Sheer Mischief

If Guy was surprised to receive her phone call, he didn’t show it. He was, however, curious to know how she had managed to track him down to a small hotel in Leicester Square.

‘Ah, you’re talking to a girl with two and a half GCSEs,’ said Valentina. She wasn’t entirely brainless. Not like Serena, she thought with a smirk of pride.

‘I’m still intrigued.’

‘I knew you were a friend of Mac Mackenzie,’ she explained. ‘So I rang him. He gave me your home phone number. Then I phoned your home and spoke to someone called Maxine. She told me you were staying at the Randolph and gave me the number for that. I called the Randolph, asked to speak to you ... and here I am!’ She giggled. ‘There, does that put you out of your misery?’

Guy, sounding amused, said, ‘Oh, absolutely. Thanks.’

‘Which is nice, because ‘I didn’t even expect you to be here in London,’ Valentina continued, her tone artless. ‘But since you are, how would you feel about having dinner with me?’

He hesitated for a second. ‘You mean tonight?’

‘No, New Year’s Eve, 2005.’ This time she laughed. ‘Of course, tonight. What’s the problem, are you already booked? Tell them you’ve had a better offer ...’

Guy had run across more than his fair share of upfront women in his time, but even he was taken aback. Valentina, he thought, was forward with a capital ‘F’.

‘I know, I know,’ she said good-naturedly, reading his mind. ‘I’m a pushy cow. Go on, you can say no if you want to. My ego will be crushed but I dare say I’ll get over it. In a few years or so.’

It had been a long day. Guy hadn’t been planning anything more arduous than a hot bath and maybe a quick drink in the bar downstairs before grabbing the opportunity of an early night and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

But Maxine’s joking remark the other day, that what he needed was a woman in his life, had stayed in his mind. Faintly put out at the time to think that she and Janey had been discussing his imperfect love life, it had nevertheless struck a semi-painful chord. Maybe he should be making more of an effort. All he had to do, after all, was say yes.

‘OK,’ he said, before she started to wonder if he had hung up. ‘Dinner sounds good. Where would you like to go?’

Bed, thought Valentina with a triumphant smile. But even she wasn’t that blatant.

‘The Ivy,’ she replied. ‘Nine o’clock sharp. I’ll meet you outside.’

‘I’d better give them a ring first.’ Reaching across the bed, Guy picked up the phone directory. ‘They may be fully booked.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Valentina laughed, because she was practically their resident tourist attraction. ‘They always find room, for me.’

Heads turned when Valentina di Angelo entered the restaurant. Heralded all over the world as the new Audrey Hepburn, she took the expression ‘gamine’ to its limits. Despite having been born and raised in Tooting, her southern Italian parentage clearly showed; skilfully cropped black hair framed an immaculate, olive-skinned face, conker-brown eyes three times bigger than Bambi’s and possibly the most sensual red mouth on the planet. Around her long, impossibly slender neck she wore a narrow satin choker, a Valentina trademark copied by teenagers everywhere. And if anyone had ever thought it was impossible to look fabulous in a pink leather jacket, lime green Lycra cycling shorts and red trainers, Valentina proved otherwise.

She looked positively angelic, thought Guy, despite the bizarre, Mimi-esque outfit.

Everyone else in the room was covertly watching her. He only hoped she didn’t takeit into her head to object and start creating her usual mayhem.

But Valentina was in high spirits. She was hungry, too. Over a dinner of watercress soup, lamb cutlets and sinfully rich chocolate pudding she set out to prove to Guy Cassidy just how much of a perfect partner she could be. The sense of distance she had noted last week was still there, but it was definitely lessening. Another bottle of Chablis, she felt, could well be all that was needed to do the trick.

‘So how old are your kids?’ she asked, resting her chin in her cupped palm and fixing him with her liquid brown eyes. When a man looked this good in a plain white linen shirt and dark blue chinos the prospect of checking out the body underneath was positively enthralling. ‘It’s a boy and a girl, isn’t it? Have you got any photos I can see?’

‘Josh is nine. Ella’s nearly eight. And photographs of other people’s children are boring.’

Guy, who had a couple in his wallet, kept them there.

‘Don’t be so defensive,’ Valentina scolded, almost disappearing under the table as she reached for her bag. After rummaging energetically, she pulled out a battered leather wallet of her own. ‘Come along now, don’t be shy. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

He smiled. ‘You don’t have any children.’

‘Ah, but I do have an extremely fertile family. Two brothers, three sisters, five nephews and eleven nieces. So grit your teeth,’ said Valentina happily, ‘and prepare to be bored out of your skull.’

‘Tell me if it’s none of my business,’ she said twenty minutes later, ‘but wasn’t it weird being with Serena, knowing how much she hated kids?’

The fact that there was no love lost between Serena and Valentina was no secret. Guy, however, had no intention of providing additional fuel for gossips. There had been enough speculation already about the ending of his affair with Serena.

‘She doesn’t hate kids,’ he replied easily. ‘She just doesn’t swoon over the idea of them.’

Idly, Valentina swirled her spoon through the double cream and chocolate sauce on her plate. ‘How can anyone not love children?’ Then, observing the expression on Guy’s face — the distance was returning -- she shook her head and grinned. ‘I suppose you get this kind of thing all the time. Eager women dying to get their claws into you, banging on about how much they adore kids because they think it’ll make you like them more.’

‘Pretty close.’ He found her perception and honesty appealing. ‘Do you always say what you think?’

‘Oh, always!’ This time her eyes glittered with amusement. She had a tiny smudge of chocolate on her lower lip. Instinctively he reached across the wiped the smudge away with his thumb. Smiling, Valentina kissed it. ‘There, I did warn you. Say what I think, do what I want.

That’s my motto.’

According to Maxine and Janey, he needed a woman in his life. They hadn’t had much time for Serena; maybe Valentina would meet with their approval. Guy was entertained by the idea of parading her before them like a prospective champion at Crufts. At least she was about as far removed from Serena as it was possible to be.

‘And what do you want?’ he said, entering into the spirit of the game. Beneath the table Valentina had slipped off her trainers. One bare foot was now lazily caressing his thigh.

‘More chocolate pudding,’ she answered and the famous smile widened. ‘Then you.’

The paparazzi were waiting outside on the pavement. The moment Valentina emerged from the restaurant with her pink leather jacket draped casually over her shoulders Italian-style, flashbulbs began exploding like fireworks.

‘No pictures. I said no fucking pictures!’ she yelled, glaring at them with disdain. ‘We’re having a private evening out, for God’s sake. What are you, a bunch of animals?’

They loved her, of course. She made them a fortune. Seldom did a week go by without Valentina di Angelo featuring centre stage in the celebrity montages of the Sunday supplements.

An encounter with Valentina was guaranteed to line their pockets and brighten their day. The public, it went without saying, lapped it all up like cream.

‘Come on, Val, give us a smile,’ one of them shouted. ‘You know you can do it!’

‘And you know what you can do,’ she retorted, tossing her inch-long black hair.

‘How about a quote then?’ another ginger-bearded freelancer said hopefully. ‘Are you and Guy Cassidy an item?’

‘Are your legs breakable?’

‘Hey, Guy! What’s the idea? Did you take her out for a bet or something?’

Guy simply grinned and said nothing. He was content to leave the insults to the experts.

‘Hey, Val. show us what you’re hiding under that cheap jacket!’ goaded one old hand who knew her well. ‘Is it true you’ve had your tits fixed?’

This was the moment Valentina had been waiting for. This was the man who had started the rumour a fortnight ago, and she was ready for him.

‘Why don’t you come and take a closer look?’ she said sweetly, and the other men grinned.

Guy, who knew what was about to happen, took a discreet step to one side.

‘Yeeuch, you bitch!’ howled the photographer as the bowl of ice cream she had been concealing beneath the folds of the pink leather jacket cascaded down his face and chest. It was particularly splendid ice cream, honey and walnut, but well worth wasting on such a good cause and wonderfully photogenic against a black polo-neck sweater. Serve him right, Valentina thought happily, for being too stupid to tell the difference between plastic surgery and a tissue-packed Wonderbra.

Another volley of flashbulbs exploded, another feature in the tabloids was instantly guaranteed. Having made her mark, Valentina handed the empty bowl to one of the other members of the pack and reached for Guy’s arm.

‘Come on,’ she murmured under her breath, as they moved towards their waiting cab.

‘That’s the business taken care of. Now for the pleasure ...’

Chapter 47

‘No?’ Valentina shrieked, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. In her agitation, she almost catapulted off the bed. ‘No? What the hell do you mean, no?’

The realization that he was making a huge mistake had crept up on him even as they made their way up to his hotel room. Having initially fended her off with a drink from the mini-bar, Guy had spent the last fifteen minutes searching for an acceptable way out of the situation he’d so stupidly got himself into. And it was a supremely ironic situation, he couldn’t help thinking, because ninety-nine per cent of men would no doubt drool like dogs at the prospect of a night of passion with Valentina di Angelo.

It wasn’t even as if she had done anything wrong. Beauty apart, she was funny and honest, great company and altogether about as engaging a person as anyone — paparazzi excluded —

could wish to meet. But he just couldn’t go through with it. For some unfathomable reason, he knew he would be making a terrible mistake.

‘I’m sorry.’ Guy shook his head, forcing himself to look at her. There was resignation in his dark blue eyes. ‘I really am. It’s been a great evening, but ...’

‘But what?’ wailed Valentina, overcome with a sudden rush of fear. ‘What have I done wrong? What’s the problem, for God’s sake?’ Casting around for a reason ... any reason ... she said helplessly, ‘Am I too fat?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ It was every model’s greatest fear. What was worse, he thought with an inward sigh and a glance at her stick-thin legs, was that she really meant it. ‘You aren’t fat and you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me.’

Relief mingled with suspicion. Valentina’s fingers continued to clench and unclench against the bedspread. ‘What, then? If you’re going to try and tell me you’re impotent,’ she warned, ‘I may have a bit of trouble believing you.’

Guy had to smile. If he had been impotent, it would have been so much simpler. She would have felt sorry for him and he would have been off the hook. But ‘won’t play’ was harder for Valentina to bear than ‘can’t play’, and now thanks to him she was feeling sorry for herself.

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘Look, you’re a gorgeous girl and I’m probably going to kick myself in the morning, but right now I just know it would be ... well, the wrong thing to do.’

Valentina didn’t. As far as she was concerned it was the most absolutely right thing to do in the entire world. Her brown eyes clouded; what the hell was the big deal anyway, she thought with renewed frustration. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to hitch-hike barefoot across bloody Antarctica. It was only sex, after all.

‘More like you get a kick out of leading girls on,’ she retaliated, still smarting from the humiliation of being rejected for no good reason at all by the most attractive man she’d clapped eyes on in years. And after such a promising start, too.

‘It’s not that, either.’

‘Bastard,’ murmured Valentina under her breath.

She wasn’t taking it at all well. Guy pushed his fingers through his hair in a gesture of mild despair. ‘Look, that’s just what I’m trying not to be. If we spent the night together, I’d be a real bastard. You see, there’s .. . somebody else,’ he admitted with reluctance. ‘I’m already involved with someone, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of you if I ...’

His voice trailed away. He took a slug of brandy, swallowed and shrugged.

‘Oh.’ Valentina’s fingers began to unclench. A man with a conscience was something of a novelty in her experience. It was just a shame, she thought sorrowfully, he was so intent on being faithful to someone else rather than her. ‘Who is it, anyone I know?’

Guy shook his head. As far as he was aware it wasn’t anyone at all, but it appeared to be doing the trick, which was all that really mattered. He still didn’t understand why the idea of sleeping with Valentina should suddenly have become such an undesirable proposition. It just had. Maybe, he thought with a mixture of resignation and alarm, there really was such a thing as the male menopause and it had arrived a decade ahead of schedule. Damn, what filthy rotten luck. Of all the nights to be hit with it .. .

‘Well, she’s a lucky girl.’ Acknowledging defeat with as much good grace as she could muster, Valentina smiled and reached for her jacket. ‘Whoever she is. No, don’t worry, I can find my own way out. I’ll ask the night porter to get me a cab.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Guy, meaning it. Opening the door for her, he planted a brief kiss on her cheek. ‘I was tempted, you know. This monogamy thing is pretty new to me.’

‘Invite me to the wedding,’ Valentina quipped. ‘I’ll tell her what a hero she’s married. After all, I can personally vouch for your fidelity.’

He grinned. ‘Thanks.’

But she was still wildly curious. Guy wasn’t giving much away. Unable to resist it, she paused in the doorway. ‘Is she beautiful?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it ...’ — a stab in the dark, now — ‘the girl I spoke to on the phone? What’s her name, Maxine?’

Guy started to laugh. ‘No,’ he said, patting her shoulder. ‘Nice try, sweetheart. But it definitely isn’t Maxine.’

Thea, lying in bed with Oliver’s arm around her, was looking pensive.

‘What is it?’ Pulling the duvet up to her shoulders, for the central heating in Thea’s house was about as predictable as Thea herself, he gave her bare shoulder a squeeze. ‘Worried about Janey?’

She was, of course, but that wasn’t what was uppermost in her mind right now. Indirectly, she thought, the problem was Oliver himself. The trouble with being in love was the fact that it was so time-consuming. Whilst this might not be a problem for Oliver, who could easily afford to have his time consumed, it was an undoubted drawback when you were a not altogether successful sculptress with work to do and bills to pay. The sale of the Ballerina had temporarily stalled the boring letters from the bank droning on about her overdraft, but the increasing displeasure of Tom Sparks, the owner of the studio, was somewhat more ominous. She was falling behind with the rent in a big way, and he wasn’t amused. Sadly, not working meant not selling. And whilst at first it hadn’t seemed to matter — how, after all, could financial security even begin to compare with all-consuming happiness? — the prospect of losing her beloved studio was fast becoming a real possibility.

All she had to do, of course, was mention this inconvenient dilemma to Oliver. Without so much as a second thought he would sign the necessary cheque like the proverbial good fairy and make everything right again. As far as he was concerned, there was no dilemma: Thea needed money and he had plenty of it. He would be happy to help out. No big deal.

But there lay the crunch. For it was a big deal. It hadn’t been easy, but one way or another she had been self-supporting for the last twenty-five years, and whilst the idea of becoming a kept woman had always appealed, she now realized that some fantasies were better left unfulfilled. Maybe it was a salutary lesson, a kind of punishment for ever having wished it in the first place. Or maybe, she thought dryly, it was just sheer bloody bad luck. Because Oliver Cassidy, erupting into her life, had changed her. Here he was, the proud and generous owner of all that gorgeous money ... and she loved him too much to take it.

It was no good, Thea decided, she was simply going to have to make time to work. If necessary – ugh, what a hideous prospect -- she would even get up a couple of hours earlier each morning and sculpt whilst Oliver slept.

‘Yes,’ she lied, dragging her mind back to that other dilemma: Janey. Propping herself up on one elbow, she sighed. ‘I ballsed it up completely. I should have tackled Alan on his own, of course. She was bound to take his side.’

Oliver kissed her warm shoulder. It was ironic, he felt, that they should both have been through virtually the same ordeal. In his own case, however, Véronique’s untimely death had effectively prevented him from ever being able to be proved right.

‘Of course she was,’ he said consolingly. ‘I know how hard it is; we do our best for our children, God knows, but sometimes they have to make their own mistakes. Give her time, darling, and maybe she’ll come to her senses.’

‘I bloody hope so.’ Thea’s tone was fretful; she still nurtured a fearsome longing to corner Alan Sinclair and slap him senseless. ‘But how much longer is she going to need and how much more damage can he do in the meantime? Janey’s so stubborn it almost frightens me,’ she added, her tone bleak. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her to get herself pregnant, just to spite us all.’

Chapter 48

Janey was looking wonderful, thought Bruno, watching from a distant corner as she entered the party on Alan Sinclair’s arm. In a billowing white silk shirt tucked into white jeans, and with her blond hair left loose to fall past her shoulders, she exuded an air of careless glamour he had never seen in her before. The self-esteem which had been at rock-bottom for the past two years had clearly been revitalized by her husband’s return, he decided, impressed by the almost magical transformation. It was as if she had been brought back to life, like a desperately wilted flower plunged into a bucket of water in the nick of time.

Hastily, Bruno pulled himself together. What was the matter with him anyway? Nauseating similes weren’t his bag at all. Talk about un-macho .. .

Janey looked good because she was happy and in love, he decided, firmly banishing all thought of wilting flowers from his mind. It was as simple as that. Whether she would deign to speak to him when she realized he was here, however, was another matter altogether.

In the event, Janey didn’t have a lot of choice. Having resolutely decided to ignore Bruno her plans were scuppered within minutes by Pearl, who dragged him into the kitchen. Janey, leaning against the fridge, was still waiting for Alan to uncork a bottle of Australian white.

Gazing at a heavily doodled-on Chippendales calendar above the cooker, she assumed a fixed, I’m-not-listening expression. But the kitchen wasn’t that big and nobody had ever called Pearl subtle.

‘... I still don’t believe you, darling!’ she cried, clinging to Bruno’s arm and waggling an admonitory finger at him. ‘It’s all very well saying you’ve fallen madly in love with this Maxine character, but does this mean you’re actually planning to stay faithful to her, forsaking all others and all that gloomy stuff? You realize of course the whole town’s laying bets on how long you’ll manage to stick it out,’ she added gleefully. ‘So far nobody’s dared risk their money on anything more than a month.’

Behind her, Alan glanced across at Janey. Eyebrows raised, he mouthed, ‘Maxine?’

Nodding, she forced herself to smile as Bruno turned to face her. If she didn’t, Alan would wonder why.

‘Oh, I’m a reformed character.’ Bruno grinned. ‘It can happen, you know, even to me.

Although if the odds are that good, maybe I should think about placing a bet myself.’

‘So you’re Bruno.’ Stepping forward, Alan shook his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Alan Sinclair, Maxine’s brother-in-law. I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you.’

‘That’s a coincidence,’ said Bruno easily. ‘I’ve heard about you too.’

Pearl, who had been drinking double tequila slammers to celebrate the success of her party, was in high spirits.

Bruno was the greatest fun; she loved him to death. And although she hadn’t actually been introduced to Alan Sinclair before, he had been one of the crowd at the surf club when she’d popped in and issued an open invitation to tonight’s bash. The fact that he was deeply attractive hadn’t escaped her notice at the time, either. It was just a shame, Pearl thought, that he should have chosen to turn up with a sleek blond girlfriend in tow.

‘Everyone’s heard about Bruno,’ she told Alan with a giggle. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this if you’re related to Maxine, but it’s my party so what the hell! This man is wicked.

Gorgeous,’ she admitted, clinging to Bruno’s arm and giving it an affectionate squeeze, ‘but seriously wicked ... possibly the wickedest man in all Cornwall.’

Janey cringed. She still couldn’t believe she’d never heard so much as a single word of gossip about Bruno before getting involved with him herself. As far as everyone else was concerned, she thought bitterly, his conquests were practically the stuff of legend. And Pearl, whom she’d never met before in her life, was moving perilously close to the knuckle .. .

‘You are looking at a seducer extraordinaire,’ she continued, blithely unaware of Janey’s unease. ‘He’s been doing it for years, you know. None of us can figure out how he manages to keep on getting away with it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bruno with mock gravity. Janey, standing behind Alan, was looking positively stricken. Feeling sorry for her, he attempted to steer the conversation on to safer ground. ‘But that was in the bad old days. From now on I’m a changed man, I promise you.

How’s your father, by the way? Has he managed to sell that yacht of his yet?’

But Pearl hadn’t finished. Yachts were boring. The idea that Bruno Parry-Brent had turned over a new leaf, on the other hand, was simply too entertaining for words.

‘In the bad old days!’ she shrieked, gurgling with laughter and only narrowly missing the sleeve of Alan’s faded denim shirt as tequila sloshed haphazardly out of her tilted glass. ‘How long ago was your birthday, you old fraud? ‘I might have missed the party but Suzannah told me all about it. She said you had the most terrific showdown with some poor girl you’d been seeing on the quiet until she found out what you were really like. Who did Suzie say she was, now?’

She hiccuped, tried to think, and shook her head. ‘No, I give up. Come on Bruno, remind me! I can’t remember her name, but apparently she runs the flower shop in the high street ...’

‘Oh for goodness sake, will you stop going on about it.’ Janey, stepping out of her clothes, left them in a heap on the bedroom floor. As she made her way through to the bathroom she added crossly, ‘It was embarrassing for me too, you know.’

‘I should think it was.’ Alan’s eyes were narrow with anger. ‘You must be the laughing stock of Trezale ... and you expect me to forgive you, just like that? Jesus, you aren’t making it easy for me! You told me there hadn’t been anyone else and I was stupid enough to believe you.

Now I find out you’ve not only been screwing another man’ — he spat the words out in disgust

— ‘but you had to make a complete fool of yourself and choose the town fucking stud.’

Not trusting herself to speak, Janey slammed the bathroom door and cleaned her teeth so hard her gums bled. Finally, taking a deep breath, she returned to the bedroom.

‘Look,’ she said, eyes ablaze with defiance, ‘I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did. And I’m not going to apologize. I said there hadn’t been anyone else because that was what you wanted to hear, but what the hell did you seriously expect me to do ... lock myself into a chastity belt and become a born-again virgin for the rest of my life? Be realistic,’ she snapped, no longer caring what he thought. ‘You were the one who left, for God’s sake. And if sleeping with Bruno makes me the laughing stock of Trezale, so what? I’m used to it. People have been talking about me behind my back for the last two years, ever since my husband vanished off the face of the bloody earth. So if it’s an apology you’re waiting for,’ she went on, ‘you can forget it, because I’ve only slept with one man in two whole years ... and that’s not bad. If I’d known I was going to get this kind of grief,’ Janey concluded bitterly, ‘I would have slept with fifty.’

The ensuing silence seemed to go on for ever. Alan, sitting up in bed, stared at her. Finally he said, ‘You’ve changed.’

It was late and Janey was tired but she didn’t want to climb into the bed beside him.

Leaning against the wall, she replied, ‘I had to. When you’re on your own you have to learn to look after yourself.’

Alan shook his head. ‘And it’s all my fault. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t help it. It was the shock of finding out like that; I felt so damn jealous. Janey, come here. Please?’

He was holding his arms out to her. To her shame it was physical exhaustion rather than the prospect of reconciliation that propelled her towards the bed. Wearily, she submitted to his embrace.

‘It’s bound to take a while,’ Alan murmured into her hair, ‘getting used to being together again.’

‘Mmm.’

‘What are you doing?’ He frowned as she adjusted the pillows and rolled on to her side, facing away from him. Janey closed her eyes. ‘Going to sleep.’

Chapter 49

‘Oh no, not you.’ Sighing, Maxine wished now that she’d ignored the doorbell. ‘I nearly got the sack last time you played this trick.’

Oliver Cassidy smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ she countered with indignation. ‘Guy was furious with me.

I was lucky to escape in one piece. And you were pretty lucky yourself,’ she added. ‘He was all for calling out the police. You could have been charged with kidnapping.’

She looked like her mother, Oliver realized. And although she was giving a good impression of a woman deeply outraged, he guessed it was more for effect than anything else.

‘I could,’ he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile broadened, ‘but it wouldn’t have been exactly fair, would it? Kidnappers have a tendency to demand ransoms. I gave Josh and Ella money.’

‘You almost gave me a heart attack,’ grumbled Maxine, shivering as a gust of wind rattled round the porch. Her bare feet on the stone step were icy. ‘You shouldn’t have lied to me, it was a rotten thing to do.’

‘Growing old and never being allowed to see your grandchildren is pretty rotten too.’

Oliver, well wrapped up against the cold, in a beige cashmere overcoat, also shivered.

‘Sometimes, desperate measures are called for. Maxine, I really am sorry you had to bear the brunt of my son’s anger, but ... goodness, this wind is bitter, isn’t it?’

Maxine, standing her ground, forced herself not to smile. ‘I expect it’s nice and warm though, inside your car.’

‘Go on,’ said Oliver. ‘Live a little. If you invite me in for a quick cup of coffee we can both relax. Guy’s away, Josh and Ella are still at school; nobody need ever know I’ve been here.’

‘What are you, the king of the door-to-door salesmen?’ Maxine started to laugh. ‘OK, you can come in. Just don’t try and sell me any floor mops.’

‘... So you see, Guy never forgave me for speaking my mind,’ Oliver concluded fifteen minutes later. ‘I felt he was too young to be married, that he was making a huge mistake, but he was too stubborn to take my advice. When Josh and Ella are grown up and he finds himself faced with the same problems, maybe he’ll understand I had only his best interests at heart.’ He shrugged and pushed his empty cup to one side. ‘But by then it’ll be too late, of course. I’ll be dead.’

Maxine was well able to understand how he felt. Hadn’t Thea reacted in exactly the same way upon hearing that Janey’s decidedly unprodigal husband had breezed back into Trezale?

And hadn’t Janey reacted just as Guy had done, refusing to accept for even a single moment that her mother’s opinion of him might be right?

‘You might not be dead,’ she ventured, struggling to say something reassuring. ‘Look, I do sympathize but you must realize I’m in an impossible position here. I can’t help you. And if you think I can persuade Guy to see reason, well ... I’d have about as much chance of getting him to believe in Father Christmas.’

‘I want to see my grandchildren again,’ said Oliver Cassidy.

‘No.’

He was no longer smiling. The expression in his eyes, she realized, was one of ineffable sadness.

‘Maxine, listen to me.’ Speaking without emotion, he leaned back in his chair and rested his clasped hands on the kitchen table. ‘By the time Josh and Ella are grown up, I will certainly be dead. If my doctor is to be believed, I’ll be dead by Christmas. ‘I don’t believe him of course —

he’s a notorious scaremonger — but I have to accept that there may be something in what he says. Maybe next year people can cross me off their Christmas card list but not this year.’ He paused, then shrugged. ‘Anyway, let’s not get maudlin. I’m only telling you this because I need you to understand why I’m so anxious to see my grandchildren again.’ Fixing his steady gaze upon her, he added, ‘And why I need you to help me.’

‘Oh hell.’ Maxine shook her head in despair. ‘Now I do wish you were a door-to-door salesman. Then I’d be able to say no.’

Josh and Ella were safely tucked up in bed by the time Bruno arrived at Trezale House.

Since Maxine’s idea of a romantic dinner à deux was spaghetti hoops on toast, he had brought the ingredients for a decent meal with him. Whilst he busied himself in the kitchen, slicing onions and mushrooms for the stroganoff, she sat happily drinking lager and relaying to him the events of the afternoon.

‘Yeeuk! What are you doing?’ she screeched as Bruno, having listened in silence for a good ten minutes, abandoned washing the leeks in order to cup wet, cold hands over her ears.

‘The rest of your brain,’ he explained carefully. ‘I thought maybe we should save it. These medical experts can do wonders nowadays ... if you’re lucky they might be able to slide some of it back in.’

‘Ha ha, very funny.’ Unabashed, Maxine wriggled out of reach. ‘OK, so when Guy finds out he’ll have me hung, drawn and quartered, but wouldn’t anyone else in my position have done the same?’

‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ Standing back, gazing down at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, Bruno drawled, ‘You really are full of surprises, my angel. How can anyone so smart be so incredibly dumb? How could you – of all people – fall for a line like that?’

‘Like what?’ The tiniest of frown lines bisected her eyebrows. Confusion registered in her dark brown eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘And you told me Janey was the gullible one.’ He couldn’t resist it. The fact that razor-sharp Maxine had a hitherto unsuspected weak spot was totally, blissfully endearing. She was, he thought with a triumphant grin, never going to live this down.

‘Oh come on,’ she protested, as realization finally dawned. ‘Bruno, no! That’s sick.’

‘Maxine, yes!’ Mimicking her outraged tone, he stepped smartly back to avoid a kick on the shin. ‘Look, I might not have met the man but you’ve already told me what he’s like. What did Guy say – his father was a ruthless businessman who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted? If he wants to see his grandchildren and you’re telling him he can’t, then he’s going to have to come up with something spectacular to make you change your mind. What could be simpler than the old imminent-death routine? It might not be terribly original, but it usually does the trick.

And it worked, didn’t it?’ he concluded with a cheerful I-told-you-so grin. ‘My poor darling, you’d better dig out that bulletproof vest and superglue yourself into it. There’s no telling how Guy Cassidy’s going to react when he finds out what you’ve done this time.’

‘Oh shit!’ wailed Maxine, appalled. What she’d done this time had undoubtedly cost her her job. Travelling with Oliver Cassidy in the unimaginable luxury of his silver-grey Rolls, she had longed to ask more questions about the illness which was soon to rob him of his life. But she hadn’t, for fear of appearing nosey and because it simply wasn’t the kind of thing you discussed with a virtual stranger. Instead they had talked abut Josh and Ella; her soon-to-be-screened toilet-roll commercial; the wild beauty of the Cornish coastline; the stupid, sodding totally uninteresting weather . . .

Josh and Ella had been thrilled, of course, to see their grandfather waiting at the school gates. Maxine, quite choked by the poignancy of the situation, had almost been forced to blink back tears. How could anyone with even half a heart, she thought, possibly deny a dying man the chance of a last meeting with his only grandchildren?

They had returned to Trezale House to spend four blissfully happy hours together. Oliver Cassidy had even professed to adore the fish fingers and alphabetti spaghetti she’d served up, although he hadn’t been able to eat a great deal of it. At the time, she had assumed his lack of appetite must be connected with the illness.

And at eight o’clock in the evening he had left. With heartbreaking innocence Ella had cried, ‘Will we see you again soon, Grandpa?’ and Maxine, a lump in her throat the size of an egg, had turned away. Josh, handling yet another fifty-pound note with due reverence, had said,

‘When I buy my computer, Grandpa, I’ll teach you to play Pokémon. If you practise long enough you might even get as good as me.’

‘Maxine, how can I ever thank you?’ Oliver Cassidy had smiled and rested his hand on her shoulder as she walked with him to the front door. Tilting his grey head, planting a brief, infinitely gentle kiss on her cheek, he added quietly, ‘You’re a very special girl and I’m truly grateful.You’ll never know how much this afternoon has meant to me.’

And the fact that Guy was bound to find out what had happened – because with the best will in the world Ella was too young to keep a secret for anything exceeding fifteen seconds –

didn’t bother Maxine in the least. She knew she’d done the right thing, and furthermore she was going to tell him about his father’s fatal illness. Surely, she thought as she stood on the step and watched Oliver Cassidy disappear down the drive in his Rolls, surely even Guy would be jolted into remorse when he learned the truth.

‘Oh shit,’ said Maxine again, as the irony of the situation struck her. For the last eight hours she had thought over and over again how desperately unfair it was that such a charming man should have to die. Now, riddled with self-doubt and the growing fear that maybe, after all, she had been conned in the most underhand manner possible, she found herself almost hoping he would. At least then, she thought fretfully, she’d be proved right.

On the way to school a week later, Maxine – hardly daring to raise the subject for fear of breaking some miraculous spell – turned to Josh and Ella and said in ultra-casual tones, ‘You didn’t tell Guy about your grandfather’s visit, did you?’

It was a statement rather than a question. Maxine knew they couldn’t have told him. She was still alive.

Behind her, Ella promptly erupted into fits of giggles. Josh, in the passenger seat, looked immensely proud. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a secret.’

‘Oh come on, you can tell me,’ said Maxine.

Emma mimed zipping her mouth shut. ‘We can’t tell anybody. It’s an even bigger secret than the one about you smashing Daddy’s car into the gatepost.’

‘Look, I’m glad it’s a big secret,’ Maxine explained patiently. ‘But I should be in on it. I was there, wasn’t I?’

Josh considered this argument for a moment. After exchanging glances with Ella, he said, earnestly, ‘OK, but you mustn’t tell anyone else. Swear you won’t, Maxine.’

‘Bum,’ said Maxine, and Ella giggled again. It was her favourite word.

‘Grandpa said it had to be a secret,’ Josh explained, ‘because if we ever told anyone else, you’d get the sack and we’d never see you again for the rest of our lives.’

‘Oh.’ Overcome with emotion, Maxine’s eyes abruptly filled with tears.Thankfully, they had by this time reached the school so she didn’t risk killing them all.

‘Well, it’s nice to be appreciated,’ she said gruffly, curbing the urge to fling her arms around them and smother them in noisy kisses. If she did that in front of their schoolfriends, Josh would certainly die of shame. She cleared her throat instead and attempted to turn the situation into a joke. ‘So that must mean you like me a little bit, then?’

‘I do,’ Ella declared lovingly. ‘And Josh was glad too.’ Maxine smiled. Was he, sweetheart?’

‘Ella,’ Josh murmured, his expression furtive.

But the sheer relief of having finally been allowed to break the silence proved too much for Ella. Having extricated herself from her safety belt she climbed forward between the front seats and adopted a noisy stage-whisper. ‘Because Grandpa gave us extra money for not saying anything,’ she confided, blue eyes shining. ‘Lots of money you didn’t even know about, but if we told the secret to anyone ... except you, now ... we’d have to give it all back.’

‘Oh.’ So much for thinking she’d been the one they couldn’t bear to lose, thought Maxine.

Mercenary little sods.

‘Josh is going to buy a computer.’ Ella’s nose wrinkled in evident disgust. ‘Ugh, computers are stupid. I don’t want one!’

‘That’s because you’re a girl,’ he sneered. ‘You want a stupid horse.’

Ella pushed him, then turned to Maxine, her smile angelic. ‘A real, live horse,’ she said happily. ‘Called Bum.’

Chapter 50

Janey, lying in the bath, told herself she was being stupid. She was a mature adult, after all, not a child for whom a birthday was a real landmark. The importance of birthdays worked according to a sliding scale; as you grew older, their significance decreased. Heavens, it was almost fashionable to forget your own birthday .. .

It was downright depressing, on the other hand, if everyone else forgot it too.

But she had dug herself into a hole from which, it now seemed, there was no face-saving escape, because her birthday was tomorrow and to mention it casually in passing at this late stage would be too humiliating for words. The trouble was, Janey thought with a pang of regret, she hadn’t bothered earlier because she’d stupidly assumed everyone else would remember.

She was still in the bath when the telephone rang. Seconds later, Alan opened the bathroom door. ‘Phone, sweetheart. It’s Maxine.’

Superstition told Janey that if she climbed out of the water and went to answer it, Maxine wouldn’t have remembered her birthday. If she stayed where she was, on the other hand, it might suddenly click.

‘Ask her what she wants.’ Slowly and deliberately she began to soap her shoulders. ‘Take a message, or say I’ll call back.’

He reappeared after a couple of minutes. ‘She asked if you could babysit tomorrow evening. Guy had already said she could take a couple of days off and she and Bruno have arranged to go up to London,’ he recited. ‘But now Guy has to be somewhere tomorrow night, so he wonders if you wouldn’t mind doing the honours. He says he’ll definitely be home by midnight.’

So much for superstition. Wearily, Janey nodded. ‘OK. I’ll call her back in a minute.’

‘No need.’ He sounded pleased with himself. ‘I’ve already told her you’ll do it. She says can you be there by seven-thirty.’

Janey stared at him. ‘Well, thanks.’

‘What?’ Alan looked surprised. ‘I knew you’d say yes. All I did was say it for you. Why, have you made other plans?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes. ‘No other plans.’

‘There you are then,’ he chided, tickling the soles of her feet. ‘Stroppy.’

Janey forced herself to smile. It was only a birthday after all. Not such a big deal.

‘How about you? Are you doing anything tomorrow night?’

‘Ah well, I was planning a quiet romantic evening at home with my gorgeous wife.’ He rolled his eyes in soulful fashion. ‘Just the two of us ...’

‘You could always come and help me babysit.’

.. but since you won’t be here,’ Alan concluded cheerfully, ‘I may as well meet the lads for a drink at the surf club.’

Janey, curled up on the sofa with a can of lager and a packet of Maltesers, was so engrossed in the book she was reading she didn’t even hear the car pull up outside. When Guy opened the sitting-room door she jumped a mile, scattering Maltesers in all directions.

‘Sorry.’ He grinned and bent to help her pick them up. ‘So which is scariest, me or the book?’

‘You said you’d be back at midnight.’ Still breathless, Janey glanced up at the clock. ‘It’s only half past nine. Oh no,’ she said accusingly, ‘you haven’t walked out on her again. Tell me you didn’t dump her at the hotel ...’

When Charlotte had phoned Guy the night before and begged him to partner her at the firm’s annual dinner, he had made strenuous efforts to get out of it. But Charlotte had been truly desperate. Everyone else was taking someone, she explained, evidently frantic, and she’d been let down at the last minute by her own partner who’d thoughtlessly contracted salmonella poisoning. ‘Oh please Guy, I can’t possibly go on my own,’ she had wailed down the phone at him. ‘It’s not as if I’m asking you to sleep with me; I know it’s over between us, but just this one last favour? Pleeease?’

He hadn’t had the heart to refuse. But fate – for the first time in what seemed like years –

appeared to be on his side. Within minutes of arriving at the hotel, Charlotte had disappeared to the loo. Finally emerging half an hour later, pale and obviously unwell, she clung to Guy’s arm and groaned pitifully, ‘Oh God, I think I’m going to haveto go home. Tonight of all nights, as well. Bloody chicken biryani. Sodding salmonella.’

Guy, hiding his relief, had said goodbye to all the people he hadn’t even had time to be introduced to, helped Charlotte out to the car and driven her home. Mortified at the prospect of throwing up in front of him, she had vehemently refused his offer to stay for a while and make sure she was all right. Food poisoning was a singularly unglamorous illness and all she wanted was to be left alone.

‘Oh poor Charlotte!’ Janey tried hard not to laugh at the expression on Guy’s face. ‘She doesn’t have much luck, does she?’

‘Every cloud,’ he replied with an unrepentant grin. ‘I didn’t even have to give her a goodnight kiss.’

Janey looked at her watch; it was still only twenty to ten. Now that Guy was here, she supposed she could go home too. But Alan wouldn’t be there, and the prospect of sitting alone in the flat on her birthday was infinitely depressing.

Sensing her hesitation, Guy said, ‘Do you have to get back straight away?’

‘Well, no.’

‘Good. I’ll open a bottle.’

When he had finished pouring the wine, he picked up the paperback Janey had been so wrapped up in. ‘Hmm, so I was right. No wonder you nearly jumped out of your skin, reading horror stories like this.’

She laughed. ‘I found it buried under a pile of comics in your downstairs loo. You should give it a try; it’s actually very well written. I was really enjoying it.’

‘As if Mimi didn’t have enough fans.’ With a shudder he dropped the book into her open handbag. ‘Take it home with you. She always sends me a copy of her latest best-seller, though God knows why. The covers alone are enough to give me a headache.’

‘You’re such a chauvinist,’ said Janey cheerfully. ‘I like them.’

‘You shouldn’t need them.’ Guy’s expression was severe. ‘Alan’s back; you’ve got your own happy ending now.’

Janey fiddled with a loose thread on the sleeve of her pastel pink cotton sweater. ‘Mmm.’

Guy decided to chance it. Very casually he said, ‘Although I suppose it can’t be easy. Two years is a long time. Getting used to living together again must take a while.’

She hadn’t breathed so much as a word to anyone about the difficulties they’d been having.

She’d barely been able to admit them to herself, Janey realized. But there were only so many excuses you could make on someone else’s behalf. Alan was charming, funny and affectionate.

But the flipside was beginning to get to her. Despite having been back for over a month now, he had made no real effort to find work. The amounts of money he borrowed from her in order to

‘tide him over’ were only small, but with no way of repaying them they soon mounted up. Janey, watching her own bank balance dwindle, was at the same time having to spend twice as much as usual on groceries, whilst Alan appeared to spend his money buying drinks for all his old friends down at the surf club.

‘No, it isn’t easy.’ Janey attempted to sound matter of fact about it. There was no way in the world she would admit the true extent of her problems to Guy, but she was tired of pretending everything was perfect.

‘I expect it’s me,’ she went on, taking fast, jerky sips of wine. ‘When you’ve lived alone for a while you become selfish. It’s always the silly things, isn’t it? Like suddenly having to make sure there’s food in the house; remembering not to use all the hot water; the toilet seat always being up when you want it down.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘I share my home with Maxine. She might not leave the toilet seat up, but she drives me insane. You can’t move in that bathroom for cans of industrial-strength hair spray. At the last count there were eleven different bottles of shampoo up there, and she leaves great blobs of hair mousse all over the carpet.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘It’s like walking through a field of puffball mushrooms.’

‘Why do you suppose I sent her up here to work for you?’ Janey laughed. ‘I’ve been through that mushroom field. I was desperate.’

She was starting to relax. Even more casually, Guy said, ‘But at least Maxine and ‘I aren’t married.’ Janey looked uncomfortable. ‘No.’

‘Look.’ Taking a deep breath, he decided to risk it. ‘I’m on your side, Janey. Maybe this is none of my business but I can’t help feeling there’s more to it than hot water and toilet seats.

Alan was away for two years. You’ve both changed. There are bound to be problems. Just because he’s come back, you aren’t automatically obliged to be happy.’ He paused for a second, his eyes serious. ‘These things don’t always work out. There’s no shame in that. Nobody would blame you.’

Janey bit her lip. What he said made so much sense, but she still couldn’t bring herself to admit quite how torn she felt. Alan loved and needed her, after all. How on earth would it affect him if she were suddenly to announce that she had changed her mind?

Feeling horribly disloyal just thinking about it, she willed herself to remain calm. She wasn’t going to pour her heart out to Guy; he’d suffered quite enough of that after the Bruno fiasco. He might be on her side, she thought, but she still had some pride. She didn’t want him to think she was a completely hopeless case.

‘We’re fine,’ Janey assured him, as convincingly as she knew how. She smiled. ‘Really. I was just having a bit of a moan, that’s all.’

Shit, thought Guy, not believing her for a second. He’d blown it. And he had thought he’d been doing so well.

‘Shit!’ Maxine yelled practically simultaneously, in London.

Bruno gave the maître d’ an apologetic grin and hoped he wouldn’t change his mind about giving them the last table in the restaurant.

‘She’s from Iceland,’ he confided. ‘Doesn’t speak a word of English. ‘I think she’s saying

"hello".’

But Maxine, staring at the reservation diary lying open on the desk before them, was too appalled to enter into the spirit of the game.

‘It’s the fifteenth,’ she groaned. ‘Oh hell, I can’t believe it’s really the fifteenth!’

Of November, thought Bruno, following her gaze. Big deal. Unless she’d suddenly realized her period was late, in which case it would definitely be a big deal .. .

‘Quick, I need a phone!’ Maxine launched herself across the mahogany desk. ‘Can I use this one?’

But the maître d’, who had quick reflexes, had already clamped his hand firmly over the phone. The last time someone had tried that trick, they’d called their mother in South America.

‘This one is reserved for table bookings, madam. We have a pay phone for customers at the far end of the bar.’

‘What is it?’ Bruno demanded, as Maxine rifled his pockets for change. To his alarm, there were tears glistening in her eyes.

‘That bastard,’ she seethed. ‘I asked him what she was doing tonight and he told me she didn’t have any plans. ‘I suppose he’s gone out ...’

‘Who?’

‘Bloody Alan bloody Sinclair.’ The words dripped with contempt. ‘Who else?’

Bruno raised his eyebrows. ‘Why, what’s he done now?’

‘Oh, nothing much,’ snapped Maxine. ‘At least, not by his standards. It’s only Janey’s birthday, after all.’

Chapter 51

Right, that’s it, thought Guy.

Janey, watching him replace the receiver, was unnerved by his grim expression.

‘Bad news?’

He nodded. ‘Very bad news.’

‘Oh no.’ Her heart lurched. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s November the fifteenth,’ Guy replied slowly. ‘Your birthday. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten too.’

‘The nerve of that man,’ cried Maxine, flushed with annoyance. ‘He wouldn’t even let me speak to her!’

Bruno frowned. ‘Alan? Why not?’

She looked at him as if he was being deliberately obtuse. ‘Not Alan, stupid. Guy. She’s babysitting up at the house. I thought he’d be out, but he’s back.’

By this time thoroughly confused and too hungry to care much anyway, Bruno had begun studying the menu. But Maxine was still muttering to herself, twirling her hair round her fingers in a frenzy of indignation. He sighed. ‘OK, so why wouldn’t Guy let you speak to her?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’ She glared at him across the table. ‘He told me to leave everything to him; he’d deal with it.

What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘I’d have thought it was pretty obvious.’ Bruno grinned. ‘He’s going to make sure Janey’s birthday goes with a bang.’

‘I know it’s my birthday.’ Janey felt unaccountably nervous. ‘Who was that on the phone?

Is that the very bad news, or is there something else?’

‘It was Maxine, ringing from a call box.’ Guy bent to refill their glasses. ‘She’s mortified at having forgotten, but she sends her love and says she’ll bring you back a mega-stupendous present. Her words,’ he said dryly. ‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up if I were you. She bought Josh a mega-stupendous present the other week; it turned out to be a bouncing rubber brain. When you throw it against the wall,’ he added with a look of resignation, ‘it screams Ouch.’

‘I could probably do with one of those.’ Janey smiled. ‘So that’s really the bad news, Maxine forgetting my birthday?’

But the humour had vanished from his eyes once more. Really, she thought, he was incredibly hard to keep up with.

‘No,’ said Guy. ‘The bad news is Alan forgetting your birthday.’

Janey, opening her mouth to protest, had no chance.

‘Don’t even say it,’ Guy warned. ‘For God’s sake, Janey! Why do you always have to defend him? The way he’s treated you is sickening enough, but not even being able to remember your birthday — this year of all years — is downright despicable!’

‘Lots of husbands forget their wives’ birthdays.’ She couldn’t help it; now he was being unfair. ‘Thousands do, all the time. It’s practically a condition of marriage.’ Janey realized she was shaking.

Guy’s dark eyes, glittering with derision, bored into her. ‘Don’t be such a coward,’ he drawled unpleasantly. ‘Stop covering up for him. Why can’t you just admit the fact that he’s a selfish bastard and he’s making you miserable? Why don’t you give yourself a rest, Janey, say what you really think and stop being so fucking nice?’

This was too much. Something snapped inside her. Guy, launching into a totally unprovoked attack, was somehow managing to make her feel she was the one at fault.

‘How dare you!’ The words came tumbling out of her mouth but it was as if someone else was saying them for her. ‘How dare you try and heap the blame on me? If you want to know what I really think, it’s that you’re just as much of a bastard as my husband!’ She was trembling violently but the voice doing the talking didn’t falter. ‘OK, if you want the dirt I’ll give it to you.

It isn’t working out because he’s a selfish, idle sponger who expects me to do everything for him because that’s how it used to be, and he doesn’t see why it should be any different now. He’s using me ... taking advantage of me. I know he’s doing it. I hate him doing it, but I don’t have any choice!’

Janey paused, gulping for breath, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. But he had goaded her into this exorcism and now it was all spilling out. Her chest hurt, her throat ached and her fingernails were biting into her palms like fish hooks. But she had almost finished and she was going to force him to understand the kind of hell she’d been through if it killed her.

‘I don’t have any choice.’ She repeated the words in a low voice. ‘Because Alan needs me.

I’m afraid of what he might do if I tell him it’s over. I don’t think he could handle it. He’s dropped hints, and they scare me witless. I really believe he would harm himself: how can I possibly afford to take that risk? How could ‘I ever live with myself if I called his bluff and he did commit suicide?’ She shook her head and shuddered helplessly at the mere mention of the word. ‘It would be on my conscience for the rest of my life. It would be my fault. I’d be the one who had killed him.’

‘Oh Janey,’ Guy gave her a ghost of a smile. ‘I’m sorry ‘I shouted at you. Do you understand now why I had to do it?’

He had been goading her deliberately, of course; forcing her to lose her temper with him and spill it all out. With a weary nod, she said, ‘I understand, but it isn’t as if there’s anything you can do to help. You knowing about my problems isn’t going to make them go away.’

‘Well,’ persisted Guy, ‘do you at least feel better?’

‘I don’t know.’ It was a lie. She did feel better, Janey realized, but how long was that likely to last? She would probably wake up tomorrow morning and kick herself. Ungraciously, she said, ‘I suppose you do, now you’ve weaseled that little confession out of me. At least your curiosity’s been satisfied.’

‘Don’t be bitchy.’

‘Don’t be bitchy?’ Echoing the words, she mimed frustration. ‘Five minutes ago you told me to stop being so fucking nice. You really do know how to shower a girl with compliments, Guy.’

He grinned, because there weren’t many people on the planet less adept at handling a compliment than Janey. When he’d once tried admiring her new trousers she had replied, ‘At least they hide my legs.’ When on another occasion he had said her hair looked nice, she’d promptly told him it needed cutting. If he displayed appreciation of her chicken casserole she invariably shook her head and said either, ‘Too much tarragon,’ or Not enough salt.’

If he thought for one minute it would help, Guy told himself, he would shower her with compliments. He would tell her she was beautiful, that she had stunning legs, wondrous eyes, a deeply kissable mouth .. .

He could also tell her that the prospect of spending the night with Valentina di Angelo had left him utterly cold, whereas the thought of spending the night with Janey Sinclair was infinitely desirable.

Guy smiled, because at least he could stop worrying about the male menopause. He also, finally, understood why he hadn’t wanted to sleep with Valentina. It was because he wanted Janey.

But it was hardly the time to make his feelings known. If anything was guaranteed to send her screaming out of the house, he decided, it was a declaration of lust from some bastard who had just bullied her into revealing the innermost secrets of her hopeless marriage to another bastard. Oh yes, that would really restore her faith in men.

‘What are you thinking?’ Janey demanded in accusing tones, because Guy was miles away and there was a hint of a smile around his mouth. If he was laughing at her, she would slap him.

‘Nothing. Sorry.’ Hastily, he composed himself. ‘Look, ‘I understand how you must feel about Alan, but this rubbish about killing himself is emotional blackmail. Janey, nobody has the right to do that to you. It’s ludicrous. If he wants to jump off a cliff, that’s his decision. You wouldn’t have made him do it, and you wouldn’t be responsible.’

‘But—’

Guy’s expression was severe. ‘No, this time you’re just going to have to sit there and let me have my say. What he’s doing is sick. It’s also selfish. And people who will stoop to such depths in order to get whatever they want are way too selfish to top themselves, believe me. He’s threatening to do it because it’s the only way he knows of making sure you don’t dump him. If he really loved you as much as he says, he wouldn’t dream of putting you through this kind of hell. Janey, if ‘I thought for one moment you’d take me up on it I’d bet my house, my car — my kids, for God’s sake — that he’s bluffing. If you tell him to take a running jump, believe me, the last place he’s going to visit is a handy clifftop.’

‘It’s so easy for you to say that.’ Just listening to him made Janey’s stomach squirm. ‘You don’t even know him. It’s different when it’s your own husband. I can’t gamble with his life.’

More’s the pity, thought Guy. But she clearly wasn’t going to change her mind. At least he had forced her to admit the problem; it might not be much but it was a start.

‘No. OK.’ He had to agree she had a point. Maxine, faced with a similar threat, would doubtless hand the poor chap a Stanley knife and run him a nice hot bath.

But Janey was Janey, and that wasn’t her style. She considered other people’s feelings, had probably never deliberately hurt anyone in her entire life, and was prepared to sacrifice her own happiness in order to avoid upsetting Alan bloody Sinclair.

That was the trouble with nice girls, he thought ruefully. They had a conscience. Sometimes it was bloody infuriating.

‘Now what?’ Janey glared at him, because he was doing it again. She never knew what he was thinking and it unnerved her.

He grinned. ‘We’ve finished the bottle. Shall I open another one?’

‘What, so that you can lecture me for another hour?’ She was only half joking. When Guy set his mind to it, he could be horribly persistent. Especially when he was determined to prove that he was right.

‘We could change the subject.’

Janey looked at her watch; it was gone eleven-thirty. ‘I can’t drink any more and still drive home,’ she said with a note of regret. ‘And it’s later than I thought. I’d better be making a move.’

‘You don’t have to drive. You could always spend the night here. In Maxine’s room,’ he said, before she had a chance to become flustered. ‘It wouldn’t do Alan any harm to wonder where you’d got to,’ he added slyly. ‘Serve him right for forgetting your birthday.’

But Janey was unfolding her legs, searching around for her shoes and stuffing Mimi’s book into her bag. ‘And tomorrow morning I’d go to work with a raging hangover.’ She pulled a face.

‘Thanks for the offer, but I have to be at the market by six.’

She had ignored the dig, resolutely refusing to rise to the bait.

‘Let me just go and check on the kids,’ said Guy, good-naturedly accepting defeat. ‘Then I’ll see you out.’

Janey was waiting in the hall when he returned downstairs. She wound a red cashmere scarf around her neck. ‘Are they all right?’

‘Well away.’ Guy nodded and grinned. ‘How about you, after all that interrogation? Are you OK?’

‘I’ll live.’ With a smile, she flipped the tasselled ends of the scarf over her shoulders. ‘At least you didn’t pull my fingernails out.’

‘I do have something else to say,’ he warned. ‘Before you go.’

Janey braced herself. She might have guessed he would. ‘Oh. What is it?’

‘Happy birthday.’ The red scarf was covering the lower half of her face. Before she realized what was happening Guy was gently pushing it down, out of the way. There was her mouth, wonderfully soft and inviting. When you wished someone a happy birthday, he reasoned, it was perfectly in order to give them a kiss to go with it.

But he didn’t want to alarm her. Instead, exercising almost superhuman control, he cast one last regretful glance at those slightly parted lips and aimed, instead, an inch to the left.

‘Except it hasn’t been too happy,’ he murmured.

Ridiculously, his heart was pounding like a schoolboy’s. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

Janey, startled by her own reaction to what was, after all, only a polite gesture, was deeply ashamed of herself. Just for a fraction of a second she had thought Guy was going to kiss her properly. What was even more awful was the fact that she had wanted him to.

‘It isn’t over yet.’ Flustered, she resorted to feeble humour. ‘I’ve still got Maxine’s present to look forward to, haven’t I? If Josh’s brain says "Ouch", she’ll probably find one for me that yells "Dimwit".’

Guy, who was still wearing his dinner jacket, reached into the inner pocket and withdrew a small, green leather box.

‘Well, I can’t compete with a bouncing brain.’ As he took Janey’s hand and placed the box in her palm, his eyes silently dared her to object. ‘But at least this won’t hurl insults at you.’

Inside lay a slender rose-gold bangle engraved around the outer edge with delicately entwined leaves and flowers. It was old, simple and breathtakingly beautiful. Janey, who had never been more embarrassed in her entire life, said, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, you don’t want to give me something like this.’

‘Don’t be silly. Call it making amends for giving you such a hard time tonight.’ Since she evidently had no intention of taking the bracelet out of the box, Guy did it himself and pushed it over her trembling hand.

‘But where ... who ... ?’

‘I spotted it in an antique shop in St Austell a few months ago,’ he lied. ‘I was going to give it to Serena, then I decided it wasn’t her style. You may as well have it,’ he added casually. ‘It’s no use to me.’

Janey flushed with pleasure. It was still embarrassing to be on the receiving end of such generosity but Guy clearly wouldn’t take it back. The engraved flowers were forget-me-nots, she realized, studying the bangle in more detail and loving the way it gleamed rather than glittered in the light, showing its age and quality.

‘Definitely not Serena’s style.’ She gave him a mischievous smile. ‘I’m glad you didn’t give it to her. I love it, Guy. Thank you.’

This time she reached up and kissed him, her warm lips brushing his cheek a decorous inch from his mouth just as he had done earlier. The same tingle of longing zipped through her. Janey, fantasizing wildly, wondered what Guy would do if she moved towards him ... moved her mouth to his.

The image flashed into her brain. ready-made, as if in answer. Pushy, eager Charlotte, throwing herself at Guy. Guy, good-humoured but resigned, wondering how the hell to fend her off without hurting her feelings. And Janey herself, hearing all about it, wondering how Charlotte could bear to make such an idiot of herself when he was so plainly uninterested.

No upturned bucket of ice-cold water could have shocked her to her senses more abruptly.

So much for wild fantasies, Janey decided, and prayed that Guy hadn’t been able to read her mind.

‘Thanks again for the bracelet.’ She took a hasty step backwards, pulling the scarf up over her chin once more and making a clumsy grab for the front door. ‘Gosh, it’s freezing outside!

Look at all those stars ... there’s even ice on your bird table ... poor old birds ...’

One stupid kiss on the cheek, Guy realized, shaking his head in disbelief, and she’d managed to give him a severe erection. Never mind the poor birds, he thought, watching Janey as she jumped into the van, anxious to get home to her undeserving pig of a husband. To hell with the wildlife. What about me?

Chapter 52

‘Janey, it’s me. Can you come over here right away?’

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Janey felt the muscles of her jaw automatically tighten.

Confiding her marital problems to Guy had been one thing, but she still considered Thea’s outburst in front of Alan to have been totally out of order. Even if she had been right, it was an unforgivable action.

They hadn’t spoken to each other since. And now here was Thea on the other end of the phone, expecting her to drop everything and rush over to see her. To add insult to injury, it was pouring with rain.

Squish, went the mister spray in Janey’s hand as she aimed it at a three-foot yucca plant.

‘I’m busy,’ she said, stretching past the yucca and giving the azaleas a shower. Squish, squish.

‘What do you want?’

‘I need to see you.’ Thea sounded quite unlike her usual self. ‘Please, Janey.’

Suspecting some kind of ulterior motive, Janey kept her own response guarded. ‘Why?’

‘Because Oliver is dead,’ said Thea quietly, and replaced the receiver.

* * *

He had died the previous evening, without warning, in her bed. Thea, having slipped out of the house at eight o’clock, had gone to the studio and worked for three hours on a new sculpture.

Returning finally with arms aching from the strenuous business of moulding the clay over the chicken-wire framework of the figure, and a glowing sense of achievement because it had all gone so well, she had climbed the stairs to her bedroom and found him. His reading glasses were beside him, resting on her empty pillow. The book he had been reading lay neatly closed on the floor next to the bed. It appeared, said the doctor who had come to the house, that Oliver had dozed off and suffered the stroke in his sleep. He wouldn’t have known a thing about it. All in all, the doctor explained in an attempt to comfort Thea, it was a marvellous way to go.

Thea, wrapped up in a cashmere sweater that still bore the scent of Oliver’s cologne, was huddled in the corner of the tatty, cushion-strewn sofa drinking a vast vodka-martini. There were still traces of dried clay in her hair and beneath her fingernails; her eyes, darker than ever with grief, were red-rimmed from crying.

Having left Paula in charge of the shop, and feeling horribly helpless, Janey helped herself to a vodka to keep her mother company. Their differences forgotten, because her own unhappiness paled into insignificance compared with Thea’s, Janey sat down and put her arms around her.

‘Bloody Oliver.’ Thea sniffed, continuing to gaze at the letter in her lap. ‘I keep thinking I could kill him for doing this to me. How could he keep this kind of thing to himself and not even warn me? Typical of the bloody man...’

She had found it in his wallet, neatly slotted in behind the credit cards. The plain white envelope bore her name. The contents of the letter inside had come as almost more of a shock than his death.

‘Are you sure you want me to read it?’ Janey frowned as her mother handed it to her. ‘Isn’t it private?’

‘Selfish bastard,’ Thea murmured, fishing up her sleeve for a crumpled handkerchief as the tears began to drop once more down her long nose. ‘Of course I want you to read it. How can any man be so selfish?’

Janey recognized the careful, elegant writing she’d noted on Oliver’s visit to her shop as she now read his farewell.

My darling Thea,

Well, if you’re reading this you’ve either been snooping shamelessly or I’m dead. But since I have faith in you, I shall assume the latter.

Now I suppose you’re as mad as hell with me for doing it this way because, yes, I knew it was going to happen in the not-too-distant future. My doctor warned me I was a walking time-bomb. And no, there was nothing that could be done either medically or surgically to prevent it happening. This time even money couldn’t help.

But think about it, sweetheart. Would you really have been happier, knowing the truth? I’m afraid I developed an all-consuming fear that you might try and persuade me to take things easy, maybe even not allowing me to make love to you as often as I liked for fear of overexerting myself What a deeply depressing prospect that would have been. Now perhaps you can begin to understand why I didn’t tell you!

Right, now for something you do already know. I love you, Thea. We may not have had a vast amount of time together but these last months have been the very happiest of my life. When I came to Cornwall, it was to see my grandchildren. How could I ever have guessed I would meet and fall so totally in love with a beautiful, bossy, wonderful woman who loved me in return? And for myself rather than for my money.

If, on the other hand, you’re reading this letter because you stole my wallet and were riffling through my credit cards, I trust you’re now ashamed of yourself That was a joke, sweetheart. No need to rip this letter to shreds. If I can keep my sense of humour, so can you.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but even though my motives were selfish I still feel my decision was the right one to make. If you contact my solicitor (details in the black address book) he will organize the reading of my will. Maybe this will go some way towards making amends.

My darling, I love you so very much.

Oliver.

‘Well,’ said Janey, clearing her throat as she folded the pages of the letter and handed them back to her mother. ‘I think he was right.’

‘Of course he was right.’ With an irritable gesture, Thea wiped her wet face on her sleeve.

‘But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive him. Did he think I wouldn’t want anything to do with him if I’d known he was about to keel over and die?’

‘He’s explained why he didn’t want you to know,’ Janey reminded her. ‘He wanted to enjoy himself without being nagged. He didn’t want you endlessly worrying about him. He didn’t want you to be miserable.’

‘Well I am,’Thea shouted. ‘Bloody miserable! After all these years I finally meet the man I’ve waited for all my life, and he has to go and do this to me. It isn’t fair!’

Nothing she could say, Janey realized, was going to help her mother. All she could do was be there.

‘At least you met him,’ she said, giving Thea another hug. ‘If you hadn’t, think what you would have missed. Surely a few months with Oliver was better than nothing at all?’

‘In a couple of years, maybe I’ll think that.’ Thea passed Janey her empty glass. ‘All I know right now is that it hurts like hell. Get me another drink, darling. A big one. On second thoughts, just give me yours. You have to drive.’

‘It’s OK, Mum. I don’t have to go anywhere.’

‘Yes, you do,’ said Thea. ‘Someone has to tell Guy Cassidy his father is dead. He might not care,’ she added bitterly, ‘but he still has to know.’

Guy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And from Janey, of all people. So much, he decided, for mutual trust.

Maxine had gone to the supermarket and the children were at school. Janey, sitting bolt upright on a kitchen chair with her wet hair plastered to her head, had refused his offer of coffee and had come straight to the point. She was also, very obviously, on Thea’s side.

‘So what you’re telling me,’ said Guy evenly, ‘is that your mother has been having an affair with my father. They’ve practically been living together. And you knew all about it.’

He was clearly angry. And Thea had been right, thought Janey. The fact that Oliver was dead wasn’t what was bothering him. The anger was directed solely at her.

‘I found out about it, yes.’ Struggling to curb her impatience, she pushed a damp strand of hair away from her eye. ‘But is that really important? OK, so you had a quarrel with him years ago but that’s over now. Guy, your father died last night. Josh and Ella will be upset even if you aren’t.’

‘You knew where he was all the time.’ It was as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘And you didn’t tell me.’

Janey’s dark eyes flashed. The contrast between Thea’s terrible grief and this total lack of concern couldn’t have been more marked. ‘I thought about telling you,’ she said coldly. ‘And I decided against it. I’m glad now that I did.’

‘Did what?’ Maxine, buckling under the weight of six carrier bags, and even more sodden and bedraggled than Janey, appeared in the doorway. ‘Am I interrupting something personal here?’ Her eyebrows creased in suspicion. ‘Are you talking about me?’

Guy, assuming that Maxine was in on it too, didn’t say anything.

‘Oliver Cassidy died last night,’ Janey told her.

‘Oh my God, you’re not serious!’ For a moment, Maxine looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh orcry. One of the carrier bags dropped to the floor with an ominous crash.

‘No, it’s a joke,’ snapped Guy.

‘So he wasn’t lying,’ Maxine wailed. ‘I knew he wouldn’t lie to me! Bloody Bruno . !’

‘What?’ Guy demanded, sensing that he hadn’t heard anything yet. He glared at Maxine.

‘Come on, out with it! What else has been going on that I don’t know about?’

Jesus,’ he sighed, when she had finished telling him.

‘Oh calm down.’ Maxine, having rummaged energetically through every carrier, finally located the chocolate digestives. ‘He’s dead now, so what does it matter? I’m just glad I let him see the kids,’ she added with renewed defiance. ‘Go on, have a biscuit.’

It was like a jigsaw puzzle, thought Guy. Everyone had been holding different pieces.

Maxine’s story was clearly news to Janey.

But the oddness of Janey’s presence in the house had apparently only just struck Maxine.

Turning to her sister and speaking through a mouthful of biscuit, she said, ‘I don’t understand.

Why are you here?’

‘Janey came to tell me about my father.’ Guy couldn’t resist it. It was, he decided, his turn to spring a surprise. Maxine frowned. ‘But how did she know?’

‘Your mother sent her over here.’ His eyes glittered with malicious pleasure. ‘My father, you see, was in her bed when he died.’

The funeral took place three days later. With typical thoroughness and attention to detail, Oliver Cassidy had made all the arrangements himself. Even he, however, hadn’t been able to organize the weather, which had gone from bad to atrocious. Trezale churchyard, cruelly exposed to the elements, was awash with freezing rain. The small funeral party had to struggle to stay standing against the force of the bitter, north-westerly gales as Oliver’s coffin was lowered slowly into the ground.

Back at Thea’s house afterwards, the sitting room was warm but the atmosphere remained distinctly chilly. Guy, barely speaking to anyone, looked bored. Douglas Burke, Oliver’s solicitor, had travelled down from Bristol to preside over the reading of the will as instructed by his late client and was anxious to get it over with so that he might return home to his extremely pregnant wife. Thea was desperately trying to contain her grief. Only the presence of Ella and Josh, who had insisted on attending the funeral, brightened the proceedings at all.

‘At least the food’s cheerful,’ Maxine murmured in Janey’s ear. Oliver had organized that too, making a private arrangement with the head chef from the Grand Rock where he had retained a room until the end though seldom visiting it. The hors d’oeuvres, arranged on silver platters, were ludicrously over the top; each stuffed cherry tomato had been precision carved, each quail’s egg painstakingly studded with caviar. The sculptured smoked-salmon mousse, a work of art in itself, could have graced a plinth in the Tate Gallery. The champagne was Taittinger.

‘There’s only us,’ Janey fretted. ‘It doesn’t seem right, but the solicitor insisted it was what Oliver wanted.’

She had phoned him herself, on her mother’s behalf. Her suggestion that an announcement should he placed in the Telegraph had been firmly rebuffed. Not until after the funeral, Oliver had apparently instructed. He didn’t want his gaggle of ex-wives descending on Trezale and upsetting Thea.

‘Look at Guy,’ whispered Maxine, giving him a mischievous wink just to annoy him.

‘Moody sod.’

‘I don’t think he’s ever going to speak to me again.’ Janey tried to sound as if she couldn’t care less. ‘He said I’d betrayed him.’

‘I suppose we all did.’ Maxine grinned. ‘I still think it’s funny. It was like a mass conspiracy, except none of us realized we were all separately involved.’

‘Poor Oliver. Poor Mum,’ sighed Janey, toying idly with an asparagus canapé she didn’t have the heart to eat.

‘At least you’re back on speaking terms,’ Maxine consoled her. ‘That’s one family feud nipped in the bud. Speaking of which,’ she added, ‘how are things going with you and Alan?’

Speaking of conspiracies, thought Janey dryly .. . Aloud she said, ‘Oh, fine.’

The will reading lasted less than fifteen minutes. Simply and concisely, Oliver had divided his amassed fortune into three equal parts, making Thea, Josh and Ella instant millionaires. Thea, by this time beyond tears, called Oliver a bastard and said she didn’t want his stinking, lousy, rotten money. Josh and Ella, entranced both by her thrilling choice of words and by the prospect of such unimaginable riches, were less than overjoyed to learn that their own inheritances were to be held in trust until they were twenty-one.

‘Bugger,’ pouted Ella, because if Thea could swear, so could she. ‘Twenty-one’s ancient.

I’ll be too old to ride a horse by then.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Maxine, fastening her into her emerald-green coat, winked at Janey. ‘You’ll be able to treat yourself to a solid gold Zimmer frame.’

‘Dad didn’t get any money.’ Josh looked thoughtful. ‘Does that mean we’re richer than he is now?’

Guy, darkly handsome and decidedly impatient, was already waiting at the front door to take them home. Janey, pretending she hadn’t noticed him there, bent down and gave Josh a hug.

‘Probably. Just think, you may have to start giving him pocket money in future.’

‘But only if he makes his bed and washes the car.’ Josh beamed at her, highly diverted by the prospect. Then, sounding startled, he said, ‘Oh!’

His gaze had dropped. He was no longer looking at her face.

Janey, smiling, said, ‘What?’

‘Um ... nothing.’ Josh’s long-lashed blue eyes clouded with confusion as natural good manners vied with surprise. Tentatively, he reached out and touched the sleeve of her ivory silk shirt. ‘You’re wearing Mummy’s bracelet, that’s all.’

‘Janey!’ wailed Ella, barging past and almost knocking him down. ‘Maxine won’t tell me.

What’s a Zimmer frame?’

Chapter 53

It was ten o’clock in the evening by the time Janey let herself into the flat. Alan, for once not out at the surf club, had fallen asleep in front of the television with the gas fire blazing and both living-room windows wide open. Three empty lager cans and the remains of an Indian takeaway littered the coffee table upon which his feet were propped.

In the dim light, his enviable cheekbones seemed more pronounced and the corners of his mouth appeared to curve upwards as if in secret amusement. His blond hair gleamed and his eyelashes, not blond but dark, cast twin shadows upon his cheeks. Watching him sleep, Janey wondered how anyone could look so beautiful – almost angelic – and still snore like a pig.

He woke with a start when she switched off the television.

‘Oh. You’re back.’ Rubbing his eyes, he pushed himself into a sitting position. As Janey bent to pick up the empty cans, he added, ‘Leave that, I’ll do it in a minute. So how did it go this afternoon?’

‘Like a funeral.’ Since Alan’s idea of ‘in a minute’ was more like next weekend, she continued piling the empty curry and rice containers on to his dirty plate. In the kitchen the sink was crammed with more unwashed plates and coffee mugs, and the sugar bowl had been tipped over, spilling its contents on to the floor. Sugar crunched beneath her feet as she chucked the lager cans one by one into the bin.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll clear it up,’ Alan called from the living room. ‘How’s Thea, OK now?’

‘Oh, absolutely fine.’ Janey wondered if he had any idea what a stupid question that was.

‘She’s almost forgotten what he even looked like.’

Alan appeared in the doorway, looking shamefaced. ‘Hey, no need to snap. You know what I meant.’

‘She’ll get through it,’ said Janey briefly.

‘Come on, sit down and relax. You look exhausted.’ He took her hand and the bracelet –

Véronique’s bracelet, thought Janey – brushed against his wrist. When Alan had remarked upon it last week she’d simply told him that it had been a birthday present and he had assumed she’d had it for years.

‘So what’s the news?’ he asked, when Janey had shrugged off her coat. ‘You said the solicitor was coming down to read the will; that’s unusual nowadays isn’t it? Did Thea get anything?’

She looked at him. ‘Any what?’

‘Sweetheart, you aren’t even listening to me!’ Smiling and shaking his head in gentle reproach, Alan opened another can of lager. ‘I asked you if he left Thea anything in the will.

After all, from what you told me he seemed pretty smitten. The least he could do was show his appreciation with a nice little legacy.’

‘He did,’ said Janey tonelessly.

‘Well, how much?’

‘About one and a half.’

‘Thousand?’ Alan. looked faintly disappointed. ‘That’s not much. I thought he was supposed to be loaded.’

‘One and a half million,’ said Janey.

After the endless, churning turmoil of the past weeks, finally making the decision was easy.

Having listened to Alan for over an hour now, Janey knew it couldn’t go on any longer. Whilst he had been crowing over her mother’s inheritance and excitedly planning how they should spend the money Thea was bound to hand out to Maxine and herself, she had reached the point of no return. His shameless assumptions both appalled and sickened her. His greed revolted her.

The realization that she was about to do what she had told Guy Cassidy she could never risk doing, left her feeling ... well, Janey wasn’t quite sure how she felt; presumably that would come later. Right now, all she had to do was say the words.

‘... and we could do with a decent car,’ he went on, waving dismissively in the direction of the window overlooking the high street. ‘The van’s OK for carting flowers around but it’s hardly what you’d call stylish. How about a soft-top for next summer, sweetheart? Something with a bit of go in it?’

‘Look.’ Janey, unable to contain herself any longer, said evenly, ‘Oliver Cassidy left that money to my mother. Not to me, and not to you. I don’t know how you can even think you have any right to a share in it.’

‘Janey, all I’m saying is that Thea is bound to want you to share her good fortune!’ Alan looked hurt. ‘You need a holiday, you need a decent car; I’m just trying to advise you.’ He paused, then broke into a grin. ‘And of course you’ll want to take somebody to Barbados with you, to rub all that Ambre Solaire on to those gorgeous shoulders of yours ...’

Her heart began to race. ‘Alan, I don’t want my mother to give me any money and I’m not planning any holidays. But if someone came up to me in the street tomorrow and handed me two free tickets to Barbados, I wouldn’t take you anyway. I’d take Maxine.’

‘You’re upset.’ He nodded understandingly. ‘This funeral’s taken it out of you. Come on, you should be in bed.’

‘I’m not upset.’ Janey was starting to shake. ‘I just don’t want this to go on any longer. It isn’t working, Alan. You said we needed time to get used to each other again. Well, I’ve had enough time to know that it isn’t going to happen.’

He stared at her. As stunned, she realized, as if he had found her walking stark naked down the high street.

‘Sweetheart,’ he protested finally, ‘what are you talking about?’

‘Us.’ The time had come to be brutal. She mustn’t allow him to wheedle his way around her. ‘This marriage. I don’t want to carry on. I don’t want to be married to you any more. You told me I’d changed, and I have. I’m sorry, Alan, but that’s it. You’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.’

And somebody else to support you, she thought wearily. Guy had been right; Alan was a user and a taker. She just hoped he had been right about the other matter, too...

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’ Alan was very still, his eyes narrowed, his voice scarily low.

I can’t believe I’m saying it, Janey thought, biting her lip and wishing he wouldn’t stare at her like that. But she had to stick to her guns.

‘I mean it.’

‘Good God, woman! I came back here because I couldn’t live without you! You welcomed me back with open arms ... how can you change your mind just like that? What have I done that’s so terrible?’

‘Nothing’ Janey fought to stay calm. ‘You haven’t done anything terrible. I don’t love you any more, that’s all.’

But he was shaking his head. ‘No. no. It doesn’t work like that. I want the real reason.’

‘OK, fine.’ She held up her hand and began counting the real reasons off on her fingers.

‘You haven’t bothered to look for a job. You expect me to pay for everything. You endlessly take me for granted. You want my mother to give me money so you can spend it. And,’ she concluded heavily, ‘you forgot my birthday.’

He blinked. ‘Any more?’

‘Yes,’ snapped Janey, for the hell of it. ‘You snore.’

‘I see.’ Alan’s smile was bleak. ‘Oh yes, I definitely see. Your mother’s the one behind all this, isn’t she? That old bitch put you up to it. What did she do, threaten to cut you off without a penny if you didn’t dump me?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Enraged by his nastiness, yet at the same time almost welcoming it because it was so much easier to deal with than threats of suicide, Janey rounded on him. Her brown eyes blazed. ‘You’re the one who was so intent on getting your hands on that money! And no, Mum hasn’t so much as mentioned your name, so don’t even think she has anything to do with this. My mother has more important things on her mind than you, just at the minute.’ She paused, then added icily, ‘This is my decision. All my own work. And since I’ve already made up my mind, there’s no point in even trying to argue. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner you leave, the better.’

Alan’s shoulders slumped. The anger in his eyes faded, to be replaced by resignation. ‘So that’s it,’ he murmured with infinite sadness. ‘It’s all over.’

Janey, scarcely daring to breathe, nodded.

‘Oh well, it was always on the cards, I suppose. Stupid of me.’ He shook his head. ‘I geared myself up to this before coming back, and now I have to get used to the idea all over again.

Somehow it’s even harder, this time...’

Guy had been right, Janey reminded herself, gritting her teeth. It was emotional blackmail, pure and simple. Alan wouldn’t really do anything drastic.

.. like thinking you’re going to the electric chair, being reprieved, then being told that it was just a joke, you’re going to get it after all.’

‘I’m not sending you to the electric chair,’ she said quietly.

‘Aren’t you?’ He reached for her hand. Janey, I love you. Where would I go, what kind of future do I have without you? What would be the point of anything?’

‘Stop it.’ Sick with fear that he might actually mean what he was saying, Janey prayed she was doing the right thing. ‘You mustn’t say that.’

‘Why not? I’m thinking it. Jesus,’ Alan sighed, squeezing her hand so hard she felt her fingers go numb. ‘I’ve thought of nothing else for the past two years. All I wanted was to be with you, Janey. God knows, I’m not perfect ... I’ve tried to get a job, but there just haven’t been any around. And I’m sorry about that. And I know I don’t always do the washing up, but it’s hardly a reason to end a marriage! Maybe I don’t deserve you,’ he murmured brokenly, ‘but I do love you. Let me prove it, sweetheart. Give me one last chance and I’ll turn over a new leaf, I swear I will. I’ll make you happy.’

‘No,’ said Janey. ‘I told you, I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t care what you do from now on. I’m not responsible for you any more. The answer’s still no.’

‘You callous bitch.’ Abruptly, he dropped her hand and pushed it away, his jaw set and a vein thudding in his cheek. ‘OK. If that’s what you want, I’ll go. But I hope you realize what you’re doing. You could end up regretting this, Janey. In a very big way indeed.’

Maxine, stretched out across Janey’s settee with her hands behind her head, wiggled her toes in time to the jingle advertising a new chocolate bar. Nobody was allowed to watch BBC

any more. Every time the commercials came on, her attention began to wander in anticipation.

When the Babysoft commercial was shown, she stopped whatever she was doing in order to gaze, entranced, at herself on the television screen.

‘Damn, the film’s starting again! Maybe it’ll be on in the next break. Now what was ‘I saying ... ?’

‘You were telling me to relax,’ said Janey helpfully, ‘and to stop worrying about Alan.’

‘Exactly. Look, kicking him out was the best thing you ever did. This should be the happiest time of your life, darling! You came to your senses, gave him the old heave-ho and now you can start afresh. He’s out of your system,’ she added forcefully. ‘You’re free at last! I can’t understand why you should even care what happens to him. When did that bastard ever show any consideration for you, after all?’

Janey hadn’t expected her sister to understand. When she had tried to relay her fears, Maxine had howled with laughter and said, ‘You should be so lucky.’

The trouble was, wanting to put the whole miserable affair behind her was easier said than done. How could she even begin to relax when every time the phone rang she leapt a mile, petrified it might be the police ... the hospital ... Alan himself, with a stomachful of pills?

It had been a week now since he’d left. He was staying with Jan and André Covel, sleeping on the living-room floor of their tiny flat. Conditions, it appeared, were less than ideal; Jan wasn’t happy about the set-up, he had grimly informed Janey when he had returned to pick up the last of his few possessions. Still, it was better than a sleeping bag on the beach. And it probably wouldn’t be for very long .. .

‘You’re well rid of him,’ Maxine declared, stretching out for the remote control and flipping over to Channel 4 in search of more commercials. ‘And think how nice it is to have the place to yourself again. Got any more chocolate Hobnobs, Janey, or was that the last packet?’

Janey couldn’t help smiling. Maxine, draped across the sofa like Cleopatra, waving an empty biscuit wrapper and hogging the remote control, could almost be Alan. And since Bruno had started work at the Grand Rock ten days earlier – his shifts clashing cruelly with Maxine’s own precious time off – she had been turning up more and more often at the flat.

‘Oh yes, it’s great, having the place to myself,’ Janey said mildly. ‘And yes, we’re out of Hobnobs. What time does Bruno finish tonight?’

Maxine, busy emptying crumbs into the palm of her hand, looked gloomy. ‘When the last punter leaves. You wouldn’t believe how long some people can just sit there, nursing a lousy cup of coffee. I’m sure they do it out of spite.’

‘But you two are still OK?’ She couldn’t imagine how Maxine’s chaotic ways must be affecting Bruno.

‘More than OK.’ Maxine, having licked up the last of the crumbs, stretched luxuriously.

‘We’re talking blissful. It’s like being on a permanent honeymoon without the bother of being married ... except he keeps wanting us to get married. Now will you look at that – one pink sock and one orange one. Why on earth didn’t I notice that before?’

‘Are you going to marry him?’ asked Janey curiously.

‘I don’t know. We’ll see.’ Maxine shrugged and flicked back her blond hair. ‘It’s going well, but I don’t see the point of rushing into anything drastic. It doesn’t do him any harm to keep him in suspense. Besides, who knows what might happen now my career’s taking off? The last thing I need is to be tied down ...’

And Alan called me a callous bitch, thought Janey, marvelling at her sister’s laissez faire attitude.

‘So when he asks you to marry him and you refuse,’ she said, deeply intrigued ‘what does Bruno do?’

‘What can he do?’ Maxine countered with a casual shrug. ‘Apart from hope for better luck next time. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to death, but he’s hardly in a position to argue. My career comes first and he knows that.’ She hesitated, looking thoughtful. ‘Does that sound selfish?’

Janey, filled with admiration, said, ‘Yes.’

‘Oh well.’ Maxine broke into an unrepentant grin. ‘Never mind. A bit of suffering never hurt anyone, especially Bruno.’

Chapter 54

The build-up to Christmas was starting. Business in the shop was brisk and orders were already flooding in. Janey, thanking her lucky stars for ever-reliable Paula, was snowed under with requests for Christmas wreaths, table decorations and pot-et-fleur arrangements. Mistletoe was going down a bomb with teenagers whom she otherwise never saw from one year to the next.

Paula was out making the morning’s deliveries and Janey, armed with leather gloves and secateurs, was battling her way through a mountain of holly when the shop door opened and a tall, dark-haired girl came in carrying a baby. The girl, elegantly attired in an expensive caramel leather jacket, black trousers and low-heeled black and tan boots, sported a great deal of make-up and reeked of perfume. The baby, presumably a boy, was bundled up in a navy snowsuit and a blue-and-white striped bobble hat. Wisps of ash-blond hair were plastered to his forehead and he had the most adorable blue eyes Janey had ever seen.

The girl, who looked to he in her mid-twenties, seemed nervous. It was with some relief that Janey abandoned the holly and peeled off her gloves.

‘Hi.’ She waved at the little boy and smiled at his mother. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Um ... well, I hope so.’ Long, heavily mascaraed eyelashes batted with agitation. Stalling for time, she glanced around at the hanging baskets strung from the ceiling. The baby, sensing inattention and seizing the moment, made a grab for a nearby trailing ivy frond. The terracotta pot from which it grew was dragged with an ominous grating sound from its shelf. The next moment, before anyone had a chance to move, it had crashed into a bucket of freesias, scattering leaves and compost over the tiled floor. Startled, the baby promptly let out an earsplitting wail.

‘Oh no,’ cried his mother. ‘Oh hell! I’m so sorry ...’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Gently, Janey disentangled the long tendril of ivy from the baby’s chubby clenched fist. By some miracle the terracotta pot hadn’t broken. There was a mess, but not an expensive mess.

‘I’ll pay for the damage.’ Shifting the baby from one hip to the other, the girl rummaged frantically in her shoulder hag for her purse. ‘I really am sorry. Are the freesias a write-off too?’

She was shaking, Janey noticed. Bending down, swiftly retrieving the pot from its resting place amongst the poor battered freesias, she shook her head and smiled.

‘It’s OK, they were on their last legs anyway. I was going to bin them tonight. And look, the pot’s fine.’ She held it up for inspection. ‘No problems, honestly. You don’t have to pay for anything.’

The baby had by this time stopped yelling. After regarding Janey for some seconds with solemn intensity, he broke into a sudden beaming grin.

‘Oh God,’ said the girl, still distressed. ‘You’re being so nice about this. It doesn’t make it any easier for me.’

‘It was an accident,’ janey protested. ‘What were you expecting me to do, dial 999?’

‘I don’t mean the pot.’ She hesitated, flicking back her glossy dark hair. ‘It’s taken me weeks to pluck up the courage to come here ... and I’m afraid you aren’t going to like the reason why.’

Janey frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You are Mrs Sinclair, aren’t you?’ said the girl nervously, and Janey nodded again.

‘Well my name’s Anna Fox.’ She waited, then shook her head. ‘I suppose that doesn’t ring any bells?’

The baby, apparently entranced by the gold buttons on Janey’s sweater, squealed with delight and made a futile grab for them.

‘Sorry?’ said Janey, puzzled.

‘Oh dear, this is even more difficult than I thought.’ Two spots of bright colour appeared on the girl’s cheeks. ‘Look, it was Alan I really came to see. Your ... um .. . husband. Maybe it would be easier if he explained.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘Is he around at the moment?’

In less than a split second it all became clear. Stunned, Janey clutched the counter for support. The baby, chuckling with delight, revealed two pearly teeth and vast amounts of pink gum. How curious, she thought irrelevantly, that such a grin could be so irresistible. Any adult with only two teeth in his head would never get away with it.

Anna Fox bit her lip, her dark eyes bright with a mixture of pride and regret. ‘I really am sorry,’ she sighed. ‘I did say it wasn’t going to be easy. You must think I’m a complete bitch.’

The door swung open. Paula, like the cavalry, had arrived in the nick of time.

‘Dear old Mrs McKenzie-Smith burst into tears when I arrived with her bouquet,’ she announced cheerfully. ‘It’s her golden wedding anniversary and this is the first time her husband’s ever given her flowers. Hello, gorgeous,’ she went on, wiggling stubby fingers at the wide-eyed baby. ‘Oh I say, what a lovely smile! What’s your name then?’

‘Good, you’re back,’ said Janey hurriedly. ‘Paula, can you take over here? We’re going upstairs for a while ...’

‘His name’s Justin,’ said Anna, fumbling with the zip as she struggled to get him out of his snowsuit. With a defensive glance in Janey’s direction she added, ‘He’s ten months old.’

Janey, who had switched the kettle on, was now leaning in the kitchen doorway whilst she waited for it to boil.

‘Does he say anything yet?’

Anna pulled a face. ‘Only "Da".’

‘Da!’ Justin exclaimed in delighted recognition. ‘Da da da. Da!’

‘Ma,’ prompted Anna, embarrassed, and he beamed. ‘Mmm ... Da!’

‘This is crazy,’ said Janey, giving up on the kettle and sitting down. ‘Here you are feeling sorry for me, and I’m feeling sorry for you. Look, Alan doesn’t live here. We aren’t ... together, anymore. I can’t say I’m not stunned by all this, but you haven’t upset me. In a weird kind of way, it’s the best news I’ve had in years.’

‘Really?’ Anna’s eyes promptly filled with tears as astonishment mingled with overwhelming relief. ‘Oh my goodness, I’m so glad ... oh dear, now my mascara’s going to run.’

Janey passed her a box of tissues. The baby, half in and half out of his snowsuit, was wriggling like an eel.

‘Here, let me take him,’ she offered, as Anna struggled to blow her nose and hold him on her lap at the same time. ‘You don’t have enough hands.’

‘You really and truly don’t mind?’ said Anna, sniffing loudly.

Janey smiled. ‘Of course not. I like babies.’

‘I mean about me and Alan.’ She bit her lip. ‘I still feel dreadful, springing this on you.’

‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that you did,’ Janey assured her, from the heart. ‘Listen, I kicked him out. He didn’t want to leave ...’ She hesitated, then shrugged and said simply, ‘Well, now ‘I know, I don’t have to feel guilty any more. You can’t imagine what a relief that is.’

‘We only went along as a kind of joke,’ Anna explained, clutching her cup of coffee and looking defiant. ‘It wasn’t as if I was desperate or anything, but my friend Elaine had been answering ads in the Personal columns without much luck, and I said why didn’t she try a singles bar instead. Well, she found this new one advertised in Time Out and dragged me along to keep her company. I didn’t even want to go, but she’s such a nag. That’s probably why her boyfriends never last longer than a week,’ she added with a smile. Janey, who privately felt Personal columns and singles bars had a lot to answer for, gave her an encouraging nod.

‘Well, the moment we got to this place in Kensington she spotted Alan and liked the look of him. He came over, started chatting ... and that was how it all started. Elaine was furious with me of course, but what could ‘I do? He was so handsome and charming that when he asked for my phone number at the end of the night ‘I gave it to him. He wasn’t the least bit interested in Elaine.’ She looked at Janey. ‘Now, of course, I wish he had been.’

‘And that was when?’ Janey silently marvelled at the story Alan had concocted about Glasgow and Manchester.

‘The February before last. Nearly two years ago.’

Janey nodded. He hadn’t wasted much time, then. So much for the Scottish cockroaches and seedy bedsitters. ‘OK, go on.’

‘Well, he just kind of moved in with me.’ Anna looked helpless. ‘I suppose I was pretty gullible but somehow ‘I didn’t even twig that he might be taking advantage of me. When you’re madly in love, you don’t think of things like that. My house, you see, was left to me by an aunt, so money wasn’t a problem. I had a good job in advertising, and it was just so lovely having someone to come home to at the end of the day. To begin with, he used to do odd bits around the house: chucking clothes into the washing machine, cooking the occasional meal. And I thought that was so great! After a few months, of course, it started petering out.’ Anna paused, then took a deep breath. ‘Elaine had been making sarcastic remarks all along, but I’d dismissed them as jealousy. Just as I was beginning to think maybe she had a point after all, I found out I was pregnant.’

‘Great timing,’ said Janey sardonically.

‘Yes, well. Blame it on the hormones, but the idea of coping with a baby on my own scared me witless. I managed to persuade myself that Alan wasn’t so bad after all. I wanted him to marry me,’ she said with a self-deprecating shrug. ‘That was when I found out he wasn’t actually divorced.’

‘So he talked about me?’

‘Not really. He just told me you were separated.’

Janey, amazed how easy it was to remain calm, murmured, ‘What a shame be couldn’t have told me.’

‘You didn’t know?’ Anna’s dark eyebrows shot up. ‘I mean ... he was your husband! What did you think, that he was working abroad or something?’

‘I didn’t know what to think,’ Janey replied. ‘He just disappeared. I thought he was dead.’

Shaking her head in disbelief, Anna reached into her bag and took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Oh well, why should that surprise me?’ She gestured wearily with the box of matches. ‘He did the same to me, after all.’

‘Finish the story,’ said Janey. ‘He couldn’t marry you because he wasn’t divorced. So what happened after that?’

‘Nothing much.’ Anna gazed at the smoke spiralling towards the ceiling. ‘We didn’t get married. I gave up work and had the baby. Alan started going out more and more often because he said he couldn’t stand the bloody noise of bloody crying, and eight weeks ago he upped and left. We’d had an awful row the night before,’ she explained. ‘The next morning, I took Justin to the clinic for one of his routine check-ups. By the time we got back two hours later, Alan had moved out.’

‘No note?’

Anna, smiling briefly, shook her head. ‘No note. But he’d threatened to leave and his clothes had gone. So I knew he wasn’t dead.’

‘But you did know where to find him?’ Janey was deeply intrigued. Hadn’t it even occurred to Alan that, for whatever reason, Anna might want to get in touch with him? Did he seriously expect to get away with it a second time when there was a baby to consider?

‘Ah, but he didn’t know I knew.’ Folding her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray, Anna pushed back her hair and glanced across at Justin to make sure he’d fallen asleep. ‘All Alan ever told me about you was that you had a flower shop, and that you lived above it. When I asked where, he just said somewhere in Cornwall. One night though, he came home really drunk. We had a massive argument and Alan said if I wasn’t careful he’d go home to Trezale. The next morning,’ she added, ‘he had a thumping hangover and couldn’t even remember the row. I don’t know why I did it but I wrote "Trezale" down in the back of my diary.’

‘So you came all the way down here from London, just on the off-chance?’

‘Gosh no. I did a bit of Miss Marpleing first.’ Anna smiled. ‘I called Directory Enquiries, got the numbers of all the Sinclairs and started ringing them, asking if they were the florist. The third person I spoke to told me the name of your shop, which meant I could phone Enquiries again and get your number ... which in turn matched up with the next one on my list. All I had to do then was call you and ask to speak to Alan. Actually, I spoke to your assistant. But she just said Alan had gone out for the afternoon, so then I knew he was living back here, with you. That was a few weeks ago, of course,’ she concluded. ‘Before you booted him out.’

‘Clever,’ said Janey. ‘He’s still living in Trezale, by the way. I can give you the address.’

She paused, still curious. ‘So why have you come down here? Do you want him back?’

The baby stirred in his sleep, stretching his arms and briefly clenching his tiny fists.

‘God no,’ said Anna, running a gentle finger over his cheek. ‘I just didn’t want him to think he could get away with it.’ Her eyes bright with defiance, she added, ‘I wanted you to know what a bastard he was, too. For your own protection, not just to be mean. I suppose I needed to make him realize he couldn’t go around treating women like dirt.’

‘Well, thanks.’ Janey smiled. ‘I’m glad you did. I only wish you could have turned up a few weeks earlier.’

‘You were really feeling guilty?’

She nodded. ‘He’s a convincing liar, as well as a bastard. He made me feel guilty. Oh ... the relief of knowing I can stop!’

Anna said mischievously, ‘Do you want to come with me when I go to see him? Would that be fun?’

‘I’ve got an even better idea.’ Janey broke into a grin. Reaching across the table, she picked up the phone. ‘Why put ourselves out? Why don’t I give him a ring and ask him to come over here?’

It was like exorcizing a ghost, only more fun. Janey, who hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for years, made the phone call and issued the invitation in a voice overflowing with sultry promise. Alan, instantly assuming that she had come to her senses and realized she couldn’t live without him, was delighted and only too happy to forgive her.

Within twenty minutes of putting the phone down he arrived, jaunty, freshly showered and bright-eyed with anticipation, on her doorstep. Janey and Anna, peeping out from behind the curtains, marvelled at the indestructible nerve of the man and struggled not to laugh out loud.

‘Come on up,’ Janey called huskily down the stairs when Alan had rung the bell. ‘Door’s open.’

The next moment, having rushed upstairs two at a time, he appeared in the living-room doorway. The expression on his face when he saw who else was waiting for him was out of this world. Indescribable, thought Janey. Better than sex .. .

‘Surprise, darling,’ said Anna brightly. Lifting her face, she sniffed the air. ‘Oh how sweet,’

she added, turning to Janey. ‘He’s wearing my favourite aftershave. Isn’t that a thoughtful touch?’

Alan looked like a cornered animal, Janey decided, the flickering narrowed eyes reflecting his fury at having been caught out. Having come here expecting reconciliation, he had been made to look foolish instead. In a small way, they had succeeded in turning the tables. This time, he was the one facing humiliating rejection.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he hissed at Anna, but the trembling, nerve-racked girl who had entered the shop an hour earlier, inspired by Janey’s lead, had undergone an almost magical transformation.

Now, casually confident, she gave him a sweet smile. ‘It was urgent, darling. Remember that competition I entered you for? Well, they phoned. You’ve been short-listed for the finals.’

This was so far removed from the reply he’d been expecting, Alan couldn’t take it in.

‘What?’ He stared at her, confused. ‘What competition?’

‘Don’t you remember, sweetheart?’ Anna protested good-naturedly. ‘Father of the Year.’

Caught yet again, made to look even more foolish, he snarled, ‘Oh, clever. Ha bloody ha.

How did you find me, anyway?’

‘Easy,’ Janey murmured in an undertone. ‘Just follow the trail of aftershave.’

Alan rounded on her. ‘And you can shut up, spiteful bloody bitch. Was this your idea? I suppose you think it’s funny.’

Janey’s gaze fell briefly on the still-sleeping Justin. If she had her way, Alan would be indelibly tattooed -- in the appropriate place — with a government health warning so that in future at least other women could be spared. Any minute now, no doubt, he would storm out of the flat.

Oh well, she thought, at least they could make the most of the opportunity while they still had it.

‘Funny?’ With a quizzical glance in Anna’s direction, she shook her head. ‘Oh no, Alan; you’re way too sad to be funny. In fact I’d probably call you pathetic. How about you Anna, any other suggestions spring immediately to mind?’

‘Gosh!’ declared Anna, her dark eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘I can think of loads ...’

‘Goodness, I enjoyed that,’ Anna said happily when Alan had left, almost taking the door off its hinges as he went. ‘How do you feel?’

Janey heaved a sigh of pleasure. ‘Free.’

‘Me too. Here we are, young, free and single. Not to mention starving ...’

The baby, who had slept peacefully through the whole showdown, began to stretch and stir.

‘Come on,’ said Janey, feeling the need to celebrate. ‘My treat. Let’s go somewhere wonderful for lunch.’

Chapter 55

The first week of January was always the quietest of the year. Nobody wanted to buy flowers, nobody was getting married ... or even dying. Janey, alone in the empty shop, was perched on a stool twiddling her hair around her fingers and reading an old magazine when the door bell went and Guy walked in.

It was awful; her heart almost leapt into her throat at the unexpected sight of him. Having taken Josh and Ella to Klosters for a fortnight’s skiing over Christmas and the New Year, he was incredibly tanned. The contrast between grey Trezale and Guy Cassidy — brown and breathtakingly handsome in a white shirt and faded, close-fitting Levi’s -- couldn’t have been more marked. His eyes seemed bluer than she remembered, the teeth whiter, those faultless cheekbones more pronounced. Damn, be even smelled wonderful .. .

Hastily shovelling the magazine under the counter, Janey prayed she didn’t look as overawed by his glamour as she felt. Not having seen Guy since the day of his father’s funeral, when she had made the excruciating discovery about the bracelet, she had no idea what to expect now.

His smile was brief. ‘Hi. Good Christmas?’

‘Fabulous,’ said Janey. She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic but that was how it came out.

With Guy and family away in Switzerland, Maxine and Bruno had closeted themselves in Mole Cottage and – according to Maxine – had spent the week screwing themselves into a blissful stupor. With only a grieving mother for company, it hadn’t been the jolliest of times for Janey.

As far as she was concerned it had been a festive season to forget.

Guy, however, detected the raw edge to her voice.

‘Well,’ he said, softening slightly, ‘maybe this will cheer you up. Childsafe are launching their campaign next week. They’re holding a charity ball at the Grosvenor House Hotel. The organizers chose to go with the shot I submitted so if you can stand the thought of being surrounded by a million posters of yourself, you’d better start thinking what to wear.’

He handed Janey a thick, silver-embossed invitation. Gazing at it, the words ‘For two people’ leapt out at her.

‘Um ... I don’t have anyone to take with me.’ Hating having to say it, she mumbled the words in an apologetic undertone.

Guy smiled. ‘Actually this is my invite. It seemed only fair to ask you to be my partner.’

‘Oh.’ Her stomach took a spiralling dive.

‘It’s next Friday,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ll have to get Paula to take over here. I thought we’d fly up around lunchtime, spend the night at the hotel and come back on Saturday morning.’

‘I see,’ said Janey cautiously, ‘How much are the rooms?’

Guy’s eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Don’t panic, that’s already been taken care of. All you have to do is chuck an evening dress into a suitcase.’

She hesitated. ‘Right.’

‘You do have an evening dress?’ He looked concerned. The thought had evidently only just struck him.

Janey, feeling more and more like a decidedly second-rate Cinderella, experienced a surge of resentment. Maybe, she thought crossly, he’d like to take care of that too.

‘Of course I do,’ she lied smoothly, lifting her chin in defiance. ‘No need to panic. I won’t turn up in anything Crimplene.’

Whilst it was perfectly acceptable for Maxine to drool over Mel Gibson, developing a crush on someone you knew was somehow infinitely more embarrassing. Janey, unhappily contemplating her own schoolgirlish infatuation with Guy, couldn’t believe how juvenile she was being. She didn’t even know why it should suddenly have happened, anyway. For months she’d been fine, then ... wham! ... one full-blown crush, sprung up from nowhere, threatening to make her look even more of an idiot than she already felt.

It must be because of Alan, she told herself; some bizarre kind of reaction to being properly single again. Whatever, it was deeply and horribly humiliating.

‘Who’s that?’ said Paula, peering over her shoulder. Janey, who hadn’t realized she’d come up behind her, jumped a mile.

‘Just some old magazine.’ Hastily, she tried to turn the page. ‘I found it under the counter.’

‘It’s Guy!’ Paula, ever helpful, pointed him out. ‘Oh look, he’s with Valentina di Angelo ...

isn’t she stunning? You must be so excited about Friday,’ she added dreamily. ‘Imagine, going to a ball with Guy Cassidy. Everyone will think you’re a couple. By this time next week, you could be splashed across the pages of some gossip column ... what are you wearing, by the way?

Have you decided yet? Not lime-green cycling shorts, I hope, like vampy Valentina!’

Janey, who had imagined nothing but going to a ball with Guy Cassidy for the last six days, and who knew only too well that he had felt morally obliged to invite her, closed the magazine and chucked it into the bin.

‘I’m not wearing anything,’ she murmured wearily. It really was the only answer. Turning, she caught Paula’s goggle-eyed expression and forced a smile. ‘Because I’m not going.’

Guy, who had been up half the night working in the darkroom, was still in bed when Janey phoned at eleven o’clock on Thursday morning.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said quickly. ‘Um, I’m in a bit of a rush, so I’ll just say it. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make it tomorrow after all. Paula’s gone down with terrible flu so she won’t be able to look after the shop, and there’s no one else who can do it so I’m going to have to stay here. I really am sorry,’ she gabbled, not sounding it, ‘but I thought I’d better let you know as soon as possible. I’m sure you’ve got dozens of other girls to choose from ...’

Guy, barely awake, propped himself up in bed.

‘I chose you.’ He sounded distinctly put out. ‘I thought you’d enjoy it. Look, we could fly back on Friday night if it would help. Surely there’s somebody capable of holding the fort for a couple of hours in the afternoon? What about your mother?’

‘No, nobody.’ Janey was firm. ‘So it was kind of you to ask me, but I’m afraid that’s it. I know you’ll still have fun there, anyway. Just ring up someone else ... oh God, more customers coming in ... I really must go ...’

Damn, thought Guy, when she had hurriedly hung up. Bloody Paula. Bloody flu. Bloody hell.

Paula, who had been lugging bottle gardens the size of coffee tables in from the back of the shop, stopped to lean against the counter and catch her breath. Bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, she said, ‘I haven’t got flu.’

‘One little white lie.’ Janey, just glad to have done the deed, excused herself with a shrug.

‘What happens when he asks my mum if I’m better yet? She’ll think he’s gone off his rocker.’

‘Your mother only works for Guy on Mondays and Wednesdays,’ Janey replied evenly. ‘By then it won’t matter any more.’

‘Hmm.’ Paula looked unconvinced. ‘Well I don’t know why you won’t go to the do anyway. It sounds brilliant. If anyone’s off their rocker around here,’ she added darkly, ‘it’s you.’

‘Oh darling, you’ll never believe it ... the best news in the world!’ Maxine, erupting through the front door of the cottage, flung herself into Bruno’s arms. ‘My agent just rang to tell me I’ve landed a part in Romsey Road! You’re hugging the next Bet Lynch ... the future queen of the soaps ... the biggest new name in television since Miss Piggy!’

‘Thank God.’ Bruno, who loathed every minute of his job at the unbelievably stuffy Grand Rock, heaved a sigh of relief. ‘You can take me away from all this. They film it in Manchester don’t they? When do we leave?’

‘Well ...’ Maxine hesitated. ‘I start next week, but don’t hand your notice in yet. It’s only a walk-on ... or rather, a mince-on part,’ she amended with a grin. ‘I play a white-stilettoed trollop with a severe case of dangly-earring who tries to proposition the local vicar. He turns me down and I flounce off in a huff. But at least I’m in it!’ Her brown eyes danced as she gave Bruno another almighty hug. ‘And once they see how brilliant I am they’re bound to want me to stay.’

‘Next week?’ He frowned. ‘How does Guy Cassidy feel about this?’

‘Oh, he’s fed up with the weather. He decided this morning to take the kids to St Lucia.

Some friends of his have a massive house there. I said I wanted to go too, so he was as thrilled as I was when the call came through this afternoon.’ She grinned. ‘Now he doesn’t have to pay for my plane ticket.’

Bruno digested this in silence. If he had been offered the choice between a week in St Lucia without Maxine and a week at home with her, he would have stayed. The idea of passing up a free holiday, however, evidently hadn’t so much as crossed her mind.

And although the thought of Maxine spending a week on a tropical Island with Guy Cassidy was bad enough, the idea of her socializing with a television crew in Manchester was somehow even more menacing. He might love her, but he still didn’t trust her an inch.

Particularly, thought Bruno, when she was so hell bent on furthering her career.

He frowned. ‘How long will you be gone?’

‘Only a week.’

‘A whole week? For one lousy walk-on?’

Maxine nuzzled his neck and smiled to herself. ‘Hmm, I know. But ‘I straddle two episodes. That’s the kind of trollop I am.’

Bruno said nothing. That was just what he was afraid of.

‘You’ve got a ladder in your stocking.’

Maxine, shaking back her hair and almost knocking herself senseless with her extravagantly gaudy earrings, said, ‘Oh, bum.’ From her seat in the studio canteen she grinned up at Zack Morrison, star of Romsey Road and heart-throb to millions. ‘I’m supposed to have two.’

He nodded. He had a great nod. The way that lock of dark hair flopped over his left eyebrow, Maxine decided, was positively mesmerizing.

‘I spotted you earlier, down on the set,’ he said casually. ‘You’re good.’

‘I know.’ Maxine, too excited to eat, abandoned her Danish pastry. The part he played was that of the womanizing dodgy dealer, irresistibly wicked one altogether dangerous to know. In truth he wasn’t actually that good-looking, just a damn sight better than the rest of the males in the cast. It was his character, Robbie Elliott, that really set the female pulses racing, as each woman secretly wondered whether she could be the one to tame him.

‘I’ve seen you in the Babysoft ad, too,’ he told her, and Maxine shrugged.

‘Stepping stones,’ she replied, crossing her legs and idly swinging one scuffed white stiletto from her toes. ‘Why don’t you sit down, before your salad falls off its plate?’

Zack Morrison, currently between wives, was captivated by Maxine’s honesty. The rest of her wasn’t bad either, he admitted to himself. He tended to go for brunettes, so blonde made a nice change. The smile was stunning. And even the terrible outfit she was wearing couldn’t disguise the fact that beneath it, aching to get out, was a stupendous figure.

It was the honesty, however, which appealed above all. Women, throwing themselves at him, invariably told him how unhappy they were with the men they were currently either involved with or married to. It was their way of letting him know how available they were.

But although he was pretty certain Maxine Vaughan was throwing herself at him, practically all she’d talked about throughout lunch was her idyllic relationship with somebody called Bruno Parry-Brent.

This Bruno character, according to Maxine, was outrageously attractive, a superb chef, seriously wealthy and the best company in the world. Zack, accustomed to being made to feel he was the one with all these attributes –apart from the cooking, of course – was almost jealous. She was practically implying that he didn’t match up, he thought, feeling absurdly put out. He was Robbie Elliott, for Christ’s sake, more than a match for any man.

And the more extravagantly she sang the unknown Bruno’s praises, the more intrigued be became. Maxine Vaughan both mystified and intrigued him. Unable to resist such a challenge, Zack heard himself say, ‘Ah, but he isn’t one of us, is he? He isn’t in the business. It’s not as if he could pull any strings to help you in your career.’

‘Of course he couldn’t.’ Maxine shrugged and spooned sugar into her cold coffee. ‘But that doesn’t matter. If I’m good enough, I’ll make it on my own merit. Plenty of people do, don’t they?’ She brightened and added proudly, ‘After all, I’ve got this far!’

‘One toilet-roll ad and a walk-on.’ Zack Morrison dismissed her dazzling achievements-to-date with a languid gesture. ‘It’s who you know in this game, darling. OK, this Bruno chap might be able to whip up a terrific omelette but that isn’t going to put your name in lights.’

Maxine looked him. ‘That’s hardly his fault.’

‘Whereas with the right man behind you,’ Zack drawled. ‘Well ...’

‘Oh come on,’ she remonstrated, giving him a good-humoured smile. ‘It isn’t that straightforward.’

‘Look, let me give you an example.’ He leaned across the table towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Just a for-instance. I’m what makes Romsey Road one of the top-rated shows on TV. ‘I have clout. If I went to the scriptwriters tomorrow and suggested they expand your character ...

really bring her into the storyline ... they’d listen to me.’ He nodded, amused by the expression of disbelief in her eyes. ‘Seriously. If I wanted to do it, I could. Now wouldn’t you agree that’s simpler than slogging round endless auditions in search of the next measly job?’

‘Of course it is,’ said Maxine quietly. The brightness in her eyes had faded and she was shifting almost imperceptibly away from him. She looked, thought Zack, disappointed.

‘And ‘I could do it,’ he boasted.

‘I’m sure you could.’ Maxine bit her lower lip. ‘Look I’m sorry, but I’m beginning to think I’ve been a bit naïve here. What are you saying, that if I do you a ... favour, you’ll do one for me in return? Is this the old casting-couch routine?’

Zack Morrison grinned, bewitched all over again both by her troubled expression and forthright manner. ‘Why, would you go to bed with me if I asked you to? In exchange for a part in Romsey Road?’

‘No.’ Maxine shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t. I really am sorry, Mr Morrison, but I’m just not that sort of girl.’

She was terrific, thought Zack, filled with admiration. What a cracker! What an irresistible challenge.

‘In that case I won’t ask.’ Giving Maxine the benefit of the famous Robbie Elliott smile, he glanced down at his watch. ‘And I don’t know about you, but I have to be back on set in ninety seconds. How are you fixed for this evening? Are you free for dinner?’

Maxine looked wary. ‘I don’t know whether I should.’

‘No strings,’ he assured her, still smiling.

‘Well, OK.’ With a trace of defiance, she added, ‘But I have to phone Bruno at eight-thirty.’

‘Give me the address of where you’re staying later.’ Zack rose swiftly to his feet. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine. Wear something smart,’ he added, deciding that Maxine Vaughan deserved the full works, no expense spared. ‘We’ll really hit the town.’

When he had gone, Maxine sipped her coffee. It was scummy, stone cold and unbelievably disgusting but that didn’t matter. Her lips curled up at the corners as she allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.

Next year the Oscars, she thought happily. God, I’m good!

Chapter 56

St Lucia had been spectacular, but it would have been more spectacular if Guy could have got Janey out of his mind.

He still didn’t know why she had refused to go with him to the charity ball at the Grosvenor, either. All he knew, he thought dryly, was that as he had been driving through Trezale on his way to the airport that Friday lunchtime, he had overtaken Paula, giving a very poor impression of a flu-ridden invalid, pedalling furiously uphill on her bike.

But Janey had evidently had her reasons for standing him up, he concluded, and whilst half of him had longed to go round to the shop and shake them out of her, the other half had told him it wasn’t the greatest idea in the world. She’d had a hell of a year, after all. The best thing he could do was back off for a while and give her time to sort herself out. It was infuriating, but undoubtedly necessary.

It had also been the reason why — out of sheer desperation — he had carted Josh and Ella off for a time-wasting week in St Lucia. Janey, Guy concluded, had cost him a goddamn fortune.

She would have an absolute fit if she only knew.

But now he was back. And he had a few bridges to mend. Ready, steady .. .

Waiting silently in the doorway, Guy watched her at work. She had her back to him, and her shoes were off. Smiling to himself, he observed the holes in the elbows of her baggy, charcoal-grey sweater. The long white flowing skirt, made of light cotton, was more suited to July than February and her bare brown legs were mottled with cold. The temperature was positively arctic but so engrossed was she that it evidently hadn’t occurred to her to turn on the heating. Neither did she seem to have noticed that her long white hair, having escaped from its combs on one side of her head, was trailing over her left shoulder in a tangled, clay-streaked and lop-sided mane.

‘Oh,’ said Thea, finally sensing his presence and swivelling round to look at him. When she saw who it was she said ‘Oh,’ again, this time an octave lower.

‘It’s OK,’ Guy told her. ‘I haven’t come here to shout at you.’

‘I should bloody well hope not.’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t recommend it, young man. Because I’d shout right back.’

Guy believed her. ‘As a matter of fact I came here to apologize,’ he said. ‘I was pretty uptight at the funeral, but that’s no excuse for bad manners. I should at least have offered my condolences ...’

‘I didn’t realize you hadn’t.’ Thea’s expression softened slightly. ‘I’m afraid the entire day passed in a bit of a blur. Goodness only knows what that poor young solicitor must have thought of me ... according to Janey I was swearing like a sailor.’

That had been almost three months ago. Guy nodded. ‘So how are things now? How are you feeling?’

She shrugged, wiping her hands on her skirt. ‘Well, not full of the joys of spring ... but I’m back at work, which has helped. It’s stupid; now that I no longer need to do it to earn a living, I find I’m spending more time here than ever before.’ Hesitating for a second, she added, ‘I suppose it takes my mind off other things. I actually believe these latest sculptures are the best I’ve ever done. It’s just a shame Oliver isn’t here to see them and tell me how brilliant I am.’

‘At least the studio’s your own, now.’ Maxine had told him about that. Guy smiled. ‘My father would definitely approve. He always loathed the idea of paying rent and never getting the chance to own anything at the end of it.’

Thea gazed at him. ‘Does it bother you, the fact that he left me so much money?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Guy shook his head very firmly indeed. ‘You deserved it. If anything, it bothers me that he left my children so much money,’ he countered. ‘They’re in danger of becoming insufferable. Hardly a day goes by without one or other of them drawing up a new list of things-to-buy-when-I’m-twenty-one.’

‘And did they enjoy their holiday?’ Thea smiled. ‘You’re very brown. Janey told me you’d taken them somewhere hot but I can’t remember where.’

‘St Lucia.’ Ridiculously, the mere mention of her name lifted his spirits. ‘Janey was talking to you about ... us?’

‘I think she was missing your children,’ she replied with unconscious cruelty. ‘She’s extremely fond of them, you know.’

‘They’re very fond of her.’ Guy pretended to study the half-finished figure she was currently working on. ‘How is Janey, by the way? It’s been a while since we’ve seen her.’

Thea, itching to get back to work, smoothed her thumb fondly across the ridge of the figure’s cheekbone. Not quite yet, but soon, she would attempt a bust of Oliver.

‘Well, what can you expect?’ She spoke the words absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

‘Considering her abysmal taste in men. Oh, she’s getting over it now; the decree nisi comes through next week, thank God, but I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen next. She’s a lovely girl, even if I do say so myself, but her confidence has taken a bit of a battering. What she needs is a decent man who isn’t going to muck her about.’ Screwing up her vision, she leaned forward to check the symmetry of the figure’s eyelids. ‘Although personally I dread meeting the next one she brings home. If her track record’s anything to go by, I’ll loathe him on sight.’

Guy didn’t bother to hide his amusement. ‘Are there many men you do like?’

Thea’s gaze flickered in his direction. ‘I liked Oliver,’ she said with pride. ‘As far as I was concerned, he was about as perfect as a man could get.’

‘Well, that’s one.’

‘And I suppose you aren’t bad,’ she conceded with a brief smile. ‘A bit too good-looking for my taste, maybe. But I dare say you’ll improve with age.’

Janey howled with laughter. Tears streamed down her face and her sides ached but she was quite unable to stop. Maxine, unable to find the tissues, chucked across a piece of kitchen roll instead and waited patiently for the hysteria to subside.

‘You never laugh that much when I tell you one of my jokes,’ she complained eventually.

‘And it’s not even supposed to be funny. Poor Bruno; I’m dreading telling him.’

‘Poor Bruno?’ gasped Janey, wiping her eyes and gasping for breath. ‘Poor Bruno! I love it ... !’

‘And he loves me.’ Maxine looked glum. ‘He’s not going to be thrilled, I can tell you.’

Janey struggled to compose herself. If she breathed really slowly and kept her mind a total blank, she told herself firmly, she could do it. No more laughing; this was serious stuff. Bruno was about to be dumped and she wanted to hear every last glorious detail. If she didn’t get a grip, Maxine might decide not to tell her and that would be just too cruel.

‘So what did he do wrong?’ she asked, pressing her lips together and looking suitably concerned.

‘Nothing.’ Maxine sounded gloomier than ever. ‘That’s why it’s going to be so difficult.’

‘OK. In that case, why are you dumping him?’

‘Oh Janey,’ wailed Maxine suddenly, ‘he got nice!You know what I’m like with men; I can’t handle it when they’re nice. Look at Maurice; it was running away from him that brought me back here in the first place. He was so nice I thought I was going to die of boredom.’ She paused, shaking her head in despair. ‘And that was what was so brilliant about Bruno. He had such a reputation ... he was so wicked! I really thought I’d found someone I’d never get tired of.’

‘You mean you thought you’d met your match?’

‘Well, I had, then.’ Maxine looked resigned. ‘But somehow it all changed. I began to feel as if I’d got myself a housewife. Bruno wanted to prove I could trust him. He stopped being wicked. And I don’t know ... I suppose I stopped being interested.’

Janey struggled to keep a straight face. Oh dear, falling in love for possibly the first time in his life had turned Bruno into a bore.

‘I bet he leaves Trezale,’ she mused. The shame of it would undoubtedly be too great for a man of his reputation to bear. ‘He won’t be able to handle the prospect of bumping into you.’

Grinning, because it was what Alan had done, she added, ‘Maybe he’ll skulk off down the coast to St Ives.’

‘Ah.’ Maxine blinked. ‘Well he wouldn’t actually need to move away. You see, I am.’

‘What?’

‘I am. Moving away. To Manchester,’ said Maxine rapidly. ‘They’ve given me a six-month contract to appear in Romsey Road: the white-stilettoed trollop is going to have a steamy affair with the vicar. And if they decide to get her pregnant I’ll be sticking a cushion up my jumper and signing up for another year on top of that. Oh Janey, it’s happening at last,’ she sighed, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. ‘I’m going to be Mandy Blenkinsop.’

‘You’re changing your name to Blenkinsop?’

‘That’s her name, stupid! The trollop’s.’ Maxine grinned. ‘She didn’t have one before, you see, because it was only a walk-on. But from next month she becomes a real character.’

Dreamily she added, ‘And I’ll be a bona fide member of the cast. I’ll probably have my own fan club.’

Bruno was forgotten. It was as if he had never even existed. Stunned, Janey said, ‘What about Guy?’

Maxine shifted uneasily in her chair. ‘Well, he knew it was on the cards. It isn’t as if it’s going to come as a huge surprise, is it? And when you think how many times he’s almost sacked me, he’ll probably be glad to see me go.’

‘But you haven’t quite plucked up the courage to tell him yet?’ Janey spoke in faintly admonishing tones. ‘Max, you must. Look at the trouble he had last time, finding a replacement for Berenice. He doesn’t want any old nanny looking after his children. If it comes to that,’ she amended, ‘Josh and Ella won’t want any old nanny either. They’re going to miss you terribly.’

‘Shame they didn’t show a bit more appreciation, then, while they still had me.’ Resorting to flippancy in order to cover up the guilt, Maxine said, ‘Those little brats are forever telling me how much more fun they had when you were looking after them. Seriously, Janey, if you ever felt like selling the shop and switching careers ... You could even have a crack at Guy while you’re there, see if you don’t have better luck with him than ‘I did!’

It was like Pavlov’s dogs. Maxine was only joking, but even the most frivolous of insinuations was enough to bring the colour surging into Janey’s cheeks. Silently cursing her inability to keep it at bay and desperate to change the subject, she resolutely ignored the jibe and instead launched a bold counter-attack.

‘Come on, Max. I’m your sister, remember? Do you seriously expect me to believe that’s all there is to it?’

Maxine blinked. ‘To what?’

‘This whole Romsey Road business.’ It hadn’t been an innocent blink. Janey, pleased with herself for having guessed, moved in for the kill. ‘Because ‘I can’t help thinking what an extraordinary coincidence it is, you getting the part and at the same time losing interest in Bruno.

Call it a shot in the dark,’ she suggested lightly, ‘but would there happen to be any seriously wicked men in Manchester?’

This time even Maxine had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Well,’ she murmured vaguely,

‘now you come to mention it, maybe one or two ...’

Chapter 57

The fact that the weather had finally taken a dramatic turn for the better did nothing at all to lift Bruno’s spirits. Outside Mole Cottage - which Maxine had insisted on calling Toad-in-the-Hole Cottage following the discovery of a mouldy cooked sausage under the bed - the sun shone with enthusiasm for the first time in months. Tiny clouds drifted across a clear blue sky, the sea -

turquoise fading to aqua -- glittered in the distance and daffodils had sprung up en masse, their yellow heads nodding in the warm breeze. Even the hopelessly overgrown front garden was sprouting an assortment of yellow blooms; but since he had no interest in flowers Bruno didn’t have a clue what they were.

He didn’t care, either. He didn’t care much about anything at all right now, except the fact that forty-eight hours earlier Maxine had left him.

Standing at the living-room window, he gazed blindly out to sea as tears pricked the back of his eyes. She hadn’t even let him down gently, dammit. Instead, with typically selfish haste, she had just come out with it - no, there was nobody else and he hadn’t done anything wrong, it simply wasn’t working. After that she’d slung the few clothes and bits of make-up she had left at the cottage into a pink raffia bag, and said gaily, ‘Sorry, darling, but these things happen. Wish me luck. Bye!’

The lying bitch, he thought, pressing his lips together and turning the postcard over and over in his hands. She hadn’t even bothered to cover her tracks properly. That was what you got for loving and trusting someone, Bruno concluded bitterly. They took flicking advantage of you and didn’t even stop to think of the pain they were inflicting .. .

He had found the postcard stuffed into the breast pocket of his denim shirt. Maxine, who had borrowed it the previous weekend, had spilt chocolate milkshake down the sleeve and chucked it into his laundry basket. That way, of course, he could wash and iron it himself before she borrowed it again.

And it was such a naff card, Bruno thought, blinking hard and staring down at the scene depicting Romsey Road in all its grubby glory. Turning it over, he read for the fifteenth time the brief message scrawled on the other side: ‘Don’t I always deliver the goods? Ring me! Zack.’

Even Bruno, who didn’t watch television, recognized the name. Zack Morrison might not be the most talented actor on the planet, he thought sourly, but he was renowned for his ability to deliver the fucking goods .. .

Bruno dressed with care, deliberately choosing the pink-and-grey striped shirt she had bought for him and teaming it with immaculately pressed charcoal-grey trousers. It was warm enough outside not to bother with a jacket.

Studying himself in front of the bedroom mirror Bruno nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

He could still turn it on when he wanted to, he thought with renewed pride. How many women, after all, had told him he had the sexiest green eyes in the world? How many had called his smile irresistible? How many had begged him to take them away from their husbands?

Paco Rabanne, Bruno decided, reaching for the bottle standing on the chest of drawers. No, Eau Sauvage. She had bought that for him too. If that was what she liked best, it was what he would wear.

Nina was sitting up at the bar drinking tomato juice and chatting to one of the lunchtime regulars when Bruno walked into the restaurant. The good weather had brought with it an influx of customers and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. What Wayne Simmonds lacked in personal magnetism, Bruno decided, he evidently made up for with his skill in the kitchen. At least the business hadn’t suffered whilst he’d been away.

‘Goodness,’ said Nina shyly, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him. ‘Look who’s here!

Bruno, how lovely to see you after all this time. And you’re looking so well; working at the Grand Rock obviously suits you.’

Smiling, Bruno bent and kissed her pale cheek. Nina hadn’t changed at all; that was what he’d always liked about her. Even the floppy, floral, Laura Ashley dress was utterly predictable.

She’d been wearing it for the past six years.

‘You’re looking pretty good yourself.’ Standing back, studying her shining, unmade-up face and breathing in the comfortingly familiar scent of patchouli oil, he took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Are you busy or can we go upstairs and have a proper chat? It feels odd being down here and not having the right to insult the customers.’

The sitting room, flooded with sunlight, was less tidy than before but otherwise just as he remembered it.

Nina, intercepting his glance, smiled and said, ‘You were the one who put things away around here. I’m still as hopeless as I ever was.’

‘You aren’t hopeless.’ His tone was affectionate. ‘Just ... relaxed. Oh Nina, it really is good to see you. Tell me how you’ve been keeping. Tell me how you’ve really been.’

The dozen or so silver bracelets tinkled as she pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘Well, fine.

Busy at Christmas, of course, and New Year’s Eve was as chaotic as ever. January was steady.

We’ve changed the menu around and the customers seem to approve.’

‘I meant how have you been.’ Leading Nina to the sofa, he sat down next to her without letting go of her hand. ‘I don’t suppose it’s been that easy for either of us

‘Oh, you know.’ She shrugged and examined a fraying hole in her skirt. ‘As you said at the time, these things happen. Life goes on.’

‘Nina.’ Bruno’s voice softened. ‘I said some very stupid things at the time. And I’ve lived to regret them. You—’

‘How’s Maxine?’ she said suddenly, her eyes bright with interest. ‘I saw her in that toilet-roll commercial on television. I thought she was very good.’

Bruno sighed. ‘Maybe she was. But Maxine isn’t you, sweetheart. She doesn’t even begin to compare with you. I realize that now. I don’t want Maxine any more,’ he said simply. ‘I want you to forgive me for behaving like a fool. I want you.’

For a moment Nina looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Gazing at him, hesitantly touching the sleeve of his shirt, she whispered, ‘This is the one I bought you last summer.’

He nodded and gave her an encouraging smile.

‘Oh Bruno, I wanted you back so badly it hurt,’ Nina said softly. ‘I dreamed of this happening; it was practically the only thing that kept me alive ...’

‘And now I am back.’ Bruno stroked the inside of her thin wrist.

‘If only you’d changed your mind sooner.’ Nina spoke with genuine distress. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. ‘Oh dear, I don’t quite know how to tell you this ... but I’ve met someone else. I’m happy with him. We’re going to be married in April; nothing flashy, just a small wedding, not even a proper honeymoon.’

‘Married?’ echoed Bruno, his eyes widening with horror. He stared at her, aghast. ‘Who the hell to?’

She flinched. ‘Um ... Wayne.’

‘You are joking!’ he shouted, unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Nina! You can’t do that!’

Nina stuck to her guns. She loved Wayne and he loved her. She knew that.

‘But we are doing it,’ she said nervously. ‘It’s all arranged. April the twentieth.’

This was like a truly terrible dream. Bruno, not even realizing that his fingernails were digging into her wrist, howled, ‘For Christ’s sake, cancel it! He’s only marrying you for your money.’

‘No he isn’t.’ Nina pulled free and rubbed her arm. Poor Bruno, he may as well hear all the news in one go. Straightening her shoulders, her face glowing with pride, she said, ‘He’s marrying me because I’m pregnant.’

Chapter 58

It wasn’t much, thought Guy ruefully, but it was all he had. Maxine’s throwaway remark last night, when she had teased Josh about his new eight-year-old girlfriend — ‘Goodness me, you’ve gone almost as pink as Janey does whenever I mention your father!’ — wasn’t a great deal to go on, but it was the most promising sign so far that she might actually feel more for him than she’d been admitting.

It had been enough to persuade him that the moment had arrived to do something, to find out for himself. Not knowing was beginning to get to him, Guy decided. The time had come to act. And if Maxine had been wrong, he thought, he could always strangle her with his bare hands...

Two dozen pink roses. Janey winced as one of the thorns ripped into the tender skin between finger and thumb. He’d had to order not one, but two dozen long-stemmed pink roses.

Jealousy, pure and simple, surged within her as she tried to imagine whom Guy was so eager to impress. And how tempting it was to choose less-than-perfect blooms, the ones whose petals were beginning to loosen so that within a day or two they would drop off But pride compelled her to select the finest, just-flowering buds instead, flawless shell-pink tinged with apricot. If whoever-it-was took the trouble to look after them, they would last a good fortnight.

Bitchily, Janey wondered if Guy’s interest in whoever-it-was would exceed the life of the exquisite roses.

It was sheer pride too, that sent her up to the flat to brush her hair and change into a clean olive-green shirt and white jeans before setting off with the delivery. If the girl — presumably yet another svelte model — was going to be there when she arrived at Trezale House, Janey didn’t want to feel any more inferior by comparison than she already did. Knowing that you had a crush on someone was bad enough. Having to face his infinitely more glamorous size-eight girlfriends was downright intimidating.

Stop it, thought Janey wearily, rubbing off the lipstick she had just applied and staring at the little pot of bronze eyeshadow which had somehow found its way into her hand. Now she was being really stupid, she told herself, flinging the eyeshadow back into the drawer of her dressing table and gazing at her reflection in the mirror. As if a bit of make-up was going to help.

Guy opened the front door as she was lifting the flowers out of the van. It would have suited Janey to hand them over to him then and there but all he did was step aside, enabling her to carry the bouquet into the house.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else at home, certainly no stunning, semi-naked brunette draped across the kitchen table. In an effort to sound normal, Janey said casually, ‘No Maxine?’

‘No Maxine, no kids.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘She’s taken them to some birthday party in Truro. They won’t be back for hours.’

‘And there ‘I was, thinking the roses were for her.’ Janey placed them on the table, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t seen Guy since the day he had come to the shop with the invitation to the charity ball. Praying he wouldn’t mention it, realizing to her despair that her cheeks were hot, she turned her attention to the ribbons on the bouquet, fiddling with the curly bits and tweaking them into shape.

‘Actually’ — Guy’s voice came from behind her — ‘they’re for you. And why did you make up that story about Paula having flu, by the way? Was the prospect of spending an entire evening in my company really that awful, or is there another explanation? And don’t expect me to count to ten whilst you think of one,’ he continued, his tone even, ‘because you’ve had eight weeks already.’

This time Janey blushed with a vengeance. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t know what to say either.

‘Look,’ she said finally, and with at least semi-truthfulness, ‘I just thought you’d enjoy yourself more if you took somebody else.’

‘Janey, if I had thought I would have enjoyed myself more with somebody else, I would have asked them to be my partner in the first place.’ His tone registered both amusement and impatience. ‘And you aren’t admiring your flowers. You’re supposed to say "How lovely, you shouldn’t have".’

‘Well, you know what I mean.’ Aware that she was gabbling, she took a step back. ‘There were those photos in the paper of you and Valentina, and that’s the kind of partner people expect you to turn up with. They’d wonder what on earth you were doing--’

‘They might even think I was coming to my senses at last.’ Guy, a million times more nervous than he was letting on, said quietly, ‘Janey, did you hear what I said just now?’

‘Of course I heard you.’ Flustered, hopelessly confused, Janey shook her head. ‘I just don’t know why you’re saying it. You phoned me up and ordered these flowers. You can’t give them back to me ...’

‘Why on earth not?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve paid for them. I gave you my Access card number over the phone.’

‘But this is stupid.’

‘No it isn’t, it’s sensible.’ Guy started to smile. ‘It got you here, didn’t it?’

She bit her lip. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘You could try saying thank you,’ he suggested, his eyes glittering with amusement. ‘It’s how people generally express their appreciation when they’ve been given two dozen ruinously expensive pink roses.’

Janey gave up. ‘In that case, thank you. They’re beautiful. How-very-kind-you-really-shouldn’t-have. And they weren’t that expensive,’ she added with a faint answering smile. ‘I thought they were very reasonable.’

It was now or never, Guy decided. He took a deep breath.

‘Another way of expressing your appreciation when you’ve been given two dozen very reasonably priced pink roses,’ he said slowly, ‘is with a kiss.’

Janey stared at him. Was this some kind of hideous practical joke? Was Maxine hiding behind the Welsh dresser, camcorder at the ready? Was Jeremy Beadle lurking inside the fridge?

Finally, she said, ‘You want me to kiss the roses?’

But the expression on Guy’s face was quite serious. No longer smiling, there was almost an air of apprehension about him. Janey, suddenly light-headed, felt her heart begin to race. Her stomach did a loop and disappeared.

‘It’s up to you,’ said Guy, ‘but I’d prefer it if you kissed me.’

As if in a dream, inwardly amazed that her legs were still capable of carrying her, she stepped forward and with infinite caution brushed her lips against his tanned cheek.

‘OK?’ she said stupidly, when it was done.

But Guy, half smiling down at her, shook his head. ‘Terrible,’ he murmured. ‘Very poor attempt. I’m sure you can do better than that.’

He put his arms around her. Janey, no longer in any condition to protest, closed her eyes as his mouth found hers. Caution abandoned, this time the receiver, she gave herself up to him. This time the kiss seemed to go on for ever.

‘Big improvement,’ said Guy at last, speaking the words into her hair and not releasing his hold on her.

Janey, glad to be held - she needed all the support she could get - took a deep, steadying breath.

He smiled. ‘All right?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Raising her brown eyes to his face, she said shakily, ‘Is this a joke? Because if it is, I think I shall have to kill you.’

‘You could always set Maxine on to me. That would be a fate far worse than death.’ Guy, overjoyed by the success of his plan, broke into a broad grin. ‘Except it isn’t a joke, so you don’t need to. My God, Janey, do you have any idea what you’ve put me through, these past months?’

Bewildered, still unable to take in the fact that this was happening to her, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you bloody well should be.’ He kissed her again, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume. ‘You don’t give away any clues; I didn’t know whether you found me even remotely attractive; you wrecked my sex life …’

‘What are you talking about?’ Janey demanded, trembling all over and clutching the front of his shirt. Able to feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton, she suppressed an incredible urge to start undoing buttons.

‘You were involved with that terrible husband of yours so I couldn’t have you,’ Guy complained. ‘And I didn’t want anyone else. It’s been sheer torture.’ He rolled his eyes in mock reproach. ‘You aren’t exactly forgettable just now either; everywhere I go, I’m haunted by that damn charity poster. I was seriously beginning to regret using that photograph, I can tell you.

How was I to know they were going to plaster your face across just about every hoarding in the country?’ With an extravagant sigh, he concluded, ‘All in all, you’re one difficult lady to fall in love with, Janey Sinclair, and I think you should apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused.’

‘Do you really mean it?’ She shivered. He had just said he was in love with her.

Somewhere out there in the real world, Paula was expecting her back to close the shop, and here she was, standing in the middle of Guy Cassidy’s kitchen listening to this.

‘Of course I bloody well mean it,’ Guy declared indignantly.

‘It’s just that I still keep expecting Jeremy Beadle to leap out of the fridge,’ Janey murmured, glancing over her shoulder to make sure. ‘What time did you say Maxine was bringing Josh and Ella back?’

‘Not for ages.’ He grinned. ‘This was a carefully planned campaign, sweetheart. You don’t seriously think I’d risk being interrupted by that rabble, do you?’

Janey, her fingers still unsteady, touched his mouth. ‘Just as well I didn’t ask Paula to deliver the flowers.’

Guy kissed her again. ‘I seem to be making all the running here.’ His tone was gently admonishing. ‘You haven’t even told me yet how you feel about all this. Is it OK with you or do you have strong feelings about getting seriously involved with a bad-tempered photographer, two noisy juvenile delinquents and an out-of-control nanny?’

Janey’s thoughts flew back to the night of the fair, when Alexander Norcross had warned her of the dangers of one-parent families.

‘I don’t know,’ she said lightly. ‘Are you only doing this because it’s easier than finding a replacement for Maxine?’

Guy laughed. ‘Brilliant idea. I haven’t threatened to sack her for weeks. Do you really think she’d go, if we asked nicely?’

Janey breathed a guilty sigh of relief. So Maxine hadn’t told him yet. She hadn’t seriously suspected he would do such a thing but it was nice to know for sure.

Then she smiled, because ‘nice’ was such a hopelessly inadequate word to describe how it felt, knowing that Guy really did love her for herself. Not all men had ulterior motives, Janey reminded herself. Alan was a bad experience she could put behind her now. No two men in the world, after all, could be more different than Alan and Guy.

‘No, I’m not looking for a cheap childminder,’ he told Janey, stroking her hair away from her face and gazing into her eyes. He was looking for a wife, but there was no need to alarm her with that just now. There was no need to hurry; they had all the time in the world to get to know each other properly .. .

‘Good,’ said Janey, ‘because I’m not cheap.’

‘Unlike your very reasonably priced roses.’

‘Nobody’s ever given me flowers before.’ She gazed lovingly at them, her eyes bright with tears of happiness. ‘Oh dear, I’ve got a terrible confession to make.’

Guy looked at her. ‘Go on.’

‘I thought you were buying them for some horrible new woman in your life. I almost chose the not-so-good ones that I knew wouldn’t last.’

‘You’d have been sorry.’ He grinned. ‘So you were jealous? That’s encouraging.’

‘Of course I was jealous.’ Janey looked ashamed. ‘All right, I’ll admit something else. I couldn’t face going to London with you because I was too afraid of making a fool of myself. I thought you’d be able to tell how I felt.’

If only she’d realized, thought Guy, how badly he had wanted to know how she felt.

But that was all in the past. Smiling, he stroked her cheek. The flawless skin, as soft to the touch as warm silk, was positively addictive.

‘Never mind,’ he murmured. ‘I know now. And you feel just about perfect to me.’

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