Want to Know a Secret? (Choc Lit)

by Moorcroft, Sue

  She stirred the chocolate flakes and cream into the coffee with angry little chops. ‘She’ll need you more than ever when it ends.’

  James blinked. ‘Don’t sugar the pill, will you?’

  Without missing a beat, she continued, ‘And in a few weeks Valerie will be home from hospital and need care. I know —’ She put up her hand. ‘You’ll hire a nurse. So she’ll want company. She’s bored out of her skull in hospital and the boredom won’t lift until she gets her mobility back. It’ll be a while before she can drive her sports car and what’s she going to do to replace flying? And you’ll find yourself watching her booze intake because she’ll soon be on crutches and able to get about the house and find it, if not at home then in this pub which is, conveniently, just across the green. You’ll rage at her about it and you’ll fight her every inch of the way but you won’t leave her to drink herself into a hole in the ground because that’s not how you’re made.

  ‘And I’ve made an undertaking to Bryony that I’ll stay with her father, at least for now. She’s going to be a single parent. A grandchild will be living with us, a grandchild who deserves the nearest to a happy home that we can give it. And, anyway – I thought the thing you had to talk about wasn’t us?’

  James picked up his cappuccino and drank, sipping slowly, flinty gaze fixed on something outside.

  She’d infuriated him. She knew that she’d been blunt, but he’d promised. And then made her go over all the hellish reasons that they couldn’t be together. Again. He shouldn’t be saying things to make her eyes smart and her heart stretch out to him in longing. His eyes shouldn’t be spreading heat through her. He shouldn’t be tying her in knots.

  When his cup was empty he replaced it carefully on the table. ‘Natalia spent the weekend in London.’

  ‘Lovely,’ she said, automatically.

  ‘She visited Covent Garden Market, she always does. She loves the street performers and the quirky shops. She’s a mug for even the most expensive. She brought home a dress she fell in love with.’ He dragged out a carrier bag from under the table and turned it upside down, letting fabric slither out.

  After a pause, Diane picked it up.

  It was bronze grosgrain with fat, chocolaty lacings up the front and the back. The label sewn into the neck said, DRJ, embroidered in turquoise on a bright yellow ground. Bewildered, she stared at him. ‘Was it a shop that sold second-hand clothes?’

  ‘No. I checked.’

  ‘But this is something I made for Rowan.’

  ‘Thought so.’

  She was aware of a slight nausea, disorientation, like the onset of travel sickness. ‘So it couldn’t be for sale in Covent Garden.’

  James reached into his pocket again and came out with a receipt. For £209.

  She gasped. ‘Oh ...’

  ‘I’d say he’s ripping you off. He’s buying stuff off you for a song, then selling it on to this shop for a significant mark up.’

  Anger made the backs of Diane’s eyes burn and her vision of the dress wavered. She clenched her fists. ‘Bastard.’

  James smiled the first real smile of the evening. ‘If you want to leave him to me I’ll be happy to put the fear of God into him –’

  Diane almost knocked the table over as she leapt to her feet. Her breath came choppily, making her feel dizzy. ‘When did I ask you to take it over?’

  He gazed up, looking injured. ‘I’m trying to help.’

  ‘Well, forget it. It’s my business and I’ll sort it.’ She saw that she’d caught the attention of quite a few of the other customers and sank back onto her seat, fighting to regain her composure. It took several deep breaths. ‘I’m very grateful both to you and Natalia for bringing it to my attention, but I’ll take it from here. OK?’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Diane had spent the last hour in the coffee shop sewing a pattern of silvery buttons onto a black top for Tamzin so that Bryony and Gareth could have some time to talk. Their relationship was under repair. Diane wanted Gareth and Bryony to have a relationship because it would be good for Bryony and, presently, Bryony’s child. Bryony was unarguably warming to her father again and if Gareth chose not to look any further than superficially good relations then Diane wasn’t about to interfere.

  Then Bryony, not yet having found a decent car to suit her bank balance, had taken the Peugeot into Peterborough City Centre for a late lunch with her grandfather – she was seeing him most weeks – and Diane was stuck at the hospital until she brought it back. Now, sitting beside Gareth’s bed, still sewing, the whiteness of the room made her head ache and her sleep-deprived eyes scratch against her lids. For hours, last night, she’d lain awake, seething, rehearsing what she’d say to Rowan, the bastard.

  Oh, to go home and put the sewing away for a bit, open a bottle of wine and nibble her way through a pack of Devon cream toffees over a library book. Instead, she was stuck here, listening to Gareth congratulate himself on how well he was getting on with his daughter.

  She examined his self-satisfied smile.

  It might make her feel better if she could wipe it from his face.

  She searched her mind for a suitably sore subject. ‘Have you had any contact with Stella?’ Gareth’s granite forehead immediately closed down over his eyes. Good choice.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘I notice that you don’t actually answer yes or no. Why should you have contact with her? Because you’ve been having an affair with her for years and she might want to talk about why it’s ended? Or you might want to start things up again? Or the whole finale was just a charade for my benefit?’ She bit off her thread and unwound more from the spool with swift, assured movements. She’d been working like a maniac on the order for Unity’s. This special piece for Tamzin was something she’d slotted in as a favour. Jenneration had secured a spot at The Cavern in Liverpool – so long as they could take at least a coach load of paying guests with them – and Tamzin wanted something really special for the gig to go with black jeans with junk jewellery dangling from the waistband.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he replied.

  Diane threaded the needle and knotted the ends. There could be few requests more likely to enrage her than that she refrain from being stupid.

  Although, sometimes, she thought she had been very stupid indeed.

  In the weeks since she’d quashed the possibility of an affair with James she’d seen the world in greyscale. The meeting at The Old Dog yesterday had come perilously close to a row because she hated seeing James without being able to touch him, kiss him, or know the pleasure of his body. What if Gareth felt the same about Stella? With a man less controlling and possessive she might even have suggested a little reciprocal blind-eye turning, but not with Gareth. It had been bred into him never to let another take what he considered his. No matter what he’d done himself there would be no hope of maintaining the semblance of a relationship even for Bryony’s sake, under those circumstances.

  She set the first stitch and prepared to ascend new heights of stupidity. ‘You’ve got your metalwork off your hip and you’re out of traction. You’ll be home in a few days. I just wondered how the land lay. If you’ll be expecting me to drive you out to your cottage for meetings.’

  He set his jaw. The swelling had almost all gone now and also the bruising, returning his face to its habitual hardness. ‘Are you deliberately trying to start a row?’

  She selected a button, a really tiny one, and held it to the fabric with her thumbnail while she thrust the needle through. ‘I don’t have to try.’ She dropped her work on the bed and slipped her hand beneath his pillow.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ he snapped in outrage, but even though his arm was out of plaster and into some stretchy supporting affair, he was no match for her agility. He turned puce as, safely out of his range, she scrolled down first his Dialled Calls and then his Received Calls.

  ‘You’re a fibber,’ she announced, in mock reproof. ‘Stella is ringing you and you’re ringin
g her. You rang her yesterday.’ She tossed the phone down beside him, and retrieved Tamzin’s black T-shirt from the floor where it had fallen. ‘I thought I’d make it plain that I’m finally awake to your games. I expect openness from you. However shitty the truth.’

  His mouth was a straight line.

  ‘I don’t care about Stella for myself but Bryony cares a lot. She’s going to have a tough time bringing up a baby without a father and we’ve agreed to be there for her. But you’re not keeping up your end of the bargain, are you? For the sake of your wallet you seem to want me to stay, so, for the sake of your daughter you’re going to have to give up your lover.’ Like I had to.

  She gave him a few minutes to chew that over before introducing the next irritating subject. ‘I’ve bought a new bed; it was delivered yesterday.’

  ‘What was wrong with the old one?’ He rapped it out in the old Gareth way, expecting her to run every decision past him for approval. Well, he could bloody well stop all that nonsense.

  ‘Actually, it’s so ancient I’m surprised you can lower yourself to use it after the luxury of the king size at your cottage. But I didn’t buy the new bed to replace our old one. It’s as well. I’m making the dining room into my work room, as we generally eat in the kitchen, and my old work room into my bedroom. I no longer want to sleep with you.’

  She selected another button, glancing up. ‘You surely don’t think that after all the nasty tricks you’ve played that I want intimacy? If it weren’t for Bryony’s situation I would be looking for a divorce, frankly. But she needs the comfort of a friendly family unit, right now. The only way I can remain friendly with you is to have my own room. I’ll be your nurse until you’re fully fit again, then I’ll be your house-mate – but I won’t be your lover.’

  Gareth took a sip from his squash before answering. He was drinking from a normal glass now. His voice was thin, surprised. ‘But what will Bryony think?’

  Diane put her work down on her lap and gave him the benefit of her direct blue-eyed stare. ‘She thinks that our relationship has undergone a radical change and that the situation is irretrievable, because that’s what I’ve told her. The truth. I’ve explained that, us all being grown ups and probably reasonably fond of each other under it all, this is the best way forward.’

  Gareth’s eyes were hazel pools of shock and, as he seemed temporarily lost for words, Diane picked her work up again. She was sick to her stomach of sewing; she was sewing her fingers off. She wished she could take a week off, like normal people did. Perhaps she’d jump on an aeroplane after she got the balance of her money from Unity. The school term would’ve begun and Spain or Italy would be lovely and quiet. She could read, eat ice cream, drink coffee, swim in the turquoise sea. If Gareth wasn’t able to take care of himself by then he could hire a nurse for a week. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the funds.

  She picked up a big saucer-like button, mock mother-of-pearl. The hospital seemed incredibly noisy today. There had been a loud beeping coming from somewhere and what sounded like a rugby team racing around the corridor. ‘While we’re laying out ground rules for the new order of our marriage, let’s talk about money.’

  That got his attention. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I’ve opened a couple of accounts in my own name. I propose that we split all household bills down the middle, ditto the groceries, and apart from that keep our money separate.’

  His eyebrows flipped up. ‘Should I be asking if there’s a catch?’

  ‘Not so much a catch as a few provisos. The mortgage stands at just under £20,000. I want you to pay it off. And I don’t want you ever to query what I do with my money and neither will I with yours. In other words, you get to keep nearly all your cash in your own grubby paws. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ he agreed, cautiously, as if looking for a catch no matter what she said about provisos.

  ‘And I have a new money-making scheme for you – sue Valerie. I think it’s an interesting point whether you will do this to a sibling. But I was reading in the paper about claims for damages and you’ve certainly been damaged, so I thought I’d mention it to you.’

  He replied, stiffly. ‘In fact, that’s common practice. Valerie wouldn’t pay, her insurance company would. But I haven’t seen a solicitor.’ His eyes lit up suddenly. ‘In the next couple of days the nurses are going to get me used to a wheelchair and take me in to Valerie’s room. I’ll talk it over with her.’

  Diane put down her sewing to give him her best school marm look. ‘Gareth, you have seen a solicitor because one of the nurses let it out accidentally. No doubt you were establishing what you can do to protect your fortune if I go for a divorce … hell’s bells, what’s that?’ She lunged to her feet.

  The scream had been unearthly.

  Gareth tried to pull himself up, glancing towards the door. ‘Is it human?’

  ‘It’s a woman.’ Diane frowned and cocked her head. Then she caught a familiar voice.

  Quickly, she threw down her work and crossed to the door. Hesitated, hand on the chrome door plate, frowning. She opened the door a few inches; the heartbreaking wails becoming louder – and the familiar voice also.

  She pushed the portal wider and darted through.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  James felt as if his insides had been turned to stone.

  He held Tamzin in his arms. Not the happier Tamzin that he was daring to get used to but a gasping, keening, grey-faced Tamzin whose arms and legs jerked out of control.

  Her wails of anguish, ‘No! No! No!’ were choking her. Crowing for breath, she ripped sobs out from the pit of her stomach.

  James tried to hold her tightly, to keep her tipping into hysteria. ‘I’m here, Tamz.’ But her frantically pedalling legs trampled his toes and drew lines of fire down his shins.

  Two nurses encouraged her back down the corridor, voices soothing. ‘Let’s get you to the relative’s room, dear. You’ll be better, there.’

  It was ineffective.

  Tamzin was in some private agony zone and seemed quite unable to control her pumping legs.

  And then, like an answer to a prayer, Diane was racing up the corridor towards them, compassion all over her face. ‘James?’

  Tamzin yanked herself free and threw herself at Diane. ‘Diane! Oh, Diane. Mummy died. Right there in front of us. She began to gasp and panic and Dad pressed the red button and people raced in and they were trying to help but she just gasped and gasped. And then she stopped. ’ Her voice spiralled. ‘She stopped breathing!’

  Diane cradled the shuddering body, her horrified eyes seeking James’s. Dumbly, he nodded. Stroking Tamzin’s back, Diane murmured, ‘Oh, darling.’

  With her other hand she reached out to James.

  Helplessly, he let her arm slide around him. But the bad stuff didn’t go away. It was like the sweating, terrifying kind of nightmare when a family member is torn away by the slavering fangs of a monster. This time the monster was death and there would be no grateful awakening.

  Diane helped him haul Tamzin along to the relative’s room and a doctor came and gave her something to calm her. James held her, repeating endlessly, ‘I’m here. I’m here, Tamzin.’ Eventually, she slumped, her head on his shoulder, quieting in the protective circle of his arms.

  James began to shake as awful reality sank in, the images of the last few minutes hanging ghastly before his eyes. Valerie’s strange colour. The life draining from her face. She had always been so alive, so animated, her eyes alight with laughter or gleaming in scorn. But never as they were now – with no expression.

  He thrust away the image of what he’d just witnessed, letting his tendency for logic and control carry him into action. ‘I must tell Natalia and Alice, and Harold. Be with them.’

  Diane was seated on his other side. He could feel her hand, firm on his arm. ‘Do you want to leave Tamzin with me? You could break the news, gather everyone at your house, then I’ll bring her along. Just give me a few minutes to tell the n
urses so that when Bryony comes –’ She halted, suddenly. ‘Oh, no. Gareth.’

  They stared at each another bleakly. Diane grimaced. ‘I’ll have to tell him. Stay with him.’

  She helped James down to the car with Tamzin sleepwalking between them, James half-carrying her. She weighed no more than a child. Diane took his keys and opened the car door and they loaded her into the front seat and fastened the seat belt.

  The car door shut, Diane put her hand on James’s forearm. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was a croak. Nausea waited in his throat.

  ‘If you want to talk, ring me.’

  For an instant, normality stirred. ‘Could I?’

  ‘Of course. Of course. Don’t be the strong one all alone. Everyone will need you. It’s OK for you to need somebody.’ Her eyes shone with sympathy.

  He managed, ‘Thank you.’

  Diane made her way slowly back upstairs to tell her husband that his sister was dead.

  Gareth went a brilliant, startling white, a contrast to the rainbow face he’d sported until recently. ‘But I was going to visit her tomorrow. Tomorrow. They were going to put me in a chair and let me see her. She was nearly better. Wasn’t she nearly better? She was going home, like me.’

  Shoving all the hurts and frictions aside, Diane took his hand. ‘I know. It was a complete shock. James and Tamzin were with her and called the crash team but it was so quick.’

  ‘How could she die? She was never in danger from her injuries.’

  ‘James assumed it was her heart but the team are talking about pulmonary embolism – a blood clot that went to her lungs.’