Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Of course you do.’ Dominic gave her a soulful look. ‘And of course I will.’ Pause, followed by a grin. ‘But how about a quickie first, just to whet our appetites?’

  Letting out a shriek as he lunged at the waistband of her skirt, she rolled out of reach and scrambled into a kneeling position.

  ‘I’m too hungry. I’m starving.’ Tara patted her empty stomach, which obligingly growled. ‘I rushed home from work, had a bath, got ready, and threw some clothes into a bag. I haven’t eaten a thing since lunchtime. We have to have dinner first,’ she insisted. ‘Otherwise I’ll just faint.’

  In response. Dominic kissed her very gently on the mouth, caressing her lower lip with his tongue before pulling away with regret.

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said. ‘Whatever you want.’

  Tara was filled with triumph and delight. There, she wasn’t a pushover!

  If Daisy could see her now, she’d be so proud.

  Chapter 47

  Apart from stiffening slightly whenever anyone new entered the dining room—which was only natural, Tara felt, under the circumstances—Dominic had kept his word. There was excellent wine and plenty of it, there was food, ornately presented on hexagonal silver-rimmed plates, and there was candlelight. The mood was romantic, the staff efficient but unobtrusive. Tara was in heaven. The only shame was her loss of appetite; having been absolutely ravenous earlier, she was now so keyed up she could barely eat a thing.

  Luckily Dominic wasn’t offended. He took it as a compliment.

  ‘Did you manage to get off work tomorrow?’

  Tara smiled and nodded. She’d persuaded one of the other girls to switch shifts, which meant they didn’t have to check out of the hotel at some unearthly hour.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet,’ Dominic observed.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Reaching over, she gave his hand a squeeze. ‘It’s just…’

  ‘Don’t tell me, that conscience of yours. Sweetheart, you know how I feel about you. I married the wrong girl.’ Dominic kept his voice low, though the tables in the restaurant were widely spaced. ‘I made a mistake. We’ll sort it out, I promise you.’

  Tara had been about to tell him she couldn’t manage any more wine, but never mind. It was only right that they should discuss his marriage.

  ‘How’s it been with Annabel in the last week?’

  Soberly, Dominic shook his head. ‘No change. Like sharing the house with a stranger. I do my best, but she just won’t… well, help herself.’

  ‘Still no…?’

  ‘Sex? You must be joking.’ He shrugged. ‘Annabel’s not interested.’

  It was no way for a man to live. Tara felt desperately sorry for Dominic, but it was sad for Annabel too.

  ‘What about counseling? There are these sex therapy people. Couldn’t you persuade her to see someone about it?’ Oh my, listen to me, discussing my lover’s wife’s sexual problems. This definitely makes me a generous, caring person.

  ‘She wouldn’t do that.’ Dominic grimaced at the thought. ‘Annabel? No way in the world. She’d refuse outright.’

  Tara was secretly relieved. Making helpful grown-up suggestions was all very well, but she’d be miffed if Dominic were to ring her up next week yelling excitedly, ‘It worked, it bloody worked! Since she came back from the sex therapist she hasn’t been able to keep her hands off me—sweetheart, I’m telling you, she’s dynamite!’

  God, imagine. That would be downright unfair.

  ‘Oh, Dominic, what are you going to do?’ It was such a hopeless situation. Tara gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

  ‘Stick it out for a few more months.’ Dominic looked resigned. ‘For appearance’s sake. If it was up to me I’d leave tomorrow, but that wouldn’t be fair on Annabel. She’d never get over the humiliation.’

  He was so kind-hearted, that was what she loved about him. How many men would be that thoughtful?

  ‘Sorry.’ Tara smiled up at the waitress who had arrived to clear their plates. ‘The food’s great—I’m just not hungry.’

  ‘What about pudding?’ To tempt her, Dominic nodded at an adjacent table. ‘They’ve got chocolate mousse.’

  Chocolate mousse was Tara’s great weakness, but her stomach was still all of a squiggle. Nerves were getting the better of her. Regretfully she shook her head. ‘I don’t think I could.’

  Pushing back his chair, Dominic stood up and took Tara’s hand. As they made their way out of the dining room he whispered in her ear, ‘We’ve got something far better to look forward to than chocolate mousse.’

  Tara, leaning against him, experienced a hot wave of something that felt almost like…

  ***

  Nausea. It was nausea, and no matter how hard she tried, Tara couldn’t make it go away. Back in their room, Dominic had started to kiss her and she’d done her best to join in with enthusiasm, but the smell of his aftershave, which she normally loved, was making her feel sicker by the minute. She was hot too. Breaking out into a sweat in a way that wasn’t pleasant.

  ‘God, you’re beautiful,’ Dominic murmured, unzipping her dress in one smooth movement and sliding the straps from her shoulders. Tara instantly felt cold and clammy, and was forced to take deep breaths to lessen the sick feeling in her stomach. Assuming that the heavy breathing was a sign of rapture, Dominic steered her over to the bed.

  He stood back and gazed in admiration at Tara in her peacock-blue bra and (naturally) matching knickers. Instinctively pulling in her stomach, she winced as a jagged pain like a knife being waggled shot through her intestines.

  In an instant Tara realized what was about to happen. Oh no, oh please, God, nooo…

  ‘So beautiful, so sexy,’ Dominic whispered, reaching out and tracing his fingers over the lacy plunging cups of her bra. ‘I’ve waited so long for this.’

  The knotted stomach and inability to eat hadn’t been nerves. The almost-but-not-quite-feeling-sick sensation hadn’t been due to guilt. Tara closed her eyes and the room began to spin around her, tilting crazily like some sadistic fairground ride.

  ‘Mmmph,’ she spluttered as Dominic’s mouth landed on hers while his hands simultaneously moved to unfasten her bra. The nausea rose up like a whirling dervish and she yanked herself free, covering her mouth and racing past an astonished Dominic to the bathroom.

  The next five minutes were the very, very worst of Tara’s life. She retched and vomited, noisily and messily, until there was nothing left to bring up.

  Finally, she heard Dominic call through the locked bathroom door: ‘Tara? Are you OK?’

  Oh, I’m fine, darling, never felt better. What I really fancy now is a chocolate fudge milkshake and a ride on Nemesis!

  Tara didn’t say this, she was too busy dying of embarrassment. If there was anything less sexy and alluring than the sound of a woman being sick, she didn’t know what it was.

  Within thirty seconds she found out. The knife-like pains in her stomach intensified, her bowels turned to water and she only just made it onto the loo in time.

  After goodness knows how long—twenty minutes probably—Tara regained sufficient control of her bodily functions to stumble over to the sink and look in the mirror. Not a pretty sight. She was wearing her bra and knickers. Her eyes were swollen, her face blotchy and her hair stringy with sweat. Ridiculously, she still had her red stilettos on her feet.

  Her legs trembling and weak, Tara cleaned her teeth, washed her face, and wrapped a bath towel round her shoulders because she couldn’t stop shivering. The ominous cramping in her stomach was still there. The loo must feel as exhausted as she did from being flushed so many times. Oh God, how was she ever going to be able to face Dominic again?

  Through the bathroom door—the flimsy bathroom door—she could hear the murmur of voices. Hopefully the TV, rather than an impromptu gathering waiting for her to emerge before poppi
ng a dozen champagne corks and yelling ‘Surprise!’

  Oh well, she could hardly spend the night sleeping in the bath. Taking a deep breath, Tara unlocked the door and stepped out.

  Dominic was lying on the bed, fully dressed and watching television. He turned his head to look at her.

  ‘Better now?’

  Miserably, Tara nodded. Her stomach was still sore. Her eyelids were so swollen she could hardly see. She had never felt less desirable in her life.

  Which was just as well, really, seeing as Dominic wasn’t looking exactly inflamed with desire himself.

  Her green satin dressing gown was in her suitcase. Dragging it out, Tara kicked off the incongruous stilettos and pulled the dressing gown on. Not knowing what to do next, she hesitantly approached the bed.

  Maybe if you’d been married to someone for a hundred years, they’d be able to take the situation in their stride. Perhaps even crack a joke about it, laugh it off, and give you the kind of reassuring hug that told you they understood and still loved you anyway.

  Dominic turned his attention back to the TV, picked up the remote, and changed stations.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ As Tara sank down on the edge of the bed, she could have sworn he shrank away. So this was how it felt to have leprosy.

  After a long pause, Dominic said, ‘What caused it?’

  Sadly, Tara had already worked this one out for herself.

  ‘I had a tuna sandwich for lunch. I thought it tasted a bit funny, but I hadn’t brought anything else into work and I was hungry so I just ate it. I made it last night at home,’ she admitted miserably, ‘and forgot to put it in the fridge.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Dominic muttered, indicating that he thought she was stupid beyond belief.

  ‘I thought it’d be OK. The cottage was quite cold.’ Tara was defensive because last night for the first time in ages Maggie hadn’t had every radiator going full blast in a frantic attempt to dry a ton of washing.

  Bloody washing.

  ‘Well, it obviously wasn’t.’ Dominic was sounding seriously pissed off, and Tara couldn’t blame him. ‘So what do we do now?’ he went on tetchily. ‘Because I’m not really in the mood for—’

  ‘Nor me,’ Tara hurriedly cut in, before he could tell her how physically revolted he was by her traitorous body.

  ‘Shall we just go home, then?’

  It was what she wanted more than anything, but to Tara’s dismay her stomach was starting to churn ominously once more. Even at this time of night, the drive back to Colworth would take an hour and the prospect of an in-car accident was too terrible to contemplate.

  ‘I’m still not feeling… I don’t know if I could… well, cope with the journey.’

  Dominic nodded and picked up the bedside phone. He spoke to the receptionist downstairs about booking a second room.

  ‘The hotel’s full,’ he announced shortly, hanging up. ‘Every room’s taken.’

  This was a nightmare.

  ‘You could go home,’ Tara whispered, because it was clearly what he longed to do. ‘I’ll stay here.’

  ‘Maybe that’d be best.’ Dominic looked faintly exasperated as her shoulders began to shake. ‘Oh Christ, don’t start crying. What’s wrong now?’

  What’s wrong now?

  Hot tears streamed down Tara’s face and dripped off her chin. ‘It’s all s-spoiled! I’m sorry I’ve messed everything up but I d-didn’t do it on purpose… and I feel so rotten,’ she wailed, wiping her eyes with the slippery sleeve of her dressing gown. ‘I really feel ill and I don’t w-want to b-be on my own!’

  Pathetic, utterly pathetic, but true. If she was at home, Maggie would be making a huge fuss of her now, tucking her up in bed, sponging her forehead, and being generally caring and wonderful.

  Keeping his distance, Dominic gingerly patted her heaving shoulder.

  ‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘I won’t go.’

  Tara didn’t dare turn round and hug him. She sniffed noisily. ‘Th-thanks.’

  ***

  They checked out at eight o’clock the next morning. Tara had never felt emptier in her life. If she weighed herself, she’d probably find she’d lost five stone. Her whole body was as hollow as a cheap Easter egg. She’d spent the night dozing fitfully, then waking up and hurtling to the bathroom. Dominic, needless to say, hadn’t got much sleep either.

  But at least she felt safe enough to risk the journey home. Dominic seemed relieved too. She’d never known it was possible before for two people to lie that far apart from each other in a double bed.

  It had been a night neither of them would ever forget.

  They drove back to Colworth in silence. When Dominic dropped her off at the bottom of the High Street, he didn’t kiss her. Tara was convinced she still smelled of sick, despite having brushed her teeth so hard she’d splayed all the bristles on her toothbrush.

  ‘I’ll give you a ring.’ He glanced at his watch as he spoke, indicating that he was in a hurry to get away.

  ‘OK.’ Tara wondered if he meant it. Had she put him off her for good, or would the hideousness of last night fade in time, like childbirth? For about the hundredth time she mumbled, ‘Sorry.’

  Nodding, Dominic managed his first smile of the day. Just a flicker of one. He said, ‘So am I.’

  Chapter 48

  ‘Now, you’re sure you’re OK?’ Maggie bustled into the living room with a fresh bottle of Perrier from the fridge. She stroked Tara’s hair, rattled her car keys, and said, ‘Poor darling, you still look dreadful. I’ll bring home some little treats for when you get your appetite back. D’you want me to pick up a couple of magazines?’

  Tara nodded and felt cared-for. It was three in the afternoon and she’d reached the fragile-but-recovering stage. Every muscle in her body still ached, but she had managed to drink, and keep down, two whole glasses of water. Best of all, she no longer felt sick or as though she might have to dash to the loo at a millisecond’s notice.

  ‘I’ll be back by five,’ said Maggie, who was off to the supermarket for a big shop. ‘You just take it easy, watch a bit of telly, have a good rest.’

  Oh, it was nice to be cosseted. And Maggie had recorded Rain Man for her last night. Snuggling up under the duvet on the sofa, Tara waved the remote at the video and determinedly didn’t think about Dominic. A couple of hours in the company of Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise was just what she needed to cheer her up.

  The doorbell rang an hour later.

  ‘Jeopardy,’ said Dustin Hoffman on the television.

  Wrestling her way out of the duvet, Tara hurriedly ran her hands over her sticking-up hair. It might be Dominic, come back to apologize and tell her he still loved her.

  Well, it might be.

  Though whether he’d still love her in her Madonna T-shirt and baggy jogging bottoms was another matter. She opened the door anyway.

  ‘Hello,’ said Annabel Cross-Calvert. Oh God. Tara prayed she’d fallen asleep on the sofa and was in fact having a horrible dream. This really couldn’t be happening, could it? ‘Probably best if you invite me in,’ Annabel suggested. ‘We need to talk.’

  Oh, buggering hell. This was real. Fighting down panic, Tara wondered if she’d be allowed a phone call to her solicitor. If only she had one.

  Dry-mouthed and with her heart pummeling her rib cage, she stepped to one side. Annabel swept past her in a mist of Chanel No. 19. She paused to survey the crumpled duvet, the drawn curtains, and the flickering TV screen.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Dustin Hoffman bluntly announced. ‘Fart.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ll turn it off.’ Frantically, Tara reached for the remote control, shoveled the duvet out of sight behind the sofa, cleared a mound of Maggie’s cushion-making paraphernalia from the armchair, and gestured for Annabel to sit down. ‘Um… cup of tea?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Annabel shook her head and remained
standing. She was wearing an expensive-looking grey suede coat, a crisp pink shirt, and pale grey trousers.

  Not knowing what to do with herself, Tara rubbed her perspiring hands together and said in desperation, ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No.’ Annabel took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. ‘You’re having an affair with my husband.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Vigorously Tara shook her own head. ‘I’m not, I promise. I haven’t slept with him.’

  ‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. You spent last night with him at that hotel in Clevedon. He drove you back here this morning. I know all about it.’

  Would this be a good moment to faint? Tara, feeling pretty wobbly anyway, sank down with a bump on the sofa.

  ‘Who told you? Dominic?’

  Annabel’s upper lip curled with derision. ‘Of course not. I’ve been having him tailed.’

  ‘Tailed? You mean followed?’ Tara felt sweat break out all over her body. ‘By a…?’

  ‘Private detective. That’s right.’

  ‘But, but… he came to pick me up last night. We didn’t see anyone following us.’ OK, it was an admission of guilt but Annabel was clearly in possession of the facts. Well, most of them.

  ‘That’s because he’s good at his job,’ Annabel patiently replied. ‘And he didn’t need to drive bumper to bumper behind you all the way to Clevedon. He’d already planted a tracking device in Dominic’s car. The wonders of modern technology,’ she went on dryly. ‘Where would we be without them?’

  An awful lot safer, Tara thought, that was for sure. Less caught out. She’d never liked modern technology and now she knew why.

  She liked it even less when Annabel clicked open her handbag and took out a tiny cassette tape.

  ‘You had dinner together in the hotel restaurant. Remember the middle-aged man sitting on his own at the table next to yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘See?’ Annabel sounded almost pleased. ‘That’s another reason why he’s such a good private detective. Nobody ever notices him. But he noticed you.’ She paused. ‘He also recorded every word you said.’