I let my eyes rove over the couples at the bar and as I do, I’m brought to an abrupt halt by the sight of the most gorgeous man I’ve seen in years. I’m so astounded that I start to cough and splutter my mouthful of champagne. He’s tall and very dark, with mad ruffled hair and fabulous soulful eyes. He looks bored to death by the woman he’s with, even though she could give Kate Winslet a run for her money, and his eyes are roaming round the room too. Suddenly he looks up and catches me staring at him. And I have a thunderbolt moment.
I’ve never had one before, but now it’s happened, I know exactly what it is. My arms are all buzzy and numb and my heart has decided to have a palpitation. I think it’s playing a Ricky Martin tune. I know instinctively that I should be with this man. My nipples are tweaking towards him all of their own accord and I can safely say that my nipples have never taken on a life of their own before. Hormones are crazy things, aren’t they? Some days I can’t control mine at all. They are clearly operating on the random chaos theory at the moment and have decided that this man, despite the fact he is with someone else, is the man I should breed with. Nor have they paid any attention to my declarations of being a man-free zone. I specifically lodged in my brain that I was allowed to do dating, but that I was not to have these sort of emotions for a long, long time. My body pays about as much attention to me as my pupils in Year 10.
This man looks like trouble with a capital T. An all-action totty magnet if ever I saw one. There’s mischief written in every line on his face and I’ve done mischief and it hurts. This time I wanted nice with a capital N. A Goldilocks boyfriend – someone who’s not too hot, not too cold, but just right. I want someone who likes children and is kind to dogs and who doesn’t laugh at the joke about women wearing white when they get married so that they match their kitchen appliances. I suspect that this man, for all his heart-melting deliciousness, will have love them, leave them tattooed on his rather attractive biceps. I have developed an instinct for these things, over the years. Believe me, this is one dude to avoid.
I can feel myself flush and as our eyes meet, he twitches his lips in an amused smile. Be still my beating heart! This is ludicrous. My legs seem determined to collapse under me. They’ve gone all jellyfied and I’m glad that at this moment I’m not required to perform any walking skills. Cara’s little crystal is still doing bugger all to protect me. Particularly from myself, it seems. I think it’s about time that it kicked in. I really want to smile back, but I’m terrified his girlfriend will turn round at that precise moment and I’ll end up on the front page of the Hampstead Observer having a bar-room brawl with a jealous harpy. That would be all I’d need. But I’d like to bet you a pound to an organic pumpkin seed that they’ve got one of their low-life photographers lurking in here somewhere.
Chapter Forty-Five
Cara was fed up. She was watching the clock go round and worrying about Emily. Worrying was very bad for releasing free radicals in the body, so she would get old and wrinkly before her time and it would all be Emily’s fault.
Staring at her pot of camomile tea, Cara tried to ignore the native North-American Indian chant droning away on the CD player. What exactly was she doing at the tender age of thirty-two, sitting at home alone on a Saturday night listening to Navajo pining the demise of Buffalo and fretting that her friend was enjoying herself too much?
Cara scooped up another spoonful of water from the small white china bowl in front of her. The water was infused with rose oil, a rose quartz crystal and rosemary. She wore a pink ribbon tied round her hair and three pink candles burned in white saucers in a neat line in front of her. Cara eyed the water suspiciously and sprinkled it over her hair. She sighed deeply. ‘Lover, lover, come to me. I have spoken, so it will be.’
This was supposed to be a spell to attract a reluctant lover. Someone who should be in love with you but didn’t yet realise it. Cara didn’t feel it was working, but then to be fair she hadn’t really given it much chance. She’d only been doing it for half an hour, which wasn’t long enough for it to travel round the deep recesses of space and find its target. Also, she kept getting interrupted by thoughts of Emily and what she might be up to.
This spell was also supposed to help her feel more loved, and she didn’t. Not by a long chalk. With all the magically enhanced water she’d dripped on her hair, she was feeling like nothing more spiritual than a drowned rat. It was all very well trusting in the universe, but sometimes the universe required you to do very silly things. She knew that everyone else thought she was potty and sometimes, just sometimes, she suspected they might be right.
Cara looked at her mobile phone. Adam’s number was lurking in there and she wondered what he might be doing on a Saturday night. Probably out enjoying a nice quiet candle-lit dinner for two with some air-headed bimbo somewhere. She was certain that he wouldn’t be sitting in alone drinking herbal tea and throwing rose water on his curly locks. Cara’s fingers hovered over her phone. Would it be wrong to ring him just to find out? After all, she was only being sociable. There was nothing in it. Biting her lip, she carefully pressed the numbers into her keypad. The phone rang and, in a rush of panic, Cara hung up. No, she wouldn’t ring him. It smacked of desperation. If he wanted her he was going to have to make the first move. Cara flung herself back on the sofa. The North-American Indians reached a wailing crescendo. She could always ring Declan. Hopefully, he was so flat broke that he’d be in on a Saturday night. Perhaps she might offer to take round a bottle of wine.
An hour later she stood outside Declan’s new front door clutching a bottle of Chardonnay like a security blanket, disheartened to see her little 2CV looking particularly shabby parked in the rather majestic drive.
This was the posh end of Hampstead. Multi-millionaires row. The habitat of film stars, Arab sheiks and ex-Spice Girls. Seven figures round here wouldn’t even buy you a lock-up garage. These were the houses with grilles on the windows, security lights that would give Blackpool Illuminations a run for their money and twiddly wrought-iron railings that made up in quantity what they lacked in taste. Declan grinned as he stood aside and let her in. Cara had to admit that its over-the-top style suited him.
‘This is a bit posh,’ she said, taking in the opulence of Adrian and Amanda’s hall. The ceiling bore a replica of God’s Creation of Adam from the Sistine Chapel and several very sparkly chandeliers. Cara shook her head. ‘You even do poverty in style.’
‘Friends are letting me stay here while they’re away on holiday,’ Declan explained, taking the wine and her coat.
Cara followed him through to the kitchen, trying to remember which of Declan’s and Emily’s friends were so well heeled. ‘That’s kind of them.’
‘Yeah,’ Declan said. ‘I’ve got to try to remember to water their plants in return.’
‘It seems a very small price to pay.’
‘Yes,’ Declan said as he busied himself with the wine.
‘It’s lovely,’ Cara said, examining the Smallbone white, hand-painted kitchen and the Conran furniture. Bourgeois, but nice. Everything that her parents would hate and for which Cara feared she had a secret hankering. She slid onto one of the stools by the breakfast bar and stroked the marble top lovingly. ‘It’s a bit close to home though,’ she remarked. ‘Aren’t you worried about bumping into Emily in the High Street?’
‘I’m half hoping that I might,’ Declan admitted.
‘Yeah?’ Cara looked concerned. ‘Well, I hope that she’s not carrying a large French stick at the time.’
Declan looked like a lost little boy. ‘Is she still mad at me?’
‘Of course she’s still mad at you!’ Cara said. ‘She will be until you give her back some of the money you’ve filched from her.’
‘I’m trying,’ Declan assured her. ‘Jaysus knows, I’m trying. It won’t be long, I promise.’
‘How’s business doing?’ she asked.
‘Better,’ Declan said with a feeble shrug. ‘There have been some new developments and
I’m starting to claw my way back.’
‘Good. Emily will be pleased.’
Declan stopped and looked at her. ‘Where is she tonight?’ he asked, struggling in an effort to sound as casual as he could manage.
‘Out,’ Cara supplied. ‘She’s gone to the opening of a wine bar.’ She thought it wise to leave out any mention of her date, or whatever it was, with Jonathan Gold.
‘I’m glad she’s getting out and about,’ Declan said, but he didn’t look as if he was.
‘Mmm,’ Cara agreed, as Declan handed her a glass of wine.
‘Why didn’t you go with her?’
‘She’s on an independence kick,’ Cara said. ‘I think she wanted to feel the fear and do it anyway.’
‘Oh.’ Declan looked very down-hearted. ‘I thought we both could have gone down there.’
‘Invitation only.’
‘Oh.’ Declan’s heart seemed to sink a little bit further. ‘So she’s managing all right without me?’
Cara pressed her lips together. ‘Yes,’ she said, then reached out and patted his hand. It didn’t seem pertinent to mention that Emily was managing all right in spite of Declan.
‘I’ve got a hot tub,’ he said brightly in an effort to change the subject.
Cara could tell he was trying to sound cheerful, but the twinkle had gone out of his eyes and she wondered how responsible Emily had been for putting it there.
‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been in a hot tub.’
The twinkle sparkled into life again. He nodded towards the conservatory. ‘Want to try it out?’
Cara shook her head. ‘I’ve nothing to wear.’
‘That’s the general idea.’
Declan strolled through to the hot tub and motioned for Cara to follow him. She slid off her stool and, taking her wine with her, walked after him.
The conservatory was a huge hexagonal shape and the tendrils of luscious tropical flowering plants twined their way up towards the glass roof. The hot tub sat directly in the middle, echoing the geometric lines. Declan pulled away the wooden cover and a waft of warm steam rose into the air. The heavy, colourful flowers of the plants seemed to lick their lips in delight. He flicked on a switch and the room was bathed in a subdued golden glow that flowed from brushed steel uplighters.
‘Wow,’ Cara said.
‘Candles too.’ Declan picked up a conveniently placed box of matches and worked his way along the row of candles, taking his time to light them and watch as the flames flickered tentatively and then caught.
The inky blackness of the night pressed in against the windows and Cara wrapped her arms round herself as she shivered in this warm, safe cocoon.
‘Sure that you won’t change your mind?’ Declan raised an eyebrow, his words part invitation, part challenge.
‘If you’d said, I would have brought a swimsuit.’
‘Have a root through Amanda’s cupboards,’ Declan offered. ‘You’re bound to find something there.’
‘Won’t she have taken them on holiday?’
‘Oh. I guess so.’ Declan blew out his final match. Dozens of church candles gave the room an ethereal mood. He flicked another switch and the water in the hot tub sprang into life, swirling and bubbling, frothily alluring like a witches’ cauldron. The soothing mist filled the air and breathed against the cold windows giving them a natural frosting.
Cara chewed her nail. This was proving very hard to resist. She could always go in just wearing her underwear. Cara gave her finger the benefit of her teeth again. On the other hand she was wearing extraordinarily boring undies. There was nothing remotely exciting about her plain white sports bra and big white sports knickers, bought specifically to allow extended stretching in her yoga classes, and she was definitely not in a hurry to share them with Declan. This was a man who was used to seeing women in scanty Santa outfits, and she’d seen enough of Emily’s glamorous smalls in the linen basket to realise that she was not a big-boring-knicker person. If Emily ever changed religion and ventured near a yoga class, she’d still do it wearing a dental floss thong. It was impossible to try to compete with that. Cara didn’t know why she’d slipped into the realms of comfort underwear. There was nothing in the Green Manifesto to say that wearing frilly undies would seriously endanger the world supplies of lace. Perhaps it was because no one ever looked at them these days.
‘I don’t know how you can resist,’ Declan said, as if reading her mind. ‘I thought being an earth mother and all that, you’d be keen to get in there au naturel.’
‘Well’ Cara said, frowning. ‘I would if you weren’t here.’
‘We’re old friends,’ Declan said.
‘I know.’ Cara looked longingly at the hot tub. It would probably soothe aches she didn’t even know she had.
Declan put his hands on her shoulders. They were warm and strong and a vision of them caressing a naked body flashed across Cara’s brain. But whose body was it? Emily’s or hers?
Cara’s frown deepened.
‘You know you want to,’ Declan whispered, like a naughty devil sitting on her shoulder. ‘What if I bring you a warm towel and leave you to get undressed? Would that work?’
Cara nodded and stood transfixed by the beckoning water until Declan reappeared, as promised, with a warm towel.
‘Back in a minute,’ he said and melted away into the kitchen.
Cara put the towel on a cane chair by the side of the conservatory and, checking that she was alone, slipped off her T-shirt and jeans. The boring bra and knickers, were, she decided as she peeled them off, going straight into the waste-paper bin. Next week she would take herself off to Agent Provocateur, batter her credit card into submission, and buy herself some seriously hot lingerie. And if she did herself an intimate injury during her yoga class, then so be it.
Wrapping the towel round her, she tiptoed across the cool, tiled floor towards the hot tub and abandoning the towel, lowered herself into the steamy, bubbling water.
She let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the water washed over her, massaging every tight knot of tension from her body. This was nirvana, heaven, bliss. Cara let her shoulders sink beneath the bubbles. Letting her head rest back, her heavy eyes closed without much persuasion. All this business with Emily was taking its toll on her too. And, no doubt, Declan was also feeling the strain.
On cue, Declan came back and she opened her eyes.
‘Thought you’d fallen asleep,’ he said.
Cara resisted the urge to blink or to close her eyes again and check that she wasn’t still asleep and dreaming. Declan was naked and not the slightest bit shy about it. His long, lean body was taut and well toned. And clearly, in between becoming a dot.com bankrupt and prancing around in festive mood with Emily, he found plenty of time to do sit-ups. Cara felt a cartoon-sized gulp travel down her throat and hoped Declan hadn’t noticed it.
He sank into the water opposite her and sighed gratefully. ‘That feels good, doesn’t it?’ he said, relaxing back.
‘Mmm,’ Cara mumbled, not quite sure where to position her gaze.
‘I told you it would.’ He winked at her across the steam.
Personally, Cara felt the water temperature had shot up several more degrees than was entirely comfortable. She was feeling all hot and bothered and her cheeks were burning as brightly as the dozens of candles. Declan smiled as he inched his way through the bubbles towards her.
‘I’m glad you came over,’ he said. ‘Bathing alone just isn’t as much fun.’
‘No,’ Cara agreed hesitantly. Not that she had indulged in multiple bathing before.
‘Here.’ He reached over and pulled her glass of wine towards her. ‘Be careful with it,’ he said, and their fingers touched as he made sure that she had a firm grip. The glass seemed to be the only thing that she did have a firm grip on, Cara thought.
Declan was inches away from her and she didn’t think she’d ever been so close to him before. His skin was as smooth as polished wood. His dark eye
s were as rich and warm as mahogany. The water teased his hair, making it curl damply round his shoulders. Declan’s mouth curled into a lazy smile.
‘Cara . . .’ he said softly.
There was a noise. A click. A rattling of keys. And then the front door opened. The smile on Declan’s lips died and he pressed them together.
At the door to the conservatory a white-haired elderly woman in a navy blazer, a pleated skirt and very sensible brogues stood looking faintly bemused and slightly alarmed. In her hand she clutched a small green plastic watering can.
‘Who are you?’ Declan asked.
‘I’m Amanda’s mother,’ the woman answered. ‘I’m here to water her plants. Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Declan,’ Declan said and stood up out of the water, extending his hand, and everything else, in friendship. And he did, Cara noted, look particularly pleased to see her. ‘Declan O’Donnell.’
Amanda’s mother didn’t take his outstretched fingers. Her eyes widened and the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with her watering can went instead to her heart. Declan’s hand remained unshaken. Cara lowered herself in the water in an attempt to hide her embarrassment and, more particularly, not to be eye-level with Declan’s old lad.
‘And I bet you any money,’ he continued with a canny laugh, ‘that they forgot to tell you I was staying here.’
Chapter Forty-Six
I’ve only just realised that the old queen in the big hat behind the mixing desk is, in fact, Boy George. And do you know what, that makes me feel completely mortified and totally unhip. Particularly as I’ve always professed to be a fan of Culture Club. If he’d been up there singing ‘Karma Chameleon’ then I might have recognised him a bit earlier.
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