When in Rome... by Gemma Townley Read Free Book Online Page B

that’s pretty much it. The men are either in suits with gold AmEx cards or arty types with odd haircuts.
    I take a sip of my drink and remember why I used to smoke—waiting in a bar is so much easier if you have a cigarette in your hand. It’s something to focus on, something to do. You don’t feel quite so vulnerable. For some reason, when I met David I stopped wanting to smoke. Plus, of course, he happened to mention over dinner that he hated the habit, so I just didn’t mention the packet of Marlboro Lights in my bag and I haven’t smoked since.
    The bartender is trying to attract my attention, and I turn round, slightly irritated, to discover that I haven’t actually paid for my drink yet. I get out my purse to find some cash and feel an arm slip round my waist.
    “Put it on my tab, will you?” says a familiar voice, and a gold-colored credit card is passed to the barman.
    “Mike!” I experience a frisson of excitement as I turn to kiss him hello. He’s slightly unshaven and wearing a black suit and black shirt open at the neck. He has such an air of confidence about him, an insouciance that is so attractive. His hands move round my waist and my instinctive reaction is to turn and kiss him on the lips and move my body into his, but instead I manage a light kiss on the cheek. I am doing, I hope, a pretty good impression of someone who is totally unfazed and unimpressed.
    “Georgie, this is Tracey, my PA. And this is Brian, a top DJ—at least he is when he plays our records, eh Brian?”
    Brian grins and Tracey titters. Brian, I notice, is more interested in Tracey’s expansive cleavage than anything Mike has to say.
    “You known each other long?” Tracey inquires.
    “Years and years,” Mike replies before I can speak. He has turned to face Tracey and Brian, but his left arm is still wrapped round my waist. When we were together, Mike’s arm would rarely be anywhere near me if we were out. I told myself then that public demonstrations of affection were really tacky and that I was pleased not to be in a couple that kissed and hugged in bars and clubs. But I had always suspected that Mike didn’t touch me because he liked to give the impression that he was single.
    “Have you got any cigarettes?”
    Willpower be damned—this is an emergency; I need something to steady my nerves. Tracey offers me a Silk Cut, and I put it in my mouth gratefully. It is lit immediately by a platinum lighter that Mike has whisked out of his pocket. This really is the four-star treatment—I didn’t know Mike had it in him.
    “Georgie’s the one who encouraged me to start my own business,” Mike tells Tracey and Brian. This is news to me. I do remember shouting at Mike and telling him to “go and get a bloody job, or start making some money out of your stupid plans,” but I’m not sure I would class that as encouragement. Then again, maybe that was the kick-start he had needed. Brian and Tracey both give me a sort of “well done” smile and I smile back.
    Mike gives me a little squeeze and starts stroking my side. I feel myself stiffen. It isn’t that I’m not enjoying this—to be honest, I have dreamed of this moment for ages. It’s just that now I seem to have Mike all over me, I feel extremely self-conscious and awkward. It’s all wrong, like I’ve missed a couple of steps, that things have been decided while I was out of the room, and no one thought to tell me. Plus, of course, I’m not here to get back together with Mike; just to make him realize what he’s missing. If David knew that I was in the Atlantic Bar with Mike’s arm round my waist, he would be devastated. I decide I need a bit of breathing space.
    “Um, just nipping to the loo,” I say hurriedly and prise myself out of Mike’s arms. There is a long queue, which I join, and it’s only after five minutes of not moving that I realize the queue is actually people putting on makeup and doing their hair—there are two empty cubicles. Trying to look nonchalant, like I knew all along there