* * * *
Patrick had brought flowers, and that didn’t make Elyssa’s job easier by one iota. He had also dressed to the nines and driven up in a vintage car, having texted Elyssa earlier to advise her that her highest heels and best jewellery should be worn.
Sliding in her diamond studs, Elyssa had felt sure that she was going to be sick before they got anywhere near dinner. Her stomach was churning, her head ached and the bruised soreness between her legs meant that Jay was a constant presence in her mind, and her body, all day. She wanted Jay—no question.
But, oh, Patrick, when he walked up the path in his dinner jacket, looking like James Bond and smiling like a shy angel, bouquet clutched to his chest, tested that resolve more severely than could ever be fair.
“You look sensational,” he said gallantly, handing over the flowers for her mother to put in water and offering his arm. “Wait ‘til you see where I’ve booked! You’re going to be the Queen for a night.”
“Wow.” Elyssa laughed nervously, tripping along the path beside him. “I feel I should have worn a flowery hat and brought a corgi or two with me, then.”
“What? Oh, haha, yes. Well, maybe not literally the Queen. But my Queen. God, that sounded so cheesy, didn’t it? Perhaps I should just shut up and drive.”
Elyssa was helped into the passenger seat, then watched as he took the wheel, letting the car, which must be hired, glide off through the higgledy-piggledy streets of their small market town and out onto the country roads, past field after field of golden corn and vivid green vegetables, towards the neighbouring town, the place where all the rich people lived, and to which they had travelled to school each day as teenagers.
“Remember this road?” asked Patrick, bowling along at a fair speed, into the setting sun.
“Every day on the school bus,” smiled Elyssa. “Girls on the top deck, boys on the bottom.”
“I never understood that segregation. If we’d h
ad the civilising influence of girls down below, I’m sure there wouldn’t have been so much spitting and swearing. I used to hate that. Until I got to the Sixth Form and was able to do something about it.”
Elyssa remembered how much respect Patrick had commanded amongst even the most loutish boys in the school. As the best sportsman of his year, he had avoided the nerd tag that had been attached to Jay and Elyssa, and had been wildly popular. Not just with the boys either, thanks to his golden good looks and impeccable manners. He had been the Sir Lancelot of the Sixth Form, and damsels in distress with their coursework assignments had often thrown themselves on his mercy.
“The top deck wasn’t that much better,” Elyssa revealed. “Thick cigarette smoke and bawdy singing all the way.”
“You? Bawdy? Never.”
“Well, I didn’t join in those songs,” said Elyssa delicately. “I was usually too busy helping Juliet do her homework that she hadn’t bothered with. The teachers must have wondered why the hell her handwriting was so jerky all the time.”
“Well, no homework, spitting, swearing, smoking or bawdy singing for us tonight,” said Patrick, navigating the picturesque streets of the historic town. “Or we shall certainly be thrown out of Jean Montel.”
“Jean Montel!”
Patrick steered the car into the gravel drive of the exclusive restaurant and parked it against the low wall topped with shrubs and ferns, taking the key out of the ignition with a flourish.
“Patrick! Brad and Angelina had trouble getting reservations here! How did you…?”
“I pulled strings. Made a few calls. Mentioned my name…okay.”
Elyssa pulled a face of disbelief and he laughed.
“I confess. My brother-in-law is the maître d’.”
“Oh! That makes sense. I knew you couldn’t have got a table at one or two day’s notice. Jean Montel!” She stepped out of the car and looked up at the gracious grey stone manor house. The sun was just low enough in the sky for the fairy lights dotting the garden to glow like fireflies, and Elyssa turned to Patrick, excited despite herself.
“I said I’d take you here one day. Do you remember?”
Elyssa remembered, and she also remembered, with a painful lurch, that she was here to disappoint him. “Oh yes. At the Leavers’ barbecue.”
“Where we danced,” he reminded her. “And I kissed you. And you ran away.”
“I…know. I panicked. I had to find Jay.”
Patrick put a hand on her arm, looking down at her until she had to return the gentle pressure of his blue eyes. “Don’t run again,” he said softly.
“Patrick, I—”