“Well,” he said. “I should probably be going.”
I smiled. “I’ll see myself home.”
“Until tomorrow,” he said, bowing deeply.
I watched him walk ahead, disappearing to the right, presumably to the dining room to conclude his awkward date—like a gentleman. I couldn’t help but wish I were the woman he was returning to.
“Will you be needing a car, ma’am?” the doorman asked, tipping his cap at me, at the base of the staircase.
I looked out the window and up at the clear night sky. I wasn’t ready to go home, not yet. I wanted to linger in this dreamy part of London a little longer. “No, thanks,” I said, shifting my gaze to the sidewalk, when suddenly someone collided into me from behind.
“Please forgive me,” a man said in a familiar American accent.
I smiled to myself—the cowboy.
He placed his large hand on my forearm, his tan face awash with concern, and sudden recognition. “Eloise?”
“Frank?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I…was meeting a…friend,” I stammered, choosing my words carefully and rubbing my side, where his tall frame had plowed into mine. I forced a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I had a meeting with some investors, you know, the ones I told you about the other night,” he continued, eyeing my face for any sign of recollection, though the memory of our conversation was hazy.
“Oh yes,” I said quickly. “How did it go?”
“Great. I think we sealed the deal. It’s a huge contract.”
Though he’d explained his work to me on more than one occasion, I still understood very little, just that he was employed by a large manufacturing corporation in Los Angeles. His ill-fitting suits detracted from the truth: Frank was wealthy, very wealthy. Maybe even a millionaire. “That’s…wonderful,” I said, distractedly glancing back to the entrance to the club, Edward’s face still fresh in my eyes.
“Whose jacket is this?” For a moment, his boyish smile shifted, and I detected a tinge of jealousy, distrust, even.
“I…left my coat on the tube,” I said, covering my tracks. “A kind older gentleman lent me his.”
Frank’s smile returned in an instant, as he slipped out of his own rumpled suit jacket. “Please wear mine. I insist.”
I shook my head. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s cold. You should keep yours on. I’ll…return it to the club…on my way to work tomorrow.”
He nodded, momentarily satisfied as a dark car pulled up and idled beside us. “That’s mine,” he said. “May I…take you out?”
“Thank you, but…I really should—”
“Just one drink,” he said, grinning, the glow of the streetlights reflecting his pale green eyes and revealing his receding hairline. True, he didn’t have Roger Williams’s swagger or Edward Sinclair’s refined way, but Frank did look at me—the real me—as if I were a goddess and that felt…nice.
“I know a little place not too far from here. They serve a mean cocktail, and if we’re lucky”—he paused to glance at his gold wristwatch—“we might be able to catch the comedy act. What do you say?”
I wanted to say no. I should have said no, but Frank’s eager smile was infectious, and without my permission, the corners of my mouth crept upward.
“So, it’s a yes, then?”
I glanced over my shoulder self-consciously, as if the very walls of the Royal Automobile Club might be keeping tabs on me.
“Okay,” I finally said. “But just one drink.”
“Just one drink,” he said, helping me into the car. I held my dress in place as I inched across the seat before he slid in beside me.
“You’d love California,” Frank began as the driver started the engine and signaled into traffic.
Maybe I would, I thought, half-listening as he rambled on about his beloved state—the palm trees, the ocean, the sun. All I knew of America was from television, but it all sounded lovely, in a far-off, postcard sort of way.
When we stepped out of the car a few minutes later, saxophone music billowed out of a nearby club. Inside, we found a table, and Frank ordered a round of martinis. I busied myself with the olives in my glass as he recounted his successful business deal and explained that he’d be returning to California soon. “Maybe you could…come with me,” he said nervously. “To visit.”
“Oh, Frank,” I replied. “That’s very…kind of you, but we’ve only just met.”
“I know,” he conceded. “But I can’t imagine leaving London…without you.”
I realized, for the first time, that Millie was right about more than one thing tonight. “You’re…very sweet,” I continued, backpedaling. “And I have enjoyed your company, to be sure. But you must understand that this is…a little too soon for me to be making such big decisions.”
“Of course,” he said quickly, reaching for my hand. “I don’t mean to rush you, it’s just that I…I’ve never met a woman like you, and it pains me to think that we’ll be separated by an ocean.”
Unable to find my words, I took a long sip of my martini.
“But listen, there is another option,” he continued. “I can stay for a few more months. My boss would be fine with it. There’s certainly more work to be done here. We could…take our time, get to know each other more. How would you like that?”
“I, well…” I gulped, unsure of what to say. “Frank, please don’t change your plans on account of me.”
“But don’t you want me to stay?”
“Well, sure, yes, I want you to stay. I mean, I’m not saying that I want you to leave.” My words sounded disjointed and ambiguous. But to Frank, they were a siren’s song.
“Then it’s settled,” he replied confidently. “I’ll extend my stay, and we’ll spend more time together.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d just agreed to, but suddenly Frank ordered another martini for each of us, and we were toasting our future.
“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night,” he said, beaming. “Anywhere you like. The Ritz, even.”
I couldn’t help but feel flattered by Frank’s interest in me. He looked at me like I was a titled heiress, not a Harrods salesclerk who grew up in the rowdy East End. But tomorrow night was off the table. I was having dinner with Edward.
I shook my head, but he persisted.
“Then how about the following night?”
“All right,” I said, unable to think of an excuse.
I ordered two takeout coffees before we left, and when we walked out of the club to the street, Frank eyed me curiously. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“I know,” I said. “This is for the—”
“Let me take you home,” he said, leaning in closer to me as his driver pulled up to the curb.
I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll just…hail a cab.”
“Please, it’s no trouble.”
When I declined a second time, he handed me a few pounds to cover the cab fare. I felt equal parts guilty and relieved. Payday wasn’t until next Friday, and my pocketbook was growing thin.