Meet Me at Midnight (Romance, Completed)

Chapter 3

I made the effort and put on a frock for lunch, not because I wanted to impress whoever mother wanted me to meet, but because it simply wasn't worth the earache she'd give me otherwise. Knee-length and floral, if I was lucky, I'd blend into the Laura Ashley sofa.

Mother looked pointedly at her slim gold watch as I walked into the garden room, and she checked the clock on the wall behind her for good measure. Only a minute late, for goodness' sake, and Dorothy hadn't even served the bread rolls yet.

Rather than eating in the formal dining room, Mother always preferred to have lunch overlooking the back lawn, presumably so she could check the gardener was doing his job properly. Despite having a beautiful garden designed by a gold medal winner from the Chelsea Flower Show, she barely set foot outside. I glanced over at the table—four places. Who were they for?

"Didn't Angelica give you the message about dressing up?" she asked.

I risked a look at myself. Yes, I was still wearing Cath Kidston's finest with a pale pink cardigan and my late grandmother's pearls.

"I did."

Her sigh said it all: where did I go wrong with this one?

I held in my own exhalation as she motioned me to take a pew next to her. Chilly air from the open French windows wafted up my skirt, but it did nothing to cool the fire still burning in my core from last night's encounter with Mr. M. I crossed my legs and forced myself to breathe as I waited for Mother to explain who we were expecting for lunch.

"Mrs. Fitzgerald from the tennis club will be joining us shortly," she informed me.

Mrs. Fitzgerald... Mrs. Fitzgerald... Which one was she? All the ladies from the Sandlebury Lawn Tennis Association looked the same to me—perfectly coiffed hair, a touch of Botox, white skirts more suited to a woman half their age, and enough jewellery to dazzle their opponents to distraction. Angie still kept up a membership, but I'd cancelled mine years ago. On the rare occasions I still picked up a racket, I played against my sister on our own court.

"Lovely." I forced a smile. "Is she bringing a friend?"

"Her son. You remember Gregory? He attended the fencing club with you until he went away to boarding school."

Ah, fencing—something else I wasn't very good at. Ben, the boy I'd sat next to in English and French, convinced me to start classes, but he was far better at it than me. I only went along because Mother said I had to go to ballet otherwise, an activity I took to with the grace of a grasshopper and the enthusiasm of a sloth.

And yes, I did remember Gregory, particularly the time he'd laughed at me when I put my fencing jacket on the wrong way around. Even though Gregory was two years older than us, I'd still had to stop Ben from doing something unsportsmanlike with his épée.

And now Gregory was expected for lunch. Hurrah. "Yes, I remember him. But why is he coming here?"

I had a horrible feeling I knew the answer.

Mother rose from the sofa with an elegance I'd never mastered and glided over to the table. "Where's Dorothy?" she muttered. "I'll need to have a word about her timekeeping."

"Mother, why is Gregory coming?"

A tiny frown creased her forehead then she smiled. Her expression told me I wouldn't like what she had to say.

"Gregory's just moved back from California, and his mother says he's ready to try dating after his divorce. Of course, I thought of you. It's about time you made the effort again."

"Effort to what?"

She gave her head a little shake. "To get married, of course."

"Mother, I don't want to get married again."