Without much thought I launched into new territory. ‘Did you watch the BBC documentary on last night about sea life? I never knew hermit crabs weren’t, you know, hermits. They really like company!’
If Toby was surprised he hid it well, maybe a fractional lift of one neatly clipped eyebrow but that was it. Did he think I had summoned him here to discuss the social life of crustaceans? Did he wonder why I had texted at all? I was wondering myself as I sat there, trying to think of something else to say. (How does one follow up facts about hermit crabs?)
The waiter returned and Toby ordered a bottle of Chablis and I nodded my appreciation. I knew nothing about wine. For a moment I was distracted by the memory of Luke and I on a wine-tasting event my grandparents had bought us as a Christmas present a few years ago, lots of swilling and spitting. Luke had pretended to be quite the connoisseur, but had messed up his French accent so badly and forgot to spit out most of his wine that by the end he was just a burbling wreck in a taxi muddling the words for Sancerre and Sauvignon and slipping lower and lower down the seat.
The waiter reappeared, bottle in his hand, label covered by a crisp white napkin, waiting as Toby swilled it expertly around his mouth before swallowing and motioning for him to fill my glass, the sharp coolness a relief. I closed my eyes and sat back in the chair. ‘That’s wonderful.’
‘It’s a 2014 bottle and I find the fact it is unoaked compared to other white wines in the Burgundy region appealing.’
I nodded rather than reveal my stupidity and hoped he wouldn’t think I had anything to add. I just stopped myself saying, ‘Tastes fruity’ and took another sip. I was starting to feel a little nervous. It was all very well bumping into Toby outside court: normally I was high from an appearance, buzzing from the adrenalin of it, dressed in my professional best, on familiar turf. It suddenly seemed more intimate, to be here by design and not luck. He had removed his sunglasses and his eyes crinkled as he lifted his own glass to his lips.
I found myself stuttering over simple sentences, wrong-footed and red-faced. Was it getting hotter?
‘London is warm for this time of year.’ I cringed inside. I was choosing to discuss weather. And not even in an interesting or unique way. I was like a two-year-old who had just learnt some words. London warm. Woman silly. Man bored.
‘Global warming, I suppose,’ I rattled on. ‘Probably bad for hermit crabs.’
Fortunately Toby rescued me from my own terrible chat. ‘Did you hear about Clive Henbridge?’
I sat forward in my chair. Clive was a notoriously excellent barrister in a rival chambers, brutal but sharp-witted and charming. He had always been friendly, but I had been glad not to come up against him. The last time I had seen him he was leaving court after reducing his opposition to actual tears after he had used an obscure law from 1854 to prove precedent and got his client off all charges. Clive was known to be an absolutely ruthless opponent. If I ever made silk I would have to go up against the likes of him and I felt wobbly just thinking about the prospect. ‘What about him?’
‘Apparently he broke down in court the other day. Lost his cool with Judge Reynolds.’
‘Really?’ It didn’t sound like the Clive I recognised. I felt a small moment of interest and then a larger sense that it was information I perhaps shouldn’t know. I wondered who else was discussing it.
‘Rumour is his wife found out he’s been out for one too many dinners with one of the clerks from his chambers and she left him.’
‘Well, I suppose we can’t know all the facts,’ I said, trying to be tactful, and then attempting to change the subject: ‘Are you off on holiday anywhere soon?’
Toby wasn’t to be deterred so easily, however. ‘Someone said he was crying in the robing room. Can you imagine their surprise? He is always such a cool customer.’
‘No, ha.’ I sipped my wine and tried to look neutral. It felt wrong to be gossiping like this.
Toby read my silence. ‘Ever the barrister, waiting for the evidence.’ When he smiled I could see sharp incisors, like a sexy vampire.
He had kept my glass topped up and I had drunk to fill silences, or when listening to him, barely noticing him reaching across with the bottle. We were on safer ground when we discussed work but I realised that beyond that we were struggling. Although I hadn’t yet needed to mention more sea life, I was worried that I would need something else in my arsenal. My head was swimming a little, woolly with drink, as I thought about making my excuses and leaving.
‘Well, thank you for this, I think I better get back, a lot to read through for tomorrow,’ I lied.
Toby stared at me over his glass, then, as if deciding something, signalled to a nearby waiter that he wanted to pay the bill by making a wiggly hand gesture in the air.
I leant to take out my purse from my bag and he stilled me with a hand on my arm. ‘I’ll get this.’
I swallowed, squeaking a thank you and clutching my handbag to me as I sat in my chair.
We walked together towards an alley that led back to the high street. Toby paused as we moved into the shadow of it, stilled my arm once again.
‘Well, thank you,’ I gibbered, my eyes flashing across and past him, fixing somewhere to his right. I thought I recognised a face in the square, a glimpse of Luke’s best friend Adam, and found myself shrinking back against the wall. Had he seen me?
Toby took a step forward, joining me in the shade. I blinked at the closeness, feeling a rush of panic as I wondered if he was going to try to kiss me. He bent down, a hand on my shoulder as he went to say goodbye, kissing me on the cheek. I turned my face so that our cheeks clashed awkwardly, misjudging the space.
‘Any time,’ he said, his voice low, his eyes focused on me.
‘Good, great, excellent,’ I said, feeling ridiculous. Why was I jeopardising a professional relationship in this way? Why had I rung him in the first place?
As I walked away I felt him watching me, a gnawing sense of unease building in me, as if I had started something and I wasn’t even sure what.
Oh Cora.
Tonight was the big night we had been working towards with Luke. He had really started to improve after his fourth dance session. Arjun had stopped yelling quite so hard, and I had completely forgotten to be embarrassed and positively enjoyed being swept around the floor by this new, confident gentleman. And you really are right about his hands. I do understand now. Never too dry, never moist: they gripped me with assuredness and I thought, here’s a man any woman would be lucky to dance with.
He was lighter on his feet, relaxed and passionate. He had a determined glint in his eye, and we had toasted our session at Arjun’s apartment, cheering and getting very tiddly on a bottle of gin – this one had treacle in it! I’m fairly sure Arjun shouldn’t be drinking with his medication but there was no stopping him that evening. He had taken Luke’s progress as a personal aim and it has been wonderful to see him so cheered by things. I have been so worried about him; so frightened. And I hate keeping secrets.
We were set to make the great unveiling tonight. Margaret had been persuaded to shift things around a little and the band that normally only ever come on the third Thursday of the month had agreed to do an extra session in the hall that Friday night. Luke had told Lottie that he had signed her up for a beginner’s lesson and she had agreed to come along. Then he would wow her with his new moves. How excited we all felt when the week passed and Friday crept up.