Take a Chance on Me: Blind-Date Marriage / Saying Yes to the Millionaire

‘Not even the crash-and-burn flings of the past?’

‘Yes … well … That was then—this is now.’ She gave what she hoped was a superior look. ‘I have evolved.’

Cassie grinned and shuffled a little closer. ‘Come on, girlfriend. How’s it going with the hot-shot accountant?’

‘You know, Cass, a vicar’s wife can definitely not pull off a word like “girlfriend”.’

‘Not even one with funky pink hair and a nose-stud?’

She smiled. Cassie was the most unconventional minister’s wife you could hope to see. Her short baby pink hair stuck up every which way, and she had four holes in each ear and one in her nose. ‘Not even close, darling.’

‘Shame. I pick phrases like that up from the youth group. I hardly notice I’m doing it. Anyway, stop being the word police and tell me what I want to know. Resistance is futile. You should know that by now.’

‘You never change, do you?’

‘Not since that day I waltzed into the common room at Foster’s and saved you from another year of sitting in the corner writing doleful little poems you wouldn’t let anybody read.’

Serena gasped in horror. ‘My poetry was never doleful! Rambling and self-indulgent, maybe, but never doleful.’

‘Whatever. You needed a little livening up.’

‘You certainly did that!’

‘What did Prudence and her gang call us again?’

Serena clapped her hands and grinned. ‘The freaky twins!’

‘Joined at the hip for evermore!’ yelled Cassie, punching the air.

‘Until you met Steve, anyway. I should be cross, but he’s such a sweetie I forgave you ten seconds after I met him.’

Cassie stared off into space and her streetwise demeanour melted. ‘He is rather wonderful …’

‘Do you remember what your parents said when you told them about him?’

‘Do I? They totally freaked! I can still hear my father—’ She dropped her voice an octave to a low rumble. ‘Cassandra. You’re only nineteen. You’re far too young to understand what marrying into the establishment means.’

They both collapsed in a heap of giggles.

Serena sighed and wiped a finger under her eye. ‘At least they came round in the end. They practically fall over themselves now to tell their friends that their son-in-law runs an inner city project for underprivileged kids.’

‘Ah, yes, but the dog collar still makes them squirm.’

‘And you love it.’

Cassie giggled into her coffee mug.

‘You’re a minx, Cassie Morton.’

‘It’s why you love me.’

‘No, I love you because you’re the best friend anyone could ever have.’ All traces of laughter left her voice and she fixed Cassie with a solemn stare. ‘You’re right. You did save me that last year at Foster’s. It would have been hell without you. I owe you big-time.’

Cassie’s eyes sparkled. ‘And I know a way you can repay me.’

Serena slumped on the kitchen table in defeat. ‘Go on. Pass me the carrot cake, and I’ll tell you everything.’

Cassie just smiled, cut a thick wedge of cake, and plopped it on a chipped willow pattern plate. Serena dragged it across the table towards her, dipped her finger in the cream cheese icing and tried to think of where to start.

She almost didn’t want to share this with Cass, which was a first. Not that she thought she would jinx it if she talked about Jake, but because it all seemed too precious. She wanted to keep all the memories locked up inside her. She’d have to tell Cass something, though, or she’d get the thumbscrews out.

‘He’s definitely in the running for Mr Right. We’ve had dinners and picnics and been to the ballet. I always thought there was more to a date than standing in the back of a smoky pub watching my other half play pool. It’s like being Cinderella …’

‘You’ve got it bad!’

She stared at the carrot cake, but didn’t take a bite, her appetite arrested by the thoughts swirling round her head. ‘Do you think so? Is this what really falling in love feels like?’

‘Well, that depends. How do you feel?’

She sighed. ‘He’s all I can think about. When I’m not with him I’ve got butterflies thinking about the next time we’ll meet, and when we’re together I get butterflies just because I’m with him! He makes me feel special. For the first time I think I’ve met a man who likes me. Not Michael Dove’s daughter, but me.’

Cassie put her coffee down and cocked her head on one side.

‘So, have you …?’

‘Have I what?’

‘You know.’

She took a large bite of cake and shook her head. Chewing and swallowing was a great way to stall, but regrettably her mouth was soon free again. ‘You know I vowed it would take a ring on my finger as a guarantee of intentions before … that. I’ve been foolish too many times in the past where men are concerned. My creep-radar is completely defunct.’

Cassie nodded. ‘I know. Every loser carrying a guitar pick was the one.’

‘You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t you? I mean, I’ve been around musicians all my life. I know exactly how reliable they are. But there’s something about arty types I can’t resist. I’ve tried to fight it, but every time I end up getting hit with a sucker-punch and I’m totally gone.’

‘Knocked out and down for the count. It’s never pretty,’ said Cassie, screwing up her face.

Serena rested her chin on her hand and stared out of the window. ‘I’ve tried to analyse it. It just doesn’t make sense. The best I’ve come up with is that it’s something to do with those wild imaginations that make every day a surprise, that passion for life—’

‘The attention span of a gnat,’ added Cassie, finishing with a huge bite of cake.

‘You’re so right. And that’s why I’ve sworn off men like that.’

Cassie mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘And why I’m doing the vetting from now on.’

Serena sat back in her chair and wondered if the reason she fell so hard and fast was simpler than she allowed herself to believe. Maybe her childhood had left her so desperate for someone to love that she grabbed anything that vaguely resembled the real thing with both hands. Of course it was invariably a mirage—looked good at the time, but ultimately left her feeling dry and unsatisfied.

That was why she was pacing herself this time, taking it slow. Jake was different from anybody else she’d been out with, but it was still early days. She wanted him to be the one, but it was too early to tell.

She took another bite of cake. The ever-present butterflies did a little waltz as she imagined the fireworks that could happen once ‘Prince Charming’ had been well and truly stamped on Jake’s forehead.

Jake couldn’t walk past the painting without having a third go at getting it straight. He nudged the left corner a little. There. He took three steps back and tipped his head slightly.

Blast! It had looked better before he’d started messing around with it.

It was just that he wanted everything right. Tonight he was cooking Serena dinner, playing on home turf—a departure from his normal routine. Now he had the money to enjoy such luxuries, he liked to wine and dine his girlfriends at good restaurants. They seemed to appreciate it too.

The perfectionist side of his nature urged him to pull out all the stops when he took a woman out, and his competitive spirit made him want to do that little bit better than the next guy. Even if his relationships didn’t last, he wanted his old flames to remember him as the perfect gentleman. It was a little vain, perhaps, but he liked to think at least one or two of his ex-girlfriends thought of him occasionally and let out a little if only sigh.

He lifted his hand to tap the frame again, but pulled it back before it made contact. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t usually this jumpy before a date. Perhaps it was because Serena was so totally different from the type of woman he was normally attracted to.

Ever since he’d had hormones in enough quantities to notice girls, he’d pined after cool, sophisticated types. Like the girls from St Bernadette’s, the exclusive private school only a mile or so from Ellwood Green.

It had never seemed odd to him that such a bastion of old money was so close to his home. The school had probably been built for the daughters of wealthy merchants when Deptford had been a bustling port. Now the docks were miles downstream, and Deptford was no longer the prosperous suburb it had once been, but the evidence was still visible if you walked the streets. You could be walking past boarded-up shops one minute and down leafy roads with ornate Victorian masonry the next. Little pockets of poverty and privilege, side by side, but worlds apart. London was like that.

He smiled. The girls from St B’s had looked so good in their crisp white blouses and pleated skirts. He’d bet they’d smelled good too. Not that they’d let a grubby little oik like him close enough to find out. Perversely, the way they’d lifted their noses when they passed him in the street had only made him want them more. Probably because they represented everything he’d ever craved—class, style, money—although he hadn’t analysed that feeling at the time.

Then, one day, when he hadn’t reeked of the council estate any longer, the snooty noses had lowered and they’d given him sidelong glances from beneath their lashes.

How stupid of him not to have seen it before. He’d been dating St Bernadette’s girls in one shape or form ever since he’d owned his first Rolex. Except Chantelle. She was the one exception—and his biggest mistake.

He glanced down at his watch. Scratches marred the surface in a few places, but he would never replace it. He’d saved every penny he could from his first pay packets at Jones and Carrbrothers until he could strut into the jewellers and slap down a wad of cash for it. It had been an important symbol. One that shouted, I’ve made it!

Once it had been paid for, he’d rented a shoebox bedsit and started the process of erasing his past—from the chain-store clothes to the flat vowels of his cockney accent. Nobody who met him now would ever suspect. He took great pains to ensure his rich clients would never guess their family money was being looked after by the son of a petty criminal.

He’d surprised himself by telling Serena his history. Okay, he’d left out some pretty major details, but he’d also let slip more than he usually did. Somehow it didn’t matter if she knew. She wasn’t impressed by his money in the slightest, which, after the initial dent to his ego, had been a huge relief. He was tired of women who earmarked him as a good prospect.

But it was more than that. Despite all their differences, they had a common bond. She knew what it was like to be an outsider too.

He walked out into the hall and headed back to the kitchen. The sight of the crease-free bedcovers through the bedroom door made his insides clench. An image flashed in his mind: he was standing holding a tray while morning sun filtered through the curtains onto a tangle of arms and legs in the duvet. Dark, silky hair sprawled on the pillow.

Abruptly, he reached for the doorknob and pulled the door shut. He had to get a hold of himself. Rushing ahead was definitely not the way to go with Serena.

He was courting her. It was an old-fashioned idea, but it fitted, nevertheless—and it was delicious. A tantalising game. They circled round each other, prolonging the inevitable, but the circles were getting smaller and smaller. Sooner or later there would be an explosive impact.

He would just have to keep himself on a tight leash until then. But that should be no problem. He was used to keeping control when it came to relationships. Women in his past had tried to push and prod him into doing what they wanted, but he’d always remained firmly anchored. He called the shots. He took the lead in pursuing his quarry at the start of the relationship, and he always decided when it was time to end it—normally the instant he saw the glitter of diamond rings in her eyes.

Mel said he was heartless, but he told himself it was for his ex-girlfriends’ protection. There was no point giving them hope of a happy-ever-after. It wasn’t in his genes.

Just as well he didn’t have to worry about all that with Serena. Her heritage was flower-power and free love. As she’d said on their first date, they didn’t need to tie themselves down. They could take the relationship one day at a time and see where it took them, which was great. He felt freer to be himself if he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea.

He reached the kitchen and hunted for the corkscrew so he could open a bottle of Pinot Noir. He’d just pulled it out of the drawer when the telephone whined.

Please don’t let this be Serena, ringing to cancel!

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, big brother.’ Mel was trying to be chirpy.

‘What’s up?’

There was a pause and a heartfelt sigh.

‘Mel?’

‘It’s Dad.’

Jake’s back straightened. ‘What about him?’

‘There’ve been a few sightings lately.’

‘On the Costa Blanca?’

‘No, not in Spain—here.’

Jake marched across the kitchen and yanked the fridge door open, although when the blast of cold air hit his face he had no idea what he’d come to fetch, if anything. ‘I’ve told you before. I don’t care what that man does, as long as he doesn’t come within fifty feet of me.’

‘It’s been ten years. Aren’t you even curious?’

‘No. He won’t have changed. Don’t fall for his flannel, Mel.’

Her tone was defensive. ‘What makes you think I’m going to see him?’

‘I didn’t say you were. Are you?’

Silence.

‘You were much younger than me when he left. You don’t remember half of what went on—and there was lots of stuff I made sure you didn’t find out. I know you’ve got these fairytale ideas that he’ll come back and it’ll be happy families, but it’s not going to happen, Mel. He’ll pick your pocket the same time as giving you a hug.’

Her voice was quiet. He knew she was on the verge of tears, but he wasn’t prepared to have her hurt. He had to be tough with her now to stop worse pain in the future. All the same, he didn’t want to unleash the anger reserved for his father on Mel.

He softened his voice. ‘I’m sorry, sis, that’s just the way it is.’

‘I know. I just wish it wasn’t, you know?’ She sniffed. ‘I thought I should tell you, that’s all.’

‘Thanks. I’m glad you did.’

Another sniff. ‘Well, I’d better be getting on …’

‘Take care of yourself. I’ll see you on Sunday, okay? Don’t cry for him, Mel. He’s not worth it.’

‘I’ll try. Bye, Jake.’ There was a gentle but despondent click as she put the receiver down.

Jake resisted flinging his phone against the dark slate tiles of the kitchen floor and carefully placed it back in its cradle. Hadn’t that man done enough damage in the past? Why couldn’t he have just stayed disappeared? He wrenched the door of the glass cabinet open. He’d bet last year’s salary that the reason for Charlie Jacobs’s return was not a good one.

CHAPTER FOUR

JAKE walked back towards the bottle of wine. Grinding the corkscrew into the cork felt good. Just the scent of chocolate and cherries as he poured it into a goblet eased the creases from his forehead. The doorbell chimed.

He walked into the hallway, glass in hand, and checked the screen of the video entry system. The camera looked down upon a head of dark, glossy hair. She was fiddling with her nails. Suddenly she turned and stared straight at the camera.

He actually jumped back slightly, almost as if he’d been caught spying. She gave the camera a saucy wink. It took him a good few seconds before he remembered to press the button, and the buzzer sounded long after she’d disappeared inside.

He swung his front door open and waited for her, heart thumping.

Calm. Calm.

Never lose your cool in front of a woman, remember? Who was he kidding? His cool had run screaming from the room the first time he’d laid eyes on Serena, and he hadn’t found its hiding place yet. Still, better not to let her know that.

He held the glass out to her as she rounded the corner. ‘Perfect timing.’

She took it and glided past him into the flat. ‘That’s what I like,’ she said, and stopped to take a sip. ‘A man who knows what I need even before I do.’

Jake took a little bow.

A naughty grin spread across her face. ‘I’m getting a little 1950s flashback here. Shouldn’t I be saying, Hi, honey. I’m home?’

‘Not if you don’t actually live here.’

She ignored him and waved the glass in his direction. ‘By rights, this should really be a martini and you—’ A finger lifted from the stem of her glass and jabbed the air. ‘You ought to be wearing a frilly apron.’

That was what he liked about her. She was always seeing things from a different angle. He pulled her close and kissed her ever so gently on the lips. When they pulled apart she whispered in his ear. ‘Actually, I think you’ll do quite nicely just as you are.’

He took her by the hand and led her into the kitchen.

‘Dinner smells nice. Where did you order from?’

‘Chez Jake. Do you know it?’

‘I’m not falling for that one! Don’t you know that’s trick number five in the bachelor handbook on how to impress women? Order a good takeaway and pass it off as your own. And if I’m not mistaken …’ She edged over to the bin and popped the lid up with a flourish of her hands. ‘Ta-dah!’

The smug smile evaporated from her face as she looked down into the carton-free bin. Her eyebrows rose. ‘You mean you actually cooked it all by yourself? I am impressed!’

‘You haven’t tasted it yet.’

‘But you really cooked? For me?’

‘Yes, I really did.’

A softness glittered in her eyes and she took a quick sip of her wine. When she looked up again it was gone.

He stirred the bubbling sauce. ‘Would you take the wine and the glasses through to the dining room for me? It’s just opposite.’

Serena hesitated, then walked over and gave him a feather-light peck on the cheek.

‘Thank you, Jake.’

He stopped stirring and frowned. Thank you for what? It was only dinner.

Serena placed the glasses on coasters and surveyed the bone china plates, silver cutlery and elegant wine flutes that were laid ready on the table. Long-stemmed candlesticks flanked an arrangement of fresh flowers in the centre. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a man would pamper her so. Jake must be really serious about her. The ramifications of that thought made her heart skip a little faster.

The most she’d ever got from a boyfriend before was a packet of peanuts thrown across the pub table after he’d been to the bar. In her experience, musicians who knew she had a rich father didn’t bother frittering their hard-earned cash on her—quite the opposite. But it wasn’t the quality of Jake’s chinaware that impressed her. It had taken time and careful thought to create all this—just for her. It was utterly seductive.

Jake called from the kitchen. ‘Sit yourself down. I’ll be there in just a sec.’

She pulled out a chair and did as she was told, still marvelling at his domesticity. A vase full of creamy white roses sat in front of her. They were lovely, buds loosening with the promise of the fullness. Just like the perfect blooms of a bridal bouquet.

Clinking dishes announced Jake’s arrival. She was about to compliment him on the table setting, but all she could do when she looked up was hoot with laughter. Over the top of his jeans and shirt he was wearing the most hideous floral apron she had ever seen. Jake just grinned back at her, not fazed at all by the combination of psychedelic blue flowers and designer shirt.

He set the starters down on the table while she wiped her eyes, trying hard to leave her mascara intact. It took quite a while before the end of her sentences weren’t hi-jacked by a burst of giggles.

‘Where the heck did you dig that up?’

Jake did a twirl. ‘You don’t think it suits me?’

‘Oh, beautifully! In fact, I think you should wear it next time we go out.’

‘How about next Thursday? At your special birthday dinner?’

She gasped. ‘How did you know it was my birthday next week?’

‘A handy little tool called a search engine.’

He’d been looking her up on the internet? If anyone else had said that she’d have found it creepy—definite boyfriend marching orders! But she already knew Jake wasn’t like that. Anyway, it would be highly hypocritical of her to be cross. Hadn’t she visited his firm’s website nearly every day, just to look at the pixellated little photo of him and convince herself he wasn’t some longed-for figment of her imagination? She was secretly flattered he’d done something similar.

She tried not to look too gooey as she smiled back at him. ‘So, where are you taking me?’

Jake put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s a surprise. But I promise you this: it’s going to be a night you’ll never forget.’

She hastily studied the goats’ cheese salad in front of her. ‘You’re too good to me.’

He sounded shocked. ‘I thought you’d be used to getting the princess treatment. I can’t believe no one has ever looked into those big brown eyes and said you deserve the best.’

She swallowed a little lump that clogged her throat. ‘Mum did. But that was a long time ago—a different life, almost. She died when I was twelve.’

He took her hand and she looked up into his bottomless blue eyes, so full of compassion. Suddenly it didn’t matter if he saw that hers were tear-filled. He saw parts of her that other men hadn’t even noticed, let alone understood. It was as if she was transparent to him. Yet she didn’t feel naked or scared, she just felt known.

He pulled her hand towards his lips and placed the tiniest kiss on her knuckle. Nothing to prepare her for the shockwave that shot up her arm and bullseyed in her heart.

Her breath caught in her throat as he said, ‘I’m going to have to do a lot of making up for lost time, then.’

Dinner was fantastic. The conversation was warm and intimate. If a world existed outside the candlelit cocoon they shared, she didn’t want to know about it. She swallowed the last bite of her seafood pasta and relaxed back into her chair.

‘That was amazing!’ The corners of her mouth curled up. ‘You could take the apron off now, if you wanted to.’

His eyes jerked downwards, then he laughed. ‘I completely forgot I was wearing it!’ He tugged at the ties behind his back and slipped it over his head.

‘So where did you get it? I’m going to be very scared if I find out you have a row of them hanging in your wardrobe!’

‘No, you’re safe. This belongs to my cleaning lady. She keeps it in the hall cupboard with her cleaning supplies. You don’t think a single guy living alone is this good at dusting, do you?’ He bunched the apron up and slung it under his arm. ‘I’d better put this back. Do you want coffee?’

‘Please.’

Serena busied herself with collecting the plates and followed Jake down the hall. So he didn’t dust—who cared? Neither did she. But in every other way Jake was shaping up to be Mr Perfect.

By the time she’d wandered into the kitchen, Jake was pouring steaming espresso into delicate little cups. He took the dishes from her hands, passed her a coffee, then laced his fingers in her spare hand and tugged her towards the living room. ‘We’ll leave the washing up for now.’