Jane and Neeta hadn’t met but I’d arranged for both of them to spend the Sunday afternoon and evening with me. I’d provide nibbles, both Neeta and Jane would provide a bottle of wine and I’d tell them both about my two dates. Neeta had met Sean and was championing his cause; Jane, who had met Oliver in the course of her divorce, was championing Oliver, and both before I’d even started on my story.
“As Oliver had given me his mobile phone number,” I began, “I’d asked what I should wear. He laughed and said not what I’d worn in Cyprus, attractive as it was. The restaurant we were going to wasn’t chic, but a simple Greek restaurant. I wore trousers and a top with a relatively high neck, nothing too smart but neither were they my gardening clothes. The high neck was deliberately chosen; I didn’t want to be in the least suggestive. But I was excited.
“Oliver picked me up as planned. As I’d almost expected, he smiled and asked if there were any minor or major domestic emergencies to prevent us going out. Jane will tell you;” I explained to Neeta, “he has a very warm smile that immediately puts you at ease. And, in my case, sets my heart racing.
“At the restaurant, he greeted the owner, Costas, in Greek. Oliver was obviously known to him for the man spoke to him by name. And Oliver didn’t consult a menu. Almost as soon as we’d sat down, three small plates of food were placed in front of us. The first was olives, the second something, pork and vegetable, apparently, in gelatine and taramosalata. Oliver smiled and said he hoped I had a good appetite. The restaurant was busy but the owner had plenty of time to visit our table and chat. After the initial welcome with Oliver in Greek, they both spoke English so I could participate. What we were having wasn’t on the menu but was specially prepared for Oliver. Costas told me Oliver was a regular but had never before brought such a beautiful lady to his restaurant. It was an honour for him. The meal lasted well over two hours with innumerable courses, all authentic Cypriot food, Costas assured me. It was absolutely delicious.
“Oliver was the same charming man I’d met in Cyprus almost four years previously. I felt safe and secure in his company.”
“When you came back from Cyprus, you said he was married,” Neeta interrupted. “Is he after a bit on the side?”
“I’d already decided that was something I had to find out. If he was, there would be no more dates with him, but I felt sure he wouldn’t have invited me out if he was. He was divorced. It was nothing to do with me, he assured me, but it happened quite soon after we’d met.” Neeta wanted to know the details. In that respect she hadn’t changed. “He was quite open about the situation. As he knew quite a lot about my circumstances, he felt it only right I should know more about his.” Neeta blanched slightly. The remembrance of Rusty’s ‘circumstances’ was personal and painful, but she said nothing.
“He had gone into Paphos again one morning, but he realised he’d left his wallet at home. He returned home but as he neared the house, he heard his wife’s voice. She was ordering someone around, but there was nothing unusual in that. And then he heard her laughing. To cut a long story short, he saw his wife and the gardener in a very compromising position. He crept into the house, collected his wallet and a camera. He took several pictures of his wife and the gardener, pictures that showed there could be no innocent explanation for what was taking place.
“He went into Paphos and booked a ticket on the first available plane out of Cyprus to Athens the next day, and then onto London. Then he returned home, presented her with the tickets and told her what he’d witnessed. He said that when she got home, she should find herself a lawyer as he would be divorcing her. When he returned to the UK, he immediately served her with divorce papers. He’s been divorced for over three years now.”
“You said that if neither of you were married, you’d fancy him. Well, you’re both free now, so do you? And did he fancy you?” Neeta was hoping I’d soon get to the juicy bits.
“He’s a really nice man. When the washing machine flooded it felt really good to be in his arms. But I’m not ready to rush into bed with either of them yet.”
“Twice bitten third time shy, eh?” Jane smiled. This was news to Neeta who hadn’t heard about Crispin or Seb. I promised to tell her all about those episodes at a later date as Jane already knew practically everything there was to know.
“He already had some idea of my history, but one question intrigued him: why was I called ‘Rusty’. I laughed and told him.” Surprisingly, Jane didn’t know why I was called Rusty, so I told her what I’d told Oliver.
“As a child, just three or four, I was a precocious singer. My favourite song was ‘You don’t have to say you love me’ by Dusty Springfield. Whether I had misheard the name or maybe, because I was so young, I couldn’t pronounce it properly, I don’t know, but when asked who else sang the song, I proudly said it was ‘Rusty Sinfield’. Everyone laughed; I thought I was so clever, I kept repeating it. My grandpa said I was his special ‘Rusty’ and the name stuck. Even my parents call me ‘Rusty’ these days.” I told them it had been weird on the odd occasion when Oliver called me Caroline. Jane asked what we’d talked about.
“The conversation was easy and varied,” I told them. “He was extremely good company. At some point I mentioned I like Ronan Keating. Without missing a beat, he told me he knew where there was a tribute to Ronan in a fortnight’s time. Would I like to go? Without thinking I asked if that meant I wouldn’t see him again before then. I must have sounded or looked disappointed because he apologised. He was going to see his parents over Easter. His father had been unwell. He could see me today, if I was free. I had to turn him down because of you two,” I joked, although I didn’t tell him why you were visiting. He’s promised to phone Wednesday night around 10 pm.
“When he drove me home, he made no attempt to kiss me goodnight nor did he expect me to invite him in. He told me how much he had enjoyed the evening and that he sincerely hoped we’d be able to enjoy each other’s company on many future occasions.”
“Weren’t you disappointed?” Neeta asked.
“Yes and no. It would have boosted my ego if he’d wanted to come in, but I felt he respected me too much to make such a suggestion. And remember, he also respected me in Paphos. He made no attempt to contact me after he'd driven me back to my motel. So that was date one.”