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Cameron's apartment 11.55pm
Cameron lazily twiddled the hot tap with her big toe as she relaxed in her tub, allowing the fresh blast of boiling water to bring the mass of vanilla scented bubbles right up to her chin. And as she did so, she found herself reflecting on the evening's events.
Clarkson had picked her up in his midnight blue AC Cobra a little before 7.30. He'd remarked on how lovely she looked in her floral summer dress and strappy wedges ('like a princess'). He'd commented also on how flattering her hair appeared, swept up as it was in a French pleat ('like a French princess'). And, disconcertingly, she thought, he'd dropped in an aside about her earrings (the ones her mother had given her), setting off the look perfectly. She'd admired his dashing style, dressed as he was in a beautifully cut navy suit (William Hunt, she thought), crisp white shirt and complimentary silk tie ('like her Prince').
They'd headed firstly to the cinema. Cameron smiled as she recalled how it had seemed all her Christmases had come at once, upon realising he had taken her to se a re-run of 'Breakfast at Tiffanys' showing at the Plaza. How sweet that he'd remembered what was merely a passing comment of hers earlier in the week, that Audrey Hepburn was just the most wonderful actress. So elegant. They'd shared a jumbo tub of popcorn (sweet, not salted), a Mega Coke and more than a few fleeting sideways glances, when each thought the other wasn't looking.
Al Duomo's beckoned straight after. Quiet table for two, in the corner farthest from the door. For her carbonara fettucine, for him penne a la Napoli. And between them they made light work of two bottles of the House white. (Well, she did to be more precise). He'd flirted shamelessly, she'd responded in kind. Suggestive running of the finger around the stem of the wine glass on his part, girlish twirling of strands of hair around the little finger on hers. He'd been both witty and entertaining, a thoughtful listener as she told him of her years at med school, her favourite cat, Snowy, that her parents now cared for, and of her younger sister Laurie, who was doing well for herself as an investment banker in Chicago. She in turn, had stared dewy eyed as he'd recalled his childhood in Oxford, his university days at Cambridge and of his great love for rowing.
Last to leave the cosy restaurant, as they'd stepped into the cool night air, he'd continued to be her knight in shining armour, holding open the car door for her, making sure she was settled in her seat before starting the engine. And all the way back to her apartment, he'd regaled her with quaint little English anecdotes. She'd invited him in for coffee, he'd graciously declined. And with a tender goodnight peck on the cheek, her coach had turned back into a pumpkin, as he wished a good night's sleep and left her standing in the doorway.
Everything she ever thought she'd want in a prospective beau. She could envisage herself enjoying many more evenings like this in the near future. Charming, funny, gentleman like and so very comfortable to be around, the future looked very bright indeed. Why then had something been rattling around at the back of her noggin all night? Why, when she looked into his dark, velvety eyes, did she keep catching glints of bright azure blue? Or feel herself resisting the urge to respond to some of his comments with a little snippet of sarcasm, when he had not sent any stinging remarks her way?
She knew why, that was the problem. She knew a seed had been firmly sown when she had joined the team at PPTH, when she realised she had fallen under the spell of one very charismatic, yet ultimately flawed older nephrologist. She knew the problem, the question now was what, in fact if anything, she was going to do about it.