"He asked you out?" Ellen's voice was about as shocked as Laura had ever heard it. "You are joking, aren't you? Inspector Lewis, the master of giving a girl the run around actually invited you on a proper date? I don't believe it!"
Laura shifted the receiver to her other ear as she finished making a cup of decaf, and moving to the living room put it carefully on the coffee table before collapsing on the sofa.
"Well, he did. Or at least I think he did. And he's never given me the run around, as you put it. It's complicated." Laura said, a little cross with her friend that she should say such a thing. "Robbie isn't like that, he's - "
"Yes, I know," Ellen interrupted. "A sweetie. You've said. About a million times. But come on, he's hardly been clear as to his intentions towards you."
Laura snorted, "Intentions? It's not 1910. I'm not a spinster waiting for a man before my respectable life as a housewife can begin! He's grieving, Ellen. He lost the love of his life, the mother of his children, that takes time."
"Laura, darling, there's time and then there's time. And you've given him plenty."
Laura wondered about that. She felt as if she had given him the time and space to grieve, supported him to rebuild his life and to move on. But move on to what? She only really knew how she felt about him, no idea as to what he might be thinking about her. Flirting over dead bodies was hardly a declaration of anything after all, she mused.
"Laura, you still there?" the sound of Ellen's voice pulling her back to the conversation they were having.
"Yes, sorry. Look, I honestly don't know if he was asking me out now. It sounded a bit like it but goodness, who knows, Ellen? He's an enigma, what can I say?"
"Tell me what he said," Ellen demanded.
Laura sighed as she thought back. "He said that he had tickets for the exhibition at the Ashmolean and did I want to go, that's all."
"Well, he definitely didn't ask it like that now, did he?" she derided her friend. "What were his exact words?"
"Oh Ellen, I can't remember!" Laura protested.
"Laura Hobson! You are a leading pathologist with a first from Oxford and a list of accolades the length of your arm. Don't pretend you don't remember exactly what he said!"
Laura laughed, this was why she loved Ellen, her brutal honesty always said with absolute love.
"Oh ok, fine." Laura conceded.
She thought back to his call two nights ago. Given they'd only had lunch earlier that day she'd been surprised to hear from him at all. But now she came to think about it perhaps it was that which had started to persuade her that it was more than it was, the physical closeness they'd shared preceded by the lovely evening catching up the night before. And Ellen was right, she admitted to herself, she could remember every word.
"Hi Robbie. Everything ok?" she answered.
"Aye, fine. Good afternoon?"
"Not too bad. Nothing new on the case, I'm afraid, if that's why you're calling."
"No, nothing like that. I'm off the clock now." He paused, deciding to just to launch into it, "I wondered if you might be free on Thursday evening?"
"This Thursday? Um, yes, I think so. Don't think I'm on call. Why?" she asked curiously.
"Well, I've come into some tickets for the new exhibition at the Ashmolean and I thought that maybe you'd like to go," pausing before adding for clarity, "You know, with me."
Bloomin' heck, I'm out of practice at this sort of thing, he thought rubbing the back of his head as he waited for her response.
"Um, that sounds lovely, Robbie," she replied, somewhat taken aback by the invite but hoping the surprise didn't show too much in her voice.
"It's the opening night so should be quite the do, champagne and all that. I know you're fond of a glass," trying his hand at lighthearted, before quickly adding, "But don't worry if it's not your thing..." giving her an out in case she needed it, increasingly self-conscious about the whole idea.
"No!" she said quickly, hearing the hint of doubt creep into his voice. "No, I'd love to. I was hoping to see it at some point so it'll be a treat to see it first for a change. I'm usually the last," she said, wondering if her growing excitement at the prospect was coming across.
"Grand," the relief in his voice all too evident. "It starts at 7. Shall I pick you up?"
She laughed, "Like a date?" she joked, but when he didn't say anything, rapidly backtracked. "Why don't I meet you out front and we can go in together?" she suggested, although now he'd said it, the idea of him picking her up did sound rather more fun.
"Ok, sounds good," he said, not sure what to say next. He'd been so focused on the question he hadn't given much thought to the rest of the conversation. "I'll look forward to it. Be nice to do something together."
She smiled to herself, slightly bemused, "Yes, it will," she paused, adding, "Thanks for asking me."
"Of course. Well, night then."
"Night, Robbie," she said softly before hanging up.
"Definitely a date!" Ellen concluded, "Suggesting he picked you up was the clincher. When has he ever done that?"
"Well, never, I suppose," Laura concluded, "But then less than 24 hours later he's insisting to James that we're nothing more than friends? I don't know, Ellen. This is Robbie. I mean, who knows?"
"But Laura, what about the awkwardness?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled by the question.
"I mean, whenever he sort of asks you out it's awkward. Glyndebourne. That drink after he'd been stabbed. And you're no better, Laura. Friday night dinner ring a bell?"
"But they weren't dates," Laura insisted, dismissing her friend's suggestion. "Just friendly invitations."
"God, I give up! Of course they were dates, or at least they started out that way. Only you two can turn a potentially lovely date opportunity into, oh I don't know, whatever you two are," she paused, letting her words sink in. "I'm sorry, I've really got to go, the night shift calls. Look, Laura, get dressed up, turn on the charm, and see what happens. What's the worst that could happen, eh? I love you, call the minute it's over and tell me everything, ok?"
After Ellen hung up, Laura wondered about what she'd said. Ellen was a romantic through and through but she was fiercely honest too and she'd known full well that she'd get a no holds barred opinion on the situation from her friend. It was why she'd called her after all; if she'd wanted platitudes there were others in her life for that. But she was left feeling none the wiser for it, and the offhand comment from Jean earlier had only further muddied her thoughts on the whole situation. Maybe she should just blow the whole thing off, blame work or feign illness, she thought, rubbing her temples as she felt her stress levels rising at the conundrum of what to do for the best. But she knew she couldn't do it, not to him, which was, she concluded, the whole bloody problem.
"Robbie Lewis," she said out loud to her empty house, "What am I going to do about you?"
