Just Three Dates Read online

  “Completely gone now.” She motioned toward where the sun had been a moment earlier. She raised an eyebrow. “I prefer winter, you know. Dark early. More time to snog your boyfriend, and no one objects if you’re cozy because you need the warmth.” She moved off him, but did not move away.

  “Snog?”

  She laughed. “Kiss. Kiss and cuddle…’Course my mother took exception when she found Robin and me snogging in my bedroom one evening last January. Thought we were a bit too cozy.”

  “Robin your boyfriend?”

  “Not since my mother chased him from the house waving a birch branch above her head.” She laughed. “My mother is rather old-school, you know. Threatened to use it on me, but…” She shrugged.

  They sat without talking for several moments.

  “Tell me, how is the UK different from the States?”

  Mark glanced at his books again. He really needed to study. Then his eyes cut back to the girl. She was beautiful, and he was lonely.

  He closed his book and pushed it away. He could study later.

  “We don’t have a queen, we don’t have roundabouts, and y’all have accents.”

  “Y’all?” she exclaimed. What kind of a word is y’all? And we’re English so you have the accents.”

  “I thought you were Scots.”

  “I am…I mean…but…”

  She seemed so flustered that Mark laughed.

  “Where I live, y’all is the plural of you. You know, you all, all of you. A lot easier to say.”

  “Strange word.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “So is snog. It sounds like your nose is dirty.”

  Mark playfully touched the tip of her nose and ran his finger across her cheek as they both laughed.

  “What’s your name? Or is it British custom to flirt with complete strangers in pubs?”

  “So we’re flirting, are we? Speak for yourself.”

  He smiled. “Just an observation.”

  “Well there’s nothing wrong in that actually, but my name is Lucia. Lucia McClelland. What’s yours?”

  “Mark Stuart.”

  “So you’re Scots, too.”

  He shrugged. “’Way back, I suppose.”

  “Well now that we’ve been introduced…” She snuggled against him. “Let’s get acquainted. What are you doing in the UK?”

  He pointed at the books on the table. “Studying.”

  She began to play with his hair, which reached low, over his collar. “Studying what?”

  “I was trying to study British history, but I was interrupted.”

  As he put his arm around her shoulder, she tipped her head back as if she wanted him to kiss her. His eyes slid down, focusing beneath her peasant blouse.

  “Ah, so that’s what you’re really here to study.”

  Mark looked away. He could feel himself blushing.

  “Let me tell you,” she continued. “Professors’ lectures can be dull and dry sometimes, but I’ll be glad to give you some after-hours tutoring if they’re not all that you’d hoped for.”

  “I…I’m sorry…” Mark glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She had not moved and his eye flicked down, just below the top of her blouse.

  “You’re not at all sorry.” Her eyes sparkled and she rubbed her hand across his cheek.

  “Not at all.” He smiled just before kissing her.

  An hour later, he walked her home. He’d discovered she was an art student, fun to talk to, and not at all shy.”

  “I have a difficult time talking to guys,” she said as they stopped outside of the flat she shared with two other students.

  “Right. I noticed.”

  She blushed.

  “My roommates bet me five pounds that I wouldn’t go over and talk to you tonight. I’m glad I never refuse to take a dare,” she whispered as he kissed her good night.

  “Never?”

  She shook her head.

  As he kissed her a second time, his hand slipped down her back, brushing across her bottom, pressing her body firmly against his.

  “Please don’t say no.”

  Mark’s head snapped up. His mother had returned, taking her seat and leaning across the table toward him. The sight of her was enough to clear his mind of thoughts of Lucia.

  “Just three dates.” She was pleading with him, a tone in her voice Mark had never before heard. “If you’ll do this for me, I’ll never bring it up again.”

  “Can I get that in writing, Mother?” He half-smiled, an indication he was not actually expecting a signed statement.

  “I’ll retire as a matchmaker.” She crossed her heart and held up two fingers as though giving him an oath.

  Three dates. It wouldn’t matter if it were ten. Karen Wingate was not Lucia. She could never be Lucia.

  Mark sighed. What would it really cost him? Three nights of television? He could do three dates with any woman if it would make his mother happy. And if it would prevent her from raising the question of marriage again…

  “Okay. Three dates. Let me know if she gets your seal of approval.”

  Three and out, he thought, as his mother beamed with her perceived victory.

  ***

  As Mark left the restaurant, he observed each woman as he passed her. Most of them were nice looking. Some were quite attractive. One smiled at him, just as Lucia had smiled that night at the pub.

  He paused and looked down, rubbing his eyes as if to erase the image, and a young woman hurrying along the walkway almost plowed into him.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He looked up, apologizing, but the woman had already moved on.

  He began to walk again. His mother had been badgering him ever since Lucia had left.

  She’s not the only fish in the pond…

  I don’t know what you saw in that little tramp anyway…

  You need to find a nice girl…

  You need a wife…

  And his personal favorite—I told you so…

  He stepped off the curb, not realizing where he was going. A horn blared, and a car swerved to avoid him, the driver shouting as he sped past. Mark practically jumped out of the street.

  Each time, his mother had brought it up he had changed the subject, put her off, told her to mind her own business. Today, he’d agreed.

  What had changed? Why had he agreed to her plan?

  People would think him weird?

  Mark smiled. The college abounded in eccentric professors. Not a reason for marriage.

  Companionship?

  His mother had been correct. It was lonely, rattling around in a three-bedroom house by himself, requesting a table for one at restaurants, walking around the shopping malls, seeing couples laughing and talking as they went from store to store. Was that reason enough to take a wife?

  His work?

  Despite his denials, he did harbor some ambition, far down the road, perhaps, for something more than simply teaching. Aside from a desire for advancement, though, he did receive invitations to parties, dinners, and receptions. His mother had been correct, again. Such events did not adapt well to singles, and he was weary of recruiting friends to accompany him. Was enhancing his career reason enough to marry?

  Someone to sleep with?

  Mark snorted. Even a decade earlier many men would have believed it to be an excellent reason for marriage, but a wedding was increasingly no prerequisite for a roll in the hay. Had he been so inclined, he’d have no problem satisfying that need, so was it reason enough for marriage?

  His mother’s eyes had lit up, and she had smiled as she’d described her plan. Mark shook his head as he reached his car and opened the door, ready to get back to school.

  He should have known she would have a plan.

  What was important in a wife? What did his mother say? Oh, yes. She should be a nice person. He should like her, he should enjoy spending time with her, and she should be an asset to his career. Sounded easy.

  And she must be appropriate—come from an appropriate fam
ily, have appropriate opinions, behave in an appropriate manner. His mother had not mentioned those criteria. They were understood.

  He turned the key in the ignition. At least he’d only agreed to three dates. He could suffer through three evenings with any woman to please his mother if it would get her off his back.

  Not that it would matter. He had intended that Lucia and he would become engaged, marry, have children together. He had dreamed of years of happiness.

  He must have a serious problem, one neither he nor his mother could identify, if, after the years he and Lucia had spent together, she had done what she had.

  Ergo, neither Karen Wingate, nor any other woman, would be interested either.

  Karen

  The Low Country Grill was set on the river, just upstream from Charleston harbor. Elizabeth had arrived early, requesting a table on the covered deck, and Margaret had walked in several minutes later. The two women had sipped white wine as they waited for Karen, enjoying the cool breeze from the river, watching the sunlight sparkling on its surface, and listening as seagulls called to each other, circling high overhead before flinging themselves toward the water in search of dinner.

  Margaret’s head snapped up as the restaurant’s front doors swung open, but when a man and a woman entered together she sighed and dropped her eyes. “Karen must have been held up at work,” Margaret said. “She told me they were very busy this week, a new exhibit or something…”

  She glanced anxiously at her watch. “Karen is never late,” she added defensively, as if she feared Elizabeth would think Karen was commonly tardy.

  In truth, Elizabeth was beginning to wonder about that very thing, but it was still too early to make snap judgments. She gazed out over the water and spied a sailboat gliding past, and she watched the ferry approaching the shore, carrying tourists from a hotel on the other side of the river. Her eyes followed as an ocean-going cruiser, large enough to sleep an entire family, pointed its bow toward the harbor as it moved away from its dock. She sighed contentedly.

  Margaret tapped her hand idly on the table, causing Elizabeth to glance in her direction as Margaret picked up her wine and began to take a drink. She paused with the glass in midair, glancing at Elizabeth from the corner of her eye, then she set her glass on the table.

  “Perhaps we should go ahead and order,” she suggested.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m in no hurry…are you? Let’s enjoy the view. It has been so warm for the last couple of weeks and the breeze feels wonderful.” She pointed to the cruiser. “Henry Jamison was telling me just the other day how he and his wife were planning a trip to Bermuda. I didn’t realize they were departing so soon, though.” She watched as the boat drew away before turning back to Margaret. “I’m sure Karen will arrive in a few minutes.”

  Margaret had approved Mark as a possible husband for her daughter. Today, it was Elizabeth’s turn. She would interview Karen to determine if she would make a good wife for Mark.

  “Karen’s father believes our plans are absolutely crazy,” Margaret said. “What does your husband think about Karen and Mark?”

  “Men.” Elizabeth shook her head. “They haven’t a clue how to handle matters such as these. This morning Richard informed me that Mark has shown no interest in dating anyone seriously in a long time. As if I hadn’t noticed,” she huffed.

  “Even should he and Karen like each other, they still may not want to date,” he said. “Even should they date, they may balk at the marriage you and Margaret have planned.” She rolled her eyes. “I told him he should support my efforts to assure his son’s happiness—that Mark needs a wife, and since he won’t find one himself, I’m having to do it for him. He gave me one of his infuriating smiles.” She lowered her voice and imitated her husband. “Be warned,” he said, “Mark, has the disturbing habit of thinking for himself.”

  Both Elizabeth and Margaret chuckled.

  The sound of other laughter drew Elizabeth’s attention to the front entrance, and she spied a large group of women, twelve, at least, entering the restaurant, carrying presents wrapped in white paper with blue bows. One of the women waddled like a giant duck, one hand on the small of her back, the other resting on what could have been a beach ball beneath her dress.

  “That’s Sue Anne Waring, Alice Waring’s daughter,” Elizabeth told Margaret. “You know Alice. She’s a volunteer with the Preservation Society. I sat next to her in church on Sunday and she told me that Sue Anne is due any day now. They certainly cut it close on the date for the shower.”

  As the last of the group made it through the door, Margaret’s head perked up. “Here’s Karen.” She motioned toward a young woman slipping in behind the others and looking around as if searching for her dinner companions.

  As Margaret rose to attract her daughter’s attention, Karen smiled and raised her hand in greeting. She spoke to the host, and, a waiter leading the way, she began to wind between the tables, making her way through the main dining room, toward the deck.

  Elizabeth studied Karen’s progress. She was dressed in trousers, a white shirt, and sandals. Elizabeth glanced around the deck. The Low Country Grill did not cater to casually dressed tourists, and every other woman in the room was wearing either a dress or a skirt.

  Karen’s auburn air fell to her shoulders, but it was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a black scrunchie holding it in place, and Elizabeth could imagine it parted in the middle and hanging straight on each side of her face. Just like that folk singer from her college days. What was her name? Joan Baez?

  “Karen, I’m so glad you could join us today.” The expression on Margaret’s face indicated she felt embarrassed by her daughter’s late appearance, but she kissed Karen on the cheek before turning toward Elizabeth. “You remember Elizabeth Stuart, don’t you? Emily Stuart’s mother?”

  “Of course. How are you, Ms. Stuart?” Karen’s blue eyes sparkled as she reached out to shake hands.

  Elizabeth stiffened as she reciprocated—only in the business world did women shake hands.

  “Mrs. Stuart and I were just reminiscing about when you and Emily were in high school.” Margaret reached over to brush a strand of hair out of Karen’s face.

  Karen turned away and tucked the offending strand behind her ear herself. “It’s windy, Mother.”

  “I know.” Margaret smiled. “Do you remember Sandra Williamson? Mrs. Stuart was telling me that she lives in New York now and just married an investment banker. A huge wedding at a church on Park Avenue.”

  “I do remember Sandra, and Mrs. Stuart is correct. The wedding was at Saint Bartholomew’s. I was invited, but we’re simply so busy with our new Monet exhibit that I couldn’t get away.” She looked down at her clothes, and brushed at some dust on her pant legs. “Sorry. We’re between exhibits, one moving out, the other moving in. I wore work clothes today.” She glanced around at the other tables. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Elizabeth shook her head, pleased that Karen at least realized she was not dressed appropriately. As long as one knew the rules, it was all right to break them for a good reason.

  The waiter offered menus while Elizabeth and Margaret ordered second glasses of wine, and Karen requested iced tea.

  “I would be drowsy all afternoon,” she said when her mother urged her to have wine too. “I’m way too busy to take a nap today.”

  As the waiter walked away, Elizabeth turned to Karen. “I haven’t seen you in years, although Emily mentions you on occasion. Bring me up to date—school, work, husband…plans for the future?” She smiled brightly.

  Karen sipped her water. “I went to Mary Stevens College in Virginia—”

  “I’m a Stevens girl myself,” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  “Really? I didn’t know that. It’s nice to meet a fellow Panda.” Karen smiled as she mentioned the college’s mascot. “I majored in art, minored in art history. I’m a junior curator at the Memorial Arts Center.”

  “How nice. You’re not m
arried?” Elizabeth glanced at Karen’s left hand although she knew she would see no ring.

  Karen shook her head. “Never married. Haven’t found Mr. Right.”

  “A beautiful girl like you?” She raised her eyebrows in a show of surprise. “Tell me you at least have a boyfriend.”

  Karen shook her head again. “No boyfriend. Way too busy for a boyfriend.”

  “You said you are a curator. What exactly does a curator do? What is it that makes you too busy for a boyfriend?” Elizabeth smiled and sipped on her wine. She didn’t want Karen to feel as if she was being interrogated.

  Karen described her work as the three of them examined the menu.

  “As I told you, we have a new exhibit opening soon, so we’re working twelve-hour days to get everything ready.”

  Elizabeth closed her menu, having decided on her choice for lunch. “You certainly don’t have time for a boyfriend or a husband, do you?”

  Margaret snapped to attention at that, looking pointedly at her daughter. “Of course, you don’t ordinarily work those hours, do you, sweetheart?” her mother said quickly. “Normally you have a very reasonable schedule and it’s rather flexible.”

  “Generally,” Karen agreed, “but we do have our moments.”

  “One of the perils of the world of work.” Elizabeth nodded. Her first impression of Karen was positive—attractive, friendly, perky. She seemed to be serious about her work. Mark would like that.

  “My son, Mark—Emily’s brother—is a professor at the college now, and you know what busy schedules professors have.” She chuckled. “Nine hours of class each week at most. One night last week, though, a faculty meeting ran on into the evening. They even had to break for supper so they could finish up.”

  “It can happen,” Karen agreed.

  “Were you at Stevens, two years ago, I think, when they had a…a teach-in? Is that what they still call it?” Elizabeth feigned ignorance of what had happened at the college.