by Jill Mansell
They found a bench in a patch of sunlight between two buildings. Shaking her head, Juliet said wonderingly, “I’d almost forgotten how it feels to be in the sun.”
She looked exhausted.
Maddy asked, “How’s Tiff?”
“Still alive. Still in a coma. They did another brain scan yesterday.” From somewhere, Juliet dredged up a smile.
“Thank Sophie for the cards, will you? They’re beautiful. How is she?”
“Good. Missing Tiff.” Maddy hated having to ask, but it was only fair they should know. “Has Oliver seen the paper this morning?”
“The Mail? Yes. Poor Oliver.” Juliet shook her head. “Poor Estelle too. What a hideous mess.”
Fiddling with her car keys, Maddy said, “I’m actually feeling sorry for Kate. And I never thought I’d hear myself saying that.”
“I feel like it’s all my fault.” There was anguish in Juliet’s eyes. “Maybe Tiff being ill is my punishment for getting involved with Oliver in the first place.”
“That’s not true,” said Maddy. “You know it isn’t.”
“Oh God, I’m so tired I don’t know what to think anymore.” Checking her watch, Juliet gathered up the bag of clean clothes. “Thanks for these, anyway. Say hello to Jake, and give Sophie a big kiss from me.”
They headed back to the ICU. As they approached the corridor, they both heard the sound of hysterical sobbing behind the closed door to the waiting room.
“What’s happening in there?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Maddy regretted them.
“It’s Donna’s family. Donna was in a hit-and-run yesterday.” Juliet kept her voice under control. “She’s eighteen. The doctors have just told them she’s brain-dead.”
Maddy closed her eyes.
“Anyway,” Juliet went on, “how are things with you? Are you still missing Kerr?”
Maddy instantly felt smaller than she’d ever felt before. Yes, she was missing Kerr—of course she was—but compared with everyone else’s problems, hers was laughably insignificant.
“Don’t worry about me.” Giving Juliet another hug, choking back tears at the thought of Tiff lying helplessly in his hospital bed, she said, “Ring me if there’s anything else you need. And give my love to Tiff. We’re all praying for him.”
She actually was too. Despite never having prayed before.
“Thanks.” Juliet wiped her own brimming eyes. “Me too.”
Maddy returned to the hospital at twelve thirty after finishing her deliveries. Marcella, waiting for her outside the main entrance, thought how pale and drawn she looked. Supermodels might aim for stick-thin limbs and hollowed cheeks, but Maddy looked better with a bit more weight on her. There was an air of defeat about her too. She hadn’t said anything, but Marcella knew why this was.
Well, there was nothing she could do about that. But she could certainly do her best, as a mother, to cheer Maddy up.
“Lunch,” Marcella declared as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Saab. “My treat.”
“I’m fine.” Maddy shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Rubbish. Look at you, skinny as a broomstick! You need feeding up, and Nuala can manage without you for another hour. We’ll go to Quincey’s,” Marcella announced, because this was one of Maddy’s favorite places to eat. “And sit outside like proper sophisticated ladies who lunch.”
When Marcella was in this kind of mood, Maddy knew there was no point trying to argue with her. Within ten minutes, the car had been parked and she and Marcella were sitting at a table for two on the broad pavement outside Quincey’s wine bar with two orange juices, two giant menus, and—forever-ravenous Marcella—a vast bowl of olives. The moment they’d finished ordering, Marcella reached down and began delving into the pink raffia basket at her feet.
This was when Maddy, her attention wandering, gazed across the road and saw who was seated in the window of the restaurant opposite.
The sensation was akin to a giant syringe shooting a gallon of adrenaline into her bottom. Sitting bolt upright as if she’d been hit with an electric shock, Maddy stared first at Kerr, in profile to her, then at the glossy brunette sharing his table.
Oh Lord, this was too much.
“Here we are,” Marcella gaily announced, waving a small, curling piece of paper.
For a moment Maddy wondered if she’d hired a private detective and was now presenting her with evidence that Kerr had found himself another woman.
“Take it,” Marcella urged. “It won’t bite you. Can’t bite you,” she added with a grin. “It doesn’t have any teeth yet.”
Kerr was sitting less than twenty feet away and Maddy was having to behave as if everything were normal. She wasn’t even sure she could remember how to breathe.
“Are you OK?” asked Marcella.
“Sorry, sorry.” Guiltily Maddy grabbed the photograph and gazed at the funny little broad bean with legs that was destined to become her stepsister or stepbrother.
“That’s his heart,” Marcella proudly pointed out, “and look, that’s his bladder!”
“Wow, his bladder.” Willing herself to concentrate, Maddy did her best to keep her hands steady.
Without much success.
“You’re trembling.” Marcella looked concerned. “Darling, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Glancing over the road, Maddy saw that Kerr and the brunette had finished their meal and were preparing to leave the restaurant. “Um, you said he. Is it a boy?”
“They always call them he,” Marcella explained. “I don’t want to know whether it’s going to be a boy or a girl. It’s because you haven’t been eating properly,” she scolded, taking hold of Maddy’s hand and giving it an admonitory squeeze. “That’s why you’ve gone all shaky. When our food gets here, you’re going to eat everything on your plate.”
The door of the restaurant opened, and Kerr and his female companion stepped out into the street. Terrified that Marcella might turn around and spot him, Maddy hastily pointed in the opposite direction and said, “Ooh look, there’s that actor you like, the one from Casualty!”
Peering in vain through the crowd of tourists dawdling along, Marcella leaped to her feet for a better look. The sudden movement, coupled with the brightness of her acid-yellow shift dress, captured Kerr’s attention. Turning his head, he focused first on Marcella before his gaze shifted to Maddy.
“Where?” demanded Marcella, desperate to get a glimpse of her favorite actor. “I can’t see him!”
Maddy was unable to speak. She couldn’t stop staring at Kerr.
“What’s he wearing?” Marcella called out, by now hopping up and down.
What was he wearing? Dark blue suit. Bottle-green shirt. Polished black shoes. Probably his usual aftershave, but from this distance it was impossible to tell. And still he hadn’t moved. What must the brunette be thinking?
More to the point, who was she?
“Well, I give up,” Marcella announced, plonking herself back down with a sigh of disappointment. Then she brightened. “Oh, I know what else I’ve got to show you!”
As if in slow motion, Maddy realized what was about to happen. She could read Kerr’s intentions in his dark eyes, knew that he’d reached a decision. He was about to come over and confront Marcella, make her understand that enough was enough, that she wasn’t being fair. Oh God. Maddy felt herself go hot and cold all over. He really did mean to go through with it.
“How about this?” Marcella, who’d been delving into her straw basket once more, assumed the air of a conjuror triumphantly producing a rabbit from a hat. “Ta-da,” she cried, waggling a tiny hand-smocked baby’s outfit on a white hanger. “Isn’t it fab? Look at the little cardigan and the bonnet with the birds on it. They were selling them in the prenatal unit to raise funds for a new scanner. And how
about these little leggings? Aren’t they just adorable?” Her eyes alight with joy, Marcella danced the outfit up and down on its hanger. “I know I said I wouldn’t buy anything yet, but I just couldn’t resist it.”
Across the street, Kerr had seen it too. The sight of Marcella proudly waving the baby clothes stopped him in his tracks, reminding him why he and Maddy had stopped seeing each other in the first place. For a fraction of a second their eyes locked again, silently acknowledging that it couldn’t happen.
“They had the most gorgeous little striped bootees as well,” Marcella confided. “I wanted to buy all of them! Will you look at the work that’s gone into that embroidery?”
Feeling as if her heart was about to crack in two, Maddy leaned across the table and dutifully admired the workmanship. Out of the very corner of her eye, she saw Kerr and the brunette moving off down the street.
There really wasn’t a lot of point in torturing herself further, wondering who the very pretty brunette was and what she was doing having lunch with Kerr.
It’s nothing to do with me, Maddy thought resignedly. He’s gone and that’s that.
“Hooray.” Marcella abruptly whisked away the baby outfit as a waitress approached with their plates. “Food’s here. About time too!”
Chapter 45
The good weather had broken at last and Kate was glad. Torrential rain suited her current mood far better than unrelenting sunshine. As she trudged along Main Street, soaked to the skin, Norris veered abruptly off to the left, in the direction of the workshops.
“Come back.” Kate groaned, but Norris, with his selective hearing, chose to ignore her.
“Blimey, you look rough,” said Kate. She leaned against the doorway of Jake’s workshop, shoulders hunched, hands tucked up inside the sleeves of her gray jersey. Currently drenched with rain, it weighed a ton.
“Pot, kettle.” Jake raised an eyebrow and stopped planing the edges of a casket lid. “At least I don’t look as if I’ve just crawled out of the River Ash.”
“I don’t have stubble on my chin,” countered Kate, because she hadn’t been exaggerating, Jake really was looking dreadful. As well as the three-day growth on his face, there were shadows under his eyes. Basically, what with one thing or another, nobody in Ashcombe was currently looking that great.
Apart from Bean and Norris, of course, who fancied each other rotten and each thought the other one was gorgeous.
“Any news about Tiff?” said Kate, and Jake shook his head.
“No change.”
“Have you been up to the hospital?”
Another shake. “It’s not my place to interfere,” said Jake. “Juliet’s there with Ol—your father.” He rubbed his jaw with a dusty hand. “How about you? Tiff’s your half brother.”
“If he opened his eyes and saw me, he’d be scared out of his wits.” Kate pulled a face. “I’m the one who yelled at him, remember, for getting ice cream on my trousers.”
“How about your mother? Any word yet?”
Kate nodded bleakly. It had been Estelle’s phone call this morning that had propelled her out into the rain.
“She rang half an hour ago. No idea where from. Not Will’s place, obviously. God, can you believe it?” Kate blurted out as rain dripped from her bangs and slid down her face. “My mother and Will Gifford. What was she thinking? It’s just…gross.”
“It’s not,” said Jake.
“Of course it’s gross. She’s my mother!”
“She’s forty-five,” Jake pointed out. “You’re still allowed to have a sex life, you know. Estelle’s an attractive woman,” he went on. “If I were twenty years older, I’d sleep with her.”
“You’d sleep with anyone,” retorted Kate. “I’m amazed you haven’t given Theresa Birch a go.”
For the first time, Jake smiled. “What makes you think I haven’t?”
* * *
Two hours later when Kate walked into the Angel to start her shift, she found Dexter bawling into the cordless phone.
“…and I never want to see you in this pub again,” he stormed, “because you’re all barred.” Then he attempted to hang up with the equivalent of slamming down the receiver, which basically meant pressing the minuscule Off button really hard.
“The bloody nerve of these people,” Dexter raged, swinging around and glaring at her.
“Oh, grow up,” Kate retaliated, not in the mood for his rantings. “Listen to yourself. Why can’t you be nice to people just for once in your life?”
“Why the bloody hell should I be? It’s midday.” Dexter shook back his hair and jabbed a finger at the clock on the wall. “We had a table of eight booked for twelve thirty. They’ve just phoned to cancel. This is how much notice they give me. Let me tell you, I’ll shout at whoever I like.”
“Except me,” Kate retorted frostily. “You’re shouting at me now and I won’t stand for it.”
“Ha, this isn’t shouting. Trust me, you’d know if I was shouting at you. What are you so touchy for anyway?” Dexter’s tone was accusing.
“You mean apart from all the other crap that’s going on in my life? You really want me to tell you?” For a second Kate was actually tempted to blurt out the truth, that just as she’d been on the verge of getting her confidence back, Jake had gone and spoiled it all by informing her that, in effect, he fancied her mother.
Thankfully, pride kicked in. When Dexter said, “You can tell me if you want to,” Kate swallowed hard and shook her head. Some secrets were too embarrassing to share.
* * *
It was the quietest lunchtime session Dexter had ever known. By one thirty he’d sent the kitchen staff home. Both the restaurant and the bar area were deserted. He could have sent Kate home as well but sensed she had neither reason nor incentive to go. Dauncey House was empty too.
Outside, the weather had deteriorated dramatically. The sky was charcoal-gray and a full-blown thunderstorm was raging, flinging rain almost horizontally past the windows and bending the trees like springs.
Kate was at the bar, perched on a high stool, lost in the pages of a glossy magazine. As Dexter watched her, thunder crashed directly overhead, causing her to jump. He gave up pretending to clean the already clean pumps and moved over to where Kate was sitting. She was wearing a coffee-colored cotton shirt and a narrow, darker brown skirt. Breathing in the familiar scent of Clinique’s Aromatics, Dexter said, “What are you reading?”
Serve him right if it was an article about thrush. Bit of a conversation stopper if ever there was one.
But Kate merely flipped her dark hair back from her face and sighed. “Nothing really. Just being masochistic.”
At least she wasn’t shouting at him, informing him he was an ignorant pig. Sliding the open magazine around to face him, Dexter saw that it was something about a trendy New York nightclub. Glossy, superior-looking Sex and the City types were sipping drinks, posing and studiously ignoring the camera. None of the women could possibly weigh more than ninety pounds. The designer clothes they were wearing were all lovingly described in the accompanying text. Evidently you were nothing if you weren’t teetering on Manolo Blahnik heels.
“None of them are enjoying themselves. Not one person in that photograph is having fun,” Dexter said bluntly and knew at once that he’d said the wrong thing. Maybe it could have been wronger if he’d been an antifur campaigner on a visit to the silver fox factory. Then again, maybe not.
“I used to go there,” said Kate. “To that very club, in Manhattan. That used to be me. That was my life.”
Biting back the urge to retort “God help you, then,” Dexter said instead, “D’you miss it?”
From the look Kate gave him, he gathered that this was the kind of question only a particularly simple man would ask.
“My old life? Of course I miss it.”
Genuinely bemused, Dexter
said, “Why?” and earned himself another look.
“Because I didn’t have these then, did I?” Kate indicated her scars. “I still had my old face.”
“OK, that’s fair enough. What else?” As he spoke, Dexter reached up for two brandy glasses.
“Because I had a great time. I loved my job. I used to be invited to glamorous parties.”
“Thrown by nice people?”
Kate’s jaw tightened. “Of course they were nice people. They were my friends.”
“Right.” Nodding, Dexter uncapped a bottle of cognac and poured them both a hefty measure. “So they’d have been a huge support while you were in the hospital.”
Instead of replying, Kate picked up her balloon glass and took a gulp of cognac.
“And afterward, of course,” he persisted. “When you were recuperating at home. I bet it was like a permanent party at your place, wasn’t it? Well, that’s what friends are for.”
“Look, I just liked New York, OK? I liked looking normal. Better than normal,” Kate corrected herself. “When I walked into a room, people would go wow!” She paused then added bitterly, “Now they go waaah!”
The next moment, Dracula-style, lightning flashed overhead and the lights flickered spookily in the pub.
“Or that happens,” deadpanned Kate.
“Nobody goes waaah,” said Dexter, “and you know it. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”
“And that’s not allowed, after the week I’ve had?” Draining the rest of her drink, Kate held out her glass for more. “It’s all right for you: you’ve been ugly your whole life.”
Dexter smiled. He’d always been the rudest person he knew, but since Kate’s arrival in Ashcombe he’d had serious competition.
“Thanks. Although I’ll have you know that my eyes aren’t ugly. I’ve been told several times in the past that I have sexy eyes. And I only gave you a drink in the first place because I thought it might cheer you up. This stuff isn’t cheap,” Dexter warned. “If you’re going to carry on being grumpy, you can pay for your own.”
