One Perfect Summer

come amazingly well prepared,’ I say a little drily, draping it over my knees.
    ‘I can’t take all the credit,’ he admits.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I didn’t think of the blankets myself.’
    ‘Aah, your friend.’ I remember him saying he had some help.
    ‘Not strictly a friend . . .’
    ‘Oh. Who helped you, then?’
    ‘The same person who brought my car into the city tonight.’
    ‘You’re being very vague.’ Then it dawns on me. ‘An employee?’
    He doesn’t deny it as he takes a sip of his coffee.
    ‘Are you very, very rich?’ I blurt out.
    He laughs and looks at me, his eyes shining under the flames of the candles surrounding us. Many have gone out, but just as many are still alight. ‘It’s not something I usually talk about.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘You don’t need to apologise.’
    ‘So is your employee –’ the word feels strange on my tongue – ‘responsible for all of this?’ I indicate the setting around us, feeling a small stab of disappointment.
    ‘Physically, yes,’ Lukas reveals. ‘Theoretically, no.’ He smiles at me. ‘It was my idea.’
    ‘All of it?’
    He nods.
    ‘The menu?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘The candles?’
    He shrugs. ‘Yes.’
    ‘The cushions?’
    ‘Yes.’ Pause. ‘But not the blankets.’
    I grin at him. ‘I’m glad we cleared that up.’
    ‘Me too.’
    It’s grown darker, and I realise that a few more candles have gone out. The sky above is bursting with stars. Lukas rests his head back on the cushions and I do the same, gazing upwards.
    He turns to face me and reaches over to take my hand.
    I freeze. This is it. He’s going to make his move now. What am I going to do? I think of Joe and feel overwhelmed with sadness. I try to conjure up rage instead, but it doesn’t work. My head feels cloudy and confused. I have no idea how I’ll react if he kisses me.
    But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway. His hand is warm. He lets go and starts to trace circles on my palm. I turn to look at him and suddenly feel dizzy. I wrack my brain for something to say, something to stave off the inevitable, but my mind is blank. I look at his lips and back to his eyes, before my gaze once more falls on his lips. And at that moment I do want him to kiss me.
    Abruptly, he sits up. I regard his broad back with bewilderment.
    ‘I should take you home,’ he mumbles, getting to his feet.
    What?
    He holds his hand down to me. Flustered, I come to my senses and stand up without taking it. I feel humiliated. He must have known what I wanted. Notice the use of the past tense here.
    ‘Shouldn’t we clear up?’ I call after him as he stalks across the terrace to the stairs.
    ‘Klaus will do it.’
    Who’s Klaus? Oh, the employee.
    Lukas drives way too fast on the return journey, slamming the car through its gear changes as he navigates the country roads. I have no idea what the hell has got into him, but I clutch the armrest with terror, neither of us speaking. Then he’s pulling up outside Jessie’s house. He glares out through the windscreen, then he yanks open his door. I quickly open mine and climb out before he can reach me.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he blurts.
    ‘Don’t be,’ I snap. He puts his hand on my arm, but I shrug him off. I’m beyond perplexed now. I’m back to being angry again. All men, right?
    ‘Alice, wait!’ he calls as I hurry across the road. He runs after me. ‘I said I was sorry.’
    I spin around to face him. ‘What are you sorry for, exactly?’
    He looks away, then directly at me. ‘For driving too fast.’
    I shake my head and start to walk off.
    ‘I want to see you again!’ he calls. My footsteps slow to a standstill. I sigh. Yes, it was an amazing evening, but I ended up feeling humiliated and then confused. I could really do without these two emotions in my life right now.
    ‘Thank you for dinner,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you around.’
    He nods curtly and then stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets before determinedly setting off in the direction of the city.

 
    ‘How was your hot date?’ Jessie teases the next day at breakfast. Regardless of the fact that I heard him stumble in at one o’clock this morning, he’s in the kitchen at nine, rustling up pancakes.
    ‘It wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend,’ I say pedantically, although in truth I’m not even sure he’s that.
    I looked out of the living-room window first thing this morning to see that Lukas’s Porsche had vanished, collected by the