‘You’ll be fine,’ Caro tried to boost Tory’s flagging confidence, ‘but if you do need advice, I’m available, nappy-changing permitting.’
There was a certain wistfulness in her voice that made Tory ask, ‘When did you stop work?’
‘The boys were about two, I think…’ Caro cast her mind back ‘…so that’s…what? Over a year ago. I was one of those having-it-all-mothers who suddenly woke up to the fact they were really having-absolutely-nothing but misery and stress.’
Tory gave an understanding murmur. ‘It seems to be a trend—women re-evaluating their lives. Personally, I love my work but I don’t think I could manage it all—home, family and a career.’
‘You can for a while,’ Caro responded, ‘but then your energy levels go down while theirs go up and all of a sudden the crying babies became talkative two-year-olds well able to tell you they hate it every time you leave for work and your nanny informs you she wants to see the world, starting tomorrow, and your heart is desperate for another baby even though you’re barely coping with the two you have. So it’s crunch time…I was luckier than most, I suppose, because we didn’t need my money.’
‘Still, you must miss work,’ Tory said in sympathetic tones.
‘At times,’ Caro admitted, shaking the contents of a pan, ‘when the twins’ squabbling reaches an all-time high—or possibly low—and the baby won’t settle because she has a cold and the au pair has failed to return from a night out clubbing.’
‘And total strangers turn up for dinner?’ Tory suggested, her tone apologetic.
‘Oh, I didn’t mind that.’
‘Really?’
‘Well—’ Caro pulled a face ‘—I wasn’t too ecstatic when Luc called, but that’s only because I thought you might be like his usual girlfriends—’
‘I’m not his girlfriend.’ A frown clouded Tory’s features. ‘Did he say—?’
‘No, not at all,’ Caro was quick to disclaim. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact…’
Caro trailed off and left Tory wondering what Lucas had said about her that was quite the opposite of being his girlfriend.
‘I just meant,’ Caro tried again, ‘that, on the few occasions Lucas has brought a woman to dinner, it has been a girlfriend and they tend to be…let’s say, a certain type.’
Tory told herself she wasn’t interested but, in the very next breath, asked, ‘What type, exactly?’
Caro hesitated. ‘Perhaps I’ve said enough.’
‘All right.’ Tory wasn’t going to press her.
That was probably why Caro ran on, ‘Well, it could be me, but I find them all unbearably superior. Admittedly, they’re usually barristers or investment bankers or run their own PR companies and they’re always clever and witty, and often fairly stunning in the looks department, too. Which is probably why they feel obliged to talk down to lesser mortals, as if we’re one step up from the village idiot.’
Tory rolled her eyes in agreement. ‘I know the type but I can’t imagine they talk to Lucas that way.’
‘Oh, goodness, no!’ Caro exclaimed at the very idea. ‘But that only makes it worse. They positively simper in Luc’s presence, and gaze at him, all adoring eyes, like politicians’ wives.’
Tory laughed as intended, before venturing, ‘He probably loves it.’
Caro looked uncertain. ‘Luc’s never struck me as being that big an egotist,’ she replied, ‘although I suppose most men that gorgeous do have egos the size of a planet.’
‘Too true,’ Tory said with feeling.
Caro came back with, ‘So you think he is, then?’
‘What?’
‘Gorgeous.’
Caro’s grin made a joke of it.
Tory pulled a slight face, too. ‘I didn’t say that, exactly.’
‘No, but he is,’ Caro insisted as if it were a fact that couldn’t be disputed.
Tory didn’t try; she was acquainted with the phrase ‘the lady doth protest too much’.
‘I have wondered if it’s a kind of protection,’ the other woman continued in musing tones.
‘Protection?’ Tory had lost the thread. ‘What is?’
‘Going out with that kind of woman,’ Caro volunteered. ‘I mean, even allowing for other people’s taste, no one, but no one, could have found his last girlfriend lovable. Smart, witty, classy, yes! Lovable, absolutely not.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘His relocation to Norwich, but I can’t see that being an insurmountable problem. How far is it from London? Two hours?’
Having made the journey that day, Tory said, ‘A little over.’
‘No huge distance,’ commented Caro, ‘but that’s the excuse he gave for the relationship petering out. I wondered if he’d met someone else. Any super-intelligent, arrogant, super-model types at Eastwich?’
‘Not that I can think of.’ Tory certainly didn’t come into that category. At five-foot six, she was hardly a super-model type, was far from super-intelligent, and didn’t see herself as arrogant in personality. That left her questioning whether Lucas Ryecart was stringing along some other woman besides herself.
‘At any rate,’ Caro resumed her original theme, ‘I have this theory he dates women with whom he’s in no danger of falling in love. As in, it’s better not to love and not to lose, than ever love at all.’
‘I always thought it was the other way round,’ countered Tory.
‘It is,’ replied Caro, ‘but, in Luc’s case, he has loved and lost so maybe he doesn’t want to go through it again.’
‘I see.’ Tory did see, too; she just wasn’t entirely convinced.
Sensing her doubts, Caro confided in more sober tones, ‘He was married once and she died.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Did he tell you?’
Tory nodded, recalling he had told her at one point.
Caro looked surprised. ‘He doesn’t usually talk about it—even among the family.’
The family? Tory didn’t quite follow. Which family did she mean?
‘Is Lucas related to you?’ she finally asked Caro.
‘Sort of. His wife was my sister-in-law. Or would have been, had she…’ The other woman tailed off at Tory’s expression and switched to asking, ‘Is something wrong?’
Tory struggled to keep her emotions in check as the truth dawned. Lucas was an only child, while his late wife had one brother. There was no other link.
How could she have been so stupid? Uncle Luc really was Uncle Luc. She was in Charlie’s, her ex-fiancé’s, house. She was talking to Charlie’s wife, the girl who had so rapidly replaced her.
‘You really don’t look well.’ Caro watched Tory’s face become drawn with alarm.
‘I… It’s a bug,’ Tory lied desperately. ‘I thought I was better, but it seems not. I’ll have to go back to the hotel.’
Tory picked up the pashmina she’d draped over a chair and her handbag, and started making for the door.
Caro followed. ‘Yes, of course, I’ll go and fetch Luc. He’ll—’
‘No!’ Tory refused rather abruptly, then softened it with, ‘Honestly, I don’t want to drag him away. I can hail a taxi. I’m sorry to throw out your plans. It was lovely to meet you…’
Tory garbled on until she was in the front hall, poised for escape.
Caro obviously didn’t feel she should be allowed to go on her own and looked relieved at the sound of a key in the front door.
‘That’ll be Charlie now. I could get him to run you back instead.’
Tory said nothing, did nothing. She felt trapped, caught like a rabbit in headlights. She watched the door push open. Her eyes went to the dark-suited man entering.
For a moment she almost thought she’d got it wrong and this wasn’t Charlie. He wasn’t as she remembered. Five years older, he had lost some of his boyish good looks and his hair. Her heart was beating hard out of panic but it didn’t kick up any extra gears, even when she realised it was most definitely Charlie.
; His glance first went to his wife, who’d launched into explanations of their guest’s indisposition, before it encompassed Tory. Then any hopes that she’d also changed out of recognition faded rapidly.
Charlie was clearly shocked, opening and shutting his mouth as no words came, struggling to come to terms with her presence.
When Caro sought to introduce them, ‘This is Tory, by the way,’ he was already mouthing the name he’d known her by: Vicki.
Quickly, she shook her head at him, the slightest movement, but he picked it up.
When she said, ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he followed suit.
‘Yes, hello,’ he murmured, and let her continue.
‘I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m not feeling too great and I’ve left my medicine back at the hotel.’
She waited for him to play his part, say some farewell words, encourage her to leave, perhaps open the door, but he just stood stock-still staring at her.
It was Caro who insisted, ‘Charlie will run you back. Won’t you, Charlie?’
She seemed oblivious of undercurrents.
Tory anticipated Charlie making an excuse and was thrown by his acquiescent, ‘Yes, of course. My car’s outside.’
‘See.’ Caro was finally satisfied with the arrangements.
She escorted Tory down the steps while Charlie went ahead to unlock the car, then opened the passenger door and waited for Tory to be installed inside.
She said, warm as ever, ‘You must come again for dinner. Let me know how you get on at Toi.’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Tory smiled at the other woman whom she had really liked—still did like—knowing she would never meet her again if she could help it.
‘I’ll explain to Luc,’ Caro called out as they drew away from the kerb.
Tory managed a weak wave and felt a measure of relief once they were out of sight.
But Charlie drove only as far as the end of the crescent, before parking in the first available space and turning in his seat to stare at her, as if he still couldn’t believe his eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’ Tory felt she owed him an apology. ‘I had no idea. He never said.’
‘He?’
‘Lucas.’
‘You came with him?’ Charlie caught up with events. ‘Oh, you’re the production assistant from Eastwich.’
She gave a nod.
‘My wife called you by some other name.’ He frowned, trying to remember.
‘Tory,’ she supplied. ‘It was my mother’s name for me when I was little. I went back to using it after…’
She left it hanging. What to say otherwise? After you dumped me?
It was true enough. She’d reverted to Tory in a desire to reinvent the person she was, but he’d been more catalyst than cause. She looked at him now and felt not a single ounce of passion. How strange.
‘And you didn’t realise who Luc was?’ Charlie concluded.
‘No, I did,’ she admitted. ‘I realised when he took over Eastwich. It was just that he offered to introduce me to someone who’d worked on a woman’s magazine—Eastwich is doing this documentary—and it wasn’t until five minutes ago that the penny dropped who Caro actually was.’
‘Right.’ Charlie absorbed this information while still gazing at her intently. ‘You haven’t changed. Not at all.’
Tory pulled a face, trying to lighten things up. ‘I’m not sure that’s good.’
Charlie remained serious. ‘You’re just the same, just the way I imagine you.’
Tory felt no satisfaction at the wistful note of regret in Charlie’s voice. The past was dead for her.
‘Your wife’s lovely,’ she said quite genuinely.
‘Thanks,’ he replied but it was as if she’d complimented him on a new car, and he added with more feeling, ‘She’s not you.’
Tory couldn’t misunderstand his meaning, not when it went along with the soulful look in his eyes. It was the look he’d worn during their long-ago courtship, when she’d imagined herself in love with him, and he with her. But now, from a distance, she could see it had all been illusion.
‘No, she’s not,’ she agreed at length. ‘She’s the woman who gave you the children you always wanted.’
It was a pointed remark that hit its target as he winced. ‘That was cruel.’
‘Was it?’ Tory didn’t care as she stated, ‘It’s a cruel world.’
‘You’ve grown harder, Vicki.’ He looked troubled by the idea.
Tory wondered what he expected. ‘Life does that to people.’
‘Yes… Yes, it does. You have no idea how much I wish—’
She cut across him. ‘Don’t.’
‘But you don’t know what I’m going to say.’ He reached for her hand.
She pulled it from his grasp. ‘I don’t want to know, Charlie. I think I’ll get out here.’
‘Please, Vicki,’ he appealed, but she already had the door open and didn’t stop even when he called out, ‘You have to forgive me.’
She kept walking, wrapping her pashmina round her as the cool night air touched her bare shoulders. She didn’t look back.
She didn’t run. Charlie Wainwright didn’t frighten her. In fact, he didn’t do anything to her any more, except make her sorry for his wife.
It was a revelation. For years she had wondered if it was Charlie who had stopped her forming any other serious relationship. Always, at the back of her mind, had been the idea she might just still love him. And now? Nothing.
She couldn’t even stay angry with him. As she walked the Kensington streets, heading back towards the hotel, her anger switched to another man. A tall, blue-eyed, dark-haired American with a rather nasty sense of humour.
How else to explain what he’d done? It couldn’t have been coincidence. It was too far a stretch.
So what had it been? A social experiment to check how she’d react when face to face with her former fiancé?
Well, tough luck, he’d missed it, playing favourite uncle to Charlie’s kids.
It was Caro she felt sorry for. Married to a husband who, at best, was a wimp, and deceived by a man whom she imagined loyal enough to make him her sons’ godfather.
No one could be a real friend and engineer such a situation. Even if the plan had been to stir up things for Tory, there had always been a danger of hurting Caro along the way. He must have known that. He was no fool.
But that was what really got to Tory. She’d spent almost the whole day with Lucas Ryecart, her barriers against him slipping away. It was only now she acknowledged that she’d dressed for him this evening. Only now she admitted how jealous she’d been, seeing him with that other woman at the bar. And, in watching him with his godsons, listening to Caro talking about him with such fondness, she had been seduced into seeing him in a different light.
She supposed she should be grateful for the wake-up call, otherwise she might have been in real danger of falling for the bastard. Now anger was uppermost and kept her buoyant until she finally reached her hotel.
She hadn’t eaten since lunch and the walk had given her an appetite, but it had also given her sore feet—her shoes had been new and high-heeled—and she decided to order room service. An elaborate variety of courses was on offer and she considered running up a huge bill, courtesy of Eastwich and Lucas Ryecart, but she eventually settled for a salad, omelette and a chilled bottle of white wine to calm her down. She took her meal, watching a documentary on cheating husbands. It seemed an appropriate choice of viewing for that evening.
She was getting ready for bed, mellowed somewhat by the wine, when there was a knock on the hotel room door. She assumed it was room service although they’d already cleared her dinner. She tied the hotel’s fluffy bathrobe tighter round the waist and checked she was decent before opening the door.
One glance and, registering the figure standing on the threshold, she shut it immediately before Lucas could even think to get a foot in the door.
She ignored his next knock and the several after it, and the
repetitions of her name, ‘Tory!’ and the appeals to, ‘Open up,’ and ‘We have to talk.’
Tory didn’t see they had to talk at all. In fact, she’d already decided a resignation letter would do for their next communication. She’d been mentally composing it all through supper and preparing for bed. But she had no desire to deliver it in person.
‘Tory—’ his tone changed to barely restrained anger ‘—I don’t want to have to do this, but you’re leaving me no choice.’
Do what? Tory scowled at the door. It was thick and made of real wood. Did he imagine he could run at it and break it down? She almost wished he’d try.
‘Tory!’ Her name was called once more, followed by a determined, ‘Right.’
She waited in anticipation for his next move. She didn’t really expect him to do anything as crude as batter on the door and she was right. She heard the click of the electronic locking system and then he was in the room before she had a chance to react.
He shut the door behind him, but didn’t come further into the room as he drawled, ‘Don’t look so panic-stricken. I’m not going to jump on you.’
‘How did you get that?’ She indicated the card key in his hand.
‘I told them I’d lost mine,’ he relayed. ‘They handed another over once I’d proved I was the registered occupant of the room.’
‘How low can you get?’ She didn’t hide her contempt.
‘Lower than that,’ he rejoined without apology.
‘Well…?’ She waited for him to state his business.
He seemed in no hurry. ‘You could offer me a drink,’ he said as if he were an invited guest.
‘I could call Security,’ she countered with a hard edge.
‘You could,’ he agreed. ‘Go ahead, if you want.’
He leaned against the door and folded his arms. It didn’t seem to bother him.
‘You’re so sure I won’t.’ Tory tried to sound threatening.
He was unimpressed. ‘Not sure, no, but I don’t think you like scenes. Otherwise you might have hung around at the Wainwrights.’
‘I’m sorry if you feel cheated.’ Her tone was derisive.
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