by Jill Mansell
‘Josh?’
The man who most certainly wasn’t her husband grinned at her.
‘Hi, sweetheart.’
‘Josh!’ With a shriek of delight she raced the length of the otherwise empty bar and threw her arms round him. ‘I don’t believe it, what are you doing here? Oh my God, mind the window, put me down!’
Daisy’s high heels missed the glass by an inch as Josh Butler, all six foot four of him, swung her up into the air and whirled her round like a rotary washing line in a hurricane. Laughing, he lowered her back to earth and planted a resounding kiss on each cheek. As she clutched his arm, struggling to get her balance back, Daisy saw the back end of Dev Tyzack’s car swish past the full-length bay window and head off down the drive. Clarissa was jack-in-the-boxing up and down on the back seat.
Daisy gave Josh Butler a hefty thump on the arm.
‘Ouch. What was that for?’
‘Telling the waitress you were my husband. How could you do that?’
He looked pleased with himself. ‘I was watching you chatting to that bloke. Correction, flirting with him. And he seemed pretty keen too. You still aren’t married.’ Josh picked up her ring-free left hand as he said it, then broke into another mischievous grin. ‘I just thought it would be fun to stir things up a bit, see how he reacted.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘See that dust cloud?’ She gestured in the direction of the gates at the end of the drive. ‘That’s how he reacted.’
‘You mean he’s wimped out.’ Josh was unrepentant. ‘Just goes to prove you could do better. And it looks like this is your lucky day,’ he added teasingly, ‘because here I am!’
‘Still as shy and modest as ever,’ Daisy agreed.
‘Look, I was right here, watching you.’ From the window there was a clear view of the front step upon which she and Dev had been standing. ‘You were doing that flirty thing with your eyes, just like you used to do with me. That’s when I had a word with that little waitress—ha, you should have seen your face when she told you your husband was here to see you.’
He’d always been a practical joker.
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Daisy. ‘Seeing as my husband died a year ago.’
Cruel, maybe, but worth it to see the look of utter unmitigated dismay on Josh’s big, freckly face.
Chapter 20
Daisy had met Josh Butler at university ten years earlier. Every now and again he had popped into a lecture, but ninety-five percent of Josh’s time had been taken up with rowing, rugby, drinking, cricket, partying, rock climbing, and golf.
It was a hectic and exhausting schedule that didn’t leave a lot of time for studying. Nobody had been more astounded than Josh when he eventually left with Upper Second-Class Honors.
Daisy vividly remembered the first time she’d clapped eyes on Josh. She’d been in the Serpent’s Arms with a group of friends one Saturday lunchtime when he had burst into the pub wearing nothing but huge clip-on glittery earrings and a Tina Turner wig.
Well, you had to look, didn’t you?
‘What’s the matter?’ Josh had grinned down at her, unabashed. ‘Never seen a fully grown man naked?’
‘Come here.’ Daisy had beckoned him forward. ‘Your dangly bits are all caught up—let me sort them out for you.’
By the time she’d finished disentangling his ornate chandelier-style earring from the bird’s nest of nylon hair that was his wig, Josh had decided that she was the girl for him.
‘I’m Josh Butler. How about coming out with me tomorrow night?’
He was athletically built and impressively muscly, with untidy reddish-brown hair poking out from beneath his wig, sparkling light-brown eyes, and thousands of freckles. Happily, thanks to the amount of time evidently spent outdoors, he had managed to achieve a tan of sorts. Daisy was pretty sure she could never bring herself to go out with a redhead whose skin was the color of cod.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ She had smiled up at him. ‘What took you so long?’
Josh Butler winked. ‘Just painfully shy.’
Josh’s sponsored streak had raised two hundred and thirty pounds for charity and his relationship with Daisy took off the following night. For the next six or seven months they were a couple. Then they broke up. For any number of silly studenty reasons, but mainly because Daisy had come to realize that she needed more. Theirs wasn’t a bad relationship, they got on well together and had fun together, but somehow it wasn’t enough.
It all came to a head one hot Sunday afternoon while Josh was sculling on the river. Daisy, sunbathing on the riverbank with the girlfriend of one of the other rowers, had brought along a pile of newspapers and was idly flipping through them.
‘Ooh, Martin Kemp, he’s a nine out of ten,’ drooled Megan, sprawled next to her on the grass. ‘Bleeurgh, Frank Skinner, two and a half.’
‘But he’s funny,’ Daisy pointed out.
‘OK, make it three and a half. But let’s face it, he’s never going to be a sex god. Unlike this little cutie,’ she crooned, stroking a picture of Jon Bon Jovi. ‘Now he is my kind of boy. Definitely a nine and a half, that one.’ She fanned herself energetically with a rolled-up color supplement.
‘Cary Grant,’ said Daisy dreamily. ‘He’d be a ten.’
‘Oh, get a grip, girl, your marking system’s shot to bits. Come on, let’s go through this magazine. Give me your scores and I’ll tell you where you’re going wrong. Hugh Grant.’
‘Eight,’ Daisy promptly responded.
‘Julio Iglesias.’
‘Minus eight.’
‘Jonathan Ross.’
‘Seven and a half.’
‘Adam Ant.’
‘Nine.’ Daisy still had a bit of a weakness for Adam Ant.
‘Josh Butler.’
‘Seven.’ The score was out of her mouth before she could stop it. At that moment Josh rowed past them in his boat.
‘Oops,’ said Megan. ‘You can’t say that about your boyfriend.’
Daisy watched Josh speed off down the river and realized that she could say it, because it was true. He was a seven.
‘You see, this is where you’re going wrong,’ Megan earnestly explained. ‘The person you’re going out with has to be a ten. He just has to be. Otherwise, what’s the point of being with him?’
And that was it, in a nutshell. A boyfriend who was a seven simply wasn’t good enough. What was she doing, Daisy wondered, settling for less than a ten?
She finished with Josh that evening and he took it pretty well. If he was hurt, he did a good job of hiding it. Daisy just hoped he wasn’t feeling too terrible inside. They agreed, heartily, to stay friends and she also hoped this wouldn’t mean he’d forever be getting drunk and hopelessly maudlin, begging her to please, oh please, give him jusht one more chance…
Josh, she discovered three days later, had been so distraught that he’d gone to a party on Sunday night and hooked up with an exotic beauty called Mira, who was studying for a PhD in physics. They’d had fabulous sex, apparently, and had seen each other the following night and the next night, and the night after that. Daisy knew this because Mira promptly told all her friends how miraculous Josh was in bed. Daisy had kept having to remind herself that jealousy was pointless, she already knew how great Josh was. But it hadn’t been enough.
It wasn’t easy, but she managed to maintain her resolve. Better still, she and Josh did remain close friends. The Mira thing fizzled out after a couple of months and a stream of girlfriends subsequently came and went. No longer jealous, Daisy teased him about his laddish behavior and Josh in turn made merciless fun of her own determination to hold out for Mr Pinnacle-of-Perfection.
‘You could have had me,’ Josh informed her with a shake of his tousled head. ‘You had your chance and you blew it. In fifty years’ time you’ll be one of those mad old spinsters in sl
ippers and a bobble hat,’ he went on sorrowfully, ‘still waiting for Pierce Brosnan to come along and sweep you off your feet.’
‘Ah, but won’t you be gutted when he does come along?’ Daisy had chirpily retorted. ‘You’ll just have to read all about it in the papers, because you won’t be invited to the wedding.’
By the time she’d married Steven, she couldn’t have invited Josh anyway. He had disappeared off to America and they had lost touch.
***
Leaving Vince the assistant manager in charge downstairs, Daisy took Josh up to her flat on the first floor of the west wing. Wasting no time as usual, he unearthed the biscuit tin and began making great inroads into the Hobnobs. Josh had always eaten more than anyone else she knew.
They had so much catching up to do. Five whole years.
‘How did you know I was here?’ Daisy kicked off her high heels and busied herself boiling the kettle.
‘Pure chance. Since I came back from the States a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been staying with Tom Pride. You remember Tom, single sculls, played Widow Twankey in our final year skit? He’s in merchant banking now.’ Having polished off the Hobnobs, Josh began investigating the contents of Daisy’s fridge. ‘Anyway, he’s kept in touch with a couple of the other chaps from college and we all met up one night for a drink. We were chatting about old times, I wondered what you were up to nowadays and Marcus Cartwright said he’d seen a piece in one of the Sunday supplements about your dad buying some country house hotel and you running it. He couldn’t remember the name, just that it was in the Cotswolds, but that’s the wonder of the internet for you. There was a cybercafé just across the road. Two minutes later we had the web page for this place up on screen, and there was the photo of you with your staff on the front steps of the hotel.’ Josh shrugged and went on cheerfully, ‘Well, seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. I just had to see you again. Sweetheart, are you saving these eggs for anything?’
If there was any justice in this world, Josh would be the size of a house. Grinning at the piteous look on his face, Daisy passed him a frying pan.
‘Help yourself. So what have you been doing in the States?’
‘Golf pro. I’ve been working at a club out in Texas for the past eighteen months. It’s a tough job.’ Josh winked and gestured with an egg before cracking it into the pan. ‘Out on the course all day. Play a couple of rounds, teach cack-handed Texans how to swing a club… and then there’s the socializing, of course. All those rich young girls out there eager to learn the game because it’s a cool way to meet rich young guys…’
‘Sounds awful,’ said Daisy. ‘You poor thing. So this is just a flying visit?’
‘No, I was head-hunted a few weeks ago. I’ve got a new job now, in Miami, at a place that’s still being built. Better course, twice as much money, teaching cack-handed Floridians how to swing a club.’ Josh was still deftly breaking eggs into the pan. ‘But I don’t start there until the beginning of June, so I thought I’d give myself a break and come to England for a few months. I was planning to stay with my mother but she’s gone and got herself a new bloke. They spend all their time draped over each other like besotted teenagers.’ He pulled a comical face. ‘One weekend was enough. I could tell I was in the way. To be honest, it was putting me off my food.’
‘Can’t have that,’ said Daisy as he gave the frying pan an expert shake-and-swirl. ‘There’s bacon and tomatoes in the fridge if you want them.’
‘This is hard to believe. You, running a hotel. Who was that chap you were flirting with outside? One of the guests?’
Quick, weigh up the options. Is that what Dev Tyzack is?
Daisy shrugged. ‘Kind of.’
‘But you can sort it out.’ Josh was seeking reassurance, belatedly. ‘You’ll explain to him that I’m not really your husband, won’t you? Tell him it was just a joke.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,’ Daisy repeated solemnly. Too right she would.
‘Is it serious?’ Pausing, Josh glanced across at her. ‘I mean, do you really like this bloke?’
Daisy’s stomach instantly began to squirm. Of course she liked Dev. She liked him so much she was scared witless.
Panicking inwardly, she said, ‘Of course not.’
‘Phew, thank goodness for that. I’d hate to think I’d messed things up.’ Breaking into a huge grin, Josh added, ‘Mind you, you had me going back there, with that dead husband line. I swear to God, for a moment I thought you were serious.’
It really was lovely to see Josh again and to discover that he was as capable as ever of wedging his big feet in his even bigger mouth. In deference to his fragile appetite, Daisy sat down opposite him at the kitchen table and waited until he’d demolished his Desperate Dan-sized fry-up before saying, ‘I was serious.’
Josh froze, his knife and fork suspended in mid-air.
In slow motion, he shook his head. ‘Really?’
‘Truly.’
‘He’s actually dead?’
‘Actually dead.’
‘Oh fuck.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Daisy. ‘I was about to divorce him. It was all over between us. I couldn’t have chosen a worse man to marry.’
Carefully, Josh put down his knife and fork. ‘What happened?’
‘Car crash. He had his girlfriend with him at the time, but she wasn’t hurt. He was a liar and a cheat and an all-round con merchant,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Which just goes to show how brilliant my choice is when it comes to men.’
He half smiled. ‘That’s not true. You used to have excellent taste.’
‘Whereas you went for quantity rather than quality.’ Daisy couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘Anyway, never mind all that. How long are you down here for?’
Josh shrugged and ruffled his hair. ‘I’m easy.’
‘We already know that.’
‘I mean I don’t have any plans. I came back for a holiday, and to cheer up my lonely old mum, but she isn’t lonely anymore. Tom’s flat in London is hardly big enough for one grown man, let alone two. Marcus did say I could stay with him, but he’s got two-year-old twins and a bawling six-week-old baby. Still, I suppose I could always go and live in a cardboard box somewhere.’
Daisy kept a straight face. A year after she and Josh had broken up, she and her flatmates had been unceremoniously—and completely unfairly—evicted by their landlord for holding one riotous party too many. Josh had taken her in at once and generously allowed her to stay rent-free on his sofa until she scraped together enough money for a deposit on the next flat.
‘Better fetch your cases then.’
Josh did his best to look mystified. ‘My cases?’
‘Those big things you pack your belongings in,’ Daisy helpfully explained. ‘Sort of rectangular, with handles. I think you’ll probably find them in the boot of your car.’
Chapter 21
Daisy had made a point of not fussing over Barney since his arrival. He appeared to be settling well into his job and Vince had told her he was a willing and eager worker, already proving a hit with the guests—particularly the female variety—thanks to his cheerful manner and fresh-faced good looks.
But moving to Colworth from Manchester had to be a huge shock to the system. Worried that he might be lonely or homesick, she cornered Rocky in the bar later that afternoon.
‘How’s Barney getting on?’
‘Fine, I think.’
‘You think?’ Daisy frowned. ‘Don’t you know?’
‘He seems OK.’ Bewildered, Rocky said, ‘I haven’t really seen that much of him outside work.’
‘Well, that’s not very kind, is it? When a group of you go out to the Hollybush, do you invite him along?’ Daisy experienced a surge of indignation on Barney’s behalf. She pictured him sitting alone in his little attic room, feeling excluded from the crowd, miserably wonderi
ng why nobody wanted to be his friend.
‘Of course we’ve invited him,’ Rocky protested. ‘You know we try to make the new staff feel welcome. But Barney always says no.’
They obviously weren’t trying hard enough, Daisy thought crossly.
‘You mean he stays here all on his own?’
‘You must be joking,’ Rocky exclaimed. ‘He’s got himself a girlfriend, hasn’t he? And I’m telling you, a couple of our waitresses had their eye on him and they were well pissed off when they found out he was already taken.’
Daisy was amazed. ‘A girlfriend? What, here? Already?’
‘The quiet ones are always the worst.’ Rocky grinned, relieved that the misunderstanding had been cleared up and that he was off the hook. ‘The moment he comes off shift, we don’t see Barney for dust. He gets into his car and, zoom, straight off down the M4. She lives in Bristol.’
Well, well, well, who’d have thought it? Maybe this was why he’d been so eager to move down here in the first place.
‘Actually, you’re wrong,’ said Daisy.
‘She does! Barney told me she lived in Bristol!’
‘I meant about the quiet ones being the worst.’ Daisy raised a playful eyebrow. ‘From what I hear, you’re certainly one of the worst. And nobody could call you quiet.’
***
Barney was loving every minute of his job. He was currently loving every minute of his life. Finishing his day shift at five o’clock meant he could strip off his porter’s uniform, jump into the shower, change into jeans and a sweatshirt, and be in Bristol by six. The car he had bought for four hundred pounds in Manchester—a rusty Rover in a distressing shade of mauve—was bearing up so far, intermittently belching out great clouds of black smoke but bravely refusing to do the girly thing and break down on the motorway. It wouldn’t last forever, but it was doing well enough for now.
Barney’s absolute favorite moment of the day was when he pulled into Mel’s street and drew up outside her flat. Next moment the front door would swing open and there she’d be, with Freddie on her hip, beaming all over her face.
