Blind-Date Marriage. Fiona Harper

hands around.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘I’m trying to find a taxi! One minute the whole street is teeming with them; the next minute there’s not one to be had for love nor money.’

      He pulled her arm down and turned her to face him. Only then did he see the tremble in her lip, her pale face.

      ‘Hey.’ He slid his hand down her arm until he found her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’ll be okay.’

      She sniffed. ‘I need to get to that pub as soon as I can, or there’s going to be a huge amount of trouble!’ She pulled away from him and ran to the kerb again as a black cab hurtled past. She looked as if she were about to sprint up the road after it when Jake reached for her again.

      ‘I’ll take you. My car’s round the corner. I know a way round the back-doubles that’ll cut out a lot of the traffic.’

      Her eyes gleamed and threatened to overflow. ‘Would you really? You don’t know how grateful I am. But you’ve got to promise me something.’

      ‘What’s that?’

      She grabbed both his shoulders in what, at that time, seemed like an overly dramatic gesture. ‘You can’t tell a soul about what happens when we get there. It’s vitally important.’

      Her words haunted him as he turned his car towards the river and headed over Vauxhall Bridge. He left the main roads after passing The Oval, and wove through the back streets. The climbing numbers on the milometer matched his growing unease. He hadn’t been back this way for years, had promised himself he never would. He’d done everything humanly possible to claw his way off the high-rise council estate he’d grown up on.

      What had she got herself mixed up in? Trouble in this neck of the woods normally meant something criminal. Although she looked unconventional, he hadn’t taken her for the kind of woman who courted real trouble. She lacked a certain brand of hardness he was all too familiar with.

      But appearances could be deceptive. He’d learned that from his father—living proof that even the tastiest-looking apple could be maggoty at the core.

      His eyes flicked over to Serena in the passenger seat. He’d only just met this woman. She could be anyone, involved in anything. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even know her last name.

      However, his gut said he could trust her, and when he thought of her face when the black cab had sailed past, he knew it was right. Whatever she was involved in, it wasn’t drugs or dirty money. She really cared about the man—he presumed it was a man—they were racing to rescue.

      A few minutes later he pulled up outside The Swan, or as close as he could get to it. A clampers’ lorry was just about to winch a car off the double yellow lines outside.

      A metallic blue Porsche.

      Blast! He’d forgotten all about the guy with the Porsche. What a prize doughnut he was! He’d raced halfway across London to bail her boyfriend out of trouble. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he imagined some T-shirted lout, who obviously didn’t look after Serena the way she deserved to be looked after.

      Serena jumped out of the car and raced into the pub before he could undo his seat belt. Was she always this impetuous? Or was it just that the Porsche guy was so great she couldn’t wait another second to be with him?

      His frown deepened and he pulled himself out of his car, straightened his tie, and followed her inside. The smell of stale smoke and beer hit his nostrils as he pushed the door open. This place was even more of a dive than it had been last time he’d been here—and that had to be a good ten years ago. The same torn, faded upholstery covered the stools and benches, only it was even more torn and faded than he remembered.

      A couple of blokes with tattoos on their knuckles propped up the bar. He knew their sort. He couldn’t judge them, though. If he’d had a little less luck, made a few different choices, it could have been him standing there, whiling away his dole money on watered-down beer.

      He turned his attention to the overturned table and broken glass in the far corner. Serena was leaning over a man sprawled on one of the upholstered benches. She paused every few seconds to discuss the situation with a burly man in a leather jacket. Only when Jake was a few feet away could he hear any of her hushed, staccato phrases.

      ‘What happened, Benny? How did you end up in this place?’

      Benny, for all his height and width, hung his head like a naughty schoolboy enduring a scolding. ‘Mike said he wanted to visit some of the places he used to play when the band was just starting out. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘It always does, Benny.’

      ‘Sorry, babe.’

      She rolled her neck, as if she was trying to erase the kinks.

      ‘So what happened, exactly?’

      ‘Mike got to reminiscing with a couple of the locals. We were having a great time, buying everybody drinks and walking down memory lane, then some of the younger crowd got a bit mouthy and Mike flipped. He tried to thump one of them and tripped over a stool. They laughed, so he took another swing and hit the barman by accident.’

      Benny shrugged. ‘His aim is terrible after a few pints. He only knocked a tray of empties out of his hands—didn’t hurt him.’

      ‘Well, thank goodness for that!’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Listen, Benny, you see if you can get him upright, and I’ll go and chat to the landlord. We need to get out of here before the press gets wind of it.’

      The press? Jake thought. A pub brawl wasn’t even going to make page sixteen of the local paper, let alone the nationals. Surely she was overreacting?

      She stepped back to go and talk to the man behind the bar, giving him his first good look at the Porsche-driving god she had come to rescue. He couldn’t have been more surprised. Mike wasn’t some hot-looking young stud with a washboard stomach—he was a bedraggled-looking fifty-something with a beer belly. What on earth did she see in him?

      He looked back at Serena, who was talking earnestly to the landlord. Frowns were giving way to nods and half-smiles. She marched back over to them, a less serious look on her face.

      ‘He says he’s not going to press charges. I’ve offered to pay for any damage, and a little bit extra for compensation. He seems quite happy, but I still think we ought to leave before he thinks better of it. Hand over the cash, Benny, and I’ll sort this out right now.’

      Benny handed her a wad of notes from his pocket.

      Jake had the uncanny feeling this was not the first time she’d bailed the man out of trouble. It was almost as if she was on auto-pilot. Even so, she was marvellous. Nothing seemed to faze her.

      Mike looked up at him. ‘All right, mate?’

      He held out his hand. Jake ignored it. The guy didn’t seem to mind.

      ‘She’s great, isn’t she?’ he slurred, nodding his head towards Serena.

      Jake resisted the urge to punch him.

      ‘Yes, she is. You’re very lucky she takes care of you like this.’

      His head sagged. ‘I know. She’s the best daughter in the world.’

      Daughter! Of course! He was so dense sometimes. He grinned to himself. Benny gave him an odd look, obviously wondering who the hell he was, and why he found the whole situation quite so funny.

      Jake looked down at Serena’s father again. Maybe his first impressions had been a little harsh, but jumping to conclusions about people was an everyday hazard when you had a runaway imagination like his. Mel was always quick to remind him of this fault. She said he needed to slow down and look at the facts, not just let his imagination fill in the blanks. He hated it when Mel was right.

      Apart from being a little the worse for wear, Mike looked okay.