Chasing Daisy

watch. Five o’clock. ‘A wine would be nice. I’m exhausted after working.’
    ‘Red or white?’
    ‘I don’t mind. What are you having?’
    ‘Let’s go for white.’ He goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle, then digs around in a drawer for a bottle opener.
    ‘How was work?’ he asks.
    ‘It was okay.’ I pull up a stool at the bar and watch him pour the wine into outsize glasses. ‘Society wife hosting a posh lunch for thirty of her closest friends. Amazing how those sorts of dos require so much more energy than catering for 300 people.’
    ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
    I don’t reply.
    ‘Do you like it?’ He sits down at the bar opposite me.
    ‘I’d prefer to be out the back, cooking.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘I didn’t know that.’
    ‘I didn’t always want to be a bun tart, you know.’ I narrow my eyes at him and he smiles at me.
    ‘So why don’t you work in the kitchen for the team?’
    ‘Frederick won’t let me. He wants me out front of house.’ I sigh. ‘I guess I haven’t had any real training, so it’s understandable.’
    ‘Why don’t you get some training, then?’ He gives me an inquisitive look.
    ‘Um. . . I don’t know. I haven’t really considered it.’
    He takes a sip of his wine while I stare off into the distance, thoughtfully. Why haven’t I applied to catering college? I know I threatened my father I’d do it in New York, but I’ve never actually looked into the possibility. . .
    ‘Anyway, what have you been up to?’ I change the subject.
    ‘Not much. Just hanging out here.’
    ‘When did you buy this place? It’s absolutely stunning.’
    ‘At the beginning of the year after I got the drive for the team.’
    ‘It must’ve cost a fortune,’ I muse.
    ‘I still have a hefty mortgage. I would have had to be in F1 for a couple of years before I could afford to buy a house like this outright.’
    ‘Sorry, that was a bit of a rude of me.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he brushes me off. ‘Anyway, it’s not like you’re obsessed with money, is it?’
    ‘Do you get a lot of that? Women going after you because you’re a rich bastard?’
    He cracks up laughing. ‘I think they’re into me because I’m devastatingly good-looking.’
    ‘Modest, too.’
    ‘Have you had that problem?’ he asks.
    ‘What, men going after me because I’m devastatingly good-looking?’
    ‘Well, that as well.’ He winks at me. ‘But no, because of your dad’s wealth?’
    ‘Oh, the boys I hung out with when I was growing up all had bucketloads of money, too. And then there was Johnny Jefferson. Hardly lacking in cash.’
    ‘Yet you live in that studio flat on Camden Road. . .’
    ‘ Lived ,’ I correct him, fleetingly recalling how he picked me up to take me to the funeral. ‘I still miss it.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because it was mine. Okay, so I didn’t actually own it, but it was still the first and only place I actually had all to myself.’
    He nods. ‘Well, I grew up in a tiny house, shared a room with my four brothers, and couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.’
    ‘I thought you were close to your family?’
    ‘Oh, we’re close . But that was too close for comfort.’
    I laugh. ‘And now you live here in this big house all on your own.’
    ‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’
    ‘I’m joking! Don’t you love it? You must, surely.’
    ‘Well, it is pretty big. But no, I don’t really like being on my own.’
    ‘I’m sure you could find some willing women to bring back here.’ I give him a wry look and he rolls his eyes at me.
    ‘I’ve never brought anyone back here if you must know.’
    ‘Seriously?’ I regard him with surprise.
    ‘Seriously.’ He shrugs and looks away.
    There’s something overwhelmingly nice about that. The thought that no other woman has tainted this house . . . Unlike Laura with Will’s house.
    Oh, there I go again. I really must stop comparing them.
    Would he have left Laura?
    Would he have had a fling with me before going back to her?
    Stop it! Stop torturing yourself!
    Luis reaches over and tops up my wine glass, then gets to his feet and goes to the cupboard. I watch as he pulls out a packet of honey-roasted cashew nuts and decants them into a bowl. He looks – dare I say it? – sexy tonight. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to just below his elbows so I can see his olive-toned forearms. His black hair is longer than it was when I first met him and now falls just below