by Jill Mansell
Jake raised his eyebrows. “You can’t allow it?”
“You and Sophie aren’t moving into the apartment above the shop,” Oliver said bluntly. “Now, don’t take this personally. I’m just thinking of Tiff and what’s best for my son—”
“Hang on, sorry, we’re talking at cross purposes here.” Jake held up a hand to stop him. “I wasn’t asking your permission just then. I was telling you how things are going to be from now on. And no,” he went on before Oliver could protest. “I’m not planning to move into Juliet’s apartment. She and Tiff will be coming to live with us. At Snow Cottage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Oliver exploded. “You can’t do that! What about your sister and that dippy barmaid friend of hers? Are you seriously planning to squeeze six of you, all together, into that—that rabbit hutch?”
“Well, maybe we can come to some arrangement about that.” Jake paused and took a mouthful of coffee. He was really enjoying himself now. “You see, Juliet tells me you bought the deli outright, so obviously what you decide to do with it is up to you. But she’d like to carry on working there, and so would Maddy. Which got us wondering,” said Jake. “Actually it was Juliet’s idea. How would you feel about Maddy and Nuala moving into the apartment?” He watched Oliver, who was clearly wary of being outmaneuvered, mentally running through the list of pros and cons.
Finally Oliver said, “And if I say no?”
“That’s absolutely OK. Before my parents moved into Snow Cottage, Cyrus Sharp’s family lived there. And they had nine children,” said Jake. “So please don’t worry about us, because I promise you, we’ll be fine.”
Oliver was motionless, staring at him. He ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar, loosening it. Jake, waiting for his reaction, thought how silent the house was.
Until the tiny cell phone on the kitchen table began to ring, causing Oliver to jump and glance down at the caller’s ID.
“I’ll think it over.” Oliver’s dismissive manner indicated that it was time for Jake to leave. “And let you know.”
Smiling, Jake left Oliver to deal with his phone call and let himself out of the house. It was actually really nice, feeling this sorry for a multimillionaire.
* * *
“Hey, this is cool.” Tiff greatly approved of his new surroundings. Gazing around the brightly decorated children’s ward, nodding with satisfaction, he said for the hundredth time, “When will Sophie be here?”
Juliet’s eyes danced, picturing the Hollywood-style reunion. Any minute now, Jake and Sophie would appear through the swing doors. Yelling, “Oh, Tiff. Oh, Tiff,” Sophie would break away from Jake and race, in Hollywood slow motion, the length of the ward before throwing herself ecstatically into Tiff’s arms.
It didn’t happen like that at all. Sophie, who had never lacked confidence in her life, found all the pre-reunion hype too much and experienced her first-ever bout of paralyzing shyness. Refusing to let go of Jake’s hand, she remained glued to his side, staring fixedly at the artwork up on the wall. For a good five minutes, their conversation was as stilted as that of two strangers in the waiting room of an STD clinic.
Finally Sophie said, “What’s the food like?”
“Gross.”
“Oh.” Pause. “What are the other kids like?”
Tiff shrugged. “Don’t know. I only just got here.”
“Oh. So what are the nurses like?”
“Don’t know. I only just got here.”
Longer pause.
At last Sophie said grudgingly, “I told Bean you were better and she wagged her tail.”
Tiff’s lip curled. “That’s because she’s a dog.”
“Did you like my cards?”
“They were all right.”
“I won’t make any more then.” Sophie bristled. “They took me ages.”
They were glaring mutinously at each other now, like Tom and Jerry.
“You can have them back then,” snarled Tiff.
“Ugh, no thanks, with your germs on them.”
“Right.” Jake seized Sophie’s hand. “If all you’re going to do is argue, we’ll go home now and—”
“No!” bellowed Sophie and Tiff in unison.
Jake raised his eyebrows. “So if we stay, you think you can manage to be nice to one another?”
Tiff and Sophie exchanged glances, then both nodded vigorously.
Jake smiled across at Juliet and said, “OK.”
“I should think so too.” Juliet gave Tiff a behave-yourself look. “Getting stroppy with your first proper visitor really isn’t on. You’re supposed to be nice to people who—”
“Sophie isn’t my first visitor,” said Tiff. “Mr. Taylor-Trent was here yesterday.”
Juliet stiffened. Of all the subjects to crop up. She’d spent the entire morning attempting to pluck up the courage to explain the necessary facts to Tiff, but the right moment simply hadn’t arisen.
Plus, of course, she was a big wimp.
“Did he do you a card?” Sophie’s tone was accusing.
Tiff scowled. “No.”
“Well then, he’s not as good as me, because I’ve done you six cards. Anyway, he doesn’t count as a proper visitor,” she went on scornfully. “He only came here because he’s your father.”
Juliet felt all the blood drain from her face, although where it went she couldn’t imagine. Casting an anguished glance over at Jake, she willed someone, somewhere, to press the rewind button so the words could slither back into Sophie’s mouth. Unable to move, she looked across at Tiff.
“What?” Tiff was frowning. “Mr. Taylor-Trent? How can he be my father?”
Sorry, Jake mouthed across at Juliet.
“You remember, the seed thing. Carrie Carter from school told us about it.” Sophie assumed an air of superiority. “It’s called mating.”
Jake was doing his best not to snort with laughter. Juliet was glad he found it so funny.
“Oh, mating.” Tiff nodded equally sagely, like an eminent professor. “Seeds, yeah.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “Mr. Taylor-Trent’s a bit old, isn’t he?”
“He’s very old,” Sophie grandly announced. “But quite rich. So that’s good, probably.” She beamed at Tiff. “For when you need a new bike or an Xbox or something. Now that he’s your dad, he’ll have to buy you presents.”
Tiff blinked up at Juliet. “So you really mated with Mr. Taylor-Trent?”
Never mind hiding under the bed, she wanted to crawl away and die.
“Um…yes.”
Behind her, Jake was by this time almost crying with silent laughter.
“Do we have to go live with him?” asked Tiff.
Wordlessly Juliet shook her head.
“That’s all right then.” Visibly relaxing, Tiff turned his attention back to Sophie. “They’ve got a PlayStation 2 on this ward, one of the nurses told me. Do you want to have a look at the tube going into my arm?”
This was the invitation Sophie had been waiting for. Next moment she was perched on the bed next to Tiff, avidly poring over the spot where the plastic tubing actually disappeared through the skin, and bombarding him with questions about how much it had hurt.
Jake drew Juliet to one side, away from the bed.
“Damn, so that’s what I’ve been missing all these years—the ultimate chat-up accessory, an IV drip. Think of the girls I could have hooked up with if only I’d known.”
Scarcely able to believe that the question of Tiff’s paternity had apparently been answered and dismissed as not terribly interesting in half a minute flat, Juliet breathed a shaky sigh of relief and leaned against Jake.
“You didn’t do so badly.”
“Ah, but you might not have been able to resist me in the first place if only I’d had an IV tube to enthrall you with.”
> Juliet smiled, enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. “You were pretty irresistible as it was. I just told myself that was the problem.”
“You weren’t so shabby yourself.” Lowering his voice further still, Jake murmured into her hair, “Is it time to tell them, d’you think?”
“Tell us what?” asked Sophie immediately, her head jerking up like a meerkat’s.
Jake and Juliet glanced at each other.
“Something soppy,” Tiff observed with a sly smile. “Your dad’s got his arm around my mum.”
“So?” asked Jake.
“Bleeeuurgh, gross,” Sophie and Tiff cried in unison, breaking into fits of giggles and pointing at Juliet and Jake.
“You’re in looove, you’re in looove.”
It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Any fleeting demonstration of affection between adults was routinely greeted with jeers and the same chanted accusation. As a rule, the best way for the adults concerned to deal with it was to ignore them.
“Yes,” Jake said simply, “we are.”
That stopped Tiff and Sophie in their tracks.
“What? Are you joking?” Sophie narrowed her eyes, suspecting a trick.
“No,” said Jake. “Deadly serious.”
“What, you mean you really love each other?”
Jake nodded. “We really do.”
Juliet held her breath.
Tiff and Sophie looked at each other, then started to snicker again.
“What’s so funny?” asked Jake.
“You’ve been mating.” Sophie rocked backward on the bed, whooping gleefully into her cupped hands.
“That’s what you do,” confirmed Tiff. Interestedly he added, “If you’ve mated, you’ll have another baby. What are you going to name it?”
“This could be one of those conversations you wish you’d never started,” Juliet whispered in an undertone to Jake.
“Where’s it going to live?” Sophie’s eyes were bright with interest. “I know, if we give it to Mr. Taylor-Trent, it can live with him. Then everyone will have a child to look after.”
“Interesting thought,” said Jake. “But we’re not having a baby. Not just yet, anyway.”
“Right. But when you do, can we choose its name?”
Not overly keen on the prospect of any child of his being called Spider-Man, Jake said, “Out of the way. The nurse is trying to get through. So are you OK with that, then? Me and Juliet, you and Tiff? All four of us living together?”
“Great!” Sophie beamed as the nurse squeezed around to her side of the bed. “Just so long as you don’t get married, because I’m not wearing a sissy bridesmaid’s dress for anyone. Ooh.” She leaned forward ghoulishly as the nurse unwrapped a syringe. “Are you going to take blood? Can I watch?”
Chapter 50
Kate was working the lunchtime shift at the Angel. Out by the pool at Dauncey House, Norris lay on his side on the sunbaked flagstones, lazily flicking his ears at passing insects and keeping one eye open should anyone feel like volunteering to take him for a walk.
Anyone being Oliver, the only human being currently on the premises. Norris sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t getting his hopes up.
Inside the house, Oliver was unable to relax. For the past hour, he’d found himself pacing restlessly from room to room, visualizing the wreckage that was his life. For as long as he could remember, he’d used his position to control people. They did what he said. If the fact that he was a powerful man didn’t intimidate them, he resorted to money instead. Whichever, he was used to getting his own way.
Until now.
Oliver paused in the doorway leading through to the drawing room. In a matter of days, his world had spun out of control. Estelle was gone, God knows where. She’d been having an affair with a younger, poorer, scruffier man and there was nothing he could do about it. The extent of his reaction had come as quite a shock: it was like assuming that if you had a big toe amputated you wouldn’t miss it that much, then discovering afterward that, actually, you couldn’t stay upright.
Too late, he was discovering that Estelle was in effect his big toe and that for some time now he’d been taking her for granted.
In truth, he’d taken his entire life for granted. And where did that leave him now? With a seven-year-old son who didn’t know him. A defunct marriage. A daughter who was siding with her mother. And an ex-mistress about to leap into an affair with the local Casanova.
Oliver closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his forehead. If he was honest, he possessed a begrudging admiration for Jake Harvey. Jake had done a good job of raising his daughter. He clearly thought the world of Tiff, and Tiff, in turn, adored him. The thing between Jake and Juliet wouldn’t last, no question about that, but at least they thought it would. And Jake was no tycoon. He might have the looks, but he’d never have money. Yet it didn’t seem to bother him. He truly didn’t care. How people could live like that, Oliver would never understand, but for the first time in his life, he found himself almost envious of Jake.
God, what was happening to him? As the emotions welled up, Oliver found himself having to swallow hard. The next moment a sudden noise made him jump. Having come in search of companionship, Norris had raised himself up on his hind legs and was pressing his wet nose against the closed French windows. Oliver hurried across the room to let him in before he started frantically scrabbling and leaving paw marks on the glass.
Norris licked his hand and Oliver realized that, right now, Norris probably liked him more than anyone else in the world. If that wasn’t enough to reduce a grown man to tears, what was?
“Ugly mutt,” he told Norris gruffly, giving the dog’s broad silky head a rub.
Norris gave him a not-very-hopeful look.
Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.
“Go on then,” said Oliver, clicking his fingers and pointing out to the hall. “Fetch your leash.”
Norris couldn’t believe his luck. Was he hearing what he thought he’d just heard? This was the one who never took him for a walk. Mesmerized, Norris hesitated, awaiting the magic word that would put him out of his misery.
“Walk,” Oliver said at last.
Yay! That was the magic word. Joyfully Norris scrambled out to the hall, locating his leash on the cushioned window seat. It was weird. When he’d first come here, he hadn’t enjoyed going for walks at all. Who’d have believed that these days they’d be his absolute favorite thing?
The phone began to ring as Oliver and Norris were leaving the house. Since it couldn’t be anything to do with Tiff—Juliet would have rung his cell phone, not the landline—Oliver locked the front door and set off without answering it.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, a taxi pulled up the drive. Gulping a bit at the sight of Oliver’s car, Estelle dialed the number again and breathed a sigh of relief when it went unanswered. Oliver was probably still at the hospital, at Tiff’s bedside. With Juliet.
“I’ll be half an hour,” she told the taxi driver. “There’s a nice pub in Main Street if you want to wait there, then come back and pick me up at two.”
The look on the taxi driver’s face suggested that if Estelle had an ounce of decency about her, she would invite him into her vast house and make him a nice cup of tea and a sandwich. But for once in her life Estelle didn’t care. She didn’t have the energy to make polite conversation with a complete stranger. This was her home, where she’d lived for the last twenty-seven years, and she needed to be alone to say good-bye to it.
Having watched the disgruntled driver execute a three-point turn and head off down the drive, Estelle fit her key into the front door.
It felt strange to be back, stranger still to be tiptoeing through her own house. Except there was no need to tiptoe, was there? Everyone else was out. She was here to collect the re
st of her clothes, hopefully without interruption.
In the kitchen, which smelled heartbreakingly familiar, Estelle located the roll of black trash bags in the cupboard under the sink and took them upstairs. The suitcases, dauntingly, were piled on top of the wardrobe in the unused spare bedroom. Wasting no time, she rifled through her own wardrobe, pulling out anything she was likely to wear again. When she’d finished doing the same with the chest of drawers and dressing table, she stuffed everything willy-nilly into the trash bags. Oh God, that looked terrible. She couldn’t do it. Was there anything tackier than leaving home with your belongings in a bunch of trash bags?
Checking her watch—heavens, five to two already—Estelle told herself not to be such a wimp and braced herself for an assault on the wardrobe in the spare room. This entailed pulling a chair over to the front of the wardrobe, carefully balancing a foot on each of the rolled arms, then reaching up until she was juuust able to grasp the dusty handle of the large blue suitcase stored on top of it.
It was the most ridiculous place to keep them. Estelle couldn’t imagine whose bright idea it had been in the first place. Now, maintaining her balance on the padded arms of the chair, she had to ease the cobalt-blue case slowly forward, then tip it at just the right angle, so that it slid gracefully into her arms rather than crashed unceremoniously down onto her head.
Panting a bit with the effort, Estelle managed this. She was doing fine, absolutely fine. All she had to concentrate on now was—ohhh…
Falling backward, falling backward…
“Fuck.” Estelle gasped, finding herself flat on her back on the floor with the suitcase over her face. Pushing it off, she clutched the side of her head and felt the sticky warmth of blood where the metal-edged corner of the case had gouged a hole in her scalp. Oh well, at least the damage wouldn’t be visible; it was only in her hair.
At least, it wouldn’t be visible once the bleeding stopped.
Gingerly levering herself into a sitting position, Estelle brushed dust from her shirt and felt her head begin to throb. Actually, it hurt quite a lot. Having righted the chair and returned it to its original position, she was about to lug the case through to the master bedroom when the sound of the front door opening downstairs reached her ears.
