“Hanna?” His voice was soft and warm, with a hint of concern.
“Richard.” She took another sip of wine. “I just wanted to call and say how sorry I am.”
“Are you okay?”
She could hear a thrum of voices in the background. Hanna wondered if she had disturbed him, maybe taken him away from dinner with Meredith.
“The way I left you after mum died. I should never have walked out on you without explaining why. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I—”
“Christ, I hadn’t even realized the date. I’m so sorry.” He sounded agitated. She could imagine him running his hand through his thick, coarse hair. He was probably the only other perso
n thinking about the day her mum died five years ago.
She laughed harshly. “I really shouldn’t have called. I know you’re with Meredith now, and I’m so pleased you have found each other. You deserve happiness.” Her words slurred off her tongue and into the mouthpiece.
“Have you been drinking?”
“A little. But I’ll let you get back to your evening.”
“Are you at home?” he asked.
“I’m in a bar.”
“Alone?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck,” he swore softly. “I’ll send Jack over to drive you home. Where are you?”
She looked around for evidence of the bar name, coming up short when she realized there was nothing on the inside of the room. Then she glanced down, noticed the beer mat and smiled.
“Murphy’s. In Soho.”
“Don’t move.” His words were a command, and she took him seriously. She didn’t even want any more of the claret sitting in the bottle in front of her. All she really craved was the soft warmth of her duvet and the cleansing oblivion of sleep.
She sobered a little in the fifteen minutes she was waiting. The bartender brought over the tab, and a glass of water, and she swallowed it down, hoping to cleanse her system of alcohol. Then he was walking into the bar, carrying his black woolen coat over his arm.
“Richard!” Just seeing him there made her jump. “I thought you were sending Jack.”
“I decided to come with him,” he answered quietly, his eyes scanning her face in concern. “It was a good excuse to leave dinner early.”
He looked tired. In the dingy light of the bar she could see lines pulling at the corner of his eyes, dry and deep. She bit her lip, aware he was being kind.
“Is Meredith with you?” She swallowed hard. Knowing he was with another woman was one thing—seeing them together while she was at her lowest ebb was another.
“She’s visiting her parents. It was just me and three hundred and fifty of New York’s finest.” He grimaced. “So believe me when I say you did me a favor.” Standing up, he pulled her coat from the hook at the side of the booth. “Now let’s get you home.”
Hanna stood and turned, putting her arms into the sleeves as he held her jacket, allowing him to pull it over her shoulders. He held on for a moment too long.
LETTING OUT A small breath of air, Richard turned her around and helped her to fasten the large buttons on the front of her coat. This wasn’t how he’d envisaged his night panning out. He’d planned a nice, civilized dinner, perhaps followed by a whisky or two, and then an early night. Instead here he was. His body felt electric, as if by seeing her he’d come alive. His nerve endings stabbed like a thousand tiny needles.
He hesitated for a moment before taking her hand in his. But then, he saw two of the guys at the bar turn around to stare at Hanna, a look of disappointment on their faces, and he felt the need to mark his territory. Even if it wasn’t his to claim.
“You really don’t need to do this,” she mumbled, just before she tripped over her own shoe. He tried to restrain a laugh, but it came out strangled, causing her to stare at him indignantly. “Do you find this funny?”
“A little,” he admitted, putting his arm around her shoulder to lead her to the main door. She kept veering to the right, like a car whose steering was slightly off-kilter. “But I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to have to hit you.”