Just Friends - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Robyn Sisman is the author of SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP ('Irresistible ... keeps you up until the small hours' Daily Telegraph), and PERFECT STRANGERS ('Perfect summer reading: heart-poundingly romantic and achingly funny' Company), both of which are published in Penguin. She lives near Bath with her husband and two children.

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The waiter cleared their plates and brought the main courses while Michael began telling her, at some length, about some article he'd read in The Times about the mayor's controversial policy on under-age crime. Freya nodded at appropriate moments while her mind raced along its own track. Romance wasn't everything, she told herself. By Monday morning that couple probably wouldn't even be on speaking terms. Or he'd say he'd call, but he wouldn't, and she'd wait by the phone for a while, then go out and buy a new dress and start again. Freya knew the routine well. It was juvenile to expect to be swept away by passion. Mature relationships were founded on companionship and mutual respect, not to mention cash flow and a nice place to live. You had to take the long view.

Michael rambled on. It was almost as if he was marking time before - before what? Freya pushed her fish nervously round her plate. One man - thisman - for the rest of her life, 'till death do us part': it was a scary idea. She told herself she was lucky to have the option, in a city where a single woman was ten times more likely to receive a dirty phone call than a proposal of marriage. And people changed when they got married...didn't they?

But when Michael finally finished his steak and laid down his knife and fork neatly, Freya's heart began to hammer. He cleared his throat. Uh-oh, was this it? What was she going to say?

Michael cleared his throat. 'Freya. I've brought you here tonight for a special reason. I have something to say and something to give you.'

'Really?' she gave an inane laugh.

'Please. I'm serious. I want you to listen.'

'I will, I will.' Freya felt herself flapping helplessly like a fish n a net. 'But, you know what, I'm still hungry. Isn't that amazing?' she gabbled. 'I've just got to have one of those irresistible-looking chocolate things.'

'Okay,' Michael said curtly. He waved over a waiter.

'What about you? The berry pie sounds good. Or the sorbet. I always think sorbet is so -'

'I don't want to eat. I want to talk.'

'Oh. Right.' Freya grabbed her wine glass and drained it.

Michael smoothed his tie down his shirt-front.

'These last few months we've been together have been some of the best of my life.' He began. 'You've opened my eyes to so many new things - art, and interesting food, and parts of the city I never knew existed. I want you to know that I think you're a terrific person.'

'You're a terrific person too,' Freya responded chirpily.

He ploughed on as if he hadn't heard. She realized that he'd rehearsed this speech. 'I've been thinking about the future. I'm thirty-six now, and I know what I want. I'm ready to settle down soon. If I get the partnership, I'll be able to afford to move. A house out of the city. Connecticut maybe, or some place upstate. Who knows, I might even take up golf.'

'Golf?' squeaked Freya, beginning to panic.

'And I want someone to share that life with me.'

Freya suddenly saw herself trapped behind a white picket fence with a frilly apron glued to her waist.

'Home. Stability. Shared interests,' Michael intoned. 'And kids, one day.'

Behind the picket fence there now appeared a scrum of yowling toddlers with jammy faces, freighted by bulging nappies. Freya could actually feel her biological clock whirling into reverse. A hand placed her dessert before her - brown goo in a creamy lake. Her stomach heaved.

'These are the things I see happening, things I'm looking forward to, things I want to share with another person.' He stared at her intently, almost fiercely.

Quick! Head him off at the pass. 'Could we order some coffee?' she croaked. 'I'm feeling kind of tired.'

'In a minute. What I'm trying to say - ' he broke off in exasperation as she gave an enormous fake yawn. 'God, you're making this so difficult. There's something I want to give to you.'

Now he was patting his pockets. Any minute he was going to produce the ring!

'I don't need anything. Really. It's not my birthday.'

'Please stop interrupting. I've got something to say to you.'

'There's no rush. Let's leave it till tomorrow.' Freya was now giving her hair careless little flicks and grinning like a Disney chipmunk.

'You see, I think you're wonderful,' Michael continued.

'Hey, I think I'm wonderful too. So why don't we...' Freya cast around wildly for inspiration and caught sight of the canoodling couple. She leaned low across the table, clenching her forearms to her sides to give herself a Grand Canyon cleavage. 'Why don't we go home,' she cooed, 'and make mad, passionate love?'

'You don't understand.' Michael had now taken whatever it was out of his pocket. He held it hidden, cupped between both hands, and was looking down solemnly, like a small boy about to show her his pet toad.

Freya tried a different tack. 'It's too soon.' Her voice as redolent with untold tragedy. She nudged his hand. 'Please, put it away.'

Instead, Michael pressed the object into her fingers - a small, square box.

Freya hesitated. She might as well see what he had picked out. Did she rate diamonds? Or the predictable sapphire, 'to match your eyes'?

She opened the box. Inside was a gold signet ring engraved with the monogram MJP. The initials stood for Michael Josiah Petersen. She knew this because she had bought him the ring herself. American men liked that kind of thing. It had been a gesture, to show her gratitude to Michael when he first gave her shelter.

'Wow.' She was completely at a loss. In American high schools, girls and boys swapped 'class rings'. Maybe this was a grown-up version. 'I - I don't know what to say.' She took out the ring and turned it round in her fingers, then looked into Michaels face for guidance.

'We've had such great times together.' Michael's voice was thick with emotion.

'Yes...' She hung her head.

'I so much want you to be happy.'

'I know.'But? Freya's head jerked up. But what? She'd lost the script. What was going on here?

'- but I think it would be better if...'

'If what?'

'Well, you know...'

'No, Michael, I don't know.'

'If we could be...'

'Yes...?'

'I think it would be better if we could be...just friends.'

'Friends,' she echoed. 'Friends?' she repeated loudly.

There was a dull splat. It was the ring, dropping from her lifeless fingers into the chocolate torte.