by Jill Mansell
‘No need to panic! I promise not to flash my knickers at any strange men. Anyway,’ she gave him a teasing smile, ‘this is a wine bar, not a street corner. I’m allowed to be here; it’s all quite legal.’
Actually, it was really nice to see him ... until the next moment when Dulcie realised the girl doing her best to look as if she wasn’t in any way connected with Patrick was connected with him after all.
‘Ah, sorry. Claire, this is Dulcie. My... er, wife. Dulcie, Claire.’
A bit of advance warning wouldn’t have gone amiss, Dulcie felt. She smiled as casually as she could at Claire and was surprised how hard it was to do. What a shame people didn’t wear beepers, like little personal radars, so you always had a few minutes’ notice that you were about to bump into them. That was all you’d need really, Dulcie thought, just a couple of minutes to gear yourself up, mentally prepare yourself for those awkward chance meetings. If Patrick was so clever with acomputer, maybe he should give it a whirl. There had to be a market for a beeper to let you know you were about to cross paths with your husband and his new bird.
‘It’s really nice to meet you,’ said Claire, reaching out and shaking Dulcie’s unsuspecting hand.
‘Look, if you two ‘d like to talk, I could leave you in peace for a few minutes ...’
‘No need for that.’ Patrick acknowledged the diplomatic offer with a brief smile and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.
Dulcie’s eyes almost fell out. Public displays of affection weren’t Patrick’s style at all. For heaven’s sake, it had taken her about four years to persuade him to put his arm around her waist.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, as if Dulcie had deliberately tried to change the subject, ‘why are you here on your own?’
‘I’m not on my own. I’m meeting Liam.’
‘Oh? Where is he?’
‘I got here early,’ Dulcie fibbed.
Patrick shot her a look of disbelief.
‘You’re never anywhere early.’
That was the trouble with husbands; they knew you too well. Dulcie cursed Patrick for knowing her. She began elongating the fib.
‘Well, I didn’t mean to be early but I was over at Liza’s and she had to go out so she gave me a lift. And Liam warned me he might be held up ... someone’s offered him a Lamborghini and if it looks good he’ll take it for a test drive ...’
This bit was actually true. The reason Dulcie was fibbing was to cover up the fact that Liam was over an hour late already. She just knew Patrick would disapprove.
Irritatingly, Patrick wasn’t as impressed as he could have been by her casual mention of the Lamborghini. Knowing him as well as he knew her, Dulcie sensed the lip curl, the slight air of amusement. He was wondering what she thought she was doing, getting herself involved with the kind of man who drove that kind of car.
Cringing inwardly, Dulcie remembered what Steve Ellis, the leering pro from Brunton Golf Club, had called them when Liam had mentioned he was thinking of getting one. ‘Hey, major babe-magnet!’
And Liam, grinning, had replied, ‘I’ve already got one of those.’
‘He probably won’t buy it,’ Dulcie told Patrick and Claire. ‘Not that he couldn’t afford to. It’s just not really his style, you know. Bit naff.’
‘My father had one. He sold it last year,’ said Claire. Realising her gaffe, she covered her mouth and let out a peal of laughter. Then she clutched Dulcie’s arm and, still giggling, whispered conspiratorially, ‘Please don’t be embarrassed. You’re right, of course. Too naff for words. He looked an absolute sight.’
Dulcie was trapped. By nine o’clock there was still no sign of Liam and Patrick was clearly determined to keep her talking until he turned up. Since she knew no one else there, Dulcie didn’t have much choice.
She thought men were supposed to go for a particular type of woman and stick with them, but Patrick certainly hadn’t; he’d managed to find someone the complete opposite of her.
Furthermore – it was irritating but she couldn’t help it; feeling miffed was a natural response –
he definitely seemed happy with Claire.
Maybe that’s all he ever wanted, the type he should have gone for in the first place, Dulcie realised. A sensible, cheerful, gosh-where-did-I-put-my-hockey-stick kind of girl. Intelligent, friendly towards everyone and with heaps of common sense. The type of person, Dulcie thought darkly, who held up her hand and said, ‘No thanks, really, one chocolate’s enough for me.’
She even had a real career, dammit, so Patrick’s ridiculous working hours wouldn’t bother her in the least. The chances were she wouldn’t even notice he was never home because she wouldn’t be there either, she’d still be working too.
They could be Executive Couple, thought Dulcie, and themost annoying part of all is they wouldn’t even think they were missing out on any fun, because when you’re that career-minded, work is fun.
Willing it to be Liam every time the door was pushed open hadn’t worked. By nine thirty Dulcie was growing desperate ... and trying even more desperately to hide it.
‘Looks like he’s stood you up,’ said Patrick, not sounding in the least sympathetic. ‘Come on, we’ll give you a lift home.’
How sad could you get? Dulcie suppressed a shudder – God, the humiliation – and gaily emptied her glass.
‘Don’t fuss! He’ll be here any minute now,’ she exclaimed. ‘Anyway, this party we’re going to doesn’t start until midnight ... it’s at the home of one of his rock star friends, did I mention that?
They live in this fantastic mansion outside Calne. Oh for heaven’s sake, Patrick! Stop looking at your watch. What difference does it make if someone’s a tiny bit late? Look, let me get you both another drink—’
‘We’ve got a table booked at the Blue Bowl.’ Patrick’s tone was curt; he wasn’t amused.
‘If you’d like to, you’d be more than welcome to join us,’ Claire said eagerly, her clear grey eyes reflecting genuine concern. She nodded as she spoke, so rhythmically that Dulcie wondered if someone behind her was tugging on her glossy brown plait, practising a spot of bell ringing on the nearest available rope.
Bloody, bloody Liam...
And bloody Claire, come to that, for being so caring, so jolly, jolly nice. Where had Patrick found her, anyway? Graduating with honours from the Jane Asher School of Charm and Utter Loveliness?
This reminded Dulcie that he hadn’t told her yet how things had gone the night his mother had fixed him up.
To divert Patrick’s attention from Liam’s lateness, Dulcie said brightly, ‘I forgot to ask, how was your awful blind date the other week, the one you were dreading so much? Total nightmare or what?’
Patrick looked at Claire. Ha, thought Dulcie, delighted. That’s caught you out! Been two-timing her already .. .
Claire, in turn, looked at Dulcie. There were dimples in her cheeks.
‘I don’t think it went too badly, considering,’ she said with a playful smile.
‘But—’
‘Oh, Dulcie, the awful blind date was me.’
‘Where have you been?’ hissed Dulcie when Liam finally appeared. ‘For God’s sake, you’re two hours late!’
Liam cupped a hand over one ear and shook his head. ‘Damn, I hate it when that happens.’
‘Hate what?’
‘That terrible noise in my ear. That nagging noise.’
‘I’m not nagging,’ Dulcie said crossly, ‘I’m just telling you, that’s all. You should have been here at nine.’
‘Why, what happened?’
The blonde standing with her back to Liam suddenly giggled and swivelled round to look at him.
Liam, happy to have his wit appreciated, grinned back.
‘My husband and his new girlfriend were here, that’s what happened,’ Dulcie wailed. ‘They insisted on waiting here with me until you turned up.’
Liam looked around.
‘So where are they?’
‘They left two minutes ago!
’ She almost stamped her foot. ‘Phew, great timing.’
The blonde giggled again. Liam tried without much success to keep a straight face. Dulcie could have kicked the pair of them.
‘It isn’t funny. Dammit, they felt sorry for me.’
‘Am I going to get this earache all night?’ protested Liam.
There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice, as if he were on the verge of losing his patience. Suddenly overcome by a rush of fear – what if Liam turned round, grabbed the giggling blonde and disappeared with her out of the door? – Dulcie forced herself to calm down. Liam wasn’t the type to sit alone and mope. She held a privileged position. And if she didn’t want it there were plenty of other women queueing up to take her place.
‘I’m sorry. It was pretty embarrassing, that’s all. Forget it.’
His good humour instantly restored, Liam slid his arm around Dulcie’s hips and pulled her playfully towards him.
‘You mean I don’t get detention from teacher?’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I don’t have to write out a hundred lines: I must not be a naughty boy and upset Dulcie?’
She quivered helplessly. Oh, that soft, purring Irish drawl! It really should come with a government health warning .. .
‘I’ll let you off, this once,’ she said faintly as Liam began kissing the tips of her fingers. Damn, why couldn’t Patrick and Claire be here to witness this now?
‘In that case,’ his blue eyes crinkled at the corners, ‘I’ll let you have a ride in my new car.’
‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I don’t accept lifts from strange men,’ said Dulcie.
‘It’s a Lamborghini.’
‘What colour?’
‘Red of course.’
‘Oh, all right then.’
Chapter 27
Liza, rubbing her eyes and pulling open the front door, protested, ‘Good grief, it’s only seven o’clock.’
Kit looked as if he’d been up for hours. He winked, unperturbed by the grumpy welcome.
‘Do you know what today is?’
She had to think for a minute. ‘Tuesday.’
‘No. Well, yes,’ he admitted, ‘but what else?’
‘I give up.’
‘It’s time you got bored with me.’
Liza already knew that. She smiled.
‘Do I have to?’
‘It’s been a month,’ said Kit. ‘Aren’t you bored yet?’
Her arms went around his neck. When she had finished kissing him, Liza looked up into his extraordinary yellow-gold eyes.
‘You know I’m not. I’ve never been less bored.’ Or more frustrated, come to that.
‘The thing is,’ said Kit, reading her mind and looking amused, ‘you aren’t bad. I quite fancy you, in fact. Maybe we shouldn’t risk spoiling things.’
‘Meaning ...?’
He shrugged.
‘Well, I don’t know. Maybe we should stay as we are. Platonic friends. No sex for at least the next ten years. What are you doing?’
Ask a silly question.
‘Unfastening your belt.’’Oh. Not keen, then, on my idea?’
‘Not very keen, no.’
Kit kicked the front door shut and leaned back against it, his eyes fixed on Liza’s face.
‘What are you doing now?’ he said finally.
‘Just unzipping your trousers.’
‘Liza.’
‘Mm?’
‘I love you.’
Liza looked away, unable to speak. All these years and it had happened at last. She’d heard these words so many times before, but this was the first time she’d actually wanted to hear them. Until now, they’d always made her feel sick.
‘It’s almost killed me, waiting this long,’ Kit went on. ‘I want to make love to you more than anything in the world.’
Liza quivered helplessly. She knew it was corny, but a tingling sensation actually was going down her spine.
She cleared her throat and nodded. ‘Me too.’
‘But if it’s going to change things between us ... if it’s going to spoil all this ...’
‘I don’t think it is,’ said Liza, who had wondered the same thing herself. This time she shook her head, desperate to convince him she was right. ‘I really don’t think it is.’
‘Tell you what.’
‘What?’
Slowly, he slid the straps of her white nightdress off her shoulders.
‘You don’t get bored with me,’ whispered Kit, his breath warm against her neck, ‘I won’t get bored with you.’
He was so in control. Liza wondered how on earth a twenty-three-year-old could be so self-assured. Heavens, he acted older than she did.
‘Is that a promise?’ she said, dry-mouthed. The need to know was overwhelming.
As he carried her through to the bedroom, Kit said, ‘Cross my heart, hope to die.’
* * *
It wasn’t a let-down.
Thank God.
Not that Liza had seriously expected him to be lousy in bed; it was just when you built something up so much in your mind, your expectations soared so sky-high they became almost impossible to live up to.
Anyway, thought Liza, smiling with her eyes closed, it hadn’t been a let-down in any shape or form.
And she definitely hadn’t been bored.
‘By the way, my cousin wants to meet you,’ said Kit, much later that morning.
Liza was admiring his brown legs. Better legs, possibly, than any she had ever seen on a man.
‘Which cousin?’
‘Nicky.’
‘You mean from the Songbird?’
Kit mimicked her look of horror.
‘Yes, from the Songbird.’
‘Oh my God, does she want to kill me?’
‘Don’t panic, business is on the up. The restaurant isn’t going to close after all.’
Liza covered her face with the duvet. Her voice was muffled. ‘She must hate me.’
‘Actually, she agrees with you. As soon as I said you’d eaten there on New Year’s Day, it clicked. That was the day her chef turned up half-cut, apparently, and Nicky had to do most of the cooking herself.’
‘Poor thing.’
‘She’s okay. You’ll get on fine,’ said Kit.
Liza rested her head in the crook of his shoulder.
‘This is proper boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. Meeting the family.’ She smiled at the thought. This was something else she’d shied away from over the years, simply because there hadn’t seemed much point. ‘Whatever next?’
‘May as well mention it while we’re on the subject,’ Kitsaid evenly. ‘My father. This thing is, he
—’
‘Your father wants to meet me too? My God, talk about popular! How does—’
Kit put his hand gently over Liza’s mouth to shut her up.
‘Don’t jump to conclusions. I was about to say don’t expect anything like that from my father, because he absolutely doesn’t want to meet you.’
‘Oh.’
‘No offence.’
‘I’m not offended,’ said Liza, deeply offended.
‘Look, he’s pretty old-fashioned. Upsetting Nicky didn’t do you the world of good, for a start.’
‘Right.’ Liza nodded against his chest. She could understand that.
‘Well, so basically, he wasn’t thrilled when I told him I was seeing you.’ Kit paused and drew breath. ‘Then, when he found out how old you were ...’
Liza winced.
‘Don’t tell me. It was scrape-him-off-the-ceiling time.’
‘Like I said, he’s old-fashioned. He has these set ideas. Set in concrete,’ Kit amended wearily.
‘You know the kind of thing. My sister’s thirty so she should be married and having babies. I’m twenty-three so I should be playing the field.’
‘How does he know you aren’t?’
‘He wants me to play the field with nineteen-year-old girls. Twenty-year-olds. I said I wasn’t interested.’
‘Heavens, maybe
he thinks you’re gay.’
‘Worse still,’ Kit looked down at her, ‘I told him I wasn’t playing the field. I told him this thing with you was serious. And, God knows, that’s a first for me.’
Liza’s stomach did a slow, snake-like somersault. Not normally superstitious, she was nevertheless terrified of tempting fate.
‘Isn’t that jumping the gun a bit?’
Kit shrugged.
‘Maybe, but I meant it.’
Oh please, please, thought Liza, squirming with pleasure as his hand trailed down her stomach, don’t ever get bored with me.
Everyone else always seemed to sneer at it, but Dulcie adored daytime TV. She loved the pointlessness of it all ... the viewers’ makeovers, the snippets of movie gossip, the panel of experts deciding which baked beans were the least disgusting. She also enjoyed the effortless jolly banter between her favourite presenters, the how-to-transform-a-box-room-into-a banqueting-hall items, and the cookery slots, which Dulcie found quite soothing to watch.
Best of all though, she liked Nancy, the five-times-married resident problem-solver, who was wonderfully motherly and quite unshockable. If anyone said anything shameful or embarrassing she immediately told them in her lovely soothing voice that she understood completely because that had once happened to her too.
‘Believe me, I know how you feel,’ Nancy was saying now to a tearful woman who had just discovered her husband had a bit of a predilection for lacy underwear. ‘Tell me, is it just the undies or does he wear frocks too?’
He did, he did, confessed the woman, between sobs. She’d found a flouncy yellow chiffon dress in the back of the wardrobe and wondered what on earth it was doing there. It was horrible, not her taste in clothes at all.
While Dulcie bit the chocolate off a jaffa cake, Nancy suggested to the woman that shopping together for clothes might bring her and her husband closer, and could also help to avoid costly mistakes.
The next caller was more up Dulcie’s street.
‘... the thing is,’ pleaded Greta from Scarborough, ‘I really love him, Nancy. If he left me I don’t know what I’d do, I just need someone to tell me how I can keep him ... I’ll do anything ...’
