Automatically, Maura glanced across the crowded room but her view of the hall was obscured by a couple standing in the doorway. ‘Someone you know?’
‘Someone I’d like to know,’ Zoe said, then gave a little shrug. ‘If I wasn’t with Liam, obviously.’
Maura craned her head, her curiosity piqued. The party was at a house in Edinburgh’s New Town – a stone’s throw from the rugby club that formed a significant part of her social life – and she’d thought she knew everyone there. ‘A player?’ she asked Zoe, who shook her head.
‘Too pretty.’
Maura raised her eyebrows. ‘Some of our boys are good-looking.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Zoe said. ‘The kind of face that has never been on the wrong end of a crunching tackle.’
And Maura did know what she meant. Jamie was rugged and handsome but his nose had been broken more than once and there was a faded silvery line on his forehead from a collision that had resulted in hospital treatment for concussion. Every rugby player she knew had similar battle scars that they wore with immense pride. ‘I wonder who he is,’ she said, glancing towards the hall again in case the view had cleared and noting with mild disappointment that it had not.
‘Only one way to find out,’ Zoe said decisively, and levered herself off the sofa. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
Maura considered the dregs of lukewarm Prosecco in the bottom of her glass. ‘Maybe just a Coke.’
‘Sensible,’ Zoe replied, ‘if just a tiny bit boring. Wait here – I’ll report back with the gossip.’
A moment later, she was weaving her way through the crush, trading smiles and nods. Maura watched her go, noting the appreciative looks from some of the guests as the slender blonde passed by. She hadn’t known Zoe long, only for the months she’d been dating Liam, but they’d quickly become friends; she made Maura feel less out of place among the often-raucous rugby crowd. There were other wives and girlfriends, of course, many of whom had been part of the group much longer than Maura, and she liked them too. But Zoe had a sparkle that had drawn Maura in from the first moment they met. Hogmanay might not be so bad with a partner in crime, she decided.
A roar from the hardened drinkers made her look over to see Jamie holding a tray of lime-green jelly shots aloft. These were quickly snatched up. Jamie glanced Maura’s way, raising an enquiring eyebrow. She shook her head. Shrugging, he offered one of the two he held to Archie, who hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tipping it into his mouth. Maura’s lips twisted in wry amusement. It wouldn’t be long before that was coming back up, if she was any judge. Jamie, on the other hand, would be fine. His tolerance for alcohol had been finely honed by years amid the play-hard, party-hard environment of the rugby crowd.
Not for the first time, Maura reflected how different she and Jamie were. He was gregarious and immensely likeable, with a charm few could resist once it was turned their way. It was that charm that had first ensnared Maura, at a ceramics gallery viewing sponsored by the bank Jamie worked for. He’d made a beeline for her, hiding in the corner while people studied and discussed her creations, and kept a respectful distance even as he fixed her with a sympathetic smile. ‘You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.’
She had hesitated, because it wasn’t strictly true. The people in the gallery were here to view the pieces she had made – bowls and vases she had worked on for months – and there was a part of her that wanted to see them admired and appreciated, not to mention bought. But she’d be lying if she pretended she found prestigious events like this easy, even though she knew most potters would kill to be in her shoes. A down-to-earth pottery show was more her thing, in a chilly marquee or village hall, full of ceramics enthusiasts with wide-ranging, quirky tastes and fellow potters to chat with. A show that wasn’t exclusively about her. ‘Not at all,’ she’d replied as she looked up at him, hoping the lie wasn’t too transparent, and held out her hand. ‘I’m Maura.’
‘I know,’ he said, encompassing her fingers completely with his own large hand. ‘You’re the talent behind all of this beauty.’ He waved a hand at the spotlit gallery, with its pedestals and tables of gleaming blue and green and turquoise ceramics. ‘I feel as though I’m on a desert island, surrounded by gently lapping waves. You must really love the sea.’
‘I do,’ Maura said, gratified. ‘Although I’m not sure I came anywhere close to capturing its true depth or beauty.’
He eyed her quizzically, black brows beetling. ‘Seriously?’ Turning, he studied a wide, wavy-edged bowl glazed in a delicate sea-green. ‘I can almost hear the crash of the surf when I look at this piece. And the way the glass shimmers at the bottom, half-covering the anemones and leaf patterns underneath – it’s like peeping into a rock pool once the tide has gone out.’
Maura felt her cheeks grow warm, partly in pleasure that he’d understood what she’d been trying to achieve, but mostly in shame because she had totally judged this stranger by his appearance – tall, well-built and with a jaw that looked like it could crack boulders, let alone walnuts. He was immaculately dressed – his suit was expensive and well-fitted – and his thick dark hair was tamed into submission by liberally applied gel, all of which had led her to automatically label him as a typical city banker. Not the type to appreciate art, she had decided, without even realising she’d done so. And now he was forcing her to reappraise her initial assessment, and her own preconceptions along with it. ‘Thank you,’ she said, praying her face wasn’t as crimson as it felt.
He smiled then, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that somehow eased her discomfort and made her feel worse. ‘You’re welcome. But where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Jamie Wallace. I work for Castle Finance, and I can tell you on behalf of all my colleagues how honoured we are to be sponsoring this exhibition.’
‘Oh.’ Maura heard the faint squeak in her voice and took a deep breath. It was time to take control of herself and act like a professional. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Jamie.’
‘I hope so,’ he said, a smile curving the corners of his mouth again. ‘Even though you’re secretly hoping I’m going to leave you alone soon.’
‘I am not,’ she protested and was startled to realize she meant it. ‘I have a tendency to hide away at these things and then be annoyed at myself afterwards for not speaking to anyone,’ she admitted. ‘At least I can congratulate myself later on talking to you.’
Jamie laughed, a deep, warm sound that Maura found made her want to laugh too. ‘I’m not sure anyone has ever congratulated themselves for being cornered by me. But you’re very kind to say so.’
His wry self-deprecation was as charming as it was misplaced. Maura raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’
‘You don’t?’ His blue eyes rested on her with interest. ‘Then have dinner with me. Tonight, when the gallery closes.’
She gaped at him, wrongfooted again. ‘I – uh –’
‘But I’m an idiot,’ he said, slapping his forehead. ‘You must have plans – a glittering celebration with your friends and family. Your boyfriend.’
Maura pressed her lips together. She did indeed have plans, and they involved a hot-water bottle, pyjamas and her sofa. But Jamie didn’t need to know that. He was giving her a way out, an excuse to turn him down without either of them losing face, and she was very much surprised to realize she didn’t want to. ‘No,’ she said, before she could change her mind. ‘I don’t have anything planned. Dinner sounds good.’
To her mild amusement, he looked momentarily nonplussed, as though taken aback by her assent. ‘So it’s a date, then?’
Maura gazed up at him, noticing all over again how broad he was, so that he almost towered over her, even though he had taken care to keep some distance between them. He must work out, a distracted part of her brain observed, even as she smiled in acceptance. ‘Yes. It’s a date.’
