'Thanks.'
I reach for the door handle, but a man in a peaked cap rushes forward to open it for me.
'Silly me!' I say nervously.
I can't quite believe I'm getting into this car. Me. Emma Corrigan. I feel like a princess. I feel like a movie star.
I sit down on the plushy seat, trying not to think how different this is from any car I've ever been in, ever.
'Are you OK?' says Jack.
'Yes! I'm fine!' My voice is a nervous squeak.
'Emma,' says Jack. 'We're going to have fun. I promise. Did you have your pre-date sweet sherry?'
How did he know—
Oh yes. I told him on the plane.
'Yes, I did actually,' I admit.
'Would you like some more?' He opens the bar and I see a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream sitting on a silver platter.
'Did you get that especially for me?' I say in disbelief.
'No, it's my favourite tipple.' His expression is so deadpan, I can't help laughing. 'I'll join you,' he says, as he hands me a glass. 'I've never tasted this before.' He pours himself a deep measure, takes a sip, and splutters. 'Are you serious?'
'It's yummy! It tastes like Christmas!'
'It tastes like …' He shakes his head. 'I don't even want to tell you what it tastes like. I'll stick to whisky if you don't mind.'
'OK,' I say with a shrug. 'But you're missing out.' I take another sip and grin happily at him. I'm completely relaxed already.
This is going to be the perfect date.
THIRTEEN
We arrive at a restaurant in Mayfair which I've never been to before. In fact I'm not even sure I've been to Mayfair before. It's so completely posh, why ever would I?
'It's a kind of private place,' Jack murmurs as we walk through a pillared courtyard. 'Not many people know about it.'
'Mr Harper. Miss Corrigan,' says a man in a Nehru suit, appearing out of nowhere. 'Please come this way.'
Wow! They know my name!
We glide past more pillars into an ornate room in which about three other couples are seated. There's a couple to our right, and as we walk past, a middle-aged woman with platinum hair and a gold jacket catches my eye.
'Well, hello!' she says. 'Rachel!'
'What?' I look around, bewildered. Is she looking at me?
She gets up from her seat and, lurching slightly, comes and gives me a kiss. 'How are you, darling? We haven't seen you for ages!'
OK, you can smell the alcohol from five yards away. And as I glance over at her dinner partner, he looks just as bad.
'I think you've made a mistake,' I say politely. 'I'm not Rachel.'
'Oh!' The woman stares at me for a moment. Then she glances at Jack and her face snaps in understanding. 'Oh! Oh, I see. Of course you're not.' She gives me a little wink.
'No!' I say in horror. 'You don't understand. I'm really not Rachel. I'm Emma.'
'Emma. Of course!' She nods conspiratorially. 'Well, have a wonderful dinner! And call me some time.'
As she stumbles back to her chair, Jack gives me a quizzical look.
'Is there something you want to tell me?'
'Yes,' I say. 'That woman is extremely drunk.' As I meet his gaze, I can't help giving a tiny giggle, and his mouth twitches.
'So, shall we sit down? Or do you have any more long-lost friends you'd like to greet?'
I look around the room consideringly.
'No, I think that's probably it.'
'If you're sure. Take your time. You're sure that elderly gentleman over there isn't your grandfather?'
'I don't think so …'
'Also, you should know that pseudonyms are fine by me,' Jack adds. 'I myself often go by the name of Egbert.'
I give a snort of laughter and hastily stifle it. This is a posh restaurant. People are already looking at us.
We're shown to a table in the corner, by the fire. A waiter helps me into my chair and fluffs a napkin over my knee, while another pours out some water, and yet another offers me a bread roll. Exactly the same is happening on Jack's side of the table. We have six people dancing attendance on us! I want to catch Jack's eye and laugh, but he looks unconcerned, as if this is perfectly normal.
Perhaps it is normal for him, it strikes me. Oh God. Perhaps he has a butler who makes him tea and irons his newspaper every day.
But what if he does? I mustn't let any of this faze me.
'So,' I say, as all the waiting staff melt away. 'What shall we have to drink?' I've already eyed up the drink which that woman in gold has got. It's pink and has slices of watermelon decorating the glass, and looks absolutely delicious.
'Already taken care of,' says Jack with a smile, as one of the waiters brings over a bottle of champagne, pops it open and starts pouring. 'I remember you telling me on the plane, your perfect date would start off with a bottle of champagne appearing at your table as if by magic.'
'Oh,' I say, quelling a tiny feeling of disappointment. 'Er … yes! So I did.'
'Cheers,' says Jack, and lightly clinks my glass.
'Cheers.' I take a sip, and it's delicious champagne. It really is. All dry and delicious.
I wonder what the watermelon drink tastes like.
Stop it. Champagne is perfect. Jack's right, this is the perfect start to a date.
'The first time I ever had champagne was when I was six years old—' I begin.
'At your Aunt Sue's,' says Jack with a smile. 'You took all your clothes off and threw them in the pond.'
'Oh right,' I say, halted mid-track. 'Yes, I've told you, haven't I?'
So I won't bore him with that anecdote again. I sip my champagne and quickly try to think of something else to say. Something that he doesn't already know.
Is there anything?
'I've chosen a very special meal, which I think you'll like,' says Jack, with a smile. 'All pre-ordered, just for you.'
'Gosh!' I say, taken aback. 'How … wonderful.'
A meal specially pre-ordered for me! Wow. That's incredible.