Chapter 10

In her bedroom on Friday night, Harry stripped off her dress and put it on the hanger. She'd only worn it on one other occasion and whilst it fitted her beautifully and she knew it looked good on her, it just wasn't right to wear this evening.

Something casual but elegant she told herself, it's only a couple of drinks in a bar. It doesn't even matter what I wear!

She reached for a pair of black skinny fit jeans and a stretchy black long sleeved top. A nice belt, her black knee high boots with the low spiked heels and her soft, pearl grey waterfall cardigan over the top. And jewellery. Keep it simple. She chose a chunky silver necklace and earring set and then added the matching bracelet as an afterthought. Nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ear as she surveyed the finished result in the cheval mirror. Yes, that was probably acceptable; nothing provocative, just casual, elegant and hopefully confident – the one thing she felt decidedly lacking in at the moment. She still wasn't exactly sure why she was even going tonight; why was she putting herself through this charade? Did she think she had to prove something, that her life was perfect, had worked out like some sort of fairytale without him?

She picked up her evening bag; a ridiculously glamorous affair that dear, unrestrained Angela had talked her into buying a few months ago.

She still hadn't mentioned Dempsey to Ed; she'd just let him assume she was going out with Sam again tonight and seeing as Ed himself was already out, there were no questions to answer.

It was a quarter to eight now; Dempsey had suggested eight o'clock if she could make it. Well, she'd arrive at around eight fifteen which was certainly better than the vague maybe that was all he'd been able to pin her down to on Monday.

She checked her reflection again in the mirror and tried out her 'pleasant' smile on herself. She had always been very good at presenting a cool, calm exterior to the outside world but had yet to master the turmoil raging inside.

"That her?"

James Dempsey's face melted into an impossibly wide grin. "Yeah, that's Harry."

Jill, one of the waitresses was speaking to her, having been briefed to keep an eye open and make sure she was seated correctly. Dempsey watched as Harry was guided to the reserved table at the front, over to the left of the open dance floor come stage area.

"Pretty lady," said Julius Bell, grudgingly.

"Yeah, that's Harry." Dempsey's grin had yet to falter.

"Hey!" The tall, muscular black man waved his hand in front of Dempsey's face. "You still with me?" His accent, like Dempsey's was pure New York..

Dempsey tore his gaze away from Harry and refocused on the other man.

"What? Yeah."

"You only got ten minutes, Dempsey."

"No problem. I'll just go and say 'hi' and I'll be right back, okay?"

Julius regarded him stonily. "You got somethin' on your upper lip there."

Dempsey automatically wiped his hand across his mouth. "What?"

"Sweat!" He shook his head with disdain and walked away.

Laughing to himself, Dempsey made his way over to Harry, speaking a few words to some regulars as he wended past their tables. He arrived just as Jill was pouring out a glass of Champagne from the bottle that had been chilling in the ice bucket.

"Thanks, Jill," he said, touching her shoulder to indicate that he could take it from here.

"Sure." She replaced the bottle and smiled brightly at Harry as she prepared to leave. "Enjoy your evening, Mrs Cavanagh."

"Thank you," Harry said, watching the young American girl walk away in the direction of the bar, attempting to delay meeting Dempsey's eyes.

"I was hoping you'd make it."

He stood behind her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other resting on the edge of the table and he bent slightly to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. "So how're you doing?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She couldn't not look at him any longer. His soft, brown eyes met hers and she felt the warmth radiating from them. "The bar's lovely. Not what I'd expected."

He took the chair next to her, taking a slim, six inch long box from the back pocket of his trousers before he sat down and then slid it beside the 'Reserved' table sign that bore the name of 'Cavanagh'.

"You thought it was gonna be all red leatherette booths and Wurlitzer juke boxes?"

Harry smiled. "Maybe not quite that bad." She looked around approvingly. "But this is lovely. Much bigger than I'd thought it would be"

It was traditionally styled using reclaimed wood for the flooring and bar areas. The tables and chairs were also traditionally designed, solidly built and attractive but it seemed to be the arrangement and lighting that gave the bar its delightful atmosphere. Brass fittings reflected a warm rosy glow everywhere and the navy and terracotta walls, adorned with abstract prints of musical instruments, added depth. Harry noticed that small, cosy two-seater sofas had been placed along the walls on three sides for those not wishing to be seated at a table. The place felt comfortable and consequently the patrons seemed relaxed and at home here. The background music was just that – in the background. It was possibly Ella Fitzgerald but so low that Harry couldn't be sure over the hum of conversation.

"Busy, too," she noted.

"Just the way I like it."

Harry was now watching equipment being checked over on the stage area; a semi-circular dais about twenty feet away from them.

"There's a band playing tonight?" she asked.

Dempsey eased the flat of his right hand along the surface of the table. "Yeah, we have live music most nights; it's a big draw."

"And who's playing tonight?" She saw the big black guy, plugging in an amp, glance their way.

"Oh, Fridays is always the resident band. We get guest artists on short-term contracts. We rotate them so's there's always somethin' different on at least three nights a week"

Harry inclined her head and smiled, genuinely impressed. "I hadn't realised this was such a serious venture. I'd thought ... well, anyone can open a bar, can't they."

"You'd thought I was just playin' at it?"

"I suppose."

"Well, I guess in a way, I am. It's kind of a hobby outlet for me."

Taking a sip of her Champagne, she nodded towards a table of loud and animated forty-something women with amusement. "So I see."

Dempsey laughed softly. "Nah. These days, that's not a hobby, it's a perk." And then on a change of tack, he said, "So you couldn't persuade your kids to come along tonight?"

"They had their own plans."

Looking slightly embarrassed, he told her, "It's just that I have to spend some time front of house tonight and I feel sort of bad leaving you on your own."

"Dempsey, you own a bar; I wasn't expecting you to drop everything and give me your undivided attention for the whole evening."

She was secretly rather relieved that she would be allowed some time to herself; respite from the potentially nerve-racking conversations she had foreseen, time to gather her wits and smooth over her anxieties. Bloody Angela, talking her into this!

Just then, Jill appeared at the edge of the table bearing a double-sided ceramic dish of olives and pistachios that she placed in the centre.

She leaned into Dempsey and whispered, "Julius says, 'time's up'," before hurrying away again.

"Looks like I'm on my way."

Harry noticed the ragged edge to his voice and was pleased she wasn't alone with her nerves.

He stood. "Anythin' you need, just ask anyone on the floor; they know you're my guest. We got some pretty great gourmet hotdogs," he offered with a wink.

"Gourmet! Does that mean they might actually contain meat?"

"Think it's just somethin' to do with the fancy seeds on the rolls."

He made to walk away but suddenly swung back. "Oh yeah, I forgot." He picked up the long black box he'd put on the table earlier and handed it to Harry. "You'll be needing this."

She took it off him, her bafflement bringing a smile to his lips. "It was somethin' you said before I left on Monday," he added cryptically and took his leave.

Harry couldn't even begin to guess what it was; his clues had meant absolutely nothing so with a keen curiosity, she slid the box open. It was a spoon! A small silver spoon nestling in a moulded velvet covered casing. There was an inscription running along the handle that she was struggling to read in this subdued lighting without her glasses. She held it away from her and read: 'Here's To Stirring Things Up'. Harry felt the colour rising in her cheeks and brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her small laugh as she recalled telling him on Monday afternoon that there was no point in stirring things up.

Leaning forward, she popped the spoon into the neck of the bottle of Champagne.