Daniel’s been very gentlemanly and not only opened the door for me, but also carried the lovely hamper, supplied with compliments of Emma and the dating agency.
I sit on an old-fashioned rug, wrapping my cardigan round me more snugly. I’ve worn a long flowery maxi dress as I felt it was necessary to act the part but although spring has sprung and the sun is out, the air is still quite chilly.
Daniel notices me shiver and passes across his jacket, which fits very comfortably round my shoulders and smells deliciously of his aftershave. I feel a warm glow fill my whole body, which I suspect has very little to do with the thickness of his jacket.
Daniel expertly opens the bottle of champagne and hands me an elegant flute. The bubbly is beautifully refreshing. He’s even sliced a strawberry and placed it on the edge of the glass. We’ve talked of this and that but so far nothing in particular. I’m itching to ask Daniel how he knows Darcy Drummond. There must be some story behind this acquaintance, but I don’t like to broach the subject. Daniel starts the topic himself, however. ‘How long have you been at the dating agency?’