‘Yes, I do. And I’d never ask you to compromise like that. I promise.’
She nodded, suddenly fighting back tears.
‘To be fair, Justin didn’t either. I suppose he knew me too well. If he wanted a baby, the only solution was to leave me, and even in amongst all the grief I felt when he left, I was grateful to him for that. That probably sounds weird, but I was.’
‘No, I can understand that,’ Benjamin said softly.
‘Thank you. Sorry, this has got a bit heavy, hasn’t it?’ She used her free hand to wipe away a tear that had escaped and looked at him affectionately. ‘But thank you for listening. I feel better now!’
He nodded and looked tenderly at her for another few seconds, then squeezed her hand again.
‘Dim sum?’ he asked.
Cora snorted. ‘Ah, I see the romantic moment didn’t last long while there was still food on the table!’
‘Hey – we need energy for the romantic moments we’ll be having when I get you home!’ Benjamin winked in an exaggerated fashion, and speared a prawn dumpling with a chopstick.
Cora laughed and tucked in. He was right – and the food was just too divine to ignore.
An hour later, stuffed and happy, they ambled out into the frosty Mayfair street.
‘Ooh – freezing! Hang on a mo.’ Cora stopped under a streetlight to wrap her cashmere scarf more tightly round her ears.
‘It’s Baltic, isn’t it?’ Benjamin scanned the street for a cab, then tutted.
‘Nothing. Let’s nip round the corner to Berkeley Square – there’s always loads there.’
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and they headed down the road, to Cora’s great amusement Benjamin beginning to merrily extoll the virtues of the food they’d just eaten as if she hadn’t been there.
‘It was scrumptious, seriously. The jasmine tea smoked chicken was to die for …’
He chatted on, but Cora was suddenly distracted. Her sharp ears had picked up the soft footsteps of somebody close behind them. A mugger? Or just paparazzi? She turned quickly, and sure enough a shadowy form a few metres back stopped abruptly and melted into a shop doorway.
‘What’s up?’ asked Benjamin, his restaurant review brought to a premature halt.
‘Nothing. Just a pap, I think. Don’t worry, he’s slipped into a doorway. Oh look – a cab, quick!’
They sprinted to the corner, Benjamin waving frantically, and the cab screeched to a halt at the kerbside. Settling into the blissful warmth, Cora snuggled up to her boyfriend and grinned as his fingers began to discreetly stroke their way up her thigh and under the hem of her short skirt. But the figure behind them had left her feeling uneasy. Was it really a pap, out to get a quick snap of Benjamin Boland? If so, why hadn’t he just done it as they’d left the restaurant like they usually did? Why follow them, and then hide? Weird.
She suddenly remembered the vague feeling she’d had last weekend that somebody had been lurking outside her gate in Cheltenham as she’d said goodbye to Rosie and Nicole. Was somebody following her? And then there’d been an incident a few days ago when, for a scary five minutes, she’d been convinced that somebody had been in the flat while she’d been out. The drawer where she kept all her keys, spare batteries and takeaway menus was half open, and Cora never left drawers ajar – it was a particular bugbear of hers. As nothing else in the apartment had been disturbed and there’d been no sign of a break-in, though, she’d eventually decided she must have been in even more of a hurry than normal when she was rushing out that morning, and dismissed her fears. But now, again, somebody lurking in the dark, waiting for her …
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ she told herself. ‘All this Dead Dog Day murder mystery stuff is making you paranoid. Why would anyone want to follow you?’
And putting any such thoughts firmly out of her mind, she leaned closer to Benjamin and planted her lips on his deliciously soft mouth, flicking her tongue between his teeth. He responded eagerly, his hand moving higher on her thigh and then stopping just outside the line of her knickers, his index finger gently circling until she thought she might actually pass out from anticipation.
‘Er – driver? Any chance you could go a little faster?’ she croaked. The driver glanced over his shoulder, raised his eyebrows and put his foot down.
Benjamin snickered. ‘Good grief, Cora Baxter. You’ll be getting me a reputation!’
‘Tonight, Mr Boland, I really couldn’t care less,’ she proclaimed. ‘I couldn’t be happier.’
‘Me too,’ he said softly. And he reached for her lips again, and kissed her until the cab driver coughed loudly to announce their arrival on the South Bank.
32
Wednesday 31st January
@ilovelegs2 @CoraBaxterMLive Morning Cora. Please can you tell me if you have stockings on under that sexy green rubber? Thanks.
Cora sighed and shoved her phone back into the pocket of her waterproof jacket. How on earth could men find waders sexy? She checked her watch and splashed her way back through the knee-high water that was flowing down the street in the centre of Worcester, narrowly avoiding a swan outside Boots. After three days of horrendous rain, the River Severn had once again burst its banks, turning the towns and cities it passed through into watery nightmares for their residents, and giving the ducks and swans interesting new routes to investigate.
She turned into a steep side street and stomped up the hill, the floodwater gradually getting lower and lower until she reached the dry ground at the top where Scott had parked the truck. Relieved to be out of the water, which really didn’t smell very nice, she stamped her frozen feet and leaned against the wall to take her waders off, wrinkling her nose.
‘Urgh – it stinks, doesn’t it?’
Rodney poked his head out of the truck, then jumped out and ran over to give her a hand.
‘Yes, it does. Can’t imagine how horrible it must be for all those poor people with this stuff in their living rooms. No wonder it takes a year or more to get it all properly cleaned up. Vile.’
She leaned on Rodney’s arm as she wriggled out of the second wader and stood in her socks on the dry ground. Rodney grabbed her rucksack which was lying nearby and pulled her Emu boots out.
‘Thanks – you’re a star.’
‘Hey, Cora …’ Rodney dropped his voice, looking surreptitiously at the truck to check that nobody was within earshot.
‘Tried to have a word with Scott, while you were on the phone – asked him about you know what. No joy, won’t even go there. And he’s denying any money troubles too. Still insists he’s just trying out ‘minimalism’ at home,’ he hissed.
Cora sighed, as she finally got her boots on and straightened up. ‘Oh well, you tried. It’s such a worry Rodney. I just have no idea what to make of it all. He’s just so damn quiet, and SO moody.’
‘Tell me about it …’ He stopped as Nathan appeared at the door of the truck. ‘Are we done then?’ he shouted. ‘Was that definitely the last hit?’
‘Definitely!’
‘Amen to that,’ replied Nathan. ‘I’ve had quite enough of that honking water.’
‘Me too. Especially after that near miss earlier …’
They’d been halfway through the eight o’clock news hit, Cora walking down the High Street pointing out the flooded shops and submerged benches and telephone boxes to the camera, when out of the corner of her eye she’d noticed two men in fluorescent jackets gesticulating wildly at her. Steadfastly ignoring them, she’d carried on with her broadcast, but as soon as she’d been given the all-clear she marched across to where they were still standing, watching her.
‘Did you not realise we were live on air? That was really distracting,’ she’d said, mildly irritated.
‘Well, did you not realise there were open manhole covers all the way down that street? You could have disappeared!’ the taller of the two replied crossly.
Now, Nathan snorted with laughter as he recalled her face as she’d realised what cou
ld have happened.
‘I wish it had – we’d be on It’ll be Alright on the Night for ever and a day!’ he grinned.
‘Well, at least we learned something – flooding can cause manhole covers to lift! Every day’s a school day.’
‘True, true. Come on, let’s go and find some breakfast, I’m starving. And I am DYING for a wee.’
‘Me too – it’s all this water,’ Cora laughed.
And cheered by the thought of toilets and breakfast, they banged on the side of the truck to alert Scott and headed off to find a cosy café.
At his flat in Shepherd’s Bush, Adam Bradberry was enjoying a rare morning off. Slugging down his second strong coffee of the day, he stood by the window of his second floor living room, gazing idly at the bustling street below and wondering when Harry would wake up. His ex, Laura, had called him in a panic yesterday afternoon, asking him if he could take their five-year-old overnight because of some crisis at the hospital where she worked, and he’d happily obliged. He was getting nowhere at work anyway at the moment, the Jeanette Kendrick enquiry floundering like none he’d ever worked on before, and he needed a break. Plus, any chance to spend some extra time with his beloved son was more than welcome.
He turned away from the window and wandered over to the fireplace, smiling as he picked up his favourite photo from the mantelpiece. A wooden frame was filled with a laughing close-up of Harry, his huge green eyes sparkling. Adam’s tired face softened and his own green eyes shone as he looked at his son. Apart from their hair – the child’s was mousy-brown and curly – they were strikingly similar.
He put the picture down and picked up the one that stood next to it. Adam himself, tanned, in a white T-shirt and red shorts on a Spanish beach, his little son grinning on his shoulders. A smiling woman sat on the sand next to them, her long, brown hair blowing in the breeze. Adam and Laura, a nurse, had divorced a year ago, after seven years of marriage, but they were still friends. Soon after Harrison was born they had somehow started to drift apart, but the little boy was the most important thing in both their worlds and they had always managed to keep everything amicable. Adam saw Harry every second weekend, despite the long trek from London to Swindon and back, and took him away on regular holidays, and the little boy seemed to be as happy as he had always been.
He looked around the room, quietly contented with the home he’d created for himself and his son. He’d only moved in six months ago, and it had been hard work doing it up when his working hours were so long and his budget so tight, but it was slowly coming together. The front door opened into a small windowless hallway, which he’d brightened with halogen spots and two modern artworks Laura had agreed he could take from the marital home; then double doors opened onto a surprisingly big L-shaped, open-plan living area. It was a corner apartment, with windows on two sides opening on to a wide balcony that ran all the way round. Now, the winter sun streamed in, burnishing the polished oak floor. A huge, grey suede sofa with lime and turquoise cushions, a TV, a simple white dining table and chairs – the tabletop currently covered with Harry’s crayons and colouring books – and some high stools around the breakfast bar area had been his main purchases so far, but it was definitely starting to feel like home.
There was still no sound from Harry, so Adam poured a third coffee and made a piece of toast, which he spread thickly with Marmite. Munching, he drifted into the master bedroom, with its views of the quiet, communal courtyard at the rear of the apartment block. A small water feature bubbled away in the centre, and metal benches were dotted around on the gravel paths, shaded by huge palms and gently rustling bamboo plants. He’d got lucky with this place, without a doubt. Swallowing his last mouthful of toast, he carefully opened the door to his son’s bedroom and crept in, smiling as he saw the tousled curls emerging from the bottom of the bed and the slightly grubby little feet on the pillow. Sleeping upside down again – this was becoming a habit. He slipped into the en-suite bathroom and began to run a bath for his son – the excitement of a mid-week trip to Daddy’s had left them both too exhausted last night – and as the tub filled, leaned against the bathroom doorframe, waiting for his son to stir. On a shelf near the bed, two goldfish swam in determined circles. On the pale blue walls, stickers of sharks and dolphins mingled with boats and mermaids, and a large clock with Nemo’s face ticked loudly, alerting Adam to the fact that it was nearly 9.30 and he really did need to get this day started.
‘Hello, Daddy!’
Adam jumped as the sleepy voice interrupted his musings.
‘Well, hello, sleepyhead! I thought you’d never wake up!’
Harry grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. ‘I can hear the bath! Can I have my submarine? And my water pistol?’
Adam pulled back the duvet and swept the child into his arms. ‘Submarine, yes. Water pistol, definitely not! I’ve already had my shower this morning, thank you very much!’
‘Awwww!’ moaned Harry, then chuckled hysterically as his dad threw him over his shoulder and headed for the bathroom.
Adam laughed too, the usual little bubble of elation fizzing up inside him. He loved his son so much. So what if this latest murder enquiry had struck a dead end, and so what if he had no woman in his life at the moment? Sometimes, Harry was quite simply all he needed. He dumped the giggling little boy onto the bathmat and then, suddenly changing his mind, he grabbed both the toy submarine and the water pistol from the shelf, threw them into the bath, and prepared himself to get very wet indeed.
33
‘OK, OK, I’ll come out – but I’m attached now, remember, so no trying to lead me astray!’
Benjamin grinned down the phone at the incredulous jeering at the other end and cut the call. His friends were still not convinced he’d changed, and sometimes he found it hard to believe it himself, but Cora Baxter had definitely done something to him. He walked to the window and stared out at the river for a moment. It was twilight, and the streetlights had come on, reflecting in the shimmering water. Far below his lofty home, Londoners and tourists scurried along the South Bank. A cluster of people who’d been standing on the pavement next to a burger van suddenly skipped into the road, and through his triple glazing Benjamin heard the distant sound of an irate car horn.
He looked at his Breitling. Five o’clock. Might be a good time to ring Cora. He hit her speed dial number and she picked up almost immediately.
‘Hi! I was just thinking about you! What are you up to this chilly evening?’
‘Not a lot at the moment – Hugo’s just rung though, bit of a boy’s night out later so I thought I might go along. You?’
‘Oh, working – the usual! Up in Manchester, rubbish story … hang on – what? Now?’
He could hear an urgent voice in the background. A moment later she was back.
‘Oh, Benj, so sorry, I can’t talk to you now, got to go and shoot an interview before the bloke gets on a plane. Look – have a great night, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, OK? Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ But she’d already hung up. Benjamin sighed. She was always so busy and distracted during the week. One of the things that he loved most about Cora was that she had a career so similar to his, which meant she understood his lifestyle so well … but it would be nice to see her a bit more often.
He went to the kitchen, made an espresso in the thousand-pound Gaggia machine he’d bought himself last Christmas, and drank it slowly, thinking about the boy’s night out he’d gone on last week. As usual, women had approached him constantly through the evening – beautiful, sexy women, women he’d have taken home in a heartbeat in the days pre-Cora. And yes, he’d been tempted, a little – he was only human after all – but all he’d done this time was have a little flirt and a chat, before sending them on their way. And that was part of his job really, he mused – keeping the public happy was what a TV presenter was supposed to do.
‘Any future dealings with other women will be purely platonic,’ he announced proudly to the Gaggia, whi
ch spurted a little frothy milk at him in reply.
‘I’m a one-woman man now.’
He wandered slowly around his apartment, straightening cushions and moving a vase a fraction to the left so it lined up perfectly with the ‘Hot Hunk of the Year’ award he’d been presented with by a showbiz magazine a few months back. It was beautiful here, and he loved it, but it suddenly felt rather empty.
‘A woman’s touch, that’s what it needs. Somebody here when I get home, somebody to sleep with every night, wake up with every day,’ he said softly. He pulled out his phone again and flicked through his photos to a shot of Cora. He’d taken it at the weekend just after she’d woken up. She was sitting up in bed, hair dishevelled, no make-up, clutching the duvet to her chest and grinning cheekily at him. She looked gorgeous. He smiled at her image for a moment then pulled himself together.
‘Christ, man, get a grip!’ he shouted out loud, and laughing, headed for the wardrobe to find something to wear. He was finding himself reaching a whole new level of soppiness here – a boys’ night out was probably just what he needed.
He opened the wardrobe and started flicking through his vast shirt collection, then paused as something on the closet floor caught his eye. He bent to pick it up. It was his passport. Weird, he thought. How did that get there? He travelled so much that he was absolutely religious about keeping his documents together for easy access when he needed them, automatically putting them in his box on the shelf behind the clothes rail every time he came back from a trip. He looked up at the shelf. The box was there, but it was slightly ajar, papers protruding from the opening. Benjamin frowned. He was almost certain he hadn’t left it like that – he was tidy to the point of obsession. He felt a sudden little flicker of unease. Could somebody have been in here?
He walked quickly through the apartment again, scanning every room for anything else that might be out of place, but all seemed fine. Back in the bedroom, he sat down on the edge of the bed and thought for a moment. His cleaner was the only one with a key – well, apart from Cora of course, he’d given her one after their second or third date, happy for her to let herself in if he was ever delayed on a shoot. But he knew she’d never been here without his knowledge, and would certainly never go through his stuff, and the cleaner had always been under strict instructions never to open drawers or cupboards. He stared hard at the passport he was still clutching in his hand, then stood up and returned it to its box, closing the lid firmly. He was imagining it, he told himself. He’d obviously just been a bit careless when he was unpacking last time. Nothing to worry about. Being in love was obviously affecting him in more ways than one. And grinning again at the thought of his lovely new girlfriend, he finally selected a shirt and headed off for his boys’ night out.
The Dead Dog Day Page 17