The Man She Married: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist(6)

‘Okay, maybe it is a date,’ I concede to JoJo.

‘It definitely is.’

‘But it’s not an online one, which is probably why it feels so different.’

‘Probably.’

‘So what do I wear? I don’t want to look too try-hard.’

‘Don’t turn up wearing a party dress and skyscraper heels. You’ll only feel like you’ve laid yourself out on a plate,’ JoJo observes sagely. ‘And that will just make you stiff and uncomfortable. Go for stylish but relaxed.’

I take the formal dresses I’ve selected and start replacing them on the wardrobe rail. ‘Such as?’

‘Wear your jeans, and that black fitted jacket, and your Ash boots. Let him see how great your legs are.’



Revising my outfit choice makes me late, and Dominic is waiting for me at Harvey’s, a small organic brasserie just off Salisbury Road. The fact that he chose somewhere near where I live is not lost on me.

‘Have you been here before?’ I ask, as I sink into my seat and accept a glass of wine from the bottle he has already ordered.

‘Nope. Just read about it and it sounded good. I reckoned it wouldn’t be too far for you to come.’ He gazes down at the pointy heels on my ankle boots. ‘Wouldn’t want you to cripple yourself walking in those.’

I order seared tiger prawns and he orders calamari, pulling a suitably contrite face when a dish of garlic mayonnaise arrives to accompany it. ‘Oops. Looks like snogging’s off the menu.’

Unsettled by the idea of kissing him, I pretend I haven’t heard this, and he asks me about how Comida is doing, questioning me on the fiscal bottom line with rather more interest than I’m used to.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m a numbers guy, always have been. That’s the bit of a business that interests me most.’

I seize this opportunity to shift the focus to his own career. ‘Where did you work before Ellwood Archer?’

He gives me a full summary of his work life, starting with reading economics at Nottingham, then a stint in Edinburgh in various financial jobs, including working for the consortium creating SCOTEX – the planned Scottish stock market – before moving to a financial role in a sustainable building company, and now to Ellwood Archer.

‘When we met in the lift that day, you said you’d been doing some more hands-on construction?’ I remind him.

‘Oh yeah, right… there was a short hiatus between jobs because of moving down here to London, so I just helped a mate out on his project, doing some on-site supervision.’ He flaps a hand vaguely.

‘And where are you living?’

‘In a flat-share, in Deptford. It’s pretty grotty. But it’s just until I can get enough money together for a deposit on something decent.’

‘And your family? Are they in Scotland?’

He shakes his head. ‘My dad’s dead, my mum’s in the North of England, and my brother… I think he’s still up North too, but I’m not one hundred per cent sure. He’s a lot older, so we were never close. To be honest, we’ve more or less lost touch.’

I pull a sympathetic face as I behead a prawn. ‘That’s a shame… why’s that?’

He shrugs, picking up the wine list and pretending to study it. ‘Oh, you know… like I said, there’s a big age gap, but I suppose we’re also just very different people.’ He puts the wine list down and grins. ‘So… enough about me. I want to know what happened to the sort-of boyfriend. I’ve been feeling a touch sorry for the bloke.’

I laugh. ‘Seriously, there’s no need. It was just one of those things that was destined to fizzle. You know the kind I mean.’

He gives a sigh of empathy. ‘Oh, I do, believe me. Have you ever tried dating apps?’

I colour slightly. Has he guessed that this is how Richard and I met? ‘Yes. I mean, hasn’t everyone our age?’

Dominic gives a half-embarrassed smile. ‘Actually, I haven’t.’

‘Really?’

As I say this, I acknowledge that my surprise is probably misplaced. He’s good-looking, masculine, successful. He can probably find all the women he wants just by walking into a bar. Whereas after Alex, I would never have had the confidence just to go out and pick someone up.

‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it,’ Dominic says quickly as he pours us both more wine. ‘But, from seeing some of my mates go through it, it’s pretty brutal. Fine if all you want is a shag, but the internet’s no place for one-woman men.’

‘And that’s what you are?’

He smiles, showing those attractive teeth. ‘No question. It puts me in a minority, but I’m really not into playing games. I’m after something… real.’

We fall into prolonged eye contact, and my heart rate picks up a little. ‘Pudding?’ I ask, turning my attention to the menu that the waiter is proffering.

‘I probably ought to have something to neutralise the garlic,’ he smiles, and orders a chocolate mousse with a glass of Sauternes. I order a mint tea.

After the bill has been settled – by Dominic, refusing to go Dutch – he offers to walk me home. It’s a crisp early-autumn night, the faintest nip of frost in the air, the first yellow and bronze leaves strewing the pavement. He reaches for my hand as we walk, and it feels quite natural to let him take it. His fingers feel warm and strong around mine.