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“Unadulterated, no-holds-barred fun—”
She glared back, refusing to look away first. “Tarquin, I have zero interest in ever sleeping with you—”
“Blimey!” Tarquin raised his hands in defence. “I don’t mean sex. I mean fun…you know, cinema, nice dinner out? Harry said you need cheering up.” His cigarette smoke collected over his head like an ironic halo. “And I always deliver on fun.”
Harry nodded. “I did say that. You do, and he does.” He grimaced. “Sorry, Lex, I meant to talk to you about this today—”
“See?” Tarquin blew smoke over his shoulder. “Hazza knows best.”
Alex stared at Harry. “Does he now? I never thought”—her fingers made air quotes—“Hazza would pimp me out—”
“Lex, I’m not setting you two up, I just want you to have some fun, forget you-know-who for a few hours.”
Alex winced.
“Look, I’d take you out, but I’m drowning in meetings. As it is, I don’t see Lucy enough.”
Tarquin’s face became a picture of concern. “Mate, what have I told you? Never ever settle for a wank.” He stopped the act. “Seriously, Hazza—always make time to see your woman.”
“Believe me, I’m trying.” Harry looked at Alex. “How about it, Lex? Tarq needs to go to restaurants, galleries, work some new business contacts—”
“And not as Billy No Mates.” Tarquin flicked an ash onto a spare side plate.
“I don’t have time to accompany him, and you…you have nothing but time, in a way—”
“Thanks a lot!”
“You know what I mean. You write all day then, what? Write all night, too? That’s not healthy.” Harry’s eyes pleaded. “It could make perfect sense. He needs you, you need him.”
“That’s a bit rich,” said Alex.
“I am, actually, but don’t let that put you off.” Tarquin’s smile taunted her. “You might be interested in this…I know the producer of Sir Ian McKellen’s play.”
Harry sat up. “Really?”
Alex pretended not to listen, digging through her pasta with intent.
“Yeah, she took a shine to me.” Tarquin stubbed out his cigarette on the side plate. “I have two freebies for Friday, third row. I know it means breathing the same air as me for three hours, but I’ll get the champers and ice creams in at the interval. How ’bout it, Sincy?”
Alex clenched her jaw and stabbed the air between them with her fork. “Keep calling me Sincy, and you’re leaving here without a testicle.”
“Good thing I carry a spare then, eh?” He winked.
Harry jumped in, redirecting the conversation. “Lex, you did say earlier you wanted to see that production—”
“So I’m a charity case now.”
Tarquin smirked. “Au contraire, ma chère, I’m the charity case here.”
Eyebrows raised, Harry gazed across the table, like he was trying to do a mind-twisting Derren Brown on her. “Come on, Lex. Do it…for me?”
Harry rarely asked favours; how could she say no? And she did want to see that play…third row, too…
“Fine, but I’m paying for my ice cream.”
“You’ll come?” Tarquin jerked back.
“I’m doing it for Harry, not you.”
