Wishful Thinking Read Online Free PDF

little worldly wisdom – if only a little. Staff inevitably wondered if she was an obsessive fan, but decided she looked relatively harmless and could not help being moved by her crystalline beauty. She waited the whole afternoon and evening, finding herself a B & B to stay in and returning the next day, and the next. Reception were impressed by her quiet manner, and the way she resolutely refused to enter the bar when male club members tried to pick her up. They fed her tea, soup, sandwiches. By the third day, they were beginning to have an inkling of the truth. ‘Contact his agent,’ they suggested; but she shook her head. She could hardly tell her story to an agent, and if she didn’t give her reasons Sean might simply fail to contact her. (Or if she did.)
    But that evening, he came. He might have been disconcerted at the sight of her, but only for a second or two, then the charm kicked in and he took her into the bar and appropriated a vacant sofa where they could talk. He hoped she would be impressed by the scattering of celebs, but she was too keyed up even to notice. He ordered champagne; she asked for mineral water. He said he was sorry, he couldn’t stay with her long, he was meeting friends; she said it wouldn’t take long. Then she told him.
    She thought he would be horrified, but he seemed almost amused. ‘Is that all? Have it out, me darling, have it out. We’re not in the old country now.’ He had never been in the old country. ‘I’ll pay, no problem. You don’t want to be saddled with a baby at your age. You’ve got your life ahead of you.’
    â€˜I can’t,’ she said.
    â€˜It’s not a big op, honest. Nothing to worry about. I’ve got two girlfriends up the spout before: they said it was a doddle. I must be fucking fertile.’ So much for his lazy sperm.
    â€˜I can’t.’
    She tried to explain her feelings, but he wasn’t listening. In the end, he gave her a pat on the shoulder, told her: ‘You’ll see it differently in the morning,’ and went off to dine with his friends, leaving her to return to her lonely B & B, defeated and desolate. On the way out she paused in Reception to thank the staff for their kindness (she was always polite). A fellow Scot in the process of retrieving his coat heard her accent and glanced round. Touched by her appearance – everyone was, except Sean – he asked her where she was from, and if she was all right. ‘I don’t mean to be nosy – actually, I suppose I do – but you look upset and a bit lost. Maybe you’re new to London. It’s a tough city if you don’t know your way about. Can I help? We’re fellow countrymen, after all.’
    â€˜I’m okay, really I am,’ Lin mumbled.
    â€˜No you’re not, anyone can see that. Look, my name’s Andy, Andy Pearmain. The girls here’ll give me a reference. I’m not trying to make a pass or anything: I’m much too old for you and anyway, my last girlfriend was such a disaster I’m going to convert to homosexuality. It should be easy: in Scotland, it’s always been the men who wear the skirts. You’re obviously in some kind of trouble. If you don’t want me for a friend, at least let me be a stand-in.’
    The receptionists, genuinely concerned about Lin, assured her Andy was to be trusted, and eventually, too devastated to resist, she let him take her out for a meal. He was thirty-two, which seemed incredibly old to her, and bearded, increasing his air of venerability – the aforesaid beard concealing a jaw which might or might not have resembled a lantern. His hair was unruly, his other features – well – ruly. He admitted to a family background in banking and to being involved in ‘investment opportunities’ in film and television, which were, he said, too boring to elucidate. He used words like ‘elucidate’ in normal