by Jill Mansell
‘No. I’ll be with you.’ He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her from side to side. ‘And you’ll be happy. That’s good enough for me.’
‘Sure?’
‘Will you stop worrying? We’re going to have a fantastic time. Will we have great sex?’
‘Definitely. Great sex, great food, lots of fun.’
‘Well then, there you go. Sounds pretty perfect to me.’
Tasha had still secretly worried that he might be bored, but her fears had been groundless. They’d had a brilliant weekend, filled with laughter, love and increasing closeness. The connection between them was like nothing she’d ever known before, strengthening and deepening almost by the hour. The meals they’d eaten in the hotel restaurant had been flawless. Better still, the blustery rainstorms and near-freezing temperatures of the last couple of weeks had given way just in time to the onset of spring. The sun had shone in a cloudless duck-egg sky, the air was warm, and gently swaying carpets of crocuses, snowdrops and daffodils had swathed the valley with colour.
Yesterday they had walked all afternoon, discovering picturesque villages and friendly dog-walkers along the way. Today they were exploring the woodland pathways to the south of the hotel. Tasha had never been a great fan of walking before, unless it was around the shops, but it had been her decision that they should give it a go, and to her amazement she was really enjoying it. It wasn’t boring at all; there were a million things to see and listen to. The birds sang and swooped across the sky, a haze of just-emerged green softened the finer outer branches of the trees, there was an infinite variety of bark and leaves, and they saw a pair of foxes gazing at them from the edge of a field.
There were also smaller creatures: beetles scuttling between mounds of last year’s dead leaves, a mouse racing across the path in front of them at one stage, and a whole party of spiders on a huge mottled tree trunk.
‘Ach!’ Realising that one of the bigger spiders had landed on his desert boot, Rory leapt back and attempted to shake it off. ‘Oh God.’ He grimaced; the spider was staying put.
‘Keep still.’ Trying not to laugh at the look of horror on his face, Tasha knelt in the pile of leaves at the base of the tree and carefully coaxed the spider into the palm of her hand. ‘OK, got him.’
‘Eeeeeurrgh.’ Rory shuddered as she gently deposited it back on the rough tree trunk with the rest of its social circle. ‘How can you do that?’
‘I like spiders. Look at their gorgeous legs. They’re beautiful.’
‘You’re beautiful.’ He drew her to him for a kiss. ‘Also, weird. How can spiders not bother you when you’re scared of everything else?’
‘You mean rock climbing and bungee jumping and extreme water sports?’ Tasha shook her head; did he really not understand? ‘I’m not scared of those things. I just don’t want to do them.’
‘Because you’re scared.’
‘No, because I have zero interest in them. The small risk of injury doesn’t outweigh the amount of work involved. I don’t like being in cold water or wearing uncomfortable outfits. But I promise you I’m not scared.’
Rory brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and kissed her on the end of her nose. ‘I love you.’
Just hearing him say the words made her whole body fizz with happiness. ‘I love you too. Even if you are scared of spiders.’
His eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Oh, I’m not scared of spiders. I just have no interest in them, that’s all.’
They carried on walking, slightly lost but not disastrously so, just following narrow paths and lanes as the mood took them and enjoying the rest of their final sunny afternoon in the countryside.
Tasha heard it first. A frail-sounding female voice was calling, ‘Blackie . . . Blackie . . .’
‘What?’ said Rory when she stopped walking.
‘Listen.’ She raised a finger and pointed down the hill. ‘It’s coming from that direction.’
They waited, then the voice came again. It sounded like an elderly woman searching for a lost pet. ‘Blackie? Blackie! Oh, where are you?’
‘Poor thing,’ said Rory.
‘This is why I love you,’ Tasha told him as they instinctively altered course and followed the sound of the voice. ‘You’re a kind person. You try to help people.’
‘She sounds upset. Wouldn’t anyone do the same?’
‘What if Blackie’s a massive spider?’
‘Then I’ll run a mile, obviously. And leave you to deal with it.’
She grinned. ‘My superhero.’
They followed an overgrown path downhill, eventually reaching a narrow winding lane. A hundred yards further along, they came to a tiny cottage in a clearing surrounded by trees.
And there in the front garden was a little old lady in a floral print dress, a chunky grey cardigan and green Hunter wellies. Her gnarled hands were cupped around her mouth as she carried on calling.
Not having heard their footsteps in the lane, she jumped a bit when she turned and saw them coming up behind her.
‘Hi,’ said Rory. ‘Who have you lost?’
‘What?’
‘Who’s Blackie?’
‘Oh, my cat.’ The woman had to be in her early eighties. ‘He went out on Friday and there’s been no sign of him since. I’m so worried, he’s never done this before . . . I’ve been through the woods searching for him all day yesterday and today. Oh my poor Blackie, what’s happened to him? I can’t bear it . . .’
‘And how many cats do you have?’ said Rory.
‘What?’
He raised his voice and said, ‘How many other cats do you have?’
‘None, just Blackie. He’s the only one.’ The old lady’s voice broke and her chin began to wobble like a toddler’s. ‘Oh Blackie . . .’
‘Are you a bit deaf?’ said Rory.
‘What?’
‘Are you A BIT DEAF?’
She glared at him. ‘Of course I’m not deaf. Don’t be so rude.’
Tasha and Rory exchanged a look; she’d heard it too. Somewhere nearby, a cat was miaowing. It sounded as if it was coming from above them. Loudly and clearly, Tasha said to the woman, ‘We can hear a cat miaowing. Can you hear it?’
‘What? You can hear a cat? Where?’
‘Up there.’ She and Rory were both pointing towards the trees. Glancing over at the old lady, Tasha noticed the hearing aid in her left ear. ‘Have you forgotten to switch your hearing aid on?’
‘What? Oh no, I keep it turned off to save the batteries. But it’s OK, I don’t need it. I’m not deaf.’
The mewing continued, feeble and resigned. Shielding her eyes with her hands, Tasha gazed up into the branches of the trees, searching for Blackie.
‘Got it,’ Rory said suddenly, pointing to a huge chestnut tree to the right of the house. He turned to the old lady. ‘What colour is Blackie?’
‘Eh?’ The woman switched on her hearing aid and Rory repeated the question. ‘Oh, he’s a ginger.’
‘But it didn’t occur to you to call him Ginger?’
She shot him a look that signalled that he must be deranged. ‘I don’t like that name. I’ve always called all my cats Blackie.’
‘Right. Well, he’s up there.’
The woman lifted her head, following his pointing finger, and clasped her gnarled hands together. ‘Oh look, there he is! Has he been up there the whole time?’
‘I’d imagine so,’ said Rory.
‘Oh, poor Blackie! I can hear him!’
Tasha could see Rory biting his tongue, resisting the urge to remind the woman that if she’d just switched on her hearing aid, she would have heard her cat’s piteous mewing two days ago. But never mind, they’d located him now. God, and he was so high up, perched precariously on a narrow branch with his ginger tail dangling beneath him.
She took out her mobile. ‘We’ll call the fire brigade, they’ll be able to get him down.’
‘No signal.’ Rory, who had already checked his own phone, held it up to show her.
‘Me neither.’ Well, it was hardly surprising; they were in a deep valley. ‘Look, do you have a phone here?’
‘No. I don’t like phones.’
‘So we don’t have any choice. We’ll head back to the hotel,’ Tasha told the woman, ‘and call the fire brigade from there. Tell me your address so they know where to find you.’
‘Oh Blackie! What if he falls out of the tree before they get here? He’s been up there for two days with nothing to eat or drink!’ The woman spread her arms. ‘What if he faints?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ Tasha assured her. Next to her, Rory was taking off his jacket and speculatively eyeing up the enormous tree.
‘I think I might be able to do it, you know.’
Was he mad? ‘Seriously, don’t even try.’
‘Why can’t he try?’ demanded the old lady. ‘If he reckons he can do it, he should give it a go.’
OK, maybe having that hearing aid switched on wasn’t such a great idea after all.
‘And if he falls, he’ll kill himself,’ said Tasha.
‘I definitely think I can get up there.’ Rory was facing the tree with his hands on his hips, visibly planning how to do it.
‘No,’ said Tasha. ‘Look at what happened last time.’ She turned to the old lady. ‘He was rock climbing and he dislocated his shoulder. His face was cut open by a rock. He’s only just recovered.’
High above them on a swaying branch, Blackie emitted a desperate wailing cry.
‘I used to climb trees all the time when I was a kid,’ said Rory.
‘Go on, lad, get yourself up there.’ The old woman’s tone was combative. ‘What are you, a man or a mouse?’
Oh for crying out loud, what kind of sweet little old lady was this? Offer to do her a favour and she starts goading you?
‘No ropes, no safety harness,’ Tasha reminded Rory. ‘If you fall, you fall.’
‘I won’t fall.’ He was pushing up the sleeves of his sweater now.
‘Let me run to the nearest house and use their phone.’ She gave it one last go, already aware that this was a lost cause, like trying to persuade a fox not to chase a chicken. Rory’s mind was made up. Basically, he couldn’t resist the challenge.
He turned to her and broke into a grin. ‘Hey, I’ll be fine.’
And that was it; the next moment he was leaping to reach the first branch, hauling himself up like a gymnast on the asymmetric bars. Tasha watched, her heart in her mouth, gripped with apprehension. Who knew how slippery the bark was? As if in answer, Rory briefly lost his grip before regaining it.
God, this was torture; she couldn’t watch.
Beside her, the erstwhile sweet little old lady bellowed, ‘Come on, stop buggering about and get on with it!’
Tasha felt sick. ‘He’ll break both his legs if he falls.’
‘Hmmph, well he’d better not drop Blackie, that’s all I can say. Or I’ll be the one who breaks his legs.’
It was like being greeted at the front door by Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, who was now revealing herself to be the wolf.
‘Mew,’ squeaked Blackie, beadily eyeing the goings-on from his terrifyingly high viewpoint.
Rory was climbing up and out now, grabbing at increasingly bendy branches. Tasha flinched as one of them made a cracking noise before he moved on to the next; she wanted to close her eyes but couldn’t bear to stop watching just in case it was her willpower alone keeping him up there. What if she looked away and he crashed to the ground?
Worst of all, she could see how he was relishing the challenge, loving every second of it. The greater the risk, the happier he was.
And yes, it was an attractive quality in a man, but it was also a petrifying one.
It’s me, though. It’s my fault for being like this. I’m going to have to get used to it.
Her mouth dry, Tasha watched as Rory continued to climb. He’d drawn level with the cat now, but the narrower branches were bending beneath his weight and Blackie was crouching just out of reach. He inched towards him, calling his name in a low, reassuring voice, and was summarily ignored.
Bloody animal.
At last he was close enough to scoop the cat into his left hand. Blackie let out an indignant yowl and attempted to lash out. Hanging on to him for dear life, clutching him to his chest, Rory somehow managed to make his way back to a stable fork in the branches and sit with his back to the trunk. Then, still murmuring words of comfort to the cat, he used his free hand to pull his sweater off over his head. The next moment, he’d wrapped it securely around Blackie, swaddling him like a baby so he could no longer lash out with his claws.
Then it was time for Tasha to hold her breath all over again while he climbed slowly back down the tree, this time clutching a less than amused gift-wrapped cat. When at last he reached the lowest branch, he leaned over to pass Blackie down to her. Tasha in turn handed him across to his owner.
The little old lady said with a touch of irritation, ‘You shouldn’t have done that thing with the jumper. My Blackie doesn’t like being wrapped up.’
Amused, Rory jumped down the last six feet to the ground. ‘I don’t like having my face ripped to shreds by razor-sharp claws.’
‘Oh Blackie, you naughty boy. Come on, let’s get you inside and give you a drink.’ Having unravelled him, the old woman thrust the sweater back at Rory. ‘There’s a couple of holes in it, but that’s your own fault for scaring him. Bye.’
She turned, crossed the garden and stomped back inside the cottage without another word.
Slam went the front door.
‘Not even a thank you,’ Tasha marvelled, filled with indignation. ‘Bet you’re glad you risked your life to help her out.’
But Rory, as she’d known he would, simply laughed. ‘I didn’t risk my life; all I did was climb a tree.’
‘She’s an ungrateful old bat,’ said Tasha.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s grateful. She just forgot to say it.’
Tasha looked at him. ‘You genuinely don’t mind, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’
She reached for him and pulled him close so that the holey, now-ruined sweater was squashed between them. ‘I love you for that. You’re the nicest person I know.’
‘I love you too.’ His green eyes glittered with warmth.
‘Just think.’ Tasha picked a tiny twig out of his hair. ‘If you weren’t scared of spiders, you’d be perfect.’
Behind them, the window of the cottage was flung open, interrupting their kiss. The old lady eyed them with disgust. ‘What are you two still doing in my garden? This is private property. Go on, bloody clear off.’
Chapter 25
Was their relationship made more thrilling by the fact that it was a secret? Like having an illicit extramarital affair, minus the marital bit?
Flo took a sip of coffee and covertly watched Zander as he read an article in the business section of the Sunday Times. She loved the tiny frown that bisected his eyebrows when he was concentrating, the way his straight dark hair fell over his forehead when his head was tilted, and the way he could be completely engrossed in the words but still capable of idly stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb, as if to silently let her know he hadn’t forgotten she was there.
Oh this was the life, a gloriously lazy Sunday morning in the company of your new boyfriend, with spring sunshine pouring through the windows of the flat. Could anything be nicer? Crikey, and Jeremy was lying on Zander’s lap, utterly relaxed and purring contentedly . . . talk about a turn-up for the books.
So of course it stood to reason that something had to happen to disturb the peace.
The doorbell rang, causing Flo to jump and Jeremy to give her his whoever they are, kill them look.
‘Expecting anyone?’ said Zander.
‘It’s probably just my other boyfriend.’
‘Well send him away. Today’s my day. Want me to have a word with him, tell him to stop being so clin
gy?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it.’ Easing herself off the sofa, Flo crossed the living room and pretended to press the button on the intercom. ‘Hi, Sebastian, look, I’m sorry, but my other boyfriend’s here. What? Yes, I know you’re richer and better-looking than he is, but you still can’t come in, so just jump back into your Lamborghini and leave us in peace. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’
‘A Lamborghini?’ Horrified, Zander put down the business section. ‘Lamborghinis are so naff.’
‘I know,’ said Flo. ‘But it’s navy blue to match his helicopter.’ This time actually pressing the intercom button, she said, ‘Hello?’
Then jumped back in dismay as an all-too-familiar voice said, ‘Hello, Florence, it’s Lena. Can you please let me in?’
‘Um, well . . . the thing is, I’m not dressed.’
‘No problem, I’ll just wait here. Throw some clothes on and buzz me in when you’re ready. And you should be dressed,’ Lena added, her tone crisp. ‘It’s almost midday.’
Flo released the button and pulled a face at Zander, who shrugged and said, ‘I have no idea what she wants.’
‘Nor me, but she’s not going to go away. So what do we do?’
He was already lifting Jeremy off his legs, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll wait in the bedroom. Try and get rid of her as soon as you can.’
God, what could possibly go wrong? But they didn’t have any other choice.
Flo waited until Zander was safely out of sight in the bedroom. Then, having checked the living room, removed his half-empty tea mug from the coffee table and rinsed it in the kitchen sink, she pressed the buzzer to unlock the front door downstairs.
Oh well, as soon as Lena was out of here, they could carry on enjoying their lazy, happy Sunday in peace.
‘Hi,’ said Flo when Lena reached the top of the staircase; in a tight-fitting leaf-green sweater and matching narrow jeans, she resembled an elegant grasshopper. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘You mean apart from the fact that I’m the one who should be living in this flat? Apart from that, everything’s just great. How’s the cat?’
‘Jeremy? He’s fine.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘Why?’
