Turned round and there was Mark Darcy.
He glanced down and I realized was standing with fortunately co-ordinated - underwear on full display. "What are you doing?" he said.
"I'm waiting for the dustbin to ring,"
I replied with dignity, pulling jacket around self.
"I see." There was a pause. "Have you been waiting ... long?"
"No," I said carefully. "A normal amount of time."
Just then one of the dustbins started to ring. "Ah, that'll be for me," I said and started to try to reach into it. "Please, allow me," said Mark, put down his briefcase, leapt, rather agilely on to the wall, reached into the dustbin and picked out the phone.
"Bridget Jones's phone," he said. "Yes of course, I'll put her on."
He handed it to me. "It's for you."
"Who's that?" hissed Tom, hysterical with excitement. "Sexy voice - who is it?"
I put my hand over the earpiece. "Thank you so much," I said to Mark Darcy who had picked a handful of selfhelp books out of the bin and was looking at them with a puzzled expression.
"Not at all," he said, putting the self-help books back. "Er . . ." He paused, looking at my leather jacket.
"Wbat?" I said, heart racing.
"Oh, nothing, er, just, um, well, nice to see you." He hesitated. "Well ... nice to see you again." Then he gave an attempt at a smile, turned and started to walk off.
"Tom, I'll call you back," I said into the protesting mobile. My heart was beating wildly. By all the laws of dating etiquette I should just let him go but I was thinking about the overheard conversation behind the hedge. "Mark?"
He turned round looking full of emotion. For a moment we just stared at each other.
"Hey Bridge! Are you coming out for dinner without a skirt?"
It was Daniel, walking up, early, behind me.
I saw Mark take him in. He gave me a long, painful look then turned on his heel and strode away.
I I p.m. Daniel had not spotted Mark Darcy - both fortunately and unfortunately because on the one hand did not need to explain what he was doing there but on other hand could not explain why was feeling so churned up. The minute we got in the flat Daniel started trying to kiss me. It felt very strange not to want him to after all the time I spent last year desperately wanting him to and wondering why he wasn't.
"OK, OK," he said, holding out his hands, palms towards me. "No problem." He poured us both a glass of wine and sat down on the sofa, long lean legs all sexy in his jeans. "Look. I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I know you're feeling defensive but I'm different now, I really am. Come and sit down here."
"I'll just go put my clothes on."
"No. No. Come here," he said, patting the sofa beside him. "Come on, Bridge. I won't lay a finger on you, I promise."
I sat down gingerly, pulling my jacket around me, hands folded primly on my knee.
"There, there," he said. "Now come on, have a drink of this and just relax."
He put his arm gently round my shoulders.
"I'm haunted by the way I treated you. It was unforgivable." It was so lovely to be held again. "Jones," he whispered tenderly. "My little Jones."
He pulled me to him, laying my head against his chest. "You didn't deserve it." The old familiar scent of him wafted over me. "There. Just have a bit of a cuddle. You're all right now."
He was stroking my hair, stroking my neck, stroking my back, he started slipping my jacket off my shoulders, his hand reached down and with one flick, he'd undone my bra.
"Stoppit" I said trying to pull the coat back round me.