‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Adam said, indicating his half-finished, half pint. ‘I’ve got loads of stuff to sort out this afternoon.’
‘Chris?’ she said.
‘I’d like a double brandy,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a broken heart.’
‘I’ll get you a half of lager,’ Cara said. ‘You’ve got lots to do, too.’ She went off to the bar.
‘Lesbian,’ Chris said to her retreating back.
‘Leave her alone,’ Adam tutted. ‘You’re the one who’s going to have to look after her now.’
‘God forbid,’ Chris muttered darkly.
‘Cara’s all right,’ Adam said defensively.
‘She’s barking mad and you know it.’
‘She’s different,’ Adam insisted. ‘Unusual.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Chris said. ‘Different or not, that didn’t stop you doing the dirty on her last night and dumping her.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Jill from Classified caught her crying in the ladies’ loo.’
Adam’s voice was laced with concern. ‘And she said it was my fault?’
‘Two and two usually comes to about four, mate.’
‘Bugger,’ Adam said. ‘I thought she took it really well.’
‘That’s women for you,’ Chris said sagely. ‘Strange and exotic creatures.’
‘Mmm,’ Adam pondered. ‘And what did the two strange and exotic creatures who were caught on camera with you have to say about their surprise appearance in the local paper?’
‘They were strangely pleased,’ Chris mused. ‘I think it’s probably increased business.’
Cara returned with a mineral water for herself and put a half pint of lager down in front of Chris, who gave a disgruntled snort as he said thanks.
‘What do you think of our Adam’s glamorous new career then?’ Chris asked.
‘What glamorous new career?’ Cara’s eyebrows creased in alarm.
‘We never really got round to talking about it last night,’ Adam said sheepishly.
‘I thought you were going to work for another paper?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Not exactly!’ Chris exclaimed. ‘He’s going to be the next David Bailey. Erotic photographs a speciality. Are you going to pose for him?’
Adam gave a sickly laugh.
Cara’s face darkened to the colour of the pub carpet. ‘You’re going to be a glamour photographer?’
Adam cleared his throat. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ve heard it all now,’ she snapped.
‘I did it for Josh,’ Adam said. ‘The hours are better.’
‘Now I’ve heard it all,’ Cara growled. ‘What happened to your principles, Adam Jackson?’
‘Moan Sad Jack,’ Chris interjected.
‘Shut up, Chris,’ Cara said. She turned to Adam. ‘You and Emily deserve each other.’ And with that she stood up and flounced to the ladies’ loo.
‘I bet she’s gone for another cry,’ Chris said, testing his drink.
‘Shut up, Chris,’ Adam said with a sigh. ‘Why do you think she said that about Emily?’
‘Who’s Emily?’
‘Who’s Emily?’
‘I can never remember girls’ names, mate. Have I slept with her?’
‘You wanted to,’ Adam reminded him. ‘She was the Saucy Santa. You wanted her to have your babies.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Chris said. ‘There’s just too many women in the world for me, mate.’
Adam drained his drink. ‘I’m going back to work before Cara comes out and has another go at me. I hope working with Toff isn’t going to be as complicated.’
‘Yeah,’ Chris said, ‘but you’re not likely to sleep with him.’ Chris sat upright. ‘Are you?’
‘No,’ Adam said. ‘He’s not my type.’
‘Am I?’
‘No, Christopher,’ Adam said, ‘I can safely say that you’re not.’
‘Even if you were homosexual?’
‘Even if I were homosexual and you were the last man on earth.’ Adam headed towards the door.
‘Why?’ Chris shouted after him. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
Adam let the door slam behind him. Cara came out of the loo and sat back down at the table.
‘Looks like it’s just you and me now, babe,’ Chris said to Cara, flashing her his best leery grin. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy a shag?’
‘Drop dead,’ Cara said.
Chris shrugged. ‘Back to work then?’
‘Yeah,’ Cara said, and they downed their drinks and followed Adam out of the pub.
Chapter Ninety-Five
Cara lay reclined on her sofa with an ice-pack on her head. The incessant thump-thump-thump of a particularly thumping rave was going on inside the confines of her cranium. She had meditated, cogitated, ruminated, taken two Nurofen and still it wouldn’t shift. And it was all Emily’s fault. How could she have made Adam fall so madly in love with her? Friends weren’t supposed to do that sort of stuff. The fact that Emily didn’t know she had done it was neither here nor there.
Cara pushed the thoughts of her own betrayal to the back of her mind. Her conscience had struggled with the secret all day. Maybe she should have told Adam that she knew the whereabouts of his mystery woman. Maybe she should tell Emily that her love was, after all, requited. It was enough to give anyone a headache.
A car pulled up outside the house and for one giddy moment, Cara thought that it might be Adam. She pushed herself upright and plodded to the window, holding the ice to her throbbing temple. It was Declan, getting out of a Ford Ka.
She opened the door before he rang the bell.
‘Hi,’ Declan said and dodged inside shiftily. He was hiding a bunch of flowers behind his back. ‘I didn’t want anyone to recognise me.’
‘No one round here knows you,’ Cara said. ‘Except me.’
‘So much the better,’ Declan said.
‘Where’s the big posh BMW?’ Cara asked as he followed her into the lounge. ‘What are you doing driving a Ford Ka?’
‘It’s symbolic,’ Declan said.
‘Of being poor?’
‘I wanted Emily to know that I wasn’t squandering money.’
‘She’ll be pleased about that.’
‘Is she in?’
‘No,’ Cara said. ‘Emily’s gone out for the evening.’
‘Oh.’ Declan looked disappointed. ‘Where to?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Cara admitted. ‘She’d gone by the time I got back from work. She just left me a note.’
‘Oh.’ He pointed to her ice-pack. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Stress headache.’ Cara ditched the ice-pack. It was making no impression anyway.
Declan whipped out the flowers from behind his back. ‘These are for you,’ he said.
Cara took them graciously. ‘Thanks. That’s kind.’ Funny that the flowers were Emily’s favourites, she thought wryly.
Declan was unabashed.
It was a gaudy spring bunch, the bright colours fighting each other for space, the perfume sweet and heady. She wished that Adam had bought them for her and wondered how she’d manage, knowing that she’d never spend the night with him again. Cara pushed the thought aside. ‘I’ll put them in water.’
‘I’ve brought her a cheque too,’ he said, still trailing after her into the kitchen and sitting on a stool. ‘I expect she’s getting a bit low on funds.’
‘Low?’ Cara exclaimed, plonking the flowers down on the draining board and pulling out a vase from under the sink. It was decorated with mosaic mirror tiles, done in the days when Cara had managed to find time for hobbies. ‘Emily’s been scraping the bottom of the barrel for weeks now. She’s raided my piggy bank twice.’
‘This will help,’ Declan said. ‘It’s the proceeds from the sale of the Beamer.’
‘I thought business was booming again?’ She rooted through the drawer for the scissors and sliced through the cellophane wrapping and then carefully snipped the end off each
flower. ‘Why did the car have to go?’
‘Money isn’t everything, is it?’ Declan said.
‘It is when you haven’t got any,’ Cara pointed out.
‘I know,’ Declan said dismissively. ‘But I’ve just realised that there are more important things in life. Things that money can’t buy.’
‘Well done,’ Cara said with a nip of sarcasm, as she arranged the flowers in the vase. ‘How long has it taken you to work that one out?’
‘Too long,’ Declan said. He gave her a doleful look.
She carried the vase to the table and set it down.
‘They match the décor perfectly,’ Declan noted.
‘They do,’ she agreed. Which was terrifying really, because the flowers were purple, yellow and orange.
Declan fondled the petal of a brazen tiger lily. ‘I’m glad we’re alone,’ he said. ‘I wanted to talk to you about the other night. At Adrian and Amanda’s. In the hot tub.’
Cara slid into the seat opposite him. ‘There’s nothing to say. Really.’
‘You were embarrassed.’
‘I wasn’t.’ She was. It wasn’t very difficult to conjure up a picture of a very fit and naked Declan in his full glory. Cara flushed.
Declan grinned an evil grin. ‘You’re embarrassed now.’
‘I am not,’ Cara insisted.
He laughed and then took her hand. ‘I’m very fond of you, Cara. I always have been.’
Fond. Fond? What a terrible word that was. People were fond of Bambi and Thumper and Barry Manilow music. It was altogether too weak a word to apply to human passions. Being told that someone was fond of you was nearly as bad as being told you were a great mate. What was happening to her? Why did no one see her as the repressed love goddess that she was? Men she had adored for years told her that they were fond of her or that she was a great mate. All Emily had to do was breathe and strangers fell totally in love with her.
‘Fond,’ Cara said wistfully.
‘I meant it as a compliment,’ Declan said with a smile as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘You’ve got a lot going for you.’
‘Yes,’ Cara agreed. And you could probably write it all on the back of a matchbox.
Declan rested his face on his hands and stared at her. ‘I’m not going to get Emily back, am I?’
‘I think it’s unlikely,’ Cara agreed.
‘Do you want to give me the “you’ve got to move on” lecture?’
Cara hooked her finger through one of her dreadlocks and curled it round and round. ‘Not really.’
Declan reached out and took her other hand. ‘How’s the headache?’
‘Better for having my mind taken off it,’ she said tiredly. Why was the process of living so exhausting?
‘Let’s go out,’ Declan suggested. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No,’ Cara said.
‘I’ll treat you,’ he offered. ‘Now that I’m flush with cash.’
‘I’m glad the business is picking up again,’ she said sincerely. ‘I know it means a lot to you.’
‘It doesn’t mean quite as much as it did,’ Declan reminded her. ‘But thanks anyway.’
‘I need to get changed if we’re going to go out,’ Cara said. ‘And slap some more war-paint on.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Declan congratulated her. ‘I thought for a minute you were going to turn me down.’
With an effort, Cara pushed herself up. She didn’t really feel like going out, but she was going to plaster a smile on and try to enjoy herself. At least it would stop her from thinking about Adam and Emily.
‘I won’t be long,’ she promised. ‘Help yourself to a drink while I’m gone.’
‘Thanks,’ Declan said. ‘You . . .’
Cara held up her hand. ‘Please don’t tell me that I’m a great mate, Declan,’ she warned. ‘I really don’t think I could bear it.’
As she headed for the door, she left Declan sitting at the table with his mouth slightly agape.
Declan felt as if he was reeling slightly, but couldn’t put his finger on why. Emily was gone. She was out of his life. Of that much he was sure.
It felt strange to think that he was footloose and fancy-free again. He’d spent a lot of the time when he was with Emily, looking at other women and wondering what it would be like to sleep with them. Now that was a possibility rather than a fantasy, he felt more than a little uncertain of himself.
Take Cara. No matter how much she hated the description, she had been a great mate. He didn’t know how he would have got through this without her. OK, she was completely dappy. But dappy was fun. And there was nothing wrong with a dash of good, old harmless British eccentricity. The world didn’t have enough of it these days. But just lately he’d begun to feel differently about her – ever since that night in the hot tub, if the truth was known. Who knew what might have happened if Amanda’s mother hadn’t turned up with all the comic timing of Attila the Hun.
Declan spun round and headed towards the fridge. He’d take Cara to the Thai place just down the hill in Belsize Park. She’d like that. Lemongrass was vegetarian, wasn’t it? There was a bottle of red wine already open in the fridge door that had a plastic stopper jammed tightly into the neck. He took the bottle out and tugged at the temporary cork, which released with a satisfying pop. Declan sniffed it. Slightly strange. There was the aroma of fireworks, putty and candle-wax. It might just be on the turn, but he’d get a glass and try it anyway.
He opened two or three cupboards before he remembered where Cara kept her glasses and then poured himself a drink. Declan licked his lips as he tested it. The wine tasted even more strange than it smelled. Not off exactly, but weird. It had the flavour of snuff and mouldy leaves and Jelly Babies, and there seemed to be flecks of black floating in it. Not the usual flavour for a Cabernet Sauvignon. He looked at the label. Nothing too offensive there. Should be a good drinking wine, even if it was straight out of the fridge.
Declan took the bottle of wine back to the table and, as he waited patiently for Cara, kept trying it to make absolutely sure that he really didn’t like it.
Cara had decided to wear the floaty pink number she’d lent to Emily. It had been lurking in her cupboard for too long and if it could work for her friend, who knows what it might do for her. She tied her dreadlocks up into a knot on her head and then tiptoed into Emily’s room and rummaged through her shoes until she found some pretty black kitten-heeled sandals and into them squeezed feet that were normally accustomed to flat boots. She hoped that Declan wasn’t planning to go to Pizza Hut.
Cara glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. A quick smear of lipstick and she’d be ready. With a last approving glance in the mirror, she bounded down the stairs.
Declan looked up as Cara came in the kitchen door. ‘Wow!’ he said, blinking rapidly. ‘You look fabulous.’
Cara smiled shyly, slightly taken aback. ‘Thanks.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s a bit of an understatement really.’ He glanced down at the bottle of wine and blinked again. ‘You look absolutely sensational.’
‘Thanks,’ Cara said again.
‘Your hair . . .’ Declan was behaving very strangely. ‘It’s shining like there’s a big, Hollywood spotlight behind you.’
‘Is it?’ Cara looked round to check.
‘This is going to sound a bit strange.’ Declan took a heaving breath. ‘I can see diamonds sparkling from your fingertips. And there’s glitter floating in the air all around you.’
Cara raised her eyebrows.
‘I know,’ Declan said. ‘It sounds mad, doesn’t it?’
‘Just a bit,’ Cara said.
‘I can hear music, Cara.’ He spoke in hushed tones. ‘Soft, pure angelic chords that are plucking my heartstrings. I can feel warm, pulsating waves brushing over my skin as gentle as silk.’ Declan shivered deliciously.
Cara looked down at the open wine bottle in alarm. ‘Exactly how much have you had to drink?’
‘Hardly anything,’
Declan insisted. ‘This stuff tastes like shite. What is it?’
He held out the glass to Cara and she took a sip. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my giddy aunt!’
‘What?’ Declan said. ‘What is it?’
Declan had gone all soft-focus and swimmy. Tiny jewelled butterflies fluttered round the gold threads that ran through his hair. His eyes had turned to darkest amber. Somewhere, a harp was playing. The moon shone through the kitchen windows as bright and warm as a hot summer sun. ‘Oh my giddy aunt,’ Cara gasped again.
‘I found it in the fridge,’ he explained nervously.
His voice fell on her like the cool droplets from a mountain waterfall on naked skin. Cara unpinned her hair and shook it loose. Declan gulped. She ran her hand over her parched throat, aching to taste the wine again. Without much of a fight, she gave in and had a hearty swig. Her whole body shuddered with bliss.
‘Do you feel like I do?’ Declan said in awe.
Cara nodded.
‘It tastes like shite,’ Declan reiterated, ‘but it’s powerful stuff. Did you get it from Oddbins?’
‘It’s a spell,’ Cara breathed. ‘A magic spell.’
‘Oh Jaysus,’ Declan said. ‘And it makes you feel like this?’
‘It makes you fall in love with the first person you see,’ she said.
‘So I’m in love with you?’ Declan asked.
‘And I’m in love with you,’ she confirmed.
‘Shit,’ Declan puffed. ‘It feels fecking great, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Tears sprang to Cara’s eyes.
Declan moved towards her. ‘I thought you were lovely, anyway,’ he said. ‘But all this glittery stuff looks grand.’
‘You have hair like spun gold.’
‘I do?’ Declan said, chuffed. He traced his fingers over her cheek and shivered with ecstasy. Cara’s eyes closed in response.
‘How long does this spell last?’ he murmured, his lips searing hot against the skin of her neck.
‘A hundred years,’ Cara said breathlessly.
‘That’s a hell of a long time, Ms Forbes,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Cara whispered.
‘We could afford to miss dinner.’
‘Yes.’
Declan took her hand and led her towards the door. ‘Spell or not, I’m in love with you.’
A Compromising Position Page 35