Out Late with Friends and Regrets by Suzanne Egerton Read Free Book Online Page A

trembling at the same time.
    At one minute past eight she lifted the telephone receiver, glanced at the clock, and put it down again.   Don’t want to seem over-eager.   As if five past would by contrast seem so-o-o-o cool, she thought, laughing at herself.   Wait, though.   Better plan ahead what to say, how to present herself.   No knowing what Ellie might ask; she should prepare, like spotting exam questions.   Make a few notes.   Don’t want to sound a complete wally, stumbling over her words, babbling platitudes.   Maybe imagine she was talking to a customer.   She jotted.   Name: just Fiona, to begin with.   Don’t give address, or phone number.   Oh!   Tap in the code to protect her own number, before dialling.   What might Ellie want to know?   Occupation?   Shopkeeper – God, boring or what; T-shirt designer sounded better.   Except, if the woman was as intellectual as she sounded, that really didn’t cut it, either.   Businesswoman? Play that one by ear.   Might her reasons for placing the ad come up as a question?   Better broached at a face-to-face meeting, if she could fend it off.   She really didn’t fancy discussing it with a complete stranger she wouldn’t even recognise in the street.   She wondered how old   Ellie might be; despite the fruity tones she didn’t sound that old, though the utter self-assurance made her sound mature… Oh, bugger it, she muttered under her breath, picking up the phone and jabbing in Ellie’s number.   Disconcertingly, she found herself sweating, breath jerky and throat tight, as she listened to the ringing signal.   No reply.   She slammed the handset down before the voicemail function kicked in, suddenly realising that she hadn’t keyed in the anonymity prefix.   She sat, foolishly holding the receiver down with both hands, shaking.   Go and make a cup of tea.   No, get yourself a stiff whisky.   Make that a malt.   Sip it slowly, calm down, and try again later.   She took a deep breath, and rose to get her drink.   At that precise moment, the telephone rang, and for once she hoped it might be the guy doing the insulation survey, as always, in her area.
    “Hello?”   Her own voice sounded oddly unfamiliar.
    “Hi there.   I don’t recognise the number, are you my mystery lady, by any chance?”
    “Hello, Ellie.”  
    Fiona just managed to get control of her voice.   Made sure the nerves didn’t push it into a high register.
    “Come on, then, what’s your name?”
    “Er... Fiona.   Thanks for, for …” oh shit, straight up a blind alley.   What a prat.   What on earth to say next?   She was sure her breathing must be audible.
    “No prob, Fiona.   Are you interested in a meeting?   Sorry if I’ve not followed all the niceties, but this is the first time I’ve answered one of these damned things, and you wouldn’t believe how nervous I am.”
    Fiona suddenly felt fine.   This sounded like a warm and friendly human being, although she doubted the last part of the statement.   Nervous?   A likely story.
    “You know what I think, Ellie Whoeveryouare?   You may never have answered one of these before, but I think you must be someone who’s quite used to putting people at their ease – bet you heard my knees knocking!”
    “Oh, mine too, just listen!” and Ellie must have put the phone down to the tabletop, as Fiona heard a staccato rapping.  
    “Well, thanks for that, it’s great to hear from you, and I’d love us to meet, Ellie,”   said Fiona, so fluently and fast she surprised herself.
    “Good,” responded the voice, “good start.   Well, first of all, do you live in town?”
    “What town?”
    “Harford.”    
    “No, but I can drive in.   When, and where?”
    “Would half eight on Saturday suit you?” asked Ellie.
    “Sure.”
    “D’you know Jetsam’s?”
    “Actually, I don’t know Harford much at all, except for Woodside, where friends of mine live.   The Hillfort Shopping Centre