He actually blushed a little. “You’re pretty smart yourself; a historian.” He was clearly trying hard to change the subject.
She decided not to feel bad about embarrassing him. He was a big boy. “But not nearly so interesting.”
“I bet that’s not true. What’s your story?”
She laughed. “I’ll give you the short version. My mother emigrated from Guangzhou with her parents when she was only a child, so that side of my family is very traditional Chinese. Mum married a London taxi driver, about as London as you can get, in fact, much to her parents chagrin, so that side of my upbringing is as English as it’s possible to be. I grew up loving it all, went to university reading history and ancient cultures, got a job at the Natural History Museum, then you asked me out for dinner.”
Crowley laughed again. “Man, that really is an abridged history. There must be a lot more to you than that.”
She smiled softly. “Maybe I’ll tell you on another date.” Before he could reply, she added, “Assuming this one goes well.”
“You’re mean.”
Rose checked her phone for the time, saw it was getting late. “I’ve really enjoyed tonight. I’m glad we had dinner. But I have an early start tomorrow.”
Crowley’s face twisted in genuine disappointment. “I suppose that’s fair enough.” He gave her that cheeky grin once more. “Can I call you again?”
“You have my number.”
“Ah, maybe you’re not so mean after all.”
He caught the waiter’s eye and mouthed, The bill, please? The waiter nodded and slipped away between the tables.
“You going to let me pay for half?” Rose asked. She didn’t mind being treated to dinner, but equally she wanted to make no assumptions.
“If you insist, I won’t be obtuse about it, but it would make me happy if you’d let me pay. I was the one who asked you out.”
Rose tipped her head in acquiescence. “You’re very kind, thanks. Maybe I’ll get the next one.”
Crowley grinned. “You have my number.”
Outside the restaurant, Crowley looked up and down the busy King’s Road. “Loads of traffic and not many cabs, like usual.”
She frowned, mock outrage. “Don’t let my dad hear you bad-mouthing the great London black cab!”
“I wouldn’t think of it! But there are none right now, so you want me to wait with you?”
Rose shook her head. “I only live about a twenty minute walk away, just near Fulham Broadway. I’ll enjoy the exercise. Especially after a big meal like that.”
Crowley’s brow creased in concern. “If you’re sure…”
Rose jabbed one forefinger playfully into his chest. “Don’t get a savior complex on me now. I can run fast and I’ve got a few years of Muay Thai under my belt. I’m more than capable of walking through Chelsea, mister!”
Crowley’s frown melted into that honest smile. “Yeah, not exactly Kabul under fire, is it?”
“Not until the weekend, anyway.” She pushed onto the balls of her feet and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “It’s been great, thanks.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Look forward to it.”
She turned and headed off down King’s Road. She could feel Crowley’s eyes on her as she went and smiled softly to herself, refusing to look back. Let him enjoy watching her leave. She was unsure how she really felt about him and was certainly in no place, mentally, to think about a relationship with anyone, not so soon after the debacle with Alison. But Crowley was an intriguing guy and she wasn’t lying when she said she was looking forward to him calling her again. No point in over-thinking things now. Just let events unfold as they will.
She breathed deeply of London’s unique aroma. It was often fairly horrible, sometimes nothing but exhaust fumes, but as the evening wore on it gained that quiet, resting scent of a city settling down to sleep. Not that London ever really slept, of course, but as the night wore on and most people found their beds, it revealed a little more of its true self. All cities had something unique about them in that sense. Hong Kong in particular held something special in Rose’s heart, more even than her birthplace of Guangzhou. It had been too long since she’d been back for a visit. Much as she loved London, maybe it was time to set wings to her heels again and travel. She had some leave owing, so perhaps a few weeks off, take the long way around to Guangzhou via somewhere tropical and then Hong Kong before visiting her grandparents and extended family.
A hand closed over her upper arm with painful tightness and dragged her sideways into a shadowed alleyway. She began to cry out, but the assailant’s other hand closed over her mouth and clamped the scream in. Two more men stood in the alley and the one who held her turned her to face them and wrapped his arm around her chest, pressing her back against his chest. His other hand remained over her mouth. The two waiting men stepped forward and Rose’s anger surged up from her gut like a red wave, battling with sudden fear for supremacy. But terrified or not, no way would she take this assault without a fight.
She hadn’t lied about her training. After so many taunts at school — You’re half Chinese, do you know half Kung Fu? — she had eschewed martial arts until a friend a few years ago had got her into Muay Thai. It was a great supplement to her regular soccer playing and gym sessions. These guys had picked on the wrong girl.
She lifted one knee and drove a front kick hard into one attacker’s stomach and, as he grunted and doubled over, she drove backwards against the guy holding her. She slammed him hard against the alley’s filthy wall, got a satisfying whoosh of air out of him, but he didn’t let go. She freed an arm and swung a punch at the third man as he closed in, scored a glancing blow across his cheek that made him take a step back, his eyes widening in fury in the shadows of his hooded jacket. She drove her elbow back into the gut of the man holding her and he lost his air again. This time he did loosen his grip and she pushed herself away, only to land in the grasp of the man she’d kicked.
She swung more punches and elbows, felt several satisfying impacts, but the odds were against her. Three strong men outgunned her fury and whatever training she could call upon. One of them grabbed at her short black denim jacket and hauled up the back of it.
“This is her!” the man said. “Hold her down!”
Panic washed fresh through Rose and she screamed out, her voice high and terrified.
“Shut her up!” the first attacker said, and then he grunted in pain and staggered sideways.
Crowley, his face a mask of righteous anger, sprang into the space between Rose and her attackers, knocking the men left and right with a flurry of punches.
The arms holding Rose slipped away and before that man could engage Crowley, she spun around and delivered her hardest kick across his leg, then threw a punch as he stumbled to one knee. Her punch missed and the man staggered up and backed away.
“Abort!” he yelled. “Abort!”
The other two attackers pushed back from Crowley, and all three ran back to the mouth of the alley, the one she’d kicked limping badly.
“Get back here, you bawbags!” Crowley yelled and made to give chase.
Still limping, the one Rose had kicked, drew a pistol from his pocket. The weak lamplight from the street gleamed on its surface, anodized a malevolent black. “You two ready to die?”
Crowley stopped, held both palms up facing the gun. Rose marveled at his bravery as he stepped between her and the attacker. “Be calm,” Crowley said, his rage gone, his voice instantly level and calm. “Just leave us alone.”
The man nodded. He and his companions disappeared out onto the busy street and hurried away. Crowley watched them go, then took one tentative step forward.