Date with Destiny - Aaagh!

http://www.williams-sonoma.com/wsimgs/rk/images/rcp-images/Recipe/Flourless-ChocolateTorte.jpgThe date with Michael was both worrying and blissful, in equal measures. We were meeting at Quo Vadis in Soho. I wore my best LBD (it’s always back to black if you feel fat) with a belt made of exciting satiny ribbon from VV Rouleaux. This is supposed to be a thrifty thing to do. (In all the broadsheets’ top tips for saving money in a slump.) But you should see the price of that ribbon! I have some great black stilettoes, too. (Did think of wearing flats cos of how short he is, but then most rich men go for taller ladies, don’t they?)
He was ten minutes late and on the phone when he arrived. But he had warned the staff and he had booked a brilliant table, and they opened a bottle of champagne just for me while I waited for him.) He smelled of Eau Sauvage, and was wearing a nicely-cut suit – so cunningly contrived it almost made him look fit.
It’sgorgeous in Quo Vadis – all frosted mirrors, polished silver and white linen. I had crab talgiatelle and fillet steak with béarnaise. The worrying bit was when we were all settled with our food and he said he felt so terrible because he’d never offered me the advice I’d asked for at the breakfast. And what had I wanted to consult him about?
So there was nothing for it but to fib and say I’d been thinking of setting up an agency on my own (with an imaginary inheritance from an aunt). He looked grave and said it was the worst possible time for a new venture, and I said how I’d heard recessions were times of opportunity too.(Thus looking like a lively, rich businesswoman, and perfect consort.) It all flowed along until he said it was lucky I had the inheritance to fall back on as he’d heard my firm was in trouble, and looking to lay people off Aaagh! The minute I heard that I got in a panic and the chocolate torte turned to ash in my mouth. And even hearing he’d seen me at the Private View and longed to speak to me,and that the tall blonde he was with was the artist (a client’s wife) – explains why the pics were so rubbish – did not make things better.
I was so distracted our goodbyes were rather brief. (Wet kiss alittle bit like terrier slobber on my cheek.) What do I do if he tells my boss (one of his best mates) I’m rolling in it and want to start up on my own?Aargh!