LITMIR.BIZ

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in my wellies, though it was, mercifully, quite dark – but I couldn’t seem to catch the barman’s eye. And I’d been standing there for a good ten minutes, feeling irritated by now, and annoyed by the spinning spotlights which were making my head ache, when I became aware that the man standing on my right was gesticulating extravagantly at the barman, then pointing at me with both index fingers, thumbs cocked. He saw me looking at him and smiled.

      ‘Thanks,’ I said to him, as I placed my order. I looked at him properly, then felt a sudden thump in my ribcage. He had dark curly hair that spilled over his collar and his eyes were a smoky blue. He was mid thirties, tall and slim, but his shoulders were broad. ‘That was kind of you,’ I added. ‘I couldn’t get the barman to notice me.’

      ‘I don’t know why,’ the stranger replied. ‘You’re very noticeable. You look like …’ Gwyneth Paltrow I hoped he’d say. Or Kirsten Dunst. People do say that sometimes – if they’ve had enough to drink.

      ‘… an iceberg,’ I heard him say. ‘You look so tall, and pale and … cool.’

      ‘And of course I have hidden depths.’

      ‘I’m sure you do.’ To my annoyance, this made him glance at my feet. Puzzlement furrowed his brow. ‘Been on a countryside march, have you?’

      ‘No.’ I explained what had happened.

      ‘How inconvenient.’

      ‘You’re telling me.’ I paid for the bottle of Taittinger. ‘But I always carry alternative footwear around with me.’

      ‘So I see. How practical.’

      ‘Anyway, thanks for your help there. You’re a gent.’

      ‘Sometimes,’ he said wistfully. ‘But not always …’

      Now, as I overtook the car in front, I thought how different my life would have been if I had left it there – if I had simply said a polite goodbye to the handsome stranger, then gone to find Cathy and Sue. Instead, I’d filled a glass with champagne and handed it to him. As I’d done so, I looked at him more boldly – the alcohol and my odd, heightened mood had made me feel uninhibited. I felt his interested glance in return.

      ‘Are you here with anyone?’ I’d asked, half expecting a glamorous female to zoom up to us and lead him away.

      ‘I came with a friend, but he’s gone outside to phone his wife.’

      ‘And where’s yours?’ I asked with a directness that amazed me.

      A look of mild surprise crossed his face. ‘I don’t … have one.’

      ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

      ‘No …’ he replied slowly, ‘since you ask. But tell me’ – he chinked my glass – ‘what are you celebrating?’

      I thought of my mother. ‘Nothing. But I’m about to start a new life.’

      ‘A new life?’ He raised his glass and I watched the slender columns of bubbles drift upwards, like waving fronds. ‘Well, here’s to that new life of yours. So what are you doing? Emigrating? Getting married? Going into a nunnery? Joining the circus?’

      ‘None of those things.’ I explained that I’d just had my last day in the City and would start my garden design course on the Monday.

      ‘So you’re going from hedge funds to herbaceous borders.’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘From shares to … scented stocks.’ I smiled. ‘From Wall Street – to wallflowers. Shall I go on?’

      ‘No’ I giggled. ‘I had enough horticultural jokes at my leaving party just now.’

      He leaned against the bar. ‘So what happens when you finish the course?’

      ‘I’ll start my own consultancy – Anna Temple Garden Design.’

      ‘Anna Temple …? You should be worshipped with a name like that. Do you have a large and devoted following?’

      I shook my head. ‘Tragically not.’

      ‘I find that surprising.’

      ‘And what’s your name?’ I asked. ‘I can’t chat you up properly if I don’t know it.’

      He smiled again. ‘It’s Xan. With an “X”.’

      ‘Because you’re X-rated?’ I was enjoying my new-found brazenness. Only two hours into my new life and I seemed to be uncovering fresh aspects of my personality, I reflected. Cassie – a born flirt – would be impressed.

      ‘No.’ Xan laughed. ‘It’s short for Alexander.’

      I had another sip of champagne. ‘That’s a bit classier than Alex, isn’t it?’

      ‘I think that’s what my mum thought.’

      Then Xan’s friend appeared and said that he had to leave; so I invited Xan to join me at the table that Sue and Cathy had now found. He chatted politely to us all at first, then he and I began to talk one on one. He told me that he’d spent ten years in Hong Kong, in banking, but had given it up to work for the BBC.

      ‘Are you enjoying it?’ I sipped my champagne.

      ‘It’s wonderful. I only wish I’d taken the plunge before. Life’s too short not to be doing something you love.’

      ‘That’s just the conclusion I’d come to,’ I said feelingly.

      ‘I’m a news trainee – luckily they let in the odd late starter.’

      Sue and Cathy were putting on their coats. ‘We’ve got a train to catch,’ Sue said. She picked up her bags, then bent to hug me. ‘You seem to be having a very memorable evening,’ she whispered. ‘Maybe it will end with a bang after all.’ She giggled and straightened up. ‘See you on Monday, then, Anna – oops! – no I won’t!’ She hugged me again. ‘But I’ll phone you.’

      ‘Please do, Sue – and thank you for the book.’

      Xan was politely getting to his feet, but Sue motioned for him to sit down. ‘No, no, no – you stay put, you two.’

      So that’s what Xan and I did – for how long I don’t remember; then I saw him glance at his watch. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘It’s midnight.’

      ‘Oh.’ I felt a spasm of regret mingled with panic. ‘Pumpkin time, Mr Cinders?’

      ‘Bedtime. I’ve got a busy day.’

      ‘Well …’ I stood up, aware, by now, that I’d had a lot to drink. ‘I’ll make my way too. But I’m glad I’ve met you.’ I held out my hand. ‘Today’s been a big day for me and it wouldn’t have been the same without you.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes. I’m not quite sure why. In fact,’ I added as I picked up my bags, ‘I’ve got the peculiar feeling that I was meant to meet you.’

      Xan was staring at me. ‘Where do you live?’

      I felt a jolt of electricity. ‘Brook Green.’

      ‘Well, I’m in Notting Hill. I’m getting a cab back – I’ll give you a lift. If you like,’ he added diffidently.

      A cloud of butterflies took flight in my stomach. ‘Yes. I would like that. Thanks.’

      We stepped out on to Oxford Street, where we were buffeted by reeling, ululating drunks. Xan put a protective hand on my arm and my skin tingled with pleasure. A gentle rain was falling, so taxis were scarce. Suddenly we saw a yellow light. Xan stepped into the road and flagged down the cab; it drew up beside us with a diesel chug.

      ‘Brook Green, please,’ Xan said, opening the door for me. ‘Then Notting Hill.’

      I

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