you Archie Harbinson, by any chance?’
Archie felt cornered. He should deny it. Get away now.
‘I recognise you from your photo.’
Jay was nothing if not thorough. Of course he’d sent a photo.
‘Yes. I am,’ Archie admitted, through gritted teeth.
Her smile grew even wider and she held out her hand. ‘I’m Patricia, from Not On The Shelf. I’m so pleased to meet you. And congratulations. It was a really tough choice – we had hundreds and hundreds of entries.’
‘Really?’ All those desperate people out there. Most of whom deserved this trip more than he did.
‘But your profile really stood out.’
‘Did it?’ Archie wondered what on earth Jay had written.
‘It wasn’t about finding a potential George Clooney,’ Patricia went on to explain.
‘Oh. Good. Well, you won’t be disappointed, then.’
‘It was about finding the perfect match. Two people who seemed made for each other.’
‘I see . . .’
‘You and Emmie seemed like dream partners. You were both very clear what you wanted, which always helps.’
What had Jay written? What had he said Archie wanted?
Patricia was nodding at him. ‘We have high hopes of a happy future for you both. We at Not On The Shelf have a feeling .’ To accentuate this feeling she balled her hand into a fist and prodded an area somewhere between her breasts and her stomach. ‘And it’s our feeling that makes us the success we are. No computer matching for us. Oh no. We go by gut instinct .’
Archie thought if her jewellery was anything to go by, he wouldn’t trust her to pick out a tie for him, let alone a long-term partner. But he couldn’t be bothered to argue.
Patricia took his arm. ‘Let’s not delay things a moment longer. I want you to meet your date.’ She turned to the photographer. ‘Are you ready? I think it’s important to capture the moment they first set eyes on each other. It’s what the other clients will want to see.’
The photographer held up his camera. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘Love is in the air ,’ warbled Patricia as she took Archie’s arm.
Archie suddenly had an image of his blind date’s disappointment when she saw him in the flesh. He steeled himself for the humiliation, inwardly cursing Jay, who he knew damn well was watching him from above. ‘Don’t even think about doing a runner, Harbinson,’ he could hear him say. He let Patricia lead him over to a girl sitting on one of the plush banquettes that lined the lounge.
‘Here we are,’ said Patricia proudly. ‘This is Emmie. Emmie Dixon – Archie Harbinson.’
The photographer began snapping away at the pair of them as the girl stood up. She was tiny, dainty, in a drop-waisted crepe de chine dress the colour of crushed mulberries. She wore it with strings of pearls and a matching cloche hat topped with a creamy, quivering ostrich feather. Beneath it her face was like a little doll’s, with laughing brown eyes and the most kissable cherry-red lips. On the seat beside her was a pile of three hat boxes in pistachio green on which black spidery writing proclaimed: Emmie Dixon, Milliner.
She held out her hand.
‘Hello,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Emmie.’
‘Archie. Very nice to meet you too.’ It tripped off his tongue, for Archie’s manners overrode his lack of enthusiasm. Besides, he was surprised. She was a million miles from what he had been expecting. He supposed he had watched too many episodes of Blind Date. He’d envisaged hair extensions and fake tan and a certain amount of leopardskin. Not someone who looked as if she had stepped out of another age.
As the photographer started snapping away, she leaned into him, talking in a low, confidential voice. ‘I bet you’ve been dreading this. I know I have. I absolutely hate having my picture taken.’
‘Me too. But then people don’t often want to take mine.’ Archie was deadpan.
‘Smile for me, if you could, both of you?’ said the
Archie felt cornered. He should deny it. Get away now.
‘I recognise you from your photo.’
Jay was nothing if not thorough. Of course he’d sent a photo.
‘Yes. I am,’ Archie admitted, through gritted teeth.
Her smile grew even wider and she held out her hand. ‘I’m Patricia, from Not On The Shelf. I’m so pleased to meet you. And congratulations. It was a really tough choice – we had hundreds and hundreds of entries.’
‘Really?’ All those desperate people out there. Most of whom deserved this trip more than he did.
‘But your profile really stood out.’
‘Did it?’ Archie wondered what on earth Jay had written.
‘It wasn’t about finding a potential George Clooney,’ Patricia went on to explain.
‘Oh. Good. Well, you won’t be disappointed, then.’
‘It was about finding the perfect match. Two people who seemed made for each other.’
‘I see . . .’
‘You and Emmie seemed like dream partners. You were both very clear what you wanted, which always helps.’
What had Jay written? What had he said Archie wanted?
Patricia was nodding at him. ‘We have high hopes of a happy future for you both. We at Not On The Shelf have a feeling .’ To accentuate this feeling she balled her hand into a fist and prodded an area somewhere between her breasts and her stomach. ‘And it’s our feeling that makes us the success we are. No computer matching for us. Oh no. We go by gut instinct .’
Archie thought if her jewellery was anything to go by, he wouldn’t trust her to pick out a tie for him, let alone a long-term partner. But he couldn’t be bothered to argue.
Patricia took his arm. ‘Let’s not delay things a moment longer. I want you to meet your date.’ She turned to the photographer. ‘Are you ready? I think it’s important to capture the moment they first set eyes on each other. It’s what the other clients will want to see.’
The photographer held up his camera. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘Love is in the air ,’ warbled Patricia as she took Archie’s arm.
Archie suddenly had an image of his blind date’s disappointment when she saw him in the flesh. He steeled himself for the humiliation, inwardly cursing Jay, who he knew damn well was watching him from above. ‘Don’t even think about doing a runner, Harbinson,’ he could hear him say. He let Patricia lead him over to a girl sitting on one of the plush banquettes that lined the lounge.
‘Here we are,’ said Patricia proudly. ‘This is Emmie. Emmie Dixon – Archie Harbinson.’
The photographer began snapping away at the pair of them as the girl stood up. She was tiny, dainty, in a drop-waisted crepe de chine dress the colour of crushed mulberries. She wore it with strings of pearls and a matching cloche hat topped with a creamy, quivering ostrich feather. Beneath it her face was like a little doll’s, with laughing brown eyes and the most kissable cherry-red lips. On the seat beside her was a pile of three hat boxes in pistachio green on which black spidery writing proclaimed: Emmie Dixon, Milliner.
She held out her hand.
‘Hello,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Emmie.’
‘Archie. Very nice to meet you too.’ It tripped off his tongue, for Archie’s manners overrode his lack of enthusiasm. Besides, he was surprised. She was a million miles from what he had been expecting. He supposed he had watched too many episodes of Blind Date. He’d envisaged hair extensions and fake tan and a certain amount of leopardskin. Not someone who looked as if she had stepped out of another age.
As the photographer started snapping away, she leaned into him, talking in a low, confidential voice. ‘I bet you’ve been dreading this. I know I have. I absolutely hate having my picture taken.’
‘Me too. But then people don’t often want to take mine.’ Archie was deadpan.
‘Smile for me, if you could, both of you?’ said the
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