Falling for you

Chapter 33

‘Oh God, not you again.’

‘Enchanting to see you too,’ Will Gifford said amiably, stepping to one side as Kate swept past him. Catching the front door before it had a chance to slam shut in his face, he added, ‘Is your mum in?’

‘Does it make any difference?’ Kate shot him a look of irritation. ‘You usually enjoy a good nose around whether anyone’s here or not.’

‘Ouch,’ said Will with a grin.

Contemptuously Kate hissed, ‘Oh, grow up.’

Estelle had her mouth full of mint Aero when Will came into the kitchen. Jumping guiltily away from the fridge where she kept her stash of chocolate, she covered her mouth with one hand and gave him an embarrassed wave with the other.

‘Just passed the ray of sunshine on her way out,’ said Will.

Estelle winced, managed to swallow a giant chunk of Aero in one go and said shamefacedly,

‘Hence the comfort eating.’

‘Still giving you the run around?’

‘I don’t know what’s happened. Yesterday she was fantastic, so cheerful you wouldn’t believe it.’

Seeing from Will’s face that he didn’t, Estelle went on earnestly, ‘Really, it’s the truth. She was happy, laughing, she even made up with an old friend she’d fallen out with years ago. I thought this is it, we’ve turned the corner at last, but this afternoon we’re back to square one. It’s as if yesterday never happened, like Brigadoon, and I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean, am I being really dense here?’

As she said it, a sob burst from Estelle’s throat, as unstoppable as a sneeze. ‘Other people seem to manage to have children who don’t treat them like a pile of poo, but it just doesn’t seem to be h-happening for m-me.’

‘Hey, hey,’ Will crooned, crossing the kitchen at the speed of light. Next moment Estelle found herself being held by him, and realising that this was what she’d been subconsciously longing for ever since Will had last left for London. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured soothingly, ‘it’s not you, you didn’t do anything wrong.’

Dizzily, Estelle breathed in the fresh Persil-scent of his diabolical plaid shirt. She was struggling to take in this startling turn of events. If she was honest, she’d daydreamed about something like this happening, but never believed for a moment it would ever actually happen.

‘I really shouldn’t be saying this,’ Will’s mouth brushed her ear, ‘but you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.’

Estelle’s stomach did a pancake flip. She couldn’t be attracted to a more wildly unsuitable man if she tried. For a start, Will Gifford was thirty-eight while she was forty-five, and when you weren’t exactly drop-dead glamorous, seven years was a lot. Secondly, Will was here because he was making a documentary about her husband, which was scarcely ideal. What’s more, she hadn’t been involved with any man other than Oliver since her eighteenth birthday. For heaven’s sake, if anyone in this house was suited to Will, it should be Kate.

But Estelle’s tangled train of thought was distracted by Will’s mouth finding hers, and she gave herself up to the sheer mindless pleasure of his kiss. Because sometimes chemistry happened and you made the discovery that you just didn’t care. Anyway, when was the last time Oliver had pressed her up against the fridge and ravished her? Determined not to feel guilty, Estelle reminded herself that the only thing that got Oliver excited these days was profit margins and business plans.

If she painted herself pink, like the Financial Times, she might have more luck.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’ Belatedly, her conscience kicked in. ‘What about Oliver?’

‘No problem, he’s still in London. I spoke to him before he went into his meeting. He won’t be home before six.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Estelle panted, because Will was still stroking her face. ‘I meant he’s my husband.’

‘ Really? The one who neglects you?’ Will raised his eyebrows. ‘The one who doesn’t deserve you?

That husband?’

‘He’s just busy, he doesn’t mean to neglect me.’

‘So you want me to stop? You’d rather I didn’t come near you?’

Trembling, Estelle whispered, ‘No. I just ... wasn’t expecting this. It’s all been a bit, um, sudden.’

‘Nice sudden or nasty sudden?’ said Will.

Estelle smiled. ‘Nice sudden. But scary too. Kate could be back at any minute.’ This was true, but it had also occurred to her that she hadn’t shaved her legs for five days; worse still, she was wearing knickers made from a kind of weird stretchy honeycomb-patterned material that, when you took them off, left an unfortunate honeycomb imprint all over your bottom.

‘I’ve thought of you more often than you’d believe,’ Will murmured. ‘Seriously. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.’

The chances were that he wouldn’t even notice her honeycomb-patterned bottom. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t care. But Estelle couldn’t take that risk. The prospect of getting naked in front of another man was terrifying enough. If Will burst out laughing she’d be mentally scarred for life.

Then again, she wouldn’t say no to another kiss.

‘Don’t you have work you should be doing?’ Estelle glanced at the kitchen table upon which were piled the bags containing his video camera and filming equipment.

‘Just a few background shots. No hurry.’ He paused. ‘I know what you’re thinking, by the way.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘You’re worried about your body. Don’t be.’ Smiling, Will said, ‘If I’d wanted a twenty-year-old stick insect, I wouldn’t have spent the last week thinking shamefully erotic thoughts about you.’

Erotic thoughts.

‘Actually, forget I said that.’ Will pulled a face. ‘Erotic thoughts just sounds sleazy, and I promise you I’m not sleazy. It’s just ...’ he paused, gently stroking her hair back from her temples and letting it fall through his fingers, ‘you’ve been on my mind.’

‘Oh,’ breathed Estelle as his warm mouth closed over her mouth and the length of his body pressed thrillingly against hers. It was the most wonderful sensation, glorious in its own right and made doubly so because who would have thought she had the power to instil such desire? She’d honestly thought that once you hit forty all the passion and excitement of youth became a thing of the pa

‘Oh!’ squeaked Estelle, less breathily this time as the kitchen door creaked open. Leaping away from Will so fast she almost cracked her skull open on the oak wall cabinet, she felt abject terror rise up in her throat like bile.

‘It’s OK.’ Will smiled as Norris, having executed his leaning-against-the-door trick in order to force it open, ambled into the kitchen.

‘I thought it was Kate. Or Oliver. God, what if it had been?’ Tingling all over with a mixture of fear and desire, Estelle rubbed the back of her head.

‘Poor you, let me have a look at it. Government health warning,’ said Will, tenderly feeling the bump. ‘Adultery can seriously damage your health.’

Adultery. Estelle’ s mouth went dry at the sound of the word. How could she take that risk?

‘Will, I’m flattered, but I can’t.’ As the words spilled out, she didn’t know whether to congratulate herself on her moral strength or despise herself for being such a wimp.

‘You don’t want to?’

Oh, how could he even ask that?

‘It’s Oliver. We’ve been married for twenty-seven years.’ Will sounded amused. ‘We don’t have to tell him, you know.’

‘But I’m such a hopeless liar,’ wailed Estelle. ‘I mean, I’ve never needed to lie before, so I haven’t had the practice. I just know I’d stammer and go red and get it all horribly wrong, and we’d be found out in no time.’

‘Sshh, OK, that’s fine.’ Will’s tone was soothing. ‘We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.’

This instantly made Estelle want to do it.

‘No sex,’ said Will.

Now she really wanted to have sex.

‘Maybe just a spot of minor flirting,’ Will went on. ‘How would you feel about that?’

Is that all? thought Estelle, already feeling deprived. Then she gave herself a mental slap, because he was absolutely right. She couldn’t betray Oliver, she mustn’t sleep with Will, and flirting was fine, really it was. All the fun and none of the guilt. What could be more harmless than that?

A spot of minor flirtation and the occasional bit of kissing.

‘Sounds ... great.’ Faintly flustered by her own thoughts, Estelle smoothed down her pink and white shirt. In the corner of the kitchen Norris was slurping noisily from his water bowl, which put a bit of a dampener on the seductive atmosphere.

‘Well,’ Will said good-naturedly. ‘Could have been better, but at least you didn’t run away screaming in horror. I’m happy with that.’

He didn’t know it, but he’d made her year. Talk about an ego boost. Unable to contain the joy bubbling up inside her, Estelle said, ‘Me too.’

Nuala’s collarbone wasn’t the only thing on the mend. Like a wonderful unexpected Christmas present, breaking up with Dexter was turning out to be far less traumatic than she’d imagined. So much so, in fact, that it was almost embarrassing. In the past when boys had dumped her, she had always been distraught, weepily imagining that her life was over and that she’d never know happiness again. Having actually been quite famous for the extent of her declines, Nuala had naturally expected something similar to be happening now, but it simply hadn’t materialised. No depression, no sense of utter hopelessness, no weight loss even, which was a bit of a blow.

‘I can’t understand it,’ Nuala told Maddy as she jauntily swung the door of Snow Cottage shut behind them, ‘I feel absolutely fine. I don’t even get that choked-up thing in my throat when I see Dexter.

You know what? If I’m honest, it’s almost a relief to have it over and done with.’

‘Good.’ Maddy was pleased for Nuala, but her speedy recovery from breaking up with Dexter was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it was good that Nuala was cheerful and in such a positive state of mind. On the other hand, there was such a thing as being annoyingly cheerful and positively irritating.

‘Two years we were together,’ Nuala marvelled, swinging her turquoise shoulder bag by its plaited leather straps as they headed across Main Street to the pub. ‘Two whole years and I’m completely over him! It’s like a miracle, I can’t tell you how great it feels!’

Which was all very well, but not what you particularly wanted to hear when you’d never felt more empty and miserable in your life. The thing with Nuala was that she’d spent the last two years being treated like rubbish by a man she should never have got involved with in the first place. Never had two people been less compatible. No wonder she was glad to be out of a relationship like that. But –

Maddy closed her eyes briefly – that wasn’t how it had been with her and Kerr. Breaking up with someone you knew was the love of your life wasn’t nearly so easy. Already, in the space of a few days, she had lost half a stone and knew it didn’t suit her.

But Nuala had insisted on dragging her out for the evening because moping around the cottage was just – quote – dull, dull, dull, and in the end Maddy had run out of arguments. Which was why they were here now, at the Angel.

‘We should go into Bath, check out some clubs,’ Nuala bossily announced as they queued up at the bar. ‘You too,’ she ordered Kate, who had come over to serve them. ‘I mean, look at us, three single girls without a man between us, how sad is that? And it’s not as if we’re ever going to find anyone decent in this dump.’

‘Charming,’ said Jake, who’d arrived just before them. ‘And to think I was about to buy you a drink.’

‘I am strong,’ Nuala told him smugly, ‘I am woman. Moping over men is no longer my thing.

Anyway, I’m quite capable of buying my own drinks.’

‘But sadly not capable of paying your own rent.’ Jake grinned at Dexter then winced as Nuala landed a punch on his shoulder with her good arm.

‘Just for that, I’ll have a Bacardi and Coke.’ Turning to Kate, Nuala said, ‘And make it a large one. In fact, make it a bucket.’

Dexter, who didn’t miss a trick, had already sensed that something was up. The moment Jake Harvey had entered the pub, Kate’s body language had given her away. Jake, as relaxed and laid-back as ever, had greeted her with a cheerful grin but Kate’s jaw had tightened beneath the polite veneer and she had made a point of avoiding his gaze. Knowing Jake as he did, it didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened when Jake had taken Kate home the other afternoon. It was like a Pavlovian reaction, Dexter imagined: the moment you found yourself alone with a girl, you automatically seduced her. What’s more, when you were Jake Harvey, it evidently never crossed the girl’s mind to say no. Who knows, maybe he’d slept with Nuala too, although Dexter doubted this. If he had, he suspected Nuala wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to boast.

The range of emotions he was experiencing weren’t the kind Dexter was used to – he didn’t actually know where they’d sprung from but they were no less powerful for that. Whereas the thought of Nuala in bed with Jake didn’t bother him at all, imagining Kate and Jake together filled him with a boiling rage. How dare Jake take advantage of her like that, when he clearly had no interest in a proper relationship? That was Jake Harvey all over, he was a shameless, morals-free zone.

‘And one for yourself,’ Jake told Kate, when she’d finished serving the rest of the round of drinks.

‘No thanks.’ Kate busied herself wiping up the spilled drops of lager on the bar.

‘Go on.’ Jake’s voice softened. ‘Hey, no hard feelings. We can still be friends, can’t we?’

Dexter, straining to hear the murmured words from six feet away, longed to land a punch on Jake.

Deeply intrigued, Nuala raised her eyebrows enquiringly at Maddy.

Maddy, who’d been lost in thought about Kerr, hadn’t a clue what was going on and wondered why Nuala was doing that weird thing with her eyebrows.

Kate shook her head. ‘Really, I’m fine.’

Resting his fingers fleetingly on her arm, Jake mouthed, ‘Sure?’

Unable to keep quiet a moment longer, Dexter barked, ‘She doesn’t want a drink, OK?’ Barging up to Kate, he steered her towards the restaurant end of the bar. ‘Table six want another bottle of wine.

Sort them out, will you? I’ll take over here.’

An hour later, Jake left to pick up Sophie from Marcella’s. Fascinated, Nuala watched Kate doggedly pretending not to watch him go. During a lull at the bar she beckoned Kate over to the table she was now sharing with Maddy.

‘More peanuts?’ said Kate.

Her shoulders were noticeably more relaxed.

‘It’s not peanuts we’re after.’ Nuala gave her a complicit smile. ‘It’s information. Otherwise known as gossip. So,’ she went on brightly, ‘you and Jake, am I right? What’s been going on that we don’t know about?’

Kate reddened. Startled, Maddy said, ‘Actually, there are some things I’m quite happy not to know about.’

‘Oh, don’t be so boring.’ Eagerly Nuala turned her attention back to Kate. ‘You slept with him, didn’t you? I can tell.’

‘Look,’ Kate shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, ‘this isn’t—’

‘Oh my God, I’m right, aren’t I? You really did!’

‘Please,’ Maddy protested, but Nuala was unstoppable now.

‘You lucky, lucky thing,’ she gasped excitedly, slopping drink all over her sleeve. ‘I wanted to sleep with Jake but he turned me down – damn, I’m so jealous! What was he like?’

‘Hello? Excuse me,’ Maddy’s voice rose, ‘but I really don’t want to hear this.’

‘Just whisper it then.’ Nuala gave Kate a nudge. ‘I mean, I’m assuming he’s fabulous.’

La la-la,’ Maddy sang loudly, her fingers jammed in her ears.

Hurriedly, Kate said, ‘Dexter’s going to hit the roof if I don’t get back to work.’

Clearly Kate wasn’t about to spill the beans. Some people were just plain selfish.

‘OK, some other time. We could try that new club down by the train station on your next evening off, have a real girly night out.’ Giving Kate a nudge as she turned to leave, Nuala added, ‘But he is fabulous, isn’t he?’

‘Kate, get over here,’ Dexter bellowed. ‘I don’t pay you to stand around doing bugger all.’

Back behind the bar, Kate snapped, ‘And there’s no need to yell at me.’

‘I thought I was rescuing you.’ Dexter’s voice softened.

This only served to remind her of Jake calling her a damsel in distress. Pushing past Dexter on her way to refill the ice bucket, Kate said coldly, ‘Well, don’t.’

Chapter 34

Was this sad? Was this the kind of thing only truly pathetic people did? Was it really so wrong when it brought her so much comfort?

Well, OK, maybe not so much comfort, but beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers. Any tiny crumb of comfort going was better than none at all.

Squinting in the darkness, Maddy held her wrist up to her face and peered at her watch. Ten past two in the morning and here she was, sitting in her car at the end of Kerr’s road, gazing up at the unlit windows of his flat.

She would have been here earlier but Nuala had stayed up until midnight and Jake hadn’t gone to bed until almost one o’clock. Maddy had been forced to wait until they were asleep before sneaking out of the cottage, climbing into her car and driving – hopefully not in a deranged, stalker-like fashion – into Bath.

Oh, but now that she was here she really did feel better, just knowing that Kerr was less than fifty feet away from her. These were his windows, that was his car parked outside, there was his very own dark blue front door .. .

She wasn’t doing anything wrong, Maddy reminded herself; this was a harmless coping mechanism, nothing more. OK, so she’d promised Marcella she’d never see Kerr again, but nobody had said anything about not seeing his front door.

Behind her a set of headlights swung round the corner into the road. Guiltily, Maddy sank further down in the driver’s seat and waited for the car to pass.

When it did, she caught her breath. Now why on earth would a police car be patrolling a deserted backstreet at this time of night? Honestly, when you were desperate for a passing policeman you wouldn’t find one for love nor money, yet here were a pair now, tootling around in the small hours, avoiding the city centre where they might actually be needed.

As the patrol car reached the end of the cul-de-sac and swung round, Maddy tugged her purple baseball cap further down over her face. A horrid thought was unfurling like a tapeworm in her brain –

surely not ... oh bugger, don’t slow down, no, nooo0 .. .

The car pulled up directly in front of Maddy’s Saab, so that their bumpers were almost kissing.

Lucky bumpers. Mortified, Maddy watched the door open and a skinny beanpole of an officer unfold himself from the passenger seat.

Bugger bugger bugger.

In response to his hand gesture, Maddy unwound her window.

‘Would you step out of the car, sir?’

Bugger.

Slowly Maddy did as he asked. Standing there in her jeans, sweatshirt and trainers, a good foot shorter than the gangly policeman, she mumbled, ‘I’m not a sir,’ and took off her baseball cap. Her blonde hair slithered down past her shoulders.

‘My apologies, miss.’ Was the gangly policeman’s mouth twitching? ‘Um ... may I ask what you’re doing?’

Marvelling at the way your Adam’s.. apple bobs up and down, mainly. Aloud, Maddy said, ‘Just sitting in my car, officer. Is that against the law?’

‘Do you live in this road?’

‘Well, no.’

‘So why exactly are you here?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Maddy sighed. ‘It’s for personal reasons, OK?’

‘Perhaps you could tell—’

‘Look, I promise you I’m not doing any harm,’ Maddy blurted out, ‘but personal means personal and I don’t want to sound stroppy, but shouldn’t you be out catching real criminals, like burglars or car thieves, instead of harassing innocent motorists?’

‘That is, in fact, our aim, miss. We were called here tonight by one of the residents, concerned that you might be planning to break into their home.’

For a sickening moment Maddy wondered if it had been Kerr, alarmed at the prospect of being stalked by an ex-girlfriend-turned-deranged-madwoman. Then a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision caused her to swivel round, just in time to catch the ruffled bedroom curtain of the house opposite dropping down as a penned head hastily ducked out of sight.

‘I’m not a burglar,’ said Maddy. ‘I promise.’

This time the gangly policeman was definitely doing his best not to laugh.

‘OK, I think I know what this could be about. Boyfriend trouble, am I right?’

Miserably Maddy nodded.

‘Ex?’

She nodded again.

‘Dumped you for another woman?’

‘No, nothing like that! We just aren’t seeing each other any more, that’s all.’

‘And sitting in your car in the middle of the night looking at his house makes you feel better, does it?’

‘Well, yes,’ Maddy admitted wretchedly. ‘Yes, it does.’

‘It’s all right. I know.’ Now it was the gangly policeman’s turn to nod. ‘I’ve done it too.’

‘Have you?’ Heartened, Maddy gazed up at him.

‘God, yes, loads of times. Practically every girl who’s ever chucked me.’

Yikes.

‘ In fact, every girl.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘The last one was only a few weeks ago. She swore she wasn’t seeing anyone else, but I caught her out.’ Smugly he said, ‘I’d drive round to her place at four o’clock in the morning and feel the bonnet of her car. If it was still warm, that meant she’d been out with some bloke, see?’

‘Um ... yes ...’

‘Ever tried that?’

Maddy swallowed. ‘Well, not really, no.’

‘Should do. Handy tip, that. And if you’ve still got a front door key,’ he went on eagerly, ‘well, you can do all sorts. Tap their phone, fit listening devices, anything you like. I can give you the address of a shop that sells all that stuff, if you want. Best in the business and very discreet.’

‘Gosh, um, thanks. Actually,’ Maddy checked her watch again, ‘it’s getting a bit late, I really should be making a move—’

‘Hidden cameras, they’re good.’

‘I don’t think I need to—’

‘Hey, this could be fate!’ The gangly policeman’s pale-lashed eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

‘I’ve just split up with someone, you’ve just split up with someone – how about we get together some time?’

Urk!

‘Well—’

‘D’you like pizza? We could go out for a pizza.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed eagerly. ‘Tomorrow night? I’m off duty tomorrow night. I can tell you how to send anonymous letters without getting caught.’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Maddy blurted out in desperation. ‘I’ve got to go!’

As he watched the girl speed off, the gangly police man smiled to himself before heading back to the patrol car.

His fellow officer, who had been listening to every word, chuckled. ‘Poor kid, you frightened the living daylights out of her.’

Helping himself to a Snickers bar the policeman said, ‘I did the girl a favour, brought her to her senses. Besides,’ he broke into a grin, ‘anything to brighten up a dull shift.’

Esme Calloway owned and ran Dartington House Nursing Home. When Kerr had first met her, he’d prompted himself to remember her name by recalling Cab Calloway’s song ‘Minnie The Moocher’, from The Blues Brothers. Sadly, all this had succeeded in doing was making him think of the name Minnie every time he saw her. It was only a matter of time before he accidentally called her that.

But this wasn’t likely to happen today. Esme Calloway had asked him to visit her in her office and the news she had for him wasn’t cheerful.

‘I’m afraid your mother’s condition is deteriorating, Mr McKinnon. The doctor came out to visit her again this morning. The results of last week’s blood tests aren’t too good. Her liver function is, as you know, already poor.’

‘I know.’ Kerr nodded. It had been poor for years, but somehow his mother had survived; liver-wise, she was 0llie Reed in a dress.

‘But this time it’s serious,’ Esme Calloway went on, ‘and Pauline is aware of this. All we can do now is to keep her as comfortable as possible.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘One more thing,’ said Mrs Calloway. ‘She’s concerned about her other son. He’s in Australia, I believe.’

Kerr shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. He could be anywhere. We haven’t seen him in years.’

‘So I gathered.’ Mrs Calloway rose from behind her mahogany desk, to indicate that the interview was at an end. ‘Well, I’m just letting you know.’

‘Not long to go now,’ said Pauline McKinnon, putting it rather more bluntly than Mrs Calloway.

‘Few more weeks and that’ll be it. Did you bring me anything?’

Kerr shook his head. She asked the same question every time she saw him and each time he shook his head, because what she wanted him to bring was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whisky. Not that she went without; his mother was known for lavishly bribing the poorly paid domestic staff to smug gle regular supplies of alcohol into the nursing home for her; it was an open secret among everyone who worked at Dartington House.

‘Oh well. Down to business.’ Pauline McKinnon ran a trembling wrinkled hand over her mouth.

Dwarfed by the armchair in which she was sitting, she looked frailer than ever and there was an unmistakable yellow tinge to her skin. ‘I need to see Den.’

Kerr shook his head. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

‘Then you have to find him. He’s my son and I need to see him again before I die.’ Vehemently Pauline said, ‘It’s important.’

Of course it was. Den had always been her favourite son, and he in turn had been devoted to his mother. Kerr hadn’t been jealous; their closeness had simply been a fact of life.

‘I’ll try,’ he said now. ‘No guarantees, but I’ll do my best.’

Pauline dug down the side of the armchair and with difficulty pulled out a silver flask. Her bony fingers shook as she unscrewed the top, raised the flask to her pursed lips and took a gulp.

‘And don’t look at me like that,’ she told Kerr coldly. ‘Why shouldn’t I have a drink if I want to?’

‘It’s your life.’ He rose to leave, keen to be out of this stuffy overheated room, thick with lavender air-freshener and alcohol fumes.

‘Just find him,’ his mother said brusquely. Fumbling for a tissue up her sleeve, her eyes unexpectedly swam with tears. ‘Please. Find my boy before it’s too late.’

Chapter 35

Back at the office, Kerr dealt with a stream of phone calls before turning, without much hope, to his computer. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to track down Den; his last unsuccessful attempt had been just before Christmas.

Dennis McKinnon. He typed the name into a worldwide search engine and scrolled through the list of matches, most of them familiar to him from previous searches, none of them his brother. Kerr knew; he’d checked out each and every one.

There were two new entries, the first a seventy-six-year-old man from Louisiana. The second sounded fractionally more feasible, a member of a brass band in Wellington, New Zealand.

Mentally crossing his fingers, Kerr clicked on to the brass band’s home page. Could this be Den?

Had he moved to New Zealand and taken up trumpetry in his spare time? Anything was possible.

Scanning the page, Kerr clicked ‘photos’ and waited for them to pop up on the screen.

The third one down on the left was a photograph of Dennis McKinnon playing his trumpet. Black, bald and in his fifties, he looked like Louis Armstrong. Oh well.

Kerr exhaled wearily and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face. Everything that had happened was starting to catch up with him. Sleeping had never been a problem before, but these days it was beyond him. Tormented by wakefulness, he was unable to stop himself thinking of Maddy. When he did finally manage to doze off, he dreamed about her but the dreams never ended happily and when he woke he felt worse than ever. More exhausted too, which made it a struggle to come into work.

Forcing himself to get a grip, Kerr sat up again and opened his eyes. Life went on because it had to go on, but it wasn’t easy pretending everything was fine. His mother was dying, his brother was unreachable and he missed Maddy terribly, more than words could

‘Kerr? Catch.’ The door swung open and Sara, the receptionist, lobbed a cellophane-wrapped sandwich through the air at him.

Kerr caught it and looked at the label.

‘It’s egg and lettuce. I didn’t ask for egg and lettuce.’ More to the point, how could anyone in their right mind possibly want egg and lettuce?

‘Yeah, well, too bad, none of us got what we asked for Sara’s tone was as pointed as her pink Faith stilettos. ‘But we just have to make the best of it, don’t we?’

The Happy Hamper was supplying their sandwiches now, and happiness was in short supply. Aware that his staff all blamed him and were becoming increasingly mutinous, Kerr said, ‘OK, but they’re better than Blunkett’s.’

‘And that’s supposed to cheer us up? They’re not a millionth as good as the Peach Tree.’ Sara was looking as if she might be on the verge of stamping her pointy-toed foot. ‘The thing is, Kerr, we’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t know what happened between you and Maddy, but the rest of us liked her a lot, we liked her sandwiches even more, and we really don’t see why we should have to miss out just because you two have had some stupid little falling out.’

A stupid little falling out. If only that was all it was.

‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Sara said accusingly, ‘the accountants from the first floor aren’t happy about it either.’

Kerr sighed. ‘The thing is, there’s nothing—’

‘You can do about it. Yeah, yeah, you say that, but we’re the ones who are suffering here and it’s all your fault." Sara fixed him with a look of disdain. ‘Which is why we’re strongly suggesting you sort it out.’

The door slammed shut, Sara flounced back to reception and Kerr returned his attention to the computer screen. Ordering himself to concentrate, he tapped his fingers against the mouse and gazed at the trumpet-toting Dennis McKinnon on the screen in front of him. With his shiny black face and dazzling white grin he looked happier than Den would ever look; throughout the grim years of visiting him in prison, Kerr had never once seen his brother smile.

Forget Dennis. Returning to the search engine, he typed in the words Den McKinnon instead.

Last time he’d tried this, the reply, ‘no match found’, had flashed up.

This time the search engine came up with a lone match. Kerr clicked onto the site, belonging to a rugby club in Sydney, Australia.

There was the name again, Den McKinnon listed as fly half for an amateur rugby club. No photographs. No further clues. Had his brother even enjoyed playing rugby at school? Kerr couldn’t remember.

It was a long and flimsy shot, but he may as well give it a go.

E-mailing the club secretary, Kerr wrote:

Dear Sir,

You have a Den McKinnon on your rugby team who may or may not be my long-lost brother. Could you please pass this message on to him, and ask him to reply letting me know either way? I urgently need to contact my brother as soon as possible. My address and phone number are .. .

Many thanks.

Kerr McKinnon.

When it was done, Kerr pressed send and envisaged the message popping up in the inbox of a computer in an air-conditioned office somewhere in sunny Sydney, Australia. After years of e-mailing, it still never failed to impress him that it was possible to make instantaneous contact in this manner, across the world.

Whether the reply would be instantaneous was another matter. Would he even get one? What if the club secretary mentioned it in passing to Den McKinnon, a grizzled sheepshearer from the outback, who said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll give the guy a call and tell him it ain’t me,’ then promptly forgot all about it?

‘Right,’ Sara abruptly announced from the doorway. ‘Got it.’

Kerr heaved a sigh. ‘Got what?’

‘That little newsagents on the corner of Tapper Street and Marlborough Hill, where I buy my paper every morning. The bloke who runs it is really friendly and nice.’

‘So?’ Kerr pictured Den McKinnon scratching his big grizzled head, going, ‘Strewth, mate, what’s an e-mail when it’s at home?’

‘So,’ Sara repeated with exaggerated patience, ‘I’m going to ask him if the Peach Tree can deliver our order to his shop every morning, and if he can look after it for us until one of us pops down there before lunch to pick it up.’

Kerr forced himself to pay attention.

‘Won’t that sound a bit weird?’

‘Of course it’ll sound weird. We’ll just have to tell him the truth,’ said Sara with a shrug. ‘That you broke the deli delivery girl’s heart and that’s why she refuses to bring us our sandwiches any more.’

‘I didn’t break her heart.’ Kerr imagined his brother shaking his head, snarling, ‘Why would I want to speak to that asshole when I haven’t even seen him for years?’

Sara gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘Of course you didn’t. Anyway, I think the newsagent bloke will do it. We’ll have to pay him, of course, but you can do that. So shall I pop down now and ask him or

—’

Kerr’s mobile phone began to ring. Snatching it up, he glanced at the caller number on the screen and felt his heart beat faster.

‘Hello?’

‘Kerr?’

It was Den. It was weird. Hearing his voice again after so long. .

‘Yes. Hi. How are you doing?’ Kerr’s throat tightened. This was his brother. He was also the reason why he and Maddy couldn’t be together.

Kerr waved Sara out of the office.

‘I’m OK.’ Den sounded wary. ‘Jed from the rugby club just gave me a ring and passed on your message. What’s this about?’

‘It’s our mother.’ God, it sounded so cold, so formal, but Pauline had never wanted to be called Mum. ‘She’s dying.’

Pause. Then, from ten thousand miles away, Den said, ‘And?’

‘She wants to see you.’

‘Really. And what would be the point of that?’

It was a chilling response from a son who, prior to his spell in prison, had been utterly devoted to his mother.

‘She’s desperate to see you before she dies,’ Kerr persisted, ‘and she doesn’t have long. She begged me to find you.’

‘I don’t know. It’s a long way to come.’

‘She’s in a bad way, Den. I had to move her into a nursing home. Look, I can wire you the money for the plane ticket—’

‘No need for that. I’ll think about it. I may come or I may not,’ Den said defiantly.

‘OK." This was a step up from an outright refusal. ‘It would be good to see you again.’

As he said it, Kerr wondered if he meant it; in truth, his feelings towards Den were very mixed.

‘Would it?’ His brother’s laughter was hollow, tinged with bitterness and doubt.

‘Are you married?’ It was odd to think that Den could have a wife and children, a whole family they knew nothing about.

‘Married? No.’ Den paused. ‘You?’

‘Me neither.’ Thanks to you.

‘ Not even seeing anyone?’

Kerr wondered how Den would react if he were to tell him who he’d been seeing up until last week.

It wasn’t the kind of discussion you could get into, under the circumstances. Aloud he said, ‘No.’

‘Haven’t met the right girl yet?’

Oh, I’ve met her, all right.

‘Something like that.’ Kerr’s tone was brusque.

‘Right, well. Have to go now. If I decide to come over, I’ll be in touch.’

‘Shall I send you the money for the plane ticket?’ Pause.

‘If you want,’ Den said awkwardly.

‘Give me your bank details then.’ If he wired the money, maybe Den would feel morally obliged to fly over.

‘I haven’t decided yet. I’ll be in touch when I do. Is the house still there?’ Den asked abruptly. ‘I mean, still in the family?’

So that was what was interesting him, thought Kerr. Hillview was worth in the region of three quarters of a million pounds.

‘It’s still in the family.’ Drily he told Den, ‘Don’t worry, as soon as she dies you’ll get your fifty per cent.’

There was a stunned silence, then Den said, ‘Fuck off, Kerr,’ and hung up.

‘All sorted,’ Sara announced.

Miles away — over ten thousand miles away — Kerr looked up and said, ‘What?’

‘Jameson’s Newsagents. The bloke who runs it is Mike Jameson,’ Sara patiently explained. ‘He’s agreed to do it, take in our sandwich delivery and keep it in his back room until one of us arrives to pick it up. He’s charging twenty quid a week, which you’ll be paying because this whole thing’s your fault.’

‘Fine,’ said Kerr.

As she closed the door behind her, Sara thought, Damn, should have said forty.

Chapter 36

Marcella had cut down on her hours at Dauncey House, which suited Estelle down to the ground. With Will staying, acting normally around her family wasn’t a problem, probably because in their eyes she was the least likely person in the world to be indulging in illicit naughtiness. But Marcella was a different matter, altogether more observant. Not much got past her. Estelle, terrified of letting her guard slip, was finding it increasingly difficult — but at the same time oddly exhilarating — to maintain an air of normality.

Luckily Marcella had other things on her mind to distract her.

‘She’s not eating. I took one of my casseroles over to the cottage last night and Jake says she didn’t even touch it. And the weight she’s lost — you don’t think she’ll make herself ill, do you?’

‘Of course she won’t.’ Estelle’s tone was comforting. ‘Girls break up with boys all the time and get over it.’

‘I know Maddy’s unhappy,’ said Marcella, ‘and I hate to see her like this, but what’s done is done. It isn’t as if she can blackmail me into changing my mind, because how can I? She can’t carry on seeing him and that’s that. Now, give me that cup.’ She reached across the table for Will’s empty coffee cup. ‘And as soon as I’ve loaded the dishwasher I’ll be off.’

‘Can I film you doing it?’ Will picked up his hand-held video camera.

‘What, bending over to stack the plates? Me and my big bottom filling an entire TV screen? What a treat that’d be for the nation,’ said Marcella. ‘No thanks.’

Estelle said, ‘Leave the dishwasher, I can do that. You go home and get some rest. And ginger biscuits are good for stopping you feeling yuk,’ she added, because Marcella’s morning sickness had kicked in with a vengeance.

‘You know, I’m just so glad to be pregnant, I don’t even mind the feeling sick.’ Her eyes shining, Marcella gave her stomach a protective pat. I’ve spent so many years longing to know what it feels like.

It’s proof that it’s actually happening at last.’

When Marcella had left, Estelle carried on with the ironing. Acutely aware of Will’s eyes upon her, she tried her best to concentrate on the sleeves of Oliver’s favourite speedwell blue Turnbull and Asser shirt.

‘I love the way your bottom wiggles when you do that.’

‘Sshh.’ Estelle bit her lip and smiled to herself, because it had to be twenty years since anyone had said anything nice about her bottom.

‘Slow, slow, quick-quick slow.’ Will, coming up and standing behind her, placed his hands on her hips as they swayed from side to side. Into her ear he murmured, ‘I thought Marcella would never leave. I’ve been counting the seconds.’

‘And Oliver’s upstairs,’ said Estelle, as if he needed reminding. Oliver was currently conducting a four-way transatlantic conference-call, before heading off to Zurich on yet another business trip. In order to allay any suspicions of hanky-panky, Will had to return to London. She wouldn’t see him for at least a week and already the prospect seemed unendurable.

She must endure it, Estelle knew that. Oliver was basically a good man, hard-working — if not a bit too hard-working — and honest. He didn’t deserve to be cheated on.

‘You smell gorgeous,’ Will whispered, nuzzling the nape of her neck.

Oh, he definitely knew how to nuzzle .. .

‘ Bugger,’ squeaked Estelle as the smell of something far less gorgeous filled the air. Snatching up the iron, she gazed in horror at the brown v-shaped scorch mark on the cuff of Oliver’s shirt.

‘Oops,’ said Will with a grin.

It’s worse than oops. This is Oliver’s favourite shirt,’ wailed Estelle. With his own shambolic Worzel Gummidge style of dressing, Will couldn’t begin to understand.

The telltale ting of the phone extension told them that Oliver’s call was at an end and he was on his way downstairs. Flapping her arms in desperation to get Will away from her and simultaneously dispel the smell of expensive burned shirt, Estelle squealed, ‘Oh God, here he comes now, he’s going to go mental ...’

By the time the kitchen door flew open, Will’s video camera was whirring away. Oliver, instantly aware of it but naturally pretending not to be, said, ‘Darling, have you finished my shirts?’

Darling, ha.

‘ Had a bit of an accident, I’m afraid.’ Estelle confessed at once, because there was no point trying to pretend it hadn’t happened, Oliver would spot the scorch mark in no time flat. ‘Burned one of the cuffs.’

His face reddened with annoyance. ‘Not the blue one.’

‘Sorry,’ said Estelle.

Instead of exploding in fury — ‘I wanted my shirts ironed, four shirts, is that too much to ask?’ —

Oliver was obliged to shake his head with good-humoured resignation, because this could end up in the final edit being broadcast to millions.

Helpfully, Estelle said, ‘You could always roll your sleeves up.’

His eyebrows raised in derision, Oliver said, ‘I’m not Tony Blair.’

No, thought Estelle, Tony Blair has sex with his wife.

‘I’ll be leaving in ten minutes.’ Gathering up the other ironed and folded shirts, Oliver headed out of the kitchen to finish packing. ‘A coffee before I go would he nice, if you think you can manage it without burning the beans.’

‘Just ignore him,’ Will murmured when the video camera had been safely turned off.

‘I got off lightly. Thanks to you.’ Estelle’s smile was rueful.

Will gave her a wicked look. ‘You have no idea how much I want to kiss you.’

It wasn’t the first time he’d said this, but it still had the most extraordinary effect on Estelle’s knees. Like Ker-Plunk, she half expected them to give way at any moment, causing her to collapse in a heap on the ground.

‘Sshh.’ Scooting over to the coffee machine, she began trowelling in beans.

‘D’you know what I love about you? The fact that you have absolutely no idea how sexy you are.’

Will followed her, a playful smile lighting up his face.

‘Right, all done. What are you two whispering about?’ Oliver, barging back into the kitchen with his Louis Vuitton case, glanced at his watch.

‘How mean you are to me,’ said Estelle and he laughed, humouring her.

‘I’ll bring you back some of that scent you like from duty free, will that do?’ Oliver dropped a fleeting kiss on her forehead. ‘Don’t bother with the coffee, we need to get going. OK?’ he said to Will, who was dropping him at Heathrow on his way back to London.

‘No problem.’ Ambling around the kitchen, Will collected up his belongings, the video camera, his tatty, haphazardly packed rucksack and a Waitrose carrier bulging with the battery pack and tapes he’d used so far.

‘Ready?’ Always loath to waste a moment, Oliver was by this time hovering impatiently in the doorway.

‘Absolutely. Just one thing left to do before I go.’ Making his way back over to Estelle, Will gave her a clumsy one-armed hug and kissed her noisily on both cheeks. ‘Thanks for putting up with me.’

‘My pleasure.’ Estelle couldn’t believe how deliciously naughty this felt. ‘See you again soon.’

A whole week without Will. She was missing him already. However would she cope?

Chapter 37

Maddy pulled up on double yellows outside Jameson’s, the tiny newsagents on the corner of Tapper Street and Marlborough Hill. She should have said no; the staff at Callaghan and Fox could find themselves another delivery service easily enough if they bothered to scour the Yellow Pages. It felt strange, preparing sandwiches that you knew were going to be eaten by Kerr; for a moment while she’d been making them this morning, she’d been horribly tempted to slip a love note into his chicken and chilli-prawn wrap.

But Sara had been unstoppable on the phone when she’d rung to place the order, informing Maddy in no uncertain terms that the arrangements had already been made. Basically, Maddy hadn’t had the nerve to turn her down.

‘You’re delivering all that stuff to this one little shop?’ Next to her in the passenger seat, Kate was incredulous. ‘What, you mean the guy sells your food from here?’

It had been during last night’s darts match at the Angel that Kate had overheard Maddy telling someone that she drove into Bath before ten o’clock each morning. Kate had said eagerly, ‘So you could give me a lift, save me having to get a taxi? I’ve got some shopping I need to do tomorrow.’

And since they were now officially friends again, Maddy had felt compelled to say, ‘No problem, but I don’t know what time I’ll finish so you’ll have to find your own way back.’

Now, lugging the packed cool-box out of the car, she said, ‘This is for Kerr’s company, Callaghan and Fox.’ She nodded in the direction of Marlborough Hill. ‘They’re in Claremont House, up there on the left. I drop the order here, someone comes down later to pick it up, and I don’t run the risk of bumping into Kerr.’

It was pathetic, but even saying his name was painful.

‘Actually, here’s fine for me.’ Peering round, Kate unbuckled her seat belt. ‘I can cut through to Milsom Street from the end of that road down there. Thanks for the lift.’

‘No problem,’ said Maddy. ‘Have a good day.’

As she click-clacked her way down the narrow side street, Kate smiled to herself. With a bit of luck she might have a better day than she’d planned.

Five minutes later, when Maddy was safely out of sight, she returned to the little newsagents.

‘Hi, I’ve come to pick up the delivery for Callaghan and Fox.’

‘Blimey, you don’t waste much time, it’s only just arrived. Hang on, love, I’ll go and get it.’

Moments later the wiry, middle-aged newsagent handed the cool-box over to Kate. ‘Bit heavy, love. Sure you can manage?’

He was doing his best not to stare at the damaged side of her face. Flashing him a broad smile, Kate said reassuringly, ‘I’m fine.’

As he watched her leave — pretty girl, shame about the scars — Mike Jameson reflected happily that this was set to be the easiest twenty quid a week he’d earned in his life.

Marlborough Hill wasn’t for the faint-hearted. By the time she reached Claremont House, Kate was-pink-cheeked and panting like a porn star. Pausing at the entrance to get her breath back, she prayed that after all this effort Kerr wouldn’t be out.

Careful not to disturb her foundation, she blotted her face with a tissue. Coming home to Ashcombe had undoubtedly been a good move; against all expectations, the familiar village environment had done wonders for her self-esteem. Just a couple of months ago, she could never have envisaged herself working in a pub, serving customers, sometimes completely forgetting her scars for – well, maybe not hours, but certainly minutes at a time. The fact that people treated her normally and no longer cringed at the sight of her had boosted her confidence no end, proving that a life following physical disfigurement was possible. Crikey, just look at what she was preparing to do now! Six weeks ago this would have been out of the question. And yet here she was, acting completely on impulse, ready to reintroduce herself to Kerr McKinnon, upon whom she’d once had the most enormous crush.

Who knew what might happen, Kate thought giddily, fantasising already as she made her way up the broad staircase. She and Maddy had mended their differences. They were friends again now and she was truly glad about that. But there was absolutely no need to feel guilty also coming here today, because Kerr and Maddy were no longer together. And just because Maddy wasn’t allowed to be with him .. .

Well, it seemed a shame to let a good man go to waste.

‘Hi, can I help you?’ The plump receptionist’s gaze zoomed in on the cool-box as she spoke, her eyes lighting up, her glossy lips parting in delight. ‘Oh wow, is that ... ?’

‘I’m a friend of Maddy’s,’ Kate explained. ‘We dropped this off at the newsagents this morning but I thought I’d save someone the bother of coming to pick it up.’

‘You’re an angel. Aren’t they just the best sandwiches in the world? I tell you, I could have kicked Kerr when he broke up with Maddy – I mean, how could he? Typical bloody man – ooh, look!’ Rooting busily through the contents of the cool-box, the girl let out a yelp of recognition.

‘Here’s mine, rare beef and horseradish on rye. I’m never going to last until lunchtime. I just want to eat them now.’

The girl was either a first-rate receptionist, trained not to react with so much as a flicker of revulsion to the sight of a scarred face, or she was so utterly entranced by her sandwich that everything else faded into insignificance. Mentally bracing herself – she was here, this was it – Kate said,

‘Actually, is Kerr around?’

‘Oh, you know Kerr too! No problem, he’s in his office, I’ll just give him a buzz.’ As she reached for the intercom, the girl said excitedly, ‘Is that why you’re here? To give Kerr a damn good talking to for being silly enough to dump Maddy?’

‘Um, something like that. Don’t buzz him,’ said Kate, suddenly excited too. ‘Why don’t I give him a surprise?’

He called out ‘Come in’ when she knocked but didn’t immediately look up from the report on his desk. Kate, rather glad of the moment’s reprieve, took in the sight of him in his cranberry-red shirt, black trousers and polished black shoes. His dark hair flopped over his forehead, his bone structure was as stunning as she remembered, and—

‘Kate.’ Having glanced up and seen her in the doorway, Kerr put down the report he’d been studying. He rose to his feet. His gaze flickered for a split second as he took in the scars.

‘Hello, Kerr. Surprise.’ Her heart was pounding audibly, Kate was sure. She’d had such a crush on him when she was fifteen; did those feelings ever really go away? More to the point, was Kerr currently experiencing them too?

‘What’s this about?’

Honestly, typical man-question. You and me, Kate wanted to shout at him. Why else would I be here, you berk?

‘Brought the lunch delivery,’ she said aloud. ‘Maddy gave me a lift into Bath. Thought I’d drop by and say hello.’

‘Maddy’s here?’ Kerr’s expression changed at once; you’d think she’d just announced that Madonna was waiting to see him in reception. Naked.

‘She isn’t here. But she’s absolutely fine,’ lied Kate. There was no escaping the disappointment on his face. ‘Fine. Well, that’s good.’

‘We’re fine too,’ Kate went on. ‘I mean, we’re getting on really well again. It wasn’t me who told Marcella about you and Maddy – she did tell you that, didn’t she?’

Kerr nodded. ‘It was the TV cameras. I know.’

‘Anyway, it’s great to see you again.’ Keen to move the line of conversation away from Maddy, Kate said, ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

Ha, what was he going to say to that? Neither have you? To his credit, Kerr didn’t even attempt it.

‘Maddy told me about your accident. Nasty business. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.’

‘I wished I had been. When I saw my face, I wanted to die.’

‘That’s mad.’ Kerr shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter what you look like.’

Kate, her smile rueful, said, ‘Only someone who looks like you could say something as stupid as that.’

Kerr couldn’t imagine what Kate Taylor-Trent was doing here in his office. She showed no sign of leaving. In her ruffled white shirt and sleek beige skirt, she looked tanned and fit. Interestingly, the scars on the left side of her face in no way detracted from her air of glamour.

‘Remember your last year at school?’ Kate was saying now, smiling fondly at the memory. ‘Those school discos we all used to go to?’

Kerr could just about recall them but he failed to see their relevance. He had a dim memory of himself as an eighteen-year-old chatting up a group of leggy beauties from Ridgelow Hall, then discovering later that they were only fifteen years old. Then, the age gap had been vast, three whole years. Now, of course, it was nothing at all, but he still failed to see why Kate Taylor-Trent should have come to his office in order to blather on about their schooldays. The only person he was interested in talking about was Maddy, and every time he mentioned her name Kate swiftly changed the subject to something else.

When Kate at last left Kerr’s office, she knew it hadn’t worked. Back out on the street in the baking sun, she heaved a sigh and headed back down Marlborough Hill. That was it, she’d done her best and failed absolutely. Pulling out all the stops, she had flirted with Kerr with all her might and got nowhere. It had been like trying to flirt with a park bench.

Yet somehow, Kate realised, she wasn’t downhearted. OK, it was disappointing in one way, because she’d lusted after Kerr McKinnon for so long, but this hadn’t been the kind of rejection you could take personally or blame on your facial scars. Because Jennifer Lopez or Halle Berry or, well, pretty much anyone in the world could have given it their best shot back there in that office and found themselves faced with similar lack of interest.

Basically, unless you were Maddy Harvey, Kerr couldn’t care less.

Chapter 38

‘My poor baby.’ Juliet’s heart went out to Tiff, normally so full of life and bouncing Tiggerish energy. Kneeling by his bed stroking his hot forehead, she reflected that these days he had to be feeling really ill before he’d allow her to call him her poor baby.

‘Don’t go to work.’ Tiff’s eyes were half closed, his fingers laced through hers. ‘Stay with me.’

‘Sweetie pie, of course I’ll stay with you. I’m not going anywhere.’ Checking her watch, Juliet saw that it was seven in the morning. ‘Let me just give Maddy a ring. Maybe Nuala can help out in the shop.

Would you like some Ribena?’

‘I don’t know.’ Tiff plucked miserably at his Spiderman pyjama top. ‘I’m hot.’

It absolutely wasn’t a problem, Maddy assured Juliet on the phone, Nuala and her one functioning arm would be only too delighted to step into the breach, she’d go and wake her up now. And give Tiff a big kiss from her and Jake.

Making her way back into Tiff’s heavily curtained bedroom, Juliet said, ‘All sorted out. Here you are, sweetheart, I’ve brought you a drink.’

Tiff’s spiky head emerged from the duvet, his little face paler than ever. In a high voice he said,

‘Mummy, I feel—’ Oh dear. Maybe she wouldn’t give him that kiss on Maddy’s behalf just yet.

Predictably, the fountain of sick managed to end up all over Tiff’s pyjamas, pillow, duvet and undersheet.

Tiff whispered, ‘Sorry, Mummy,’ and the words squeezed at Juliet’s heart.

‘You don’t have to say sorry. It’s not your fault you’re poorly.’ Kissing the top of his head –

currently the only part of him safe to kiss – Juliet said, ‘Come on, let’s get you into the shower. I’ll give the doctor a ring when surgery opens, see if he’ll come and take a look at you.’

‘There’s sick on the carpet, Mummy.’

‘I know, sweetheart. I’ll clear it up in a minute.’ Stripping off his pyjamas, Juliet gave him a hug. ‘It doesn’t matter a bit.’

Jake popped his head round the bedroom door an hour later.

‘Maddy just told me about Tiff. Haw is he?’

Juliet, on her knees in the darkened bedroom stroking Tiff ‘s forehead, said, ‘Feeling lousy. He’s been sick a few times, you know the routine.’

Jake nodded; Sophie had succumbed to a similar bug at Easter. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘Thanks, but I’m OK. I’ll have Maddy and Nuala downstairs, they can bring me cups of tea.’

Drowsily Tiff said, ‘Is that Jake?’

‘Hey, look at you.’ Crossing the bedroom, Jake gazed down at him. ‘Not feeling so good, eh?’

‘I won’t be able to play with Sophie today,’ Tiff whispered feebly. ‘Mum, will I be better tomorrow?’

‘Of course you will. Full of beans.’ Juliet’s tone was consoling.

Tiff summoned a ghost of a smile. ‘Might have been the beans I ate yesterday that made me ill.’

At nine o’clock Juliet rang the surgery. As soon as the doctor had finished his morning clinic, the receptionist assured her, he’d be over to take a look at Tiff.

At ten o’clock Nuala delivered a handmade Get Well card from Sophie, featuring a large and ferocious bug with pointed fangs and many legs. Inside it she’d written: ‘This is what you cort. Love, Sophie XXX.’

At ten thirty Tiff woke up and was sick again, this time retching into the bowl Juliet held under his chin. Trembling violently with the effort, he clung to her and moaned, ‘My head hurts, my head hurts.’

Then, when Juliet moved to switch on the bedside light he flinched and wailed, ‘Turn it off, it hurts my eyes, I want it dark ...’

It was at ten past eleven that what up until then had been an unlovely but ordinary enough day abruptly turned into a nightmare. All morning, at regular intervals, Juliet had been checking Tiff’s body for a rash. Each time, encountering nothing, she had felt vaguely foolish for even allowing the thought that Tiff might have meningitis to cross her mind.

Now her heart turned over and her hands began to shake as she took in the dark red spots on his stomach. Where had they come from? What did they mean? Did they have to mean what she thought they meant, or could there be other causes? The glass test .. .

Slowly, Juliet reached for the tumbler of water she’d been sipping from, tipped the contents clumsily into Tiff’s sick bowl and pressed the side of the glass against Tiff’s skin, his precious baby-boy skin ... Oh God, oh no, please don’t let this be happening.

"S cold,’ mumbled Tiff, flinching away from the coolness of the glass.

Still kneeling next to his bed, Juliet ran feverishly through the options. Maddy was out on her delivery round in Bath.

Nuala was downstairs running the shop. The doctor was still seeing patients in his surgery.

Stumbling to her feet, she headed across the darkened bedroom and flung open the window.

‘Jake, Jake.’

Within seconds she saw Jake heading up the road, shielding his eyes from the late-morning sun as he gazed up at her. One look at Juliet’s face told him all he needed to know.

‘OK,’ he called out. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the car.’

Too terrified to cry, Juliet watched Jake carry her son downstairs in his arms. When she was settled on the back seat of the car he carefully laid Tiff, by now floppy and pale, across her lap. Juliet cradled him, reassured him and sang to him while Jake drove like a demon into Bath. Finally reaching the Royal United Hospital, they screeched to a halt outside casualty.

Will he be all right?’ Juliet whispered fearfully as Jake lifted Tiff off her.

‘Come on, let’s get him inside.’ Glancing down at the ominous red rash spreading over Tiff’s thin legs, Jake added automatically, ‘He’ll be fine.’

It was nothing like turning up with a cut finger, thank God. No hanging around for hours on end playing spot-the-doctor. Within seconds of their arrival Tiff had been whisked away into a cubicle to be thoroughly examined by a young house officer. The paediatric consultant was bleeped and arrived minutes later. By the time Jake returned from moving the car to the car park, the consultant was on the phone arranging for Tiff to be admitted to ITU.

‘As soon as he’s settled down there, we’ll perform a lumbar puncture,’ the consultant told them as Jake gave Juliet’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘That’ll tell us what’s going on. But I have to say, it’s looking like meningococcal meningitis. We’re starting Tiff on IV antibiotics now. You’ll be asked to sign a consent form for the lumbar puncture.’ He glanced at Jake as he said this, and Jake shook his head.

‘I’m not Tiff’s dad. Just a friend.’

‘I see.’ The consultant, nodding briefly in acknowledgement, turned to Juliet. ‘You may want to let his father know." Gripped with terror, Juliet gasped, ‘How serious is this?’

‘If it’s bacterial meningitis,’ the consultant replied, his tone matter-of-fact, ‘it’s a serious illness.

We’re going to do our very best for Tiff.’

By the time Jake arrived back in Ashcombe, everyone in the village had heard the news.

‘Poor little boy, what a dreadful thing to happen.’ Estelle, who was in the Peach Tree buying croissants and greengage jam, had tears in her eyes as Jake emerged from the flat upstairs with an overnight bag for Juliet.

‘Right, I’ll head back to the hospital. You stay here with Maddy and Nuala,’ Jake told Sophie, who was sitting behind the counter looking utterly miserable. ‘I’ll ring you later, I promise.’

‘She’ll be fine with us.’ Maddy gave Sophie a hug.

Sophie nodded; she didn’t know what meningitis was, but she definitely didn’t like the sound of it.

‘Tell Tiff to get better and come home. Does he want some Smarties?’

Tiff was currently semi-comatose and connected up to a forest of machines and drips. Reaching over to kiss Sophie, Jake shook his head.

‘Not just now, darling. But he loved your card.’

‘Give them both our love,’ said Maddy, stroking Sophie’s unbraided candyfloss hair.

‘Can’t I go with Dad? I want to go,’ Sophie whispered.

‘I know sweetheart, but we can’t.’ As Jake left, Maddy realised she’d never seen him look so sombre.

‘Tiff’s my best friend.’ Sophie’s bottom lip began to wobble. ‘I don’t want him to die.’

In the ITU, Tiff occupied the bed in the far left-hand corner of the ward. Jake, holding his fragile hand and stroking his fingers, watched Juliet asleep in the chair next to him. Exhaustion had caught up with her; it was midnight and she’d fallen into a fitful doze twenty minutes earlier. As a plump nurse silently approached them, he slid his hand away from Tiff’s and rose to his feet.

‘Tiff’s father just phoned,’ whispered the nurse, causing Jake’s eyebrows to shoot up.

‘And?’

‘He wanted to know how Tiff was doing. I told him.’ Curious, Jake asked, ‘Did he say where he was calling from?’

The plump nurse shook her head. ‘No, just that he was on his way.’

Interesting, thought Jake. So he was about to meet Tiff’s mysterious father at last.

Still dozing in her hard chair two hours later, Juliet felt a hand on her arm.

‘Juliet? Tiff’s father’s arrived.’

‘What?’ Bewildered, Juliet stared up at the nurse. ‘But he can’t have. I didn’t call him.’

‘He’s here now, in the waiting room.’ The plump nurse glanced at Jake, who shrugged.

‘He’s not in this country,’ said Juliet.

‘Well, do you want to come and see who’s in the waiting room?’ Diplomatically the nurse added,

‘If it is Tiff’s dad, we do prefer only two visitors • for each patient at any one time.’ This was addressed to Jake, who guessed that it was ward policy to avoid potentially awkward encounters between parents and step-parents, which, was presumably what they thought he was.

‘Don’t worry.’ Standing up, Jake said, ‘I’ll go and find a coffee machine.’ Looking down at Juliet, hollow-eyed with concern for Tiff, he murmured, Will you be OK?’

Wordlessly, Juliet nodded.

As he left the unit, it occurred to Jake that the field had just narrowed dramatically. Juliet hadn’t told Tiff’s father. But somehow he’d heard about Tiff’s illness. While he was out of the country .. .

The waiting room was ahead of him, to the left.

Without pausing, he pushed open the door and came face to face with Oliver Taylor-Trent.

‘Thought so,’ said Jake.

Chapter 39

Juliet watched Oliver make his way down the darkened ward towards her. He looked terrible; business suit crumpled, greying hair uncombed, the lines around his mouth grown deeper than usual like cracks in parched ground. Then again, she probably wasn’t looking that spectacular herself.

Too shattered to move, Juliet sat and listened to the night nurse patiently explaining to him the functions of the various bits of machinery surrounding the bed. Being Oliver, he demanded to speak to the consultant in charge of the unit and threatened to become difficult when it was explained to him that the consultant was at home, asleep.

Finally, Juliet intervened.

‘Tiff’s getting the best care. Losing your temper isn’t going to help him. Oliver, sit down.’

‘I can’t bear it.’ Oliver’s gaze was fixed on his son’s fragile, immobile body. ‘I just want to make him better.’ Turning abruptly to the nurse he said, ‘Would a private hospital be able to do more? If it’s a question of money, I don’t care how much it costs—’

‘They’re doing everything possible,’ said Juliet. ‘It’s OK,’ she told the hovering nurse, ‘I’ll speak to him.’

‘He was fine the other day, I saw him playing outside the shop with Sophie... absolutely fine ...’

‘He was fine twenty-four hours ago. That’s the thing about meningitis.’

Oliver was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t you phone me? You should have phoned me as soon as it happened.’

Juliet shrugged. ‘I knew you were in Switzerland. It would have made it more serious. I just kept hoping they’d say he was getting better. How did you find out?’ she said, although it was fairly obvious.

‘I rang Estelle. She told me what had happened. I was about to go into a meeting.’ Oliver gazed blankly down at Tiff. ‘I walked out of the building, flagged down a taxi and caught the first flight out of Zurich. When I was growing up in Bradford,’ he went on in a low voice, ‘there was a boy who lived opposite me. Billy Kennedy, his name was. We used to play in the same football team. He got meningitis.’

‘What happened to him?’ The moment the words were out of her mouth, Juliet regretted them.

Oliver didn’t reply.

Juliet rubbed her dry, aching eyes. ‘I need to change my clothes.’ Both her blue shirt and long white cotton skirt were spotted with sick and there were bloodstains on her sleeve where she had helped to hold Tiff while the doctor had been setting up an intravenous drip. The bag of things Jake had brought from home was in the waiting room outside.

‘You go. I’ll stay here,’ said Oliver, and for a second she hesitated, because if Tiff were to open his eyes and she wasn’t there for him, what would he think?

Except she knew Tiff wasn’t about to open his eyes. He was in a coma now, unaware of anything at all, mercifully, and clinging to life by a thread. Wondering how she could bear to be going through this, yet aware that come what may she simply had to, Juliet rose slowly to her feet.

‘I’ll be two minutes.’ She felt older than she’d imagined possible.

‘Take as long as you want,’ said Oliver.

‘I don’t want to take any longer than two minutes.’ Aware of the smell of sick rising from her skirt, Juliet said, ‘Did Jake see you?’

Oliver nodded.

‘OK.’

The waiting room was cool and deserted. Taking her carrier bag into the bathroom, Juliet changed into the clean silvery grey v-neck top and darker grey crinkle skirt Jake had found in her wardrobe. She’d never been a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, preferring stretchy, ultra-comfortable clothes that didn’t constrict.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror wasn’t comforting but Juliet didn’t care. Without the customary crimson lipstick, her mouth was far too pale. Since dragging a comb through her hair was too much to contemplate, she forced herself to brush her teeth instead, then sluiced her face with cold water.

Even that felt as arduous as wading waist-high through treacle.

‘Hi’

Emerging from the bathroom, Juliet was unsurprised to find Jake waiting for her.

‘I’ve brought you a coffee.’ He held one of the steaming Styrofoam cups towards her. ‘Pretty vile, I’m afraid. But better than nothing.’

‘Thanks.’ Juliet took the cup, knowing she wouldn’t drink it.

‘So.’ Jake paused. ‘Oliver Taylor-Trent.’

‘Don’t lecture me,’ she said wearily. ‘This isn’t a good time.’

‘I’m not going to lecture you.’ Jake shook his head. ‘Who else knows?’

‘No one. No one else.’

‘Not Estelle?’

‘No.’

‘Tiff ?’

‘Of course Tiff doesn’t know.’ Juliet gave him a how-can you-even-ask look. ‘He’s seven years old.

Do you seriously imagine he’d be able to keep quiet about something like that?’

‘OK, that’s all.’ Jake held up his hands. ‘No more questions. I just needed to know for practical reasons.’

‘Sorry.’ Of course he did; he would be heading back to Ashcombe now. ‘Anyway, thanks for everything.’ Julie moved towards the door, beginning to panic at the thought that she’d been away from Tiff for longer than five minutes.

‘No problem.’ Jake waited, looking as if he wanted to say something else. Then he shook his head and smiled briefly at Juliet, so clearly desperate to get back to the ward. ‘Off you go.’

‘You look shattered,’ said Juliet. ‘Shouldn’t you get some sleep?’

It was eight thirty in the morning, grey and overcast outside. Oliver, looking more crumpled than ever, rubbed his eyes.

‘Not before I’ve spoken to the consultant. He’s on his way in now.’ Straightening up on his chair he said, ‘Who’s that over there?’

Juliet twisted round. At the nurses’ station behind them a lanky youth in a porter’s uniform was leaning against the desk glancing over at them and whispering to one of the nurses.

‘His name’s Phil, he lives in Ashcombe.’ Aware that her heart should be plummeting but quite unable to summon up the energy to care, Juliet said, ‘He works part-time in the kitchen at the Fallen Angel. Looks like he’s recognised you.’

‘Here’s someone now,’ said Oliver as the swing doors crashed open and a middle-aged man with an unmistakable air of authority burst into the unit, trailing assorted minions in his wake. ‘Is that him?’

‘That’s him,’ Juliet nodded, her throat tightening with trepidation.

Oliver was already out of his chair. ‘About time too. Right, now we’ll find out what’s going on.

How d’you do, I’m Oliver Taylor-Trent.’ Oliver stuck out his hand as the consultant, followed by his entourage, reached them. ‘I’m the boy’s father. I want to know exactly where we stand here,’ he announced brusquely. ‘No holding back.’

Juliet, her fingers closing helplessly round Tiff’s immobile hand, prayed that Oliver wouldn’t start going on again about money. She also prayed that the consultant wouldn’t be as brusque as Oliver; she wasn’t at all sure she had the strength to hear what he might be about to say.

‘Pickled walnuts, would you credit it?’ Marcella shook her head in disbelief, mystified by her own weirdness. ‘I always thought those food cravings were made up, just to get pregnant women a bit of attention, but I swear to God I’m dreaming of pickled walnuts. The moment I wake up I have to have them. Nothing else will do. And when I’m not eating them I like to look at them, bobbing about in their jar like dear little shrivelled brains—’

‘Whoa,’ Estelle spluttered, waving her hands and struggling to swallow her mouthful of Marmite on toast. ‘Too much information.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Marcella carried on polishing the silver, spread out over the far end of the oak kitchen table like an upmarket boot sale. Peering over at Norris, noisily chomping away at his bowl of Pedigree Chum and Winalot, she said, ‘Hasn’t put this one off.’

‘Nothing could put Norris off his food.’ Kate, finishing her coffee, rose to her feet. ‘Anyway, I’d better be getting ready for work.’ Tilting her head to one side, she said, ‘Sounds like a car coming up the drive.’

‘That’ll be the delivery man,’ Marcella joked, ‘bringing me my next crate of pickled walnuts.’

Estelle felt her heart begin to race; it couldn’t be Will, could it? Had he been overcome by a sudden wild urge to see her again? Oh Lord, if it was him, would she be able to act normally in front of Marcella?

At the sound of the front door being opened, Marcella stopped polishing. All eyes were fixed on the kitchen door now. Estelle did her level best to look as utterly confounded as Kate and Marcella.

Only Norris, blithely ignoring the intruder, continued to crunch away at his Winalot.

Estelle couldn’t have been more astounded if it had been David Attenborough himself complete with beige safari jacket who had pushed open the kitchen door.

Not Will, but Oliver.

Oliver, mystifyingly looking every bit as dishevelled and ungroomed as Will habitually did.

‘ Oliver? What’s wrong?’ Guiltily, Estelle prayed he hadn’t somehow found out. ‘I don’t understand, you’re meant to be in Zurich.’

Oliver barely seemed to notice them. He shook his head. ‘I was in Zurich. I came back.’

‘I3-but why?’ Truly terrified now, Estelle gripped the edge of the table. ‘What’s happened? You didn’t even phone!’ Marcella sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Oh Norris, not again,’ sighed Kate.

‘No, not that kind of smell.’ Pregnancy had heightened Marcella’s olfactory senses; lifting her head like a meerkat, she sniffed again. ‘It’s like that disinfectanty smell you get in hospitals.’

Wearily Oliver rubbed his eyes. Still bemused by the unexpectedness of his arrival, Estelle said,

‘Hospitals? Is that why you’re back? Oliver, are you ill?’

The next moment, somehow, she just knew. Maybe it was the expression on Marcella’s face, maybe the look of resignation on Oliver’s. Whichever, Estelle found herself feeling suddenly weightless with shock, as if someone had just switched off the gravity in the room.

Kate, still worried, said, ‘Dad? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Tiff Price, isn’t it?’ Estelle heard the words coming from her mouth as if from a great distance. ‘That’s why you came back ... that’s where you’ve been. I don’t believe this,’ she blurted out. ‘Are you actually going to tell me he’s yours?’

Oliver didn’t reply.

White-faced with shock, Kate said, ‘Dad? Is it true?’ More silence.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Estelle was by this time breathing so fast her fingertips had begun to tingle.

‘Of course it’s true! If it wasn’t true, he’d say so, wouldn’t he? He’s Tiff Price’s father.’ Swinging round to Marcella she demanded, ‘Did you know about this? Does everyone in the village know except me?’

‘I’ve never heard a thing.’ Concerned, Marcella said, ‘Look, this is private. I should go.’

I’ve got a better idea.’ Galvanised into action, Estelle stalked over to the door. ‘Why don’t I go? Come on,’ she told Marcella, ‘you can help me pack.’

Kate looked aghast. ‘Mum! What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking perfect sense. Why should I stay here and be publicly humiliated?’ Estelle ran her hands frenziedly through her fair hair. ‘Your father has a mistress and a child, living right here in Ashcombe.

All these years he’s been having his cake and eating it, making a complete fool of me—’

‘I haven’t.’ Oliver spoke at last. ‘I haven’t been making a fool of you, because nobody else knew. And I haven’t been having my cake and eating it either. Juliet isn’t my mistress.’

‘Really? How extraordinary!’ bellowed Estelle. ‘What was it, artificial insemination?’

‘We had an affair once,’ Oliver said shortly. ‘Not any more.’

‘Oh, fantastic, that makes me feel so much better. How dare you? How could you do it?’ Estelle was still struggling to take in the news; the shock was on a par with hearing Oliver announce he wanted a sex change.

‘These things happen. We met when Juliet was living in London. And just to set the record straight,’ said Oliver, ‘she wasn’t the one at fault. I told her I was divorced.’

‘You bastard!’ Estelle’s voice trembled with rage; how could she have spent the last twenty-seven years married to a man who would do something like this?

‘You’re absolutely right. Call me all the names you want, I deserve them. But right now,’ Oliver said heavily, ‘my main concern is Tiff.’

He’d come straight from the hospital. Stubble-chinned and ashen-faced, he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. Remembering how she’d felt when the call had come through from America telling her about Kate’s car accident, Estelle experienced a pang of guilt.

Next to her, Marcella said quietly, ‘How is he?’

Oliver looked as if he was struggling to breathe normally.

‘Still alive. And that’s about as encouraging as it gets. If septicaemia sets in, they could be forced to amputate his arms and legs.’

Oh God, that poor little boy. A lump sprang into Estelle’s throat at the very thought.

‘I just came back to shower and change,’ Oliver went on.

‘Tell Juliet we’re all praying for him,’ said Marcella, her dark eyes luminous with compassion.

Rubbing his face, Oliver nodded across at her. ‘I will.’

Chapter 40

‘It’s not fair,’ Estelle raged. ‘It’s not fair, he’s acting as if I don’t have any right to be upset because Tiff’s ill. He’s making out that I’m being selfish, and I don’t want to be selfish, but I am upset, I’m bloody upset! All these years I’ve stayed married to him. I could have had an affair, you know, but I didn’t because I was loyal to my husband, and all the time I was being so loyal he was busy having sex with Juliet Price, telling her he was single, getting her pregnant—’

‘ Is this wise?’ Marcella said patiently, sitting on the end of the bed watching Estelle hurl nighties, skirts, shoes and assorted items of underwear into two cases.

‘I doubt it, but I’m bloody doing it anyway. How can I stay here?’ Viciously, Estelle flung in her hairdryer and a bottle of Chanel No. 19, not even caring if it smashed. ‘I’ll be the laughing stock of Ashcombe. Why should I let myself be humiliated?’

‘You wouldn’t be.’

‘Anyway, I’m going.’ Estelle said it quickly before Marcella could come up with some plausible reason why she should stay.

‘Where?’

‘God knows. Pass me my pink top, would you? I mean, can you believe he didn’t even say sorry?’

‘ It’s been a shock,’ said Marcella. ‘For both of you.’

‘Bloody right it’s been a shock. Oh, darling ...’ Estelle’s head jerked up as the bedroom door swung open and Kate appeared.

‘Mum, I don’t want you to go.’ Fiercely, Kate hugged her. ‘I can’t bear it that Dad’s done this to you.’

Aware that the news of Tiff’s existence must have come as a shock to Kate too, Estelle was nevertheless overwhelmed by the emotion in her daughter’s voice. Kate was on her side and that meant so much to her.

‘It’s the only thing to do. I can’t stay here. Darling, I love you.’ Her own voice wavering, she stroked Kate’s face. ‘Where will you go?’

‘Not sure. Some hotel, I suppose. I’ll ring and let you know,’ said Estelle.

‘You shouldn’t have to leave. He should.’ Kate was vehement. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

Yet, thought Estelle.

‘Oh God, what a mess,’ Estelle sighed when Kate had finally been persuaded to leave for work. In the space of an hour her whole life had been picked up and shaken like a snow globe. From now on, nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Marcella emerged from the en suite bathroom. ‘Here, don’t forget your razor.’

‘To cut my wrists?’

‘To shave your legs. Hey, don’t cry,’ Marcella said encouragingly. ‘You’ll get through this.’

‘God knows how.’ Estelle wiped her eyes with her sleeve determined not to start. ‘Why do you keep looking at you] watch?’

‘Do I? Oh, sorry. Jake’s taking Sophie along to the surgery this morning; the doctor at the hospital told him she might need a course of antibiotics. He said he’d let me know what was happening.’

Another great wave of shame swept through Estelle. She truly didn’t mean to be a selfish, horrible person, but it was so hard not to think about what had happened to her. Right now, her own problems were what were uppermost in her mind, whereas as far as everyone else was concerned, the fact that Tiff was lying gravely ill in hospital was far more important.

It was just as well she was leaving Ashcombe. Under the circumstances, how could she stay?

Poor Tiff, thought Estelle, picturing the little boy and feeling her bottom lip begin to wobble again. Poor Sophie. Poor me.

‘ No danger of a smile, I suppose.’

‘What?’ snapped Kate.

‘You know, that thing people do with their mouths to cheer up the customers, make them feel welcome.’

‘Since when have you been bothered about customers feeling welcome? Anyway,’ Kate turned her back on Dexter, ‘they’re all out in the garden. There’s no one in here to smile at.’

Drily Dexter said, ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ Really wishing he’d go away – although since this was his pub it was unlikely

– Kate did the next best thing and wrenched open the dishwasher, which had just finished its cycle.

Instantly she was enveloped in an impenetrable cloud of steam.

The next moment she jumped as Dexter loomed through the steam like Swamp Thing, whisking the hot glasses from her hands.

‘You could try telling me what’s wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.’ Leave me alone. Falling for You

‘And I’m Pierce Brosnan.’ Through the haze of condensation she saw Dexter’s eyebrows furrowed in anger. ‘It’s bloody Jake, isn’t it?’

Startled, Kate said, ‘Sorry?’

‘Messing you about again. I told you before, he’s nothing but trouble. You don’t need someone like that, always messing you around and—’

‘Fine, I’ll tell you,’ Kate blurted out.

Dexter shook his head. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘By tonight everyone in Ashcombe will know, so it really doesn’t matter. My father had an affair with Juliet Price. Tiff Price is his son. So you see,’ Kate’s voice began to waver, ‘it isn’t only men like Jake Harvey that women should avoid, it’s ones like my father too. They’re all as bad as each other. And now my mother’s left him. She’s gone off, goodness knows where, my father’s at the hospital and I’m left here like a lemon wondering what the bloody hell’s going to happen next.’

‘Here.’ Grabbing a clean bar towel adorned with the Guinness logo, Dexter handed it to her to wipe her eyes with. Awkwardly, he patted her on the arm. ‘And congratulations, that’s definitely the best excuse for not smiling I’ve heard all day. Little Tiff Price, eh? And he’s your half-brother. Poor kid.’

Bristling, Kate said, ‘Because he’s my half-brother?’

‘Because he’s got meningitis. The bad kind. You’re not that much of a nightmare.’

Kate wasn’t so sure; her feelings were hideously mixed. When she’d been much younger, her father had made no secret of the fact that he’d wanted a son as well. Well, now he had one, which was absolutely typical of Oliver Taylor-Trent, because he’d spent his life making sure he got everything he wanted.

A more recent memory struck Kate: the morning when Tiff Price had spilled chocolate ice cream down her best cream trousers and she had blown her top. And the way Oliver had laughed the incident off, siding not with her, but with his precious, longed-for son.

‘Hey, you’ll be fine.’ Sounding most unlike himself, Dexter pushed a brimming glass of wine into her hand and steered her on to a stool. Mortified, Kate realised she was feeling jealous of a critically ill seven-year-old.

Was it possible to sink any lower than this?

The Intercity from Bath to Paddington was full of business types endlessly announcing into their mobiles that they were on the train, before launching into tedious discussions of sales figures, past and future meetings and projected targets. It would probably have made their week to overhear Estelle’s phone call but she was far too embarrassed to make it from the carriage. Instead, she locked herself in the tiny lavatory cubicle in order to press out the number.

Hanging on to the sink as the train clattered and swayed through the countryside, Estelle held her breath and envisaged the conversation going horribly wrong. What would she do if Will picked up the phone and said, ‘Well, for God’s sake don’t come here, my wife’ll be back from school any minute with the kids.’

‘Hello?’

Will’s voice sent a shudder of joy mingled with fear through her. Was she presuming too much?

‘Hi, it’s me. I’m on the train.’ Taking a deep breath, Estelle said, ‘I’ve left Oliver.’

Silence. Out of the window, fields and trees and Friesian cows hectically zipped past. Why wasn’t he saying anything? ‘Which train?’ said Will at last.

‘Gets into Paddington at three thirty.’

‘I’ll meet you there then.’ Will sounded as if he was smiling. ‘At the gate.’

Chapter 41

Paddington station had never looked more romantic. Magically, all the filth and grime seemed to have melted away. Estelle no longer saw the heaving mass of grim-faced commuters milling like worker ants across the concourse. All that mattered was Will’s arms around her, the wonderfully comforting smell of him and his unstoppable smile.

At the sight of him, she had actually broken into a run. Well, more of a clumsy canter. With her two cases banging against her legs and the music from Brief Encounter swelling in her brain, Estelle had cannoned into Will and known at once that this was truly meant to be; this was where she belonged.

‘I can tell you’re an innocent country girl,’ Will whispered into her ear.

‘Really? How?’ Did she have bits of straw in her hair and smell of pig muck?

‘Look at your cases.’ He shook his head at the sight of them, flung carelessly down onto the platform. ‘Do that around here and they’ll be gone in two seconds flat. You’re in London now.’

‘I’m not safe to be let out on my own,’ said Estelle.

‘I know.’ Having gathered up the cases, Will kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Just as well you’ve got me.’

Will’s flat was in Islington, on the second floor of a three-storey terraced Victorian property opposite a tatty rank of shops. Gazing out of the living-room window at the video store, the launderette, the newsagents and the betting shop, Estelle reflected that she was a long way from Dauncey House.

Will’s flat was exactly like Will himself, scruffy and uncoordinated but welcoming and, against the odds, attractive in its own way. The decor was basic, tidiness clearly wasn’t a priority and the wallpaper out in the hall was, frankly, very George and Mildred, but Estelle didn’t care. She was here with Will and that was all that mattered.

‘Here we go. Should be champagne really.’ Will appeared, carrying two mugs of tea, leaving a trail of drips in his wake.

‘Tea’s fine.’ Taking a sip, Estelle suppressed a shudder; he’d put sugar in.

‘Sorry, sorry. God, I’m a hopeless case.’ Snatching it away from her, Will swapped it with his own.

‘I still can’t believe you’re here, that you’ve actually left Oliver. It’s like a genie has just burst out of a lamp and granted my wish.’

This time the tea was better but the mug was a bit grim, chipped and stained and looking as though it had been hastily rinsed out rather than introduced to the joys of washing-up liquid. Bravely forcing the tea down, Estelle said, ‘All these years, I never had any idea. What kind of a man brings his mistress and son to live in the same village as his family?’

‘The kind of man who thinks he can do anything he likes and get away with it.’ Will’s voice was gentle.

‘Exactly! That’s Oliver all over. Bastard!’ raged Estelle. ‘Well, I’m not going back. It’s over.’

‘Bed,’ said Will.

‘ Really over. Juliet’s welcome to him.’

‘Bed.’

‘God knows how many other women he’s had ...’ Estelle paused. ‘What did you say?’

Will removed the chipped mug from her grasp and drew her towards him. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

She shivered with anticipation. ‘Are you sure?’

He grinned. ‘Are you kidding? This is my second wish.’

‘OK, but there’s something I have to say first.’ Estelle hesitated, because she might not be wearing her hideous honeycomb pants this time but there was still the problem of her less than perfect body.

‘Don’t expect ... you know, too much, OK? I’m forty-five.’

‘Fantastic,’ Will said happily. ‘That’s my third wish come true.’

By early evening, everyone in Ashcombe had heard the news. Phil Jessop, who worked as a porter at the hospital by day and in the kitchen of the Fallen Angel at night, had told everyone he knew, and the ripples had spread out from there. Tiff remained in a critical condition at the hospital. Juliet was still with him, as was Oliver Taylor-Trent. Estelle, along with a pair of suitcases, had left Dauncey House in a taxi. Kate was currently serving behind the bar of the Angel, biting the heads off customers faster than Ozzy Osbourne could bite the head off any bat.

Since Ashcombe was currently a hotbed of gossip, it wasn’t too surprising that Sophie Harvey had got to overhear most of it before bedtime.

‘I might be seven, but I’m not stupid,’ she announced to Jake, Maddy and Nuala, who were outside in the back garden of Snow Cottage. Wearing a blue vest and yellow pyjama bottoms and with toothpaste splashes around her mouth, Sophie settled herself on Jake’s knee. ‘I heard Cyrus Sharp talking to Theresa Birch in the shop. They were saying Oliver Taylor-Trent is Tiff’s dad, but he can’t be.

He’s never even bought Tiff a Christmas present.’

Jake wondered how you were supposed to do this. He’d been putting off the birds and the bees lecture for as long as possible, but there wasn’t just the technical aspect of procreation to consider.

Sophie was only seven, for heaven’s sake. How were you supposed to answer the Christmas present question?

‘Oliver is Tiff’s biological father,’ Nuala came unexpectedly to the rescue, ‘but it was a big secret. So nobody knew, not even Tiff.’

‘Biological.’ Sophie was frowning. ‘That’s the seed thing, right?’

‘Right. Anyway, it doesn’t matter a bit,’ said Nuala. ‘All we care about is Tiff getting better.’

‘But what if he doesn’t?’ Sophie’s gaze swung back to Jake. ‘Theresa Birch said people die of meningitis.’

‘Tiff isn’t going to die,’ said Jake.

‘But if he does, will you make a casket for him?’

‘He’s not going to die,’ Jake repeated, because what else could he say?

‘You hope he isn’t going to,’ said Sophie, ‘but if he does, he wants one like a batmobile. And if I die, I want a red one with a giant spider on the lid.’

‘Poor Kate,’ said Maddy when Jake had carried Sophie off up to bed. ‘Must be a bit weird for her. I still can’t get over it – Juliet and Oliver, of all people. I can’t believe they never once gave themselves away.’

‘It’s good, really, that Estelle’s left. Otherwise you wouldn’t know whose side to be on, hers or Juliet’s.’ Finishing her can of Coke, Nuala gazed at Maddy with longing. ‘Is it my turn now?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, go on, don’t be so mean. Let me have a go.’

‘Look, I’m an expert, I know how to handle these things. You’d just fall out and fracture your other collarbone.’ As she said it, Maddy shielded her eyes from the setting sun and watched Jake re-emerge from the house without Sophie.

‘Maddy won’t let me have a turn on the hammock,’ Nuala called out. ‘Tell her she’s being selfish.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Maddy knew something was up the moment Jake failed to turf her out of the hammock and leap into it himself.

‘I just rang the ITU. They let me speak to Juliet.’ Jake’s throat was working as he struggled to keep his voice under control.

Fearfully, Maddy said, ‘And?’

‘Tiff’s taken a turn for the worse. The doctors have warned her that he may not last the night.’

‘I have to go to Ashcombe,’ said Will. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’

It was nine o’clock in the morning. Since waking twenty minutes earlier, Estelle had been torn between revelling in the fact that she had spent last night making love with a man who wasn’t her husband, and coming to terms with the realisation that she was a cheated-on wife. The other unfamiliar situation was her nakedness beneath the bedclothes – it actually felt quite weird, when you weren’t used to it, not to be wearing a nightie.

‘Today?’ Hauling the duvet up around her breasts, she struggled into a half-sitting position.

‘It’s my job. I’m a documentary maker.’ Will, already showered and dressed, came to sit on the bed.

‘Not including all this stuff in the programme would be like making a film about Hitler and not mentioning the war.’

Estelle nodded; of course he had to go.

‘You’re amazing.’ Will reached out to stroke her cheek.

‘You won’t tell him I’m here, will you?’

‘Absolutely not.’ He pulled a face. ‘Do I look stupid?’

‘Nor Kate,’ Estelle insisted. ‘I don’t want anyone to know.’

‘Hey, don’t panic. We’re on the same side, remember. I’ll be back tonight.’ Will held up a front door key. ‘Now, this is my spare. Will you be OK here without me?’

Blissful memories of last night came flooding back, of Will whispering how beautiful she was, and how she didn’t have to hold her stomach in for him. In a rush of love and gratitude, Estelle decided she’d spend the day cleaning his flat, restoring order from chaos and discreetly bleaching his coffee mugs.

‘I’ll be fine.’ Taking the key, she leaned up for a kiss.

‘Typical,’ said Will good-naturedly. ‘All these weeks I couldn’t wait to race down to Ashcombe, and now all I want to do is get back here to be with you.’ Then he paused. ‘How will you feel if Oliver’s distraught about your leaving? Will it make you want to go back to him?’

‘I’ve made my decision.’ Counting off on her fingers, Estelle said, ‘For a start, nothing’s going to make me want to go back to him. Secondly, he wouldn’t be distraught, that’s just not Oliver’s style. And number three,’ she concluded, ‘I doubt he’ll even notice I’ve gone.’

By midday the flat was looking fifty times better and Estelle was feeling like Wonderwoman. Ironic, really, that back in Ashcombe she paid Marcella to do most of the housework for her, yet here she was having the time of her life doing it herself.

Smugly, Estelle surveyed the vacuumed carpets, the dusted surfaces and the neat piles of magazines in the living room. In the kitchen, the mugs were now gratifyingly stain-free and the worktops sparkled.

Ruthless de-cluttering, that was the key. Now that she’d cleared away all the extraneous rubbish, she could set about improving the flat in other ways, jazz it upa bit with some nice cushions, vases of flowers, bright rugs and a few decent prints on the walls – come to think of it, the walls could do with a fresh coat of paint, maybe she’d go out on a shopping trip this afternoon- Bbbrrrrpppp went the doorbell.

Startled, Estelle froze. Will hadn’t said anything about the doorbell ringing. What was she supposed to do now?

While she was wondering, it rang again. Cautiously she made her way over to the window and peered out.

Although there really was no need to be cautious, Estelle reminded herself. She was allowed to be here. And it was hardly likely to be Oliver, begging her to forgive him and come home.

The lanky lad on the pavement was wearing a cycle helmet and carrying a package. Oh well, even she could manage to take a package in. Raking her hands through her hair, Estelle ran downstairs to open the front door.

The delivery boy looked distinctly taken aback when he saw Estelle. In her hurry to get on with cleaning up the flat, she hadn’t actually got around to dressing this morning. Double-checking that her peacock blue cotton robe wasn’t gaping open, Estelle said nicely, ‘Is that for Will Gifford? I can take it.’

The boy didn’t hand it over; he was too busy boggling at her. For heaven’s sake, was opening the front door in your dressing gown not the done thing in London? Was it against the law?

‘Really,’ Estelle persisted, ‘I can. It’ll be safe with me.’ Cautiously the boy said, ‘Do you ...

um, live at this address?’

He’d clearly delivered packages to Will before and was making sure she wasn’t some madwoman who liked to break into strange houses and steal other people’s parcels.

‘Yes, yes, I live with Will.’ God, it felt lovely saying that. ‘He’s at work just now, but he’ll be back this evening. I’ll make sure he gets it then. Where do you want me to sign?’ Belatedly, Estelle realised he wasn’t carrying a clipboard.

‘No need.’ Handing over the package, the boy said, ‘It’s just the latest tape from the edit suite; Will wanted to check it out himself. You’re Estelle, right?’

Startled, Estelle wondered how he could possibly know her name.

The boy broke into a geeky grin. ‘Yeah, that’s it, got it now. Recognised you from the tape.’

Chapter 42

When he’d wandered into the Fallen Angel in order to innocently enquire why there was no one at Dauncey House, it had occurred to Will that if Kate refused to tell him what had been happening, he was going to be stuck.

Thankfully, this didn’t happen; Kate sang like a canary. On tape. Only too keen to bring Will up to date, she didn’t even object to being filmed while the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

‘And now Mum’s gone. God knows where,’ Kate concluded heatedly. ‘She just took off, yesterday afternoon. I mean, what must she be going through? She could be suicidal for all he cares ...

that’s so typical of my father, the only person he’s bothered about is himself.’

Will kept the camera rolling. This was perfect. In his diffident, apologetic way he said, ‘So you’re concerned about your mum.’

‘Of course I’m concerned about her!’ Kate looked at him as if he were mad.

‘Not so long ago, the two of you seemed, well, not so close.’

‘She’s my mum. Until she gets in touch, I won’t even know if she’s still alive.’ Kate paused, then said abruptly, ‘OK, switch that thing off now. Don’t try and make out I’m just some cold bitch who was always horrible towards my mother.’

Will, having switched off the video, was now replacing the lens cap and fitting the camera back into its carrying case. He said mildly, ‘I wasn’t trying to do that, but I’m glad you spotted it.’

‘Oh, don’t practise your amateur psychology on me.’ Kate looked defensive. ‘I know I wasn’t that great when I came back to live here, OK? I was under a lot of pressure.’

‘That great? You had an attitude problem the size of Texas.’ To soften the blow, Will said, ‘Anyway, you’ve come on in leaps and bounds since then. And I’m glad you appreciate your mother more now.’

I know I do.

‘ You sound like a trendy vicar,’ snapped Kate.

Will patted her arm. ‘Right, I’m heading over to the hospital. See if Oliver’ll speak to me.’

When he’d ambled out of the pub, Dexter stopped sweeping up spilled peanuts and said, ‘Does he have his eye on you?’

‘Fancies me rotten, if that’s what you mean.’ With a brief smile, Kate said, ‘It’s pretty obvious. He hangs around our house like a puppy, half the time when Dad isn’t even there.’

‘I have exactly the same problem with Nicole Kidman.’ Dexter nodded gravely, then waited. ‘And?’

‘Oh please, I know I’m ugly but I’m not that desperate.’ Kate’s lip curled with derision. Will Gifford just has a high opinion of himself. He can’t quite believe I don’t fancy him back.’

Will persuaded Oliver to come outside the hospital and talk to him, just for five minutes.

‘I’m so sorry, it’s a terrible thing - to happen.’ Will was genuinely sympathetic. ‘How’s Tiff?’

‘Not so good.’ Rubbing his face, which was grey with fatigue, Oliver said, ‘The doctors are doing everything they can, but it’s ... you know. Hard.’ He paused, indicating the whirring camera. ‘Do we have to do this now?’

‘Your wife has left you,’ said Will. ‘We need to see your side of the story. You do have a reputation as a ruthless businessman,’ he pointed out. ‘This way, the viewers will be touched by your anguish.’

Angrily Oliver said, ‘I don’t give a fuck about the viewers. It’s not their sympathy I’m after.

Tiff’s my son and I love him.’

‘Of coarse you do, of course you do.’ Will’s voice was consoling. ‘It’s a tragic situation. What a way for your wife to find out that you had a love child actually living right there in Ashcombe. How did she feel about that?’

‘Not too happy, obviously.’ Oliver’s tone was curt. ‘She’s gone, hasn’t she?’

‘Do you think she felt humiliated? Made a fool of? Do you have any idea,’ Will persisted,

‘where she is now?’

A look of pain crossed Oliver’s face. He shook his head. ‘Look, I can’t concentrate on this. I need to get back to the ward.’

‘Would it be possible to have a word with Juliet? Do you think she’d come out and speak to me?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Oliver had already turned to leave. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Hang on, did somebody switch front doors? Am I in the wrong flat?’

‘Surprise,’ Estelle sang out, flinging her arms round Will, covering him with kisses and simultaneously dragging him through to the living room.

‘Oh wow,’ said Will, staring. ‘Cushion city.’

‘I just thought I’d tidy up.’

‘And buy some cushions.’

‘I might have got a bit carried away,’ Estelle admitted.

‘Hey, you heard the rumours about the national cushion shortage and grabbed them while you could. That’s completely understandable.’ Will nodded. ‘When you can only buy them on the black market, we’ll be millionaires.’

‘Sorry,’ said Estelle.

‘Shh ... eleven, twelve, thirteen.’ He grinned. ‘Thirteen cushions. In one room.’

‘I found this great cushion shop in Barnsbury.’

‘And candles.’ He did an exaggerated double-take. ‘And a rug. God, and everything’s so clean.’

‘ I just wanted to help.’ Estelle hung her head; the cushions had cost an absolute fortune. Then again, it was Oliver’s money, so who cared?

‘Hey, listen, you don’t have to do all this.’ Lifting her chin, Will said, ‘I’m just glad you’re here. I’d be happy to live with you in a tent.’

You might be happy, Estelle thought, but I jolly well wouldn’t be. Unless it was a luxury tent.

But it was so sweet of Will to reassure her like this.

‘I’ve been too busy to cook anything. We’ll have to eat out.’

He pulled a face, gesturing towards his pockets. ‘I’m a bit..

‘My treat,’ Estelle said hurriedly.

Well, Oliver’s treat. Better still.

‘Let me just grab a shower first.’ Will gave her a quick kiss. ‘Hey,’ he yelled minutes later from the bathroom. ‘Posh soap!’

Estelle smiled to herself, because it was only Camay. Then again, compared with Will’s beloved Wright’s Coal Tar, presumably any soap was posh. ‘Kate’s missing you,’ said Will. ‘She’s on your side.’

His words brought a lump to Estelle’s throat. It was eight o’clock and they’d come to an Italian restaurant a couple of streets away from Will’s flat. Over fettuccine alla marinara and a bottle of Barolo, he had brought her up to date with the goings-on in Ashcombe.

‘I should ring her, let her know I’m OK.’ Estelle was overcome with guilt.

‘No hurry. Call her in the morning,’ said Will. ‘It won’t do them any harm to worry about you for a change.’

He was right. And he was so lovely. Wondering if she’d ever felt happier, or naughtier, Estelle sat back, heaved a sigh of satisfaction and finished her glass of red wine. Beneath the table, under cover of the cobalt-blue tablecloth, she slipped off one of her shoes and wiggled her bare toes along the inside of Will’s jean-clad thigh.

‘You’re a wicked, shameless woman.’ Will shook his head. ‘I’m being corrupted. Are we having pudding?’

For once, tiramisu wasn’t exerting its irresistible pull. Her toes still wiggling, Estelle murmured,

‘You know, I think I’d rather get back to the flat.’

‘And count cushions?’ Wasting no time, Will signalled the waiter to bring their bill.

Estelle reached happily for her purse. ‘Well, something like that.’

Estelle revelled in the feel of Will’s arm slung around her shoulders as they made their way out of the restaurant. In her whole life, Oliver had never slung an arm around her shoulders in public; it was an altogether too casual gesture for him. Impulsively, she turned and planted a warm, loving kiss on Will’s mouth.

Flash, went a camera somewhere nearby. Well, that was London for you, heaving with tourists snapping away nonstop-

‘What the hell ... ?’ Will, his head jerking back, gazed in disbelief at the man who’d appeared from nowhere on the pavement in front of them. Flash flash flash went the long-lensed camera.

Bewildered, Estelle clung to Will’s arm. Her first thought was that Oliver had hired a private investigator to track her down and spy on her, but how could he possibly have known where to find her? How could anyone have known?

‘What’s this about?’ Will was every bit as flummoxed as Estelle.

‘You’re Will Gifford, right? And that’s Estelle Taylor- Trent,’ said the photographer with a grin.

‘Neat twist, making a documentary about some big-shot businessman then running off with his wife.’

The next moment he was gone, vanished into the crowds thronging the pavement.

‘Shit. Shit,’ Will seethed.

Estelle, shaken up but thinking fast, said, ‘Hey, it’s OK, it’s not as if you stole me away from Oliver. He’s the one with the mistress and the baby.’

For some reason Will wasn’t reassured. ‘But how could this happen?’

Estelle exhaled, fairly sure she knew the answer. ‘I forgot to tell you. A tape arrived for you this morning. It was delivered by someone who works at the editing place. Tall and skinny, in his twenties, funny teeth ...’

‘Garth,’ Will said grimly.

‘Anyway, he recognised me from the tape. I was still in my dressing gown.’ Estelle searched Will’s face. ‘Could that be it?’

‘Oh yes.’ He nodded, unamused. ‘That could definitely be it.’

‘But it doesn’t matter,’ Estelle insisted. ‘I mean, so what if Oliver does find out? It’s not the end of the world!’

‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Will after a long pause. ‘It’s hardly going to do my career the world of good, but never mind about that. Come on.’ With a rueful nod he took her hand in his. ‘Let’s go home. Ever been on the front pages of the national press before?’

A jolt like electricity zapped through Estelle’s body. ‘Oh God, will I be?’

‘Duh,’ Will teased. ‘My name’s Will Gifford, not Jude Law.’

Estelle squeezed his hand. Feeling ridiculously happy, she said, ‘I’m glad you’re not Jude Law.’

She wasn’t on the front pages of the national press. Will eventually found the photograph the next morning on page seventeen of the Islington and Barnsbury Observer.

‘ Well, that’s OK,’ said Estelle, peering over his shoulder to read the accompanying article.

‘Nobody I know is going to see this.’

‘So long as it doesn’t get picked up. Bloody Garth,’ Will shook his head, ‘blabbing to everyone at work. He thought it was funny, I suppose. I’m sure they had a good laugh about it down at the pub. Then word spreads and some keen young journalist gets to hear about it ... it just doesn’t occur to them that something like this could have consequences.’

‘Hey.’ Wrenching the newspaper from his grasp, Estelle pushed him back onto the bed.

‘Consequences don’t scare me.’

‘God, I love you,’ Will sighed as she straddled him, her peacock-blue robe falling open almost to the waist. Estelle’s heart began to race. He loves me!

‘Bet you say that to all the girls.’

Will ran his fingers lightly down from her throat to her cleavage.

‘I’ve never said it before in my life. And you’re trying to make me late for work.’

‘Sorry, I’ll stop.’

‘Don’t stop.’

‘No, no.’ Moving her hips, Estelle said seriously, ‘You can’t possibly be late for work, I’ll just let you gel dressed—’

‘Don’t stop.’

Estelle shook her head. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for getting you into trouble, I’d never forgive myself if—’

‘Sshh,’ murmured Will, a broad smile on his face as he settled back against the pillows. ‘Don’t stop ...’

Afterwards, when Will had headed -off to the edit suite he rented from Carousel Productions, Estelle picked up the phone and called Kate.

Was she only a hundred miles away from Ashcombe? It felt more like a million. Cleverly she remembered to block her own number first.

‘Mum?’ Kate sounded relieved to hear her voice. ‘Mum, where are you? Are you OK?’

I’m fine, darling.’ Estelle was careful not to sound too fine; she was aiming for coping bravely in the face of adversity rather than having the time of her life with an adoring younger man.

‘Are you coming home?’

‘No.’ Sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed, Estelle gazed out of the window at the rows of higgledy-piggledy Mary Poppins-style rooftops.

‘Where are you?’

‘In a hotel. How’s Tiff?’

She had to ask.

She couldn’t not ask.

‘Still really bad.’

‘And Marcella?’

Kate brightened up. ‘Oh, Marcella’s OK. She’s got a thing for Twiglets now.’

‘Well, that’s not so terrible.’

‘She dips them in custard.’

Estelle still thought this was an improvement on the pickled walnuts. ‘How’s Norris?’

‘Fat, greedy, slobbers a lot. Pretty much the same as Dexter.’ Kate paused. ‘Are you going to ask about Dad?’

‘Go on then.’ Estelle was wary.

‘I haven’t seen him. He’s still at the hospital. But if he was here, I wouldn’t speak to him. He’s been a complete idiot. Speaking of idiots,’ Kate said abruptly, ‘Will Gifford was down here yesterday. Honestly, what a pillock, I swear he thinks he’s Hugh Grant. He was wearing that awful green jumper with the moth holes down the front.’

Estelle’s gaze slid guiltily to the offending jumper, now flung across the chair in the corner of the bedroom. She’d personally removed it, moth holes and all, from Will’s more than willing body last night.

OK, concentrate.

‘What did he have to say?’

‘Oh, he pretended to be shocked,’ Kate sounded scornful, ‘but he was over the moon, you could tell.

Interviewed me in the pub then raced off to the hospital to see Dad. You can’t blame him, I suppose, he’s a journalist. All this business has brightened up his boring documentary no end.’

Estelle bit her lip. This was probably true. You couldn’t blame Will if he were secretly delighted with the way things had turned out, for the sake of the documentary if nothing else.

‘Mum? Norris really misses you.’

‘Does he?’ Estelle managed a wobbly smile. How completely ridiculous, Norris wasn’t even their dog.

‘I miss you too,’ said Kate.

‘Oh, darling ...’ Overwhelmed, Estelle’s hand flew to her throat.

Sounding embarrassed, Kate said, ‘Bet you never thought you’d hear me say that.’

Chapter 43

Estelle put the phone down and had a little cry. Her life was changing so fast she couldn’t begin to get to grips with it. For now, like an alcoholic, all she could do was take things one day at a time. Like today. It was lunchtime, the weather was beautiful and she was going to go out for a couple of hours. No more cushions had been Will’s parting shot as he’d left for work. OK, but she could buy food for dinner tonight. Roast lamb, Estelle decided as she headed for the shower. Will had always loved her roast dinners. A gorgeous leg of lamb, lots of fresh vegetables, crunchy roast potatoes with garlic .. .

Then glorious sex, probably.

Followed by Belgian chocolate truffle ice cream, Estelle thought happily.

Then more sex.

‘Hi! Can I give you a hand with those?’

It was two o’clock. Juggling her house-key, handbag and four bulging carrier bags, Estelle started at the sound of the friendly voice behind her. She knew London was where you went if you wanted to get mugged in broad daylight, but this voice really didn’t sound as if it belonged to a mugger. For a start, it was female and quite posh. Secondly, Estelle discovered as she turned around, its owner was less than five feet tall.

She was wearing smart clothes, Estelle couldn’t help noticing. Surely someone in a neat white shirt and well-cut black pencil skirt wouldn’t kick you to the ground and make off with your groceries.

‘It’s OK, I don’t bite!’ The girl, who was probably in her early thirties, said gaily, ‘Here, you do the door and I’ll make sure your bags don’t topple over. That happened to me last week and I smashed a bottle of Pinot Grigio – I was so cross!’

Eventually Estelle managed to get the key fitted into the unfamiliar lock. As a red bus came trundling up the road, she nodded at it and said, ‘Is that the one you’re waiting for?’

The girl beamed. ‘I wasn’t waiting for a bus. Actually, I was waiting for you. You’re Estelle, aren’t you? Let me say hello properly.’ Grabbing Estelle’s temporarily free hand, she shook it with enthusiasm. ‘I’m Lucy Banks.’

Blankly, Estelle said, ‘And?’

‘Well, the thing is, I’d love to have a chat with you. You see, I work for the Daily Mail.’

‘ Oh. Right.’ So the story about Oliver and Tiff had come out. Feeling suddenly sorry for Juliet –

this was the last thing she needed right now – Estelle said politely, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to talk about what my husband did. I’d rather just keep out of it, if you don’t mind.’ As she said this, it belatedly occurred to her to wonder how this girl had known she’d be here.

‘That’s completely understandable,’ said Lucy, nodding sympathetically. ‘But this isn’t actually anything to do with your husband. Not directly, at least. You see, this is about what Will Gifford’s been up to.’

‘Up to? Will?’ Estelle was by this time thoroughly confused.

Gently, Lucy said, ‘Why don’t we sit down and have a chat?’

Unwilling to invite the journalist into Will’s flat, Estelle took her to a garden square a couple of streets away. There on a wooden bench beneath a sycamore tree, with a tiny tape recorder whirring away on the seat between them, she learned from Lucy that a woman had contacted the Daily Mail’s offices this morning after seeing the photograph of Will and Estelle in the local paper and reading the accompanying piece.

‘Ever heard of Magnus Jonsson?’ said Lucy.

‘The record producer.’ Estelle nodded rapidly, her fevered imagination conjuring up any number of bizarre images – Will was Magnus Jonsson’s son, or his lover .. .

‘Did you ever see the documentary Will made about Magnus?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ said Lucy, ‘considering it never aired.’

‘Why not?’ said Estelle, because this was clearly what she was supposed to ask.

‘Because it never got finished. Because Magnus and Will had a bit of a falling out.’ Lucy paused.

‘Because Magnus found out that Will was sleeping with his wife.’

There was a high-pitched humming noise in Estelle’s ears; she really hoped she wasn’t the one making it. A short distance away, on the grass, two small children were battling over a bag of bread crusts, sending pigeons up into the trees.

‘So you see, you’re not the first,’ Lucy said sympathetically. ‘Magnus was a workaholic, away a lot of the time. Moira was lonely, she felt neglected. Then Will came along and she found his attentions so flattering it didn’t take long for her to succumb. Will told her he loved her. From the sound of things, he has quite a way with him. I can imagine it would be hard to resist.’

Miserably, Estelle said, ‘What happened?’

‘Magnus came home unexpectedly one day and caught them. Have you noticed a bump on Will’s nose?’

Estelle nodded. How many times in the last couple of days had she kissed that bump?

‘That’s where Magnus broke it,’ said Lucy. ‘He went berserk – well, who can blame him? He loved his wife.’

‘Go on.’ Estelle gazed down at her fingers, twisted together in her lap.

‘Moira left Magnus and went to live with Will. They spent a couple of weeks together at his flat, then a month in the Caribbean. Moira paid for that. She thought they’d be together for ever, she was absolutely besotted with him, but soon after they arrived back in London, Will ended it. Moira was devastated. Magnus took her back, but the marriage didn’t survive. They divorced a year later.

When Moira read in the local paper that Will was up to his old tricks again, she felt she had to do something. She’s a nice lady,’ Lucy concluded earnestly. ‘She isn’t motivated by spite. She doesn’t want you to make the same mistake she did, and give up on a perfectly good marriage for the sake of someone like Will.’

Estelle said stubbornly, ‘Maybe she had a perfectly good marriage. I don’t. Look, so what are you saying, that Will’s nothing but a con man?’

‘Not a con man.’ Lucy proceeded with care. ‘Not exactly. I’m sure he does care for you very much, in his own way. But we’ve done a bit of digging around and he does seem to make a habit of persuading lonely women to fall for him, then fairly rapidly losing interest in them. Usually after they’ve spent a bit of money on him, I have to say.’ She paused. ‘According to the receptionist at Carousel Productions, one of last year’s conquests bought him a brand new BMW.’

‘He doesn’t have a BMW.’ Estelle was numb.

‘I know. But it’s how he funded his trip to Australia. Finished with the woman,’ said Lucy with a grimace, ‘and promptly sold the car.’

Estelle swallowed; she felt as if she were trapped on a fairground ride, being spun round and round and not allowed to get off.

‘So I was an easy target, is that it? I’m sorry, I can’t believe this. Will told me he loved me.’

Next to her on the bench, Lucy took a slim notepad from her bag then flipped through it until she found the page she was looking for.

Did he tell you he’d never felt like this about anyone before?’ she said, and Estelle felt the palms of her clasped hands break out in a sweat.

She couldn’t speak.

‘Does he tell you that you’re the one he’s been waiting for, his whole life?’

There was a lump the size of a conker in Estelle’s throat.

‘Does he call you the other half of his soul?’ Lucy persisted, her French-manicured finger moving slowly on down the list. ‘Does he talk about the poem you’ll have engraved on your joint headstone when you’re both gone? Does he have nicknames for each of your elbows? Is he—’

‘Stop!’ Unable to bear it a moment longer, Estelle buried her face in her trembling hands. ‘Oh God,’ she wailed, ‘please, just stop.’

‘ You’re back!’ exclaimed Will. ‘Are you OK? When I saw the food on the floor I thought maybe you’d been kidnapped by aliens.’

He hadn’t been home long himself. The carrier bags of food Estelle had unceremoniously dumped before going with Lucy to the garden square were still there on the kitchen floor. The Belgian chocolate truffle ice cream had melted, seeping like treacle across the tiles. Estelle stood and gazed down at the mess, as well and truly ruined as her own life.

‘Something is wrong.’ Will looked wary, like a guilty man opening his front door to find a policeman on the doorstep.

‘Smile,’ Estelle told him, ‘you’re going to be in the Daily Mail tomorrow.’

‘The Mail. Oh God,-Oliver’ll go ape. He might pull out of the documentary.’

‘Well, it’ll be a real shame if that happens,’ said Estelle. ‘Again.’

Now Will looked like the guilty man discovering that the policeman had proof of his crime.

‘Moira Jonsson saw the piece in the local paper this morning.’ Had it really only been this morning? It felt like months ago.

‘Moira Jonsson.’ Will shook his head. ‘She’s just jealous. We were together for a while, then we broke up. She never got over it.’

‘You were making a film about her husband!’ Her voice rising, Estelle shouted, ‘All the things you told me, you’d already told her. And it’s not just the two of us, either.’

‘Who told you this?’ Will’s eyes narrowed.

‘A journalist.’

‘Oh, come on, now you’re being naive. They’ll make up anything

‘ Not this time,’ yelled Estelle. ‘Apparently there are quite a few older married women around.

whose elbows have nicknames!’

Trapped, Will said, ‘So? It’s not against the law.’

‘Yesterday,’ Estelle said shakily, ‘you brought a bag of travel brochures back here. We spent half the evening talking about going away on holiday. You kept saying you’d love to go to the Caribbean, remember? Because you’d never been there before.’

From the look on Will’s face, he knew what was coming next. ‘OK, so maybe I have. Once.’

Sulkily he said, ‘But it wasn’t much of a holiday, let me tell you, with Moira clinging to me like a leech the whole time.’

‘She probably felt she was entitled to be clingy, seeing as she paid for the entire trip. Tell me,’ said Estelle, ‘is it all a deliberate ploy? Do you do it to spice up your documentaries, make them more interesting for the viewers?’

‘No.’

Estelle had already guessed as much. After all, Magnus Jonsson had pulled out of filming; his documentary had ended up not getting made.

‘So it’s just that we’re available, is it? Lonely, neglected wives, grateful for the attention. Oops, I almost forgot –lonely, neglected, wealthy women.’

Giving it one last go, Will said desperately, ‘It isn’t like that. I’d never sleep with someone unless I cared about them. The money isn’t important.’

‘Nice try,’ said Estelle. ‘Very convincing.’ Cuttingly she added, ‘But I’m still not going to buy you a brand new BMW.’

His eyes flickered with guilt and she knew it was all over.

‘Where are you going?’ said Will, as she stalked past him.

Reaching the hallway, Estelle glimpsed her reflection in the mirror on the wall – the mirror that she had bought and hung there yesterday to brighten up the narrow space. She looked exactly what she was: a foolish 45-year-old woman who should have known better and was now living to regret it.

‘To pack my things,’ she told Will, discovering that she didn’t even have the energy to cry. ‘After that, I don’t know.’

Chapter 44

‘I don’t know what to do any more,’ said Kate. ‘I don’t even know what to think. I just ... oh God, I don’t know .. . give up.’

‘It’s like the world’s gone mad,’ Nuala suggested helpfully. Using the tongs to transfer a cherry Danish from the glass cabinet to a paper bag, she added, ‘Like waking up and looking out of your window and seeing that the grass is purple.’

Maddy, who was about to set off with the morning’s deliveries, said, ‘Have you spoken to Estelle this morning?’

‘Like wildebeest stampeding down Main Street,’ said Nuala.

‘She hasn’t been in touch.’ Kate shook her head helplessly. ‘It’s just unbelievable. My mother’s run off with a toy-boy who’s only out for what he can get. My father’s at the hospital with his ex-mistress.

They have a son together, I’ve got a half-brother I never knew I had, and he doesn’t even know who his father is because he’s lying there in a coma.’

‘Orang-utans swinging from the trees, the Taj Mahal where the war memorial used to be,’ said Nuala. ‘Flying saucers whizzing through the sky.’

‘Just ignore her,’ said Maddy.

‘Sorry. That’ll be eighty pence.’ Nuala handed the bag to Kate. ‘But wouldn’t it be weird if that-did happen?’

Maddy rolled her eyes in despair. ‘And I have to live with her,’ she told Kate.

‘What about Sophie?’ Along with the rest of the town, Kate knew that Sophie had been prescribed a course of antibiotics as a precautionary measure. ‘Is she OK?’

Maddy smiled, touched by her concern. ‘She’s absolutely fine.’

Marcella turned up as Kate was leaving. Marcella had a ten o’clock appointment at the hospital’s antenatal unit and she was hitching a lift into Bath with Maddy.

‘Got everything?’ said Marcella as Maddy loaded the cool-boxes into the car along with a bag containing clean clothes for Juliet.

‘I’ve got everything. Have you got everything?’

Smugly, Marcella held up her pink raffia basket. ‘Antenatal notes. Spare knickers. Wee sample.

What more could a woman need?’

The basket was heavier than that. Pulling it open and surveying the contents, Maddy said,

‘Pickled gherkins, a pomegranate, two orange Kit Kats and a tube of tomato puree, by the look of it.’

‘Don’t curl your lip at me like that,’ Marcella protested. ‘I have a blood sugar level to think of. It doesn’t do to get peckish.’

Having dropped Marcella off first, Maddy parked the car and made her way over to the intensive therapy unit. There was a family, distraught and sobbing, in the waiting room. When Juliet emerged from the unit, Maddy hugged her hard, then said, ‘Shall we go outside?’

They found a bench in a patch of sunlight between two buildings. Shaking her head, Juliet said wonderingly, ‘I’d almost forgotten how it feels to be in the sun.’

She looked exhausted.

Maddy said, ‘How’s Tiff?’

‘Still alive. Still in a coma. They did another brain scan yesterday.’ From somewhere, Juliet dredged up a smile. ‘Thank Sophie for the cards, will you? They’re beautiful. How is she?’

‘Good. Missing Tiff.’ Maddy hated having to ask, but it was only fair they should know. ‘Has Oliver seen the paper this morning?’

‘The Mail? Yes. Poor Oliver.’ Juliet shook her head. ‘Poor Estelle too. What a hideous mess.’

Fiddling with her car keys, Maddy said, ‘I’m actually feeling sorry for Kate. And I never thought I’d hear myself saying that.’

‘I feel like it’s all my fault.’ There was anguish in Juliet’s eyes. ‘Maybe Tiff being ill is my punishment for getting involved with Oliver in the first place.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Maddy. ‘You know it isn’t.’

‘Oh God, I’m so tired I don’t know what to think any more.’ Checking her watch, Juliet gathered up the bag of clean clothes. ‘Thanks for these, anyway. Say hello to Jake, and give Sophie a big kiss from me.’

They headed back to the ITU. As they approached the corridor they both heard the sound of hysterical sobbing behind the closed door to the waiting room.

‘What’s happening in there?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Maddy regretted them.

‘It’s Donna’s family. Donna was a hit and run yesterday.’ Juliet kept her voice under control.

‘She’s eighteen. The doctors have just told them she’s brain-dead.’

Maddy closed her eyes.

‘Anyway,’ Juliet went on, ‘how are things with you? Are you still missing Kerr?’

Maddy instantly felt smaller than she’d ever felt before. Yes she was missing Kerr, of course she was, but compared with everyone else’s problems hers was laughably insignificant.

‘Don’t worry about me.’ Giving Juliet another hug, choking back tears at the thought of Tiff lying helplessly in his hospital bed, she said, ‘Ring me if there’s anything else you need. And give my love to Tiff. We’re all praying for him.’

She actually was, too. Despite never having prayed before.

‘Thanks.’ Juliet wiped her own brimming eyes. ‘Me too.’

Maddy returned to the hospital at twelve thirty after finishing her deliveries. Marcella, waiting for her outside the main entrance, thought how pale and drawn she looked. Supermodels might aim for stick-thin limbs and hollowed cheeks but Maddy looked better with a bit more weight on her. There was an air of defeat about her too. She hadn’t said anything, but Marcella knew why this was.

Well, there was nothing she could do about that. But she could certainly do her best, as a mother, to cheer Maddy up.

‘Lunch,’ Marcella declared as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Saab. ‘My treat.’

‘I’m fine.’ Maddy shook her head. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Rubbish. Look at you, skinny as a broomstick! You need feeding up, and Nuala can manage without you for another hour. We’ll go to Quincey’s,’ Marcella announced, because this was one of Maddy’s favourite places to eat. ‘And sit outside like proper sophisticated ladies wot lunch.’

When Marcella was in this kind of mood, Maddy knew there was no point trying to argue with her. Within ten minutes the car had been parked and she and Marcella were sitting at a table for two on the broad pavement outside Quincey’s wine bar with two orange juices, two giant menus and — for ever-ravenous Marcella — a vast bowl of olives. The moment they’d finished ordering, Marcella reached down and began delving into the pink raffia basket at her feet.

This was when Maddy, her attention wandering, gazed across the road and saw who was seated in the window of the restaurant opposite.

The sensation was akin to a giant syringe shooting a gallon of adrenaline into her bottom. Sitting bolt upright as if she’d been electrocuted, Maddy stared first at Kerr, in profile to her, then at the glossy brunette sharing his table.

Oh Lord, this was too much.

‘Here we are,’ Marcella gaily announced, waving a small, curling piece of paper.

For a moment Maddy wondered if she’d hired a private detective and was now presenting her with evidence that Kerr had found himself another woman.

‘Take it,’ Marcella urged, ‘it won’t bite you. Can’t bite you,’ she added with a grin. ‘It hasn’t got any teeth yet.’

Kerr was sitting less than twenty feet away and Maddy was having to behave as if everything was normal. She wasn’t even sure she could remember how to breathe.

‘Are you OK?’ said Marcella.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Guiltily Maddy grabbed the photograph and gazed at the funny little broad-bean-with-legs that was destined to become her stepsister or -brother.

‘That’s his heart,’ Marcella proudly pointed out, ‘and look, that’s his bladder!’

‘Wow, his bladder.’ Willing herself to concentrate, Maddy did her best to keep her hands steady.

Without much success.

‘You’re trembling.’ Marcella looked concerned. ‘Darling, are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ Glancing over the road, Maddy saw that Kerr and the brunette had finished their meal and were preparing to leave the restaurant. ‘Um, you said he. Is it a boy?’

‘They always call them he,’ Marcella explained. ‘I don’t want to know whether it’s going to be a boy or a girl. It’s because you haven’t been eating properly,’ she scolded, taking hold of Maddy’s hand and giving it an admonitory squeeze. ‘That’s why you’ve gone all shaky. When our food gets here, you’re going to eat everything on your plate.’

The door of the restaurant opened, and Kerr and his female companion stepped out into the street.

Terrified that Marcella might turn round and spot him, Maddy hastily pointed in the opposite direction and said, ‘Ooh look, there’s that actor you like, the one from Casualty!’

Peering in vain through the crowd of tourists dawdling along, Marcella leaped to her feet for a better look. The sudden movement, coupled with the brightness of her acid-yellow shift dress, captured Kerr’s attention. Turning his head, he focused first on Marcella before his gaze shifted to Maddy.

‘Where?’ demanded Marcella, desperate to get a glimpse of her favourite actor. ‘I can’t see him!’

Maddy was unable to speak; she couldn’t stop staring at Kerr.

‘What’s he wearing?’ Marcella called out, by now hopping up and down.

What was he wearing? Dark blue suit. Bottle-green shirt. Polished black shoes. Probably his usual aftershave, but from this distance it was impossible to tell. And still he hadn’t moved. What must the brunette be thinking?

More to the point, who was she?

‘Well, I give up,’ Marcella announced, plonking herself back down with a sigh of disappointment. Then she brightened. ‘Oh, I know what else I’ve got to show you!’

In slow motion, Maddy realised what was about to happen. She could read Kerr’s intentions in his dark eyes, knew that he’d reached a decision. He was about to come over and confront Marcella, make her understand that enough was enough, that she wasn’t being fair. Oh God. Maddy felt herself go hot and cold all over; he really did mean to go through with it.

‘How about this?’ Marcella, who’d been delving in her straw basket once more, assumed the air of a conjuror triumphantly producing a rabbit from a hat. ‘Taa-daa,’ she cried, waggling a tiny hand-smocked baby’s outfit on a white hanger. ‘Isn’t it fab? Look at the little cardigan, and the bonnet with the birds on it. They were selling them in the antenatal unit to raise funds for a new scanner. And how about these little leggings, aren’t they just adorable?’ Her eyes alight with joy, Marcella danced the outfit up and down on its hanger. ‘I know I said I wouldn’t buy anything yet, but I just couldn’t resist it.’

Across the street, Kerr had seen it too. The sight of Marcella proudly waving the baby clothes stopped him in his tracks, reminding him why he and Maddy had stopped seeing each other in the first place. For a fraction of a second their eyes locked again, silently acknowledging that it couldn’t happen.

‘They had the most gorgeous little striped bootees as well,’ Marcella confided. ‘I wanted to buy all of them! Will you look at the work that’s gone into that embroidery?’

Feeling as if her heart was about to crack in two, Maddy leaned across the table and dutifully admired the workmanship. Out of the very corner of her eye, she saw Kerr and the brunette moving off down the street.

There really wasn’t a lot of point in torturing herself further, wondering who the very pretty brunette was and what she was doing having lunch with Kerr.

It’s nothing to do with me, Maddy thought resignedly. He’s gone and that’s that.

‘Hooray.’ Marcella abruptly whisked away the baby outfit as a waitress approached with their plates. ‘Food’s here. About time too!’

Chapter 45

The good weather had broken at last and Kate was glad; torrential rain suited her current mood far better than unrelenting sunshine. As she trudged along Main Street, soaked to the skin, Norris veered abruptly off to the left, in the direction of the workshops.

‘Come back,’ Kate groaned, but Norris, with his selective hearing, chose to ignore her.

‘Blimey, you look rough.’ Kate leaned against the doorway of Jake’s workshop, shoulders hunched, hands tucked up inside the sleeves of her grey jersey. Currently drenched with rain, it weighed a ton.

‘Pot, kettle.’ Jake raised an eyebrow and stopped planing the edges of a casket lid. ‘At least I don’t look as if I’ve just crawled out of the River Ash.’

‘I don’t have stubble on my chin,’ countered Kate, because she hadn’t been exaggerating, Jake really was looking dreadful. As well as the three-day growth on his face there were shadows under his eyes. Basically, what with one thing or another, nobody in Ashcombe was currently looking that great.

Apart from Bean and Norris of course, who fancied each other rotten and each thought the other one was gorgeous.

‘Any news about Tiff?’ said Kate, and Jake shook his head.

‘No change.’

‘Have you been up to the hospital?’

Another shake. ‘It’s not my place to interfere,’ said Jake. ‘Juliet’s there with 01— your father.’ He rubbed his jaw with a dusty hand. ‘How about you? Tiff’s your half-brother.’

‘If he opened his eyes and saw me, he’d be scared out of his wits.’ Kate pulled a face. ‘I’m the one who yelled at him, remember, for getting ice cream on my trousers.’

‘How about your mother? Any word yet?’

Kate nodded bleakly; it had been Estelle’s phone call this morning that had propelled her out into the rain.

‘She rang half an hour ago. No idea where from. Not Will’s place, obviously. God, can you believe it?’ Kate blurted out as rain dripped from her fringe and slid down her face. ‘My mother and Will Gifford. What was she thinking of? It’s just ... gross.’

‘It’s not,’ said Jake.

‘Of course it’s gross. She’s my mother!’

‘She’s forty-five,’ Jake pointed out. ‘You’re still allowed to have a sex life, you know. Estelle’s an attractive woman,’ he went on. ‘If I was twenty years older, I’d sleep with her.’

‘You’d sleep with anyone,’ retorted Kate. ‘I’m amazed you haven’t given Theresa Birch a go.’

For the first time, Jake smiled. ‘What makes you think I haven’ t?’

Two hours later when Kate walked into the Angel to start her shift, she found Dexter bawling into the cordless phone.

‘. . and I never want to see you in this pub again,’ he stormed, ‘because you’re all barred.’ Then he attempted to ring off with the equivalent of slamming down the receiver, which basically meant pressing the minuscule Off button really hard.

‘ The bloody nerve of these people,’ Dexter raged, swinging round and glaring at her.

‘Oh, grow up,’ Kate retaliated, not in the mood for his rantings. ‘Listen to yourself. Why can’t you be nice to people just for once in your life?’

‘Why the bloody hell should I be? It’s midday.’ Dexter shook back his hair and jabbed a finger at the clock on the wall. ‘We had a table of eight booked for twelve thirty. They’ve just phoned to cancel. This is how much notice they give me. Let me tell you, I’ll shout at whoever I like.’

‘Except me,’ Kate retorted frostily. ‘You’re shouting at me now and I won’t stand for it.’

‘Ha, this isn’t shouting. Trust me, you’d know if I was shouting at you. What are you so stroppy about anyway?’ Dexter’s tone was accusing.

‘You mean apart from all the other crap that’s going on in my life? You really want me to tell you?’

For a second Kate was actually tempted to blurt out the truth, that just as she’d been on the verge of getting her confidence back, Jake had gone and spoiled it all by informing her that, in effect, he fancied her mother.

Thankfully, pride kicked in. When Dexter said, ‘You can tell me if you want to,’ Kate swallowed hard and shook her head. Some secrets were too embarrassing to share.

It was the quietest lunchtime session Dexter had ever known. By one thirty he’d sent the kitchen staff home. Both the restaurant and the bar area were deserted. He could have sent Kate home as well, but sensed she had neither reason nor incentive to go. Dauncey House was empty too.

Outside, the weather had deteriorated dramatically. The sky was charcoal-grey and a full-blown thunderstorm was raging, flinging rain almost horizontally past the windows and bending the trees like springs.

Kate was at the bar perched on a high stool, lost in the pages of a glossy magazine. As Dexter watched her, thunder crashed directly overhead, causing her to jump. He gave up pretending to clean the already clean pumps and moved over to where Kate was sitting. She was wearing a coffee-coloured cotton shirt and a narrow, darker brown skirt. Breathing in the familiar scent of Clinique’s Aromatics, Dexter said, ‘What are you reading?’

Serve him right if it was an article about thrush. Bit of a conversation-stopper if ever there was one.

But Kate merely flipped her dark hair back from her face and sighed. ‘Nothing really. Just being masochistic.’

At least she wasn’t shouting at him, informing him he was an ignorant pig. Sliding the open magazine round to face him, Dexter saw that it was something about a trendy New York nightclub.

Glossy, superior-looking Sex and the City types were sipping drinks, posing and studiously ignoring the camera. None of the women could possibly weigh more than ninety pounds. The designer clothes they were wearing were all lovingly described in the accompanying text. Evidently you were nothing if you weren’t teetering on Manolo Blahnik heels.

‘None of them are enjoying themselves. Not one person in that photograph is having fun,’ Dexter said bluntly, and knew at once that he’d said the wrong thing. Maybe it could have been wronger if he’d been an anti-fur campaigner on a visit to the silver fox factory. Then again, maybe not.

‘I used to go there,’ said Kate. ‘To that very club, in Manhattan. That used to be me. That was my life.’

Biting back the urge to retort, ‘God help you, then,’ Dexter said instead, ‘D’you miss it?’

From the look Kate gave him, he gathered that this was the kind of question only a particularly simple man would ask.

‘My old life? Of course I miss it.’

Genuinely bemused, Dexter said, ‘Why?’ and earned himself another look.

‘Because I didn’t have these then, did I?’ Kate indicated her scars. ‘I still had my old face.’

‘OK, that’s fair enough. What else?’ As he spoke, Dexter reached up for two brandy glasses.

‘Because I had a great time. I loved my job. I used to be invited to glamorous parties.’

‘Thrown by nice people?’

Kate’s jaw tightened. ‘Of course they were nice people. They were my friends.’

‘ Right.’ Nodding, Dexter uncapped a bottle of cognac and poured them both a hefty measure. ‘So they’d have been a huge support while you were in the hospital.’

Instead of replying, Kate picked up her balloon glass and took a gulp of cognac.

‘And afterwards, of course,’ he persisted. ‘When you were recuperating at home. I bet it was like a permanent party at your place, wasn’t it? Well, that’s what friends are for.’

‘Look, I just liked New York, OK? I liked looking normal. Better than normal,’ Kate corrected herself. ‘When I walked into a room, people would go, wow!’ She paused then added bitterly, ‘Now they go, waaah!’

The next moment, Dracula-style, lightning flashed overhead and the lights flickered spookily in the pub.

‘Or that happens,’ deadpanned Kate.

‘Nobody goes waaah,’ said Dexter, ‘and you know it. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.’

‘And that’s not allowed, after the week I’ve had?’ Draining the rest of her drink, Kate held out her glass for more. It’s all right for you, you’ve been ugly your whole life.’

Dexter smiled. He’d always been the rudest person he knew, but since Kate’s arrival in Ashcombe he’d had serious competition.

‘Thanks. Although I’ll have you know that my eyes aren’t ugly. I’ve been told several times in the past that I have sexy eyes. And I only gave you a drink in the first place because I thought it might cheer you up. This stuff isn’t cheap,’ Dexter warned. ‘If you’re going to carry on being grumpy you can pay for your own.’

Kate flashed him a sunnily insincere smile and kept it in place until he’d refilled her glass. Then she began flipping through the pages of the magazine once more. Dexter watched her sitting with her legs crossed, agitatedly jiggling her left foot. Any minute now her shoe would fall off.

Tuh,’ snorted Kate. Leaning across, he just had time to catch the headline: ‘Older women, younger men’, before the page was turned over with a slap.

‘ Now that’s more like it.’ Dexter nodded approvingly at the double-page spread now facing them. Turquoise sky, glittering emerald-green sea, a great swathe of white-blonde sand. Outside the pub, as if to emphasise the contrast, the rain was hammering down even harder than before.

‘Maybe that’s what I should do.’ Kate ran an index finger longingly over the sweeping curve of beach. ‘Just get out of here, go and live somewhere completely out of the way. Why not?’ she said accusingly, spotting Dexter’s raised eyebrows. ‘A tropical beach would suit me fine, on a little island in the middle of nowhere. I could run a beach bar.’

‘I’ve heard Weston-Super-Mare’s nice,’ said Dexter. ‘The Seychelles. I’m serious,’ Kate insisted. ‘I was thinking about it last night. The only reason I came back here was because this was where my family lived. Well, that’s a complete shambles now. They’re both off doing their own thing. So basically what’s left to keep me here? Who’d miss me?’

Having spent the last weeks biting his tongue, Dexter said, ‘Me.’

Chapter 46

There, he’d done it. The sensation of a tightly coiled spring letting go and abruptly bouncing undone ricocheted through Dexter’s chest.

Kate, who hadn’t been paying attention, said distractedly, ‘What?’

‘I would. I’d miss you. I wouldn’t want you to go.’ It was such a relief to be able to say it at last.

Now that he’d started, Dexter found he couldn’t stop.

Kate shot him a pitying look. ‘It’s only barmaiding, for heaven’s sake. Anyone can do it. If you weren’t so stroppy you’d find it a lot easier to keep staff.’

‘I’m not talking about a replacement barmaid. That isn’t why I don’t want you to go,’ said Dexter.

Kate frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’

Suddenly wishing he was better looking — and a stone slimmer — Dexter said brusquely, ‘Do I have to spell it out? I like you. A lot. OK, I really fancy you.’

Kate stared at him in disbelief. Belatedly it occurred to Dexter that he may just have terrified her into handing in her notice, grabbing her passport and jumping onto the nearest plane. This could, in fact, be a fine example of shooting yourself in both feet simultaneously.

‘What is this?’ Kate demanded at last. ‘Some kind of consolation prize? Jake Harvey wasn’t interested in me but never mind, you’re prepared to step into the breach?’

Another flash of lightning crackled across the sky, followed almost at once by an ear-splitting crash of thunder. The storm was directly overhead now.

‘I thought Jake was interested,’ said Dexter.

‘Oh, he was. For one night only. As soon as he’d got what he wanted,’ Kate was defensive, ‘the novelty wore off.’

‘Good,’ Dexter said bluntly. ‘I’m glad. His loss.’

‘Look, you really don’t have to say all this stuff. I’m not a child.’

‘I’m doubly glad to hear that. Can I tell you something?’

‘Could I stop you?’ Kate retaliated, and although her tone was brisk, Dexter saw that her hands were trembling. Whether that was a good or a bad sign was anybody’s guess.

‘It was you who made me realise Nuala and I had no future.’ Dexter came straight to the point.

‘We were a disaster together. We brought out the worst in each other. But you’re the complete opposite of Nuala. The first time I saw you, I thought you were fantastic. Unique. I remember wishing Nuala could be more like you, except of course she can’t, because she just isn’t. But I knew I’d never felt like this about anyone before. That’s why I let Nuala finish with me.’ Dexter paused and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘So there you are. Now you know.’

OK. Here came the downright scary bit.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Kate was staring at him as if he’d just grown an extra head. ‘You’re making it up.’

Dexter rubbed the faint growth of dark stubble on his chin. ‘Trust me, I don’t have the imagination to make up something like this.’

Her tone accusing, Kate said, ‘If it was true, you’d have said something before now. I mean, why wouldn’t you?’

‘You weren’t ready to hear it. Plus, I’m a man,’ Dexter amended. ‘We don’t just go around blurting this stuff out, you know. It’s not the easiest thing to do. We have to be pretty desperate.’

Rain was rattling the windows; it sounded as though shovel-loads of gravel were being hurled dementedly at the glass.

‘But ... but you’re so rude to me,’ stammered Kate.

‘So? You’re rude to me too. But I don’t say the kind of things I used to say to Nuala.’ Dexter shook his head to emphasise his point. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Not with you.’

Kate was gazing anxiously into her empty brandy glass. ‘I could do with another refill.’

‘Forget it, you’d only fall off your stool. Anyway,’ said Dexter, ‘if I can get through this sober, so can you.’

Kate’s foot was jiggling away again. She didn’t speak.

‘Look,’ Dexter ploughed on, ‘I’m never going to be Mr Sweetness and Light, that’s just not the way I am. Who’s that Irish fellow on breakfast TV, the cheery chubby one all the housewives love?’

‘Eamonn,’ said Kate.

‘That’s the one. Makes me want to chuck a brick through the TV.’

‘Probably because he has more hair than you.’

‘I’m just saying, we’re not alike. Joky and jovial is not who I am. If I think someone’s an idiot, I’ll let them know. But that’s life, isn’t it? We all have our own characters. We’re drawn to different people. I was drawn to you that first night you came into this pub with your mother,’ said Dexter. ‘There you were, scowling, snarling and glowering like the wicked witch in a pantomime, refusing to so much as look at anyone. The next thing I knew, you’d had a showdown with Maddy in the ladies’ loo, hurled a couple of insults at Nuala and stormed out. Everyone else in the pub was stunned,’ he reminisced with a crooked smile. ‘I just thought wow, that’s the girl for me.’

This was too much for Kate. Sliding jerkily off her stool, she made her way to the other side of the bar, where Dexter was standing. Reaching past him, she grabbed the cognac bottle by the neck, headed back to her stool and sat down again.

‘So you’ve really been thinking that?’ Carefully she double-checked. ‘All this time?’

‘I have.’ Dexter nodded.

Talk about a surreal situation. Kate’s hand went up to the damaged side of her face.

Defensively she said, ‘What about this?’

‘I love your scars. They’re my favourite part of you. I’m a pretty selfish person,’ said Dexter.

‘From my point of view, I’m glad you’ve got them. Let’s be brutally honest here,’ he went on. ‘If you didn’t have them, you wouldn’t look at me twice. I wouldn’t stand a chance.’

Kate felt as if she’d been slapped. Outraged, she retorted, ‘What makes you think you stand a chance now?’

‘Oh, come on, I’m not completely stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at me.’ Dexter was on the brink of smiling now. ‘You can’t tell me there isn’t a spark of interest.’

Kate’s eyes widened. Indignantly she said, ‘A spark?’

‘ OK, not a spark. Maybe spark’s too strong a word. We’ll call it a flicker,’ said Dexter. ‘There’s definitely been a flicker.’

The cheek of it. Well, maybe he did have sexy eyes, but she’d never shared this thought with another living soul.

‘You’re mad.’ Kate hadn’t realised her foot was jiggling again, but seeing as her shoe had just flown over the bar, it seemed likely that it had been. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You’ve wondered what it would be like to kiss me,’ said Dexter.

‘I have not!’

‘Yes you have, you know you have. I’ve been completely honest with you,’ he chided. ‘The least you can do is be honest with me.’

‘You’ve been a bit too honest.’ Touching the left side of her face again, Kate said, ‘You’re glad I’ve got these scars because now that I look like this, nobody else would want me? That’s sick.’

‘It isn’t. I’m not looking at it that way. Before your accident, what kind of men did you go out with? Good-looking ones, am I right? You wouldn’t have considered anything less,’ Dexter said seriously. ‘But less attractive men can have just as good personalities as film-star-handsome ones. Better personalities, in fact, because they have to make more of an effort. That’s all I’m saying,’ he concluded. ‘Thanks to your accident, you have the opportunity to find that out for yourself. And you never know, in the long run you may be glad you did.’

Kate wondered if he was deluded.

‘But you don’t make more of an effort. You make no effort at all! And you certainly don’t have a great personality!’

There was a hint of a glint in Dexter’s eyes. ‘No? You still want to know what it’d be like to kiss me though. Actually, that’s another part of me that’s not too bad. If I say so myself, I have quite a nice mouth.’

Kate looked at him. For several seconds she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Then she climbed down from her stool, made her way to Dexter’s side of the bar and retrieved her flung-off shoe. Finally, having gathered together her blue jacket and handbag, she said stiffly, ‘I’m going home.’

Dexter hung his head. ‘OK.’

Wrenching open the front door, Kate stepped outside the pub and shuddered as the full force of the storm almost knocked her off her feet. The wind was so strong she had to lean into it, cartoon-style, in order not to be sent cartwheeling backwards like tumbleweed.

She crossed Main Street, headed past the workshops and made her way up Gypsy Lane, grimly ignoring the rain pelting every inch of her body, soaking through her clothes all the way to her knickers and undoubtedly power-blasting the carefully applied make-up from her face.

Oh well, what did that matter now?

Reaching the entrance to Dauncey House, Kate paused and took the front door key from her waterlogged bag. She looked at it, sighed, then dropped the key back into the bag and turned round.

‘Oh bloody hell, not you again,’ said Dexter.

But not in a bad way.

‘You don’t scare me.’ Kate moved across the flagstoned floor, trailing a small river in her wake.

Blinking rain from her eyelashes, she came to stand directly in front of him.

‘Don’t I? You scare the bejesus out of me,’ said Dexter.

‘Just one kiss,’ Kate told him, ‘to see what it’s like.’

Dexter nodded seriously. ‘Absolutely. That’s it. Just one kiss.: Chapter 47

Juliet listened to everything the consultant was telling her. When he’d finished, she burst into floods of tears.

‘No need to cry, Miss Price. It’s good news.’ The consultant was smiling broadly.

Oliver, relieved and delighted, enthusiastically shook the consultant’s hand. ‘Fantastic. Excellent news. We’re so grateful.’ Glancing at Juliet’s tear-stained face, he added in bafflement, ‘I’ll never understand women. Not as long as I live.’

‘Sometimes,’ the consultant said happily as Juliet flung her arms round him and kissed him on both cheeks, ‘I don’t mind not understanding them.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ Juliet sobbed, all the pent-up emotions of the last week exploding out of her like a burst dam. ‘I was so scared, I thought he was going to ... to ... oh, thank you so much, you don’t know what this means to me ...’

‘No need to thank me,’ the consultant assured her. ‘Tiff’s the one who did the hard work.

Children have the most astonishing powers of recovery. You never give up hope. It couldn’t happen this fast with an adult, trust me. But these youngsters, one minute they’re so ill you can’t imagine they’ll survive, and hours later they can be sitting up in bed demanding pizza and a Gameboy.’

Juliet wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. Tiff hadn’t reached the pizza and Gameboy stage yet, but he had regained consciousness and was still recognisably Tiff. The consultant, sweeping into the ITU, had informed them that the results of the latest blood test, lumbar puncture and brain scan showed that Tiff was off the danger list. His body had escaped the devastation of rampant septicaemia. He hadn’t sustained brain damage. It was the miracle Juliet hadn’t dared to hope for.

‘Mum?’

Her face still wet with tears, Juliet swung round to find Tiff with his eyes open once more, huge and as dark as pansies against the pallor of his thin face.

‘It’s OK, darling.’ Lovingly she stroked his cheek. ‘I’m crying because I’m happy. You’ve been a bit poorly, but you’re getting better now.’

‘Why’s he here?’ Tiff’s gaze had settled on Oliver.

Juliet wavered. He had to be told now, that went without saying. But not right at this minute.

‘He ... um, came to see how you are, sweetheart. Everyone’s been asking after you.’

Uninterested, Tiff looked away from Oliver.

‘Where’s Sophie and Jake?’

‘They’re at home. Look, here are some of the cards Sophie made you.’ Eagerly Juliet held them up; making cards had been Sophie’s way of willing Tiff to recover. ‘How about this one, with a picture of Bean on the front and—’

‘Jake was carrying me.’ Tiff’s forehead creased with the effort of remembering. ‘Carrying and carrying me. Will he be here soon with Sophie?’

‘As soon as you’re well enough for visitors.’ Juliet gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.

‘But they’re the ones I want to see.’ Tiff’s dismissive glance over at Oliver was excruciating; Juliet winced on Oliver’s behalf.

‘I know, sweetheart. We’ll have to ask the doctor. Sophie’s missed you too.’

Tiff’s eyelashes drooped with exhaustion. Still clutching Juliet’s hand, he closed his eyes and drifted off again. Oliver approached the bed.

‘Look at him.’ Juliet felt her heart expand with love. ‘He’s going to be all right.’ As a huge yawn overtook her she added, ‘I feel as if I could sleep for a month.’

‘Right. Well, he’s out of danger now. On the mend.’ Oliver glanced at his watch. ‘Why don’t you grab a rest while he’s out for the count? If you don’t need me any more, I could shoot up to London. See what’s been going on while I’ve been away.’

Juliet nodded. Not allowed to have his mobile switched on in the hospital, Oliver had been reduced to hurrying outside every couple of hours to check out the ever-increasing number of messages and deal with the most urgent to the best of his ability over the phone. After six days, he must be desperate to get back to work. It was completely understandable.

It was also, if she was honest, something of a relief.

‘That’s fine.’ Awkwardly, she offered her cheek up for the kiss Oliver seemed determined to plant there. ‘Well, thanks for ... everything.’

‘Ring me if you need to. I’ll be in touch tomorrow anyway.’

Feeling horribly guilty, Juliet said, ‘Any word yet from Estelle?’

Oliver briefly shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Will you try and find her?’

‘It’s not my place to find Estelle, even if I could. I was the one who cheated on her. I let her down,’

Oliver said wearily, ‘and she left me.’

‘For someone else who let her down.’ Juliet felt terrible; she’d always really liked Estelle.

‘I know.’ Checking his watch again, Oliver jangled his car keys. ‘Double betrayal. OK, I’m going to make a move. Will you tell Tiff ?’

‘That you’ve gone up to London?’

Oliver gave her a measured look. ‘That I’m his father.’

‘Oh, right.’ Inwardly shrinking away from the prospect, Juliet nodded. ‘If you want me to.’

‘It’s not a question of that. Everyone knows now. We don’t have any choice.’ After a last look at Tiff, Oliver left.

While Tiff was asleep, Juliet phoned Jake from the call box in the corridor outside the ward. Less than twenty minutes later the doors of the ITU swung open and Jake burst in. Still exhausted but too elated to sleep herself, Juliet hastily rubbed her hands over her face and stumbled to her feet. The next moment she was wrapped in a rib-crushing embrace. Jake smelled deliciously of wood shavings and varnish and was wearing paint-smeared jeans.

Fresh paint, she discovered, gazing down at the streak of lilac on the front of her skirt.

As if it mattered.

Jake was grinning too. ‘Sorry, I just couldn’t wait. I had to come straight away. It’s the best news in the world.’

‘I know.’ Letting him go, her eyes filling with tears of joy all over again, Juliet watched him pull up a chair next to Tiff’s bed and gaze at the boy intently. Within seconds, as if by telepathy, Tiff’s eyes opened.

‘Jake! You’re here!’ Breaking into a broad smile of delight, he raised his thin arms a few inches from the bed. Careful not to dislodge the IV drips running into his arms, Jake gave him a hug. In return, Tiff’s left hand curled round Jake’s neck.

The look on each of their faces said it all; deeply moved, Juliet almost couldn’t bear to watch.

‘I’m here,’ said Jake, ‘and so are you. Now, Sophie’s desperate to see you but when your mum asked the doctors, they said it wasn’t a good idea. Not for another day or so, at least. But all you need to do is carry on getting better, then they’ll move you to the children’s ward. Once you’re there, Sophie will be able to come and see you as often as she wants.’

‘Has she missed me?’ Tiff looked pleased.

‘Absolutely. We’ve all missed you.’ Jake smoothed a lock of Tiff’s hair back from his forehead.

‘Nuala and Maddy are looking after your mum’s shop. When I went over to tell them you were getting better, they both cried.’ Jake shook his head in disgust. ‘What a bunch of girls.’

‘ Mum did too.’ Grinning, Tiff said, ‘Did you cry?’

‘Watch your language. We’re men,’ said Jake. ‘We never cry.’

‘It’s because we have willies,’ Tiff agreed, indicating Juliet with a knowing nod of his head. ‘And they haven’t.’

Jake stayed with Tiff while Juliet showered and changed into clean clothes. She put on the long turquoise dress and lilac cardigan Jake had brought along for her – not perfect, but it could have been a lot worse – and applied lipstick and mascara almost as if the nightmare of the last week had never happened.

‘Now, are you sure this is OK?’ Juliet asked Tiff for the hundredth time, ten minutes later.

‘It’s OK,’ Tiff patiently repeated, ‘I’m tired. I’m going to sleep in a minute. When I’m asleep, you and Jake are going out for something to eat, so if I wake up you won’t be here. But Mel will be here,’ he went on, beaming at his favourite nurse, ‘so it doesn’t matter. She’ll be like my babysitter.’

Cheerily, Mel said, ‘Better still, I’m free!’

Juliet wondered if all the nurses regarded her as a selfish, hopelessly neglectful mother, waltzing off to a restaurant leaving her fragile seven-year-old son all alone in his hospital bed.

‘Oh please,’ Mel tut-tutted good-naturedly, catching her look of anguish, ‘don’t even think it.

We’re sick of the sight of you! Off you go.’

‘ And Mel’s the boss,’ said Jake, whose idea it had been. ‘Do as she says or she’ll zap you with a defibrillator.’

‘Jake will have his phone with him,’ Juliet told Tiff. ‘If you want me, all they have to do is ring us. We can be back here in five minutes.’

‘Night, Mum.’

‘And we’ll be back in two hours, whatever happens.’ "K,’ mumbled Tiff.

Oh God, how could she do this to him? How could she heartlessly abandon him? ‘Look,’ Juliet said in desperation, ‘if you’d rather we stayed—’

‘Mum?’

‘What darling? What is it?’

‘Could you not make so much noise?’ Tiff murmured. ‘I’m trying to go to sleep.’

Chapter 48

‘I can’t believe it. Posh plates,’ Juliet marvelled. ‘Wine glasses made out of real glass, cutlery that isn’t plastic.’

‘And candles,’ said Jake. ‘Major health and safety hazard if ever I saw one. It’s playing with fire, having candles at a table.’

Juliet smiled. He’d brought her to Romano’s, an Italian restaurant around the corner from Pulteney Bridge with a good reputation for food and an atmosphere lively and buzzy enough to allow them to talk without being overheard. She didn’t know if Jake had chosen it for this reason but she was glad to be here.

‘Speaking of playing with fire,’ Jake went on, ‘do you feel like telling me how it all happened?’

Juliet nodded. She owed him that much at least. If she was honest, she’d wanted to tell Jake for years.

‘I met Oliver when I was twenty-five. I was working for a catering company, providing directors’

lunches in the city. I thought he was wonderful,’ Juliet said simply. ‘I also thought he was single. But he swept me off my feet, and by the time I found out he was married, I was already pregnant.’

‘Carry on,’ Jake prompted.

Juliet pulled a face. ‘Well, if this was a film, I’d be the plucky pregnant single woman telling Oliver to take a running jump and soldiering on without him. Except I wasn’t that plucky. I’m not proud of this, but at the time I was scared witless. I had a threatened miscarriage at five months, which meant the catering company couldn’t get rid of me fast enough and made me redundant. After Tiff was born, my landlord refused to renew the lease on my flat. When Oliver came up with his plan, I honestly didn’t feel I had any other choice. I was so grateful I just went along with it.’

‘So he brought you down to Ashcombe,’ said Jake. ‘Bought the delicatessen and set you up, so that he’d have his mistress and his child living just down the road from his wife.’

‘Ex-mistress,’ Juliet said firmly. ‘Our relationship ended the day I found out he was married. We haven’t been sneakily seeing each other, if that’s what you think.’

Jake shrugged and broke open a warm bread roll. ‘I don’t think anything. I’m just waiting for you to tell me.’

‘OK.’ Slowly Juliet exhaled. ‘Oliver didn’t want Estelle to find out, but he really wanted to be able to see Tiff growing up. I was desperate for somewhere to live. It seemed like the perfect answer. I loved Ashcombe from the word go. As long as Oliver’s family didn’t know about Tiff, where was the harm in it? We were all happy.’

And put that way, it sounded perfectly reasonable. But Juliet sensed that something else was bothering Jake.

‘And in seven years there’s never been anybody else,’ he said evenly. ‘Seven years is a long time.

So, all part of the agreement, was it?’

There was no point in trying to deny it. Facing him, Juliet said bluntly, ‘Yes, it was. Oliver didn’t want to see some other bloke moving into the flat he’d bought for me. Maybe it wasn’t fair of him, but at the time I was more than happy to go along with it. The last thing I needed, or wanted, was to get involved with anyone else. My number one priority was Tiff.’

Jake was incredulous. ‘And in all that time you’ve never met another man you’d be interested in getting together with? You’ve never even been tempted?’

‘ Never seriously.’ Shaking her head, Juliet said, ‘Of course there have been times when I’ve been ... um, tempted. But not getting involved has always worked out for the best.’

‘I get it. Now it all makes sense.’ Jake paused as the waiter arrived to clear their plates away, and this time Juliet knew exactly what he was remembering. ‘That first Christmas after you arrived in Ashcombe. I walked you home on Boxing Night from one of Marcella’s parties.’

Juliet nodded; how could she ever forget?

‘I tried to kiss you goodnight,’ Jake went on. ‘You were wearing a blue scarf with silver glittery bits woven into it. And it was really icy outside. Your nose was pink with cold. You wouldn’t let me give you a kiss.’

‘Wouldn’t I?’ said Juliet and Jake shot her a don’t-try-and bullshit-me look.

‘Then I asked you out and you turned me down flat.’ Oh heck. Did I?’

‘Now I know why. Because it was in the tenancy agreement. All part of the bargain you’d struck with Oliver. I really liked you,’ said Jake.

Juliet realised that it was her own rapid breathing causing the candles to flicker madly on the table between them.

‘I really liked you too,’ she told Jake, busily pleating the crimson tablecloth between her fingers.

‘Which is why I’m extra glad I turned you down.’

Jake’s eyes glittered. ‘Speak English.’

‘Oh, come on, you know what you’re like! Goldfish have a longer attention span than you.

I’ve spent the last five years watching you go out with girls and dump them before they’ve had time to tell you their surnames— What?’

Juliet demanded heatedly. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? You know there’s no point in denying it, because it’s true.’

Jake waved away the waiter, approaching with the sweet menus.

‘Of course it’s true. I’m not denying it. But has it occurred to you for one second to wonder why it’s true?’

‘That’s like wondering why snow is cold. It just is. And you’re the way you are because you’re you.’ Juliet prayed she was making sense; the intensity of Jake’s gaze was making it hard to think straight.

‘OK. Estelle’s found out about you and Oliver.’ Jake swiftly changed tack. ‘She’s left him. So, what now?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean, is it happy families time? You, Oliver and Tiff?’ Juliet shook her head. ‘Absolutely not.

I’m completely over Oliver.’

‘But you let him rule your whole life!’ Jake exploded, causing the group of women at the next table to jump and nudge each other.

‘You aren’t listening to me,’ Juliet shot back. ‘I haven’t met anyone else I want to be with.’

‘ Haven’t you? Haven’t you?’ There was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Defiantly Juliet said, ‘Nobody who’d make me happy.’

‘But how do you know that?’ Jake was becoming more and more exasperated. ‘How can you possibly know that when you’ve never even given anyone a chance?’

‘Because I’m not stupid,’ Juliet cried, ‘because I’ve got eyes in my head, because I know a heartbreaker when I see one and I don’t want my heart broken again, plus there’s Tiff to consider— Oof, what are you doing?’

‘ Getting you out of here.’ Having flung a handful of notes down on the table and grabbed Juliet by the arm, Jake hauled her to her feet.

‘Oh, don’t go,’ protested one of the plump women at the next table. ‘It’s just getting good.’

‘So sorry.’ Jake spoke through gritted teeth as he propelled Juliet towards the door.

‘She might have wanted a pudding.’ The woman, who was squiffy, clutched the back of Jake’s shirt and tried to pull him back. ‘You can’t drag your girlfriend out of a restaurant before she’s had her pudding!’

‘She isn’t my girlfriend.’ Jake’s tone was brusque as he wrenched his shirt free. ‘You’re drunk.

And if you didn’t have so many puddings, maybe you wouldn’t be so fat.’

‘That was rude,’ Juliet gasped when he’d bundled her outside, leaving the rest of the women at the table squawking with indignation.

‘Do I look as if I care?’ Jake, his green eyes glittering with intent, pushed Juliet up against the Bath-stone wall of the restaurant and kissed her.

Properly. Thrillingly. So completely thrillingly that Juliet quite forgot to put up a fight and push him away. Her body was too busy zinging with desire.

‘I’ve waited five years for that,’ Jake murmured, his breath warm on her temple.

Juliet’s mouth was tingling. In fact all of her was tingling. She wanted to hit him, because it was all so hopeless. ‘I love you,’ said Jake.

Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘And your point is?’

‘You didn’t answer my question earlier. I said why do I go from one girl to the next, never bothering to get to know them properly or settle down?’ Jake raised her chin, forcing Juliet to look at him. ‘Do you still not see? It’s because there’s only been one girl I’ve wanted to settledown with, and she wasn’t interested in me. She turned me down.’ He paused. ‘So I did the next best thing and became her best friend instead. Well, pretended to be her best friend.’

‘You’re just saying that,’ Juliet whispered. She was right, wasn’t she? This was how Jake operated, how he seduced all the other girls in his life, by sweet-talking them into bed, telling them whatever they longed to hear. Of course she wanted to believe him, but what if all he was doing was spinning her a line?

‘I love you,’ Jake said again, ‘and I love Tiff as if he were mine. What would Oliver do if you told him we were a couple? Take the deli away from you and kick you out of the flat?’

Flummoxed, Juliet said, ‘Well ... I, um, maybe ...’

‘Fine.’ Jake shrugged. ‘No problem. Leave it with me.’

Leaning back against the wall, Juliet felt the smooth stone against her shoulders. For five long years she’d suppressed her feelings for this man and now they were refusing to stay suppressed a moment longer. Her mouth curving into an unstoppable smile, she pulled Jake back towards her until their bodies were pressed hard against each other, then cupped his face in her hands and--

‘Whoa, not so fast.’ Deftly sidestepping her, Jake tapped his watch. ‘It’s gone eight.’

‘We don’t have to be back until half past.’ Juliet smiled, feeling deliciously wanton, though what they could get up to in broad daylight in the centre of Bath in twenty minutes flat, she couldn’t imagine.

‘I want to see Tiff.’

Struck afresh by the fear that she was being a neglectful mother, Juliet said, ‘To check he’s all right?’

‘To tell him everything and get him on my side.’ Jake looked pleased with himself. ‘And to tell him that his mother has spent the last five years being a complete durr-brain.’

‘Oh well,’ said Juliet, ‘he’s seven years old. He already knows that.’

Chapter 49

The next morning Oliver phoned the unit to find out how Tiff was. Juliet took the call and reassured him that everything was fine.

‘He’s doing brilliantly.’ She paused. ‘Are you coming in to see him today?’

Oliver cleared his throat. ‘Well, er, no. As long as he’s doing well, that’s the main thing. I’ve got a lot on, as you can imagine ... um, give him my best wishes ...’

Best wishes. Poor Oliver. He did love Tiff, in his own way.

‘I’ll do that.’ Juliet nodded, doing her best to keep the smile out of her voice. ‘I’ll tell him the other thing as well, shall I?’

‘Fine, fine. Far better coming from you. I’ll bring him some presents when he’s had time to get used to the idea.’ Oliver’s hearty tone couldn’t quite disguise his awkwardness. Now that Tiff was no longer hovering at death’s door, he didn’t know how to handle the situation.

‘They’re moving him to the children’s ward this afternoon,’ said Juliet.

‘What would he like? Lego? Scalextric? How about the new Playstation?’

‘Oliver, you don’t have to do that.’ If she left it to him, he’d empty Hamley’s. ‘Tiff’s fine. He’s got everything he needs.’ He would soon, anyway. Tiff was already counting down the minutes until he could be reunited with Sophie.

Jake left Sophie, who was in a frenzy of anticipation, with Marcella. Considering it was a fairly momentous thing he was about to do, he felt surprisingly calm as he made his way up Gypsy Lane.

Approaching Dauncey House, he removed his sunglasses. It was just gone midday and Kate was at the Angel beginning her lunchtime shift. Oliver Taylor-Trent’ s car, a silver topof-the-range BMW, was parked on the gravelled driveway, looking — as it always did — as if it had just been valeted.

Tucking his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, and noticing that the flower-filled stone urns on either side of the front door needed watering, Jake rang the bell.

He heard it jangle inside the house. Finally the door opened. Oliver, back from London and wearing a grey business suit, was on the phone. When he saw Jake on the doorstep he said, ‘Right, right. Doug, I’m going to have to get back to you. OK, fine, bye.’

‘I wonder if anyone’s ever got it wrong,’ Jake said easily. Oliver frowned. ‘What?’

‘Busy executive businessman barking instructions over the phone to his assistant. They’re discussing a takeover bid for another company. The conversation ends and he says bye. But the assistant thinks his boss has just said buy, so he rushes off to do as he’s been told. Just a thought.’

Oliver said brusquely, ‘If he were my assistant he wouldn’t have the power to buy a company.’

Jake looked disappointed. ‘Not even a little one?’

‘Not even a little one.’

‘Not even a company as small as mine?’

‘What would I want with a company that supplies painted coffins? And why are we having this conversation?’ demanded Oliver. ‘Hoping to sell up, are you?’

‘No.’ Jake shook his head, smiling at the thought of Oliver stripped to the waist in the dusty workshop, painstakingly painting the whiskers of a blue Persian onto the lid of a cat-lover’s casket.

‘But I’d like a word. Can I come in?’

Oliver shrugged and stepped to one side, ushering him through. In the kitchen, he set about boiling the kettle and locating a pair of coffee mugs with the air of someone unfamiliar with such a domestic task.

Jake, waiting for the coffee to get made, leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed, surveying the kitchen. It was vast, almost as big as the entire ground floor of Snow Cottage, but there was a sense of sadness and neglect about the room. Their own kitchen might be minuscule by comparison and it might not boast a gleaming Neff oven, Smallbone of Devizes handcrafted units and a chrome espresso machine as big as a fridge, but Jake knew where he’d rather live.

It took a while, but finally the coffee was made. Jake stayed standing when Oliver handed him his mug, and guessed that Oliver would too. Sitting down at the table would give away his this-is-my-house advantage.

Jake guessed right.

‘So,’ Oliver said at last. ‘What’s this all about?’ As if he didn’t already have a pretty good idea.

‘Juliet. And Tiff. Juliet and I are a couple now. I love her,’ Jake said steadily, ‘and she loves me. I love Tiff as well. We’ve been like a family for years, even you must know that. But everything’s changed now. We’re going to live together.’

Oliver’s jaw tightened with annoyance. ‘How can you say you’ve been like a family for years? I may not always be around, but I hear about what goes on from Marcella and Estelle. You’ve never settled for one girl when half a dozen would do. You, stay faithful to Juliet? Don’t make me laugh.’ He gestured dismissively. ‘The pair of you wouldn’t last five minutes. First you’d break her heart, then you’d break Tiff’s. No, I’m sorry, I can’t allow that to happen.’

Jake raised his eyebrows. ‘You can’t allow it?’

‘You and Sophie aren’t moving into the flat above the shop,’ Oliver said bluntly. ‘Now, don’t take this personally, I’m just thinking of Tiff and what’s best for my son—’

‘Hang on, sorry, we’re talking at cross purposes here.’ Jake held up a hand to stop him. ‘I wasn’t asking your permission just then, I was telling you how things are going to be from now on. And no,’ he went on before Oliver could protest, ‘I’m not planning to move into Juliet’s flat. She and Tiff will be coming to live with us. At Snow Cottage.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Oliver exploded. ‘You can’t do that! What about your sister and that dippy barmaid friend of hers? Are you seriously planning to squeeze six of you, all together, into that ... that rabbit hutch?’

‘ Well, maybe we can come to some arrangement about that.’ Jake paused and took a mouthful of coffee; he was really enjoying himself now. ‘You see, Juliet tells me you bought the deli outright, so obviously what you decide to do with it is up to you. But she’d like to carry on working there, and so would Maddy. Which got us wondering,’ said Jake. ‘Actually it was Juliet’s idea. How would you feel about Maddy and Nuala moving into the flat?’ He watched Oliver, who was clearly wary of being outma noeuvred, mentally running through the list of pros and cons.

Finally Oliver said, ‘And if I say no?’

‘That’s absolutely OK. Before my parents moved into Snow Cottage, Cyrus Sharp’s family lived there. And they had nine children,’ said Jake. ‘So please don’t worry about us, because I promise you, we’ll be fine.’

Oliver was motionless, staring at him. He ran a finger round the inside of his shirt collar, loosening it.

Jake, waiting for his reaction, thought how silent the house was.

Until the tiny mobile phone on the kitchen table began to ring, causing Oliver to jump and glance down at the caller’s ID.

‘I’ll think it over.’ Oliver’s dismissive manner indicated that it was time for Jake to leave. ‘And let you know.’

Smiling, Jake left Oliver to deal with his phone call and let himself out of the house. It was actually really nice, feeling this sorry for a multi-millionaire.

‘Hey, this is cool.’ Tiff greatly approved of his new surroundings. Gazing around the brightly decorated children’s ward, nodding with satisfaction, he said for the hundredth time, ‘When will Sophie be here?’

Juliet’s eyes danced, picturing the Hollywood-style reunion. Any minute now, Jake and Sophie would appear through the swing doors. Yelling, ‘Oh Tiff, oh Tiff’ Sophie would break away from Jake and race, in Hollywood slow motion, the length of the ward before throwing herself ecstatically into Tiff’s arms.

It didn’t happen like that at all. Sophie, who had never lacked confidence in her life, found all the pre-reunion hype too much and experienced her first-ever bout of paralysing shyness. Refusing to let go of Jake’s hand, she remained glued to his side, staring fixedly at the artwork up on the wall. For a good five minutes their conversation was as stilted as that of two strangers in the waiting room of an STD

clinic.

Finally Sophie said, ‘What’s the food like?’

‘Gross.’

‘Oh.’ Pause. ‘What are the other kids like?’

Tiff shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I only just got here.’

‘Oh. So what are the nurses like?’

‘Don’t know. I only just got here.’

Longer pause.

At last Sophie said grudgingly, ‘I told Bean you were better and she wagged her tail.’

Tiff’s lip curled. ‘That’s because she’s a dog.’

‘Did you like my cards?’

‘They were all right.’

‘I won’t make any more then.’ Sophie bristled. ‘They took me ages.’

They were glaring mutinously at each other now, like Tom and Jerry.

‘You can have them back then,’ snarled Tiff.