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talks about her all the time…when he’s with
me
! No, no future in that one. He couldn’t even get me any air miles,’ Ally said.
    ‘Right, so who’s the next victim?’ Emma asked.
    ‘Well, remember I told you about the footballer, the French one, the one I thought would look like Quasimodo … ’
    ‘Guy,’ Emma said. The name almost caught in her throat.
    ‘Emma, you have
got
to see him! He’s divine! He looks like something that’s been sculpted. Firm jaw, Roman nose, eyes the colour of a Grolsch bottle and a mane of hair any racehorse would be proud of,’ Ally described, her voice full of excitement.
    ‘But he isn’t here, is he? I mean he cut the ribbon this afternoon, didn’t he? He’ll be half way back to wherever footballers spend their nights, won’t he?’ Emma asked. As the words came out of her mouth, her eyes scanned the room like an assassin looking for its target.
    ‘Of course he’s here! He’s here all weekend! No football, most of the players are away on international duty. Tomorrow he’s spending all day teaching soccer to the local kids. Well, I can tell you I am going to be keeping a very close eye on his ball skills,’ Ally said with a giggle.
    ‘I should really go back to Chris. He doesn’t really know anyone else here and … ’ Emma began, holding back from Ally’s determined walk across the function room.
    ‘Don’t be daft; he’ll have a pint to talk to by now. Ah, here he is. Just look at that! Isn’t he perfection?’ Ally said. She sighed.
    And there he was. Guy Duval. Her Guy. The Guy who stole her heart.
    Dressed in a blue/black suit, his thick glossy hair sat just on his shoulders, he was engrossed in conversation with a wizened woman in a tangerine-coloured frock coat.
    ‘Ooo God he’s been pounced on by Kathleen Dobbs! She’s the chairwoman of the Fair Trader Association and hell doesn’t she talk! Are they talking French? Emma? Is that French they’re speaking?’ Ally hissed at her friend.
    She couldn’t be here in this moment. She couldn’t let Ally try and introduce them. Suddenly she longed for the familiarity of Chris and his down to earth normality. While Ally was busying herself scrutinising Kathleen Dobbs’ wrinkled mouth, Emma fled back across the room, trying to avoid elbowing guests’ glasses out of their hands.
    She didn’t stop until she found Chris. He was leaning on one of the pillars festooned with ribbons, one hand wrapped around his pint glass, the other at the collar of his shirt, scratching.
    ‘There you are! Thought you’d deliberately deserted me in a room full of posh people for a second,’ Chris said. He smiled at her.
    ‘No, no, Ally just dragged me off to meet some woman from the Fair Trader Association. You know what she’s like and this is her big night,’ Emma said. She didn’t dare to look anywhere except at Chris. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. It was like she could sense him.
    ‘Well, she’s heading this way with someone in tow,’ Chris announced.
    Emma buried her nose in her champagne glass and waited for the inevitable.
     

Chapter Five
     
    ‘Emma, Chris, this is Kathleen Dobbs from the Fair Trader Association. Kathleen, this is Emma Barron and Chris … er … Chris … ’ Ally began.
    ‘Chris Mason, lovely to meet you, Kathleen,’ Chris said. He took hold of the frail lady’s translucent hand and brought it to his lips.
    ‘Oh I say, an old fashioned gentleman at last. These days most people want to kiss you on the cheek, or both if you’re particularly unlucky,’ Kathleen said tittering with laughter.
    Emma realised she wasn’t breathing and almost sucked in the contents of her glass as she gasped in some much needed oxygen.
It wasn’t Guy! Thank God!
    ‘Although, I didn’t mind the two kisses from the French gentleman over there. In fact two wasn’t quite enough,’ Kathleen said. She let out a girlish giggle.
    Emma coughed and hurriedly drank some