‘My horse was skittish. We were crossing a field and disturbed a grouse; it flew up and frightened the horse, which then bolted, galloping through a gate out onto a road.’
‘I looked up and she was gone, like a bullet,’ said Peter. ‘Didn’t catch her for about three miles.’
Juliet smiled softly and touched his hand. ‘But you did.’
‘And then you lived happily ever after,’ cooed Pandora.
‘My wife likes romantic movies,’ smiled Charles. ‘And you two, Amy? Did you have a similarly dramatic beginning?’
Amy shook her head. ‘We first met in the pub. I worked behind the bar. David liked his beer. He didn’t even ask me out once.’
‘But my friend Pog asked you to move in.’
‘So you dated his friend first?’ said Pandora eagerly.
Amy laughed. ‘No, it was a house share.’
‘I was thrilled,’ said Juliet. ‘Finally, someone else in the house who understood the concept of deodorant.’
‘So did love blossom over the kitchen table?’
‘Actually, David was dating someone else . . .’ said Amy.
‘Pippa!’ said Max, banging the table. ‘She was fit! And rich!’
Amy turned to Pandora, who looked utterly confused now. ‘Her name was actually Annabel,’ she said. ‘And she was pretty, although a bit of a cow.’
‘I don’t think you’re allowed to say that about partners’ exes even if it’s completely true,’ smiled Juliet.
‘So, nothing happened,’ continued Amy. ‘Jules and I moved to London together and Max and David shacked up in Chelsea doing whatever they were doing.’
‘Shagging!’ shouted Max, drawing disapproving glares from half the square.
‘Anyway, we lost touch,’ said Amy, raising her eyebrows at David.
‘I was working every hour in the City,’ he said.
‘And I was off my nut in Ibiza most of the time,’ said Max, keen to remain the centre of attention.
‘Then I met him again in the street. It was London Fashion Week and the houses always try to outdo each other with imaginative venues for their catwalk shows. That year Simone did their show in an old bank off Threadneedle Street – it’s a hotel now, I think – and I had just left.’
David leaned in to continue the story. ‘I was walking up Fenchurch Street, on my way to a meeting, and boom! I saw this beautiful girl on the other side of the road. Wearing, I should add, a ridiculous red dress.’
‘It was McQueen,’ corrected Amy. ‘Very chic, very directional.’
‘Caught the eye, I’ll give you that,’ smiled David. ‘Anyway, I ran across and we stood on the corner chatting. In the rain. For an hour.’
Amy didn’t say so, but it was one of her favourite moments. David had looked handsome and accomplished in his dark chalk-stripe suit; he’d been funny and complimentary and he’d insisted on holding his umbrella over her until the shoulders of his suit were sodden. The truth was, neither of them had wanted to leave, fearing that the other would disappear like a dream.
‘So romantic,’ said Claire dreamily.
‘You’d think, wouldn’t you? But then she ignored me for about a fortnight,’ said David with a hurt expression.
‘A girl has to play hard to get,’ smirked Amy. ‘You have to let the man know who’s boss.’
‘Like there’s ever been any doubt about that,’ smiled David, touching her hand.
Amy didn’t add that she had finally called David and taken him to an event in Soho, some art gallery she had thought would impress him, but they’d both been bored within ten minutes and bunked off giggling to a crappy basement salsa bar, where they’d done tequila shots, danced close and stumbled back up the stairs, snogging all the way to David’s place. She’d spent the entire weekend wrapped in his sheets – and in him – and she had never really left.