by Jill Mansell
‘You told me you loved her,’ said Tara.
Dominic ran his fingers through his fair hair. There was pain in his eyes and genuine regret.
‘Maybe I do. In a way. Annabel’s a lovely girl. She’s done nothing wrong. But, you know, I think I feel protective towards her more than anything else. Like a big brother taking care of his younger sister.’
‘His very wealthy younger sister,’ Tara pointedly reminded him.
‘Do you think that’s why I married her? You couldn’t be more wrong.’ Dominic shook his head sadly. ‘I married Annabel despite her money, rather than because of it. We’ve always got on well. I genuinely thought we could be happy together. But my feelings for Annabel don’t even begin to compare with the way I feel about you.’
Golly. He was serious. It was scary, but at the same time Tara found herself experiencing a small glow of pride. Beneath the table, her knees were trembling like whippets.
‘But I’m nothing. Just a chambermaid with a—’
‘Wrong, wrong,’ Dominic interrupted. ‘You’re you. We always were fantastic together, weren’t we? Like I said, the one thing I couldn’t handle was your acting obsession; it just killed me to see what you were doing to yourself. And that’s the only reason I ended it,’ he said seriously. ‘But now I find out you’re not doing that any more… I swear to God, it’s just knocked me for six. You can’t imagine how it’s made me feel. If only I’d known.’
‘But you didn’t know,’ argued Tara, feeling a bit light-headed. ‘And it’s too late now, you’re married.’ She was starting to sound like a stuck record, but how many other ways were there of saying it?
‘As if I needed reminding.’ Dominic’s expression was wry. ‘Oh yes, I’m definitely married.’ He paused. ‘To the wrong girl.’
***
They arrived back in Colworth at ten thirty. Dominic pulled up outside the Hollybush but kept the engine running. Annabel had driven over to spend the evening with her mother, Tara had learned, and would be home around midnight.
‘I want to kiss you,’ said Dominic, ‘but I know I mustn’t.’
The lights from the pub were shining into the car. Tara could see his infinitely regretful half-smile. For a mad moment—a mere nanosecond—she wished he hadn’t said it. If he’d just gone ahead and kissed her—nothing raunchy, just a chaste peck on the cheek—she could have pretended to be taken by surprise.
But he’d asked her permission now and, naturally, there was no way in the world she could say yes. For heaven’s sake, he was a married man. Freshly married at that. Only a complete trollop with no morals whatsoever would allow such wickedness to happen.
God, there was probably confetti still in his suitcase.
‘No, better not.’ Tara’s heart was thumping with adrenaline and secret delight. See? She did have morals! Dominic wanted to kiss her and she’d told him he couldn’t, which was exactly the right thing to say.
‘It’s been so great, seeing you tonight.’ Dominic’s voice softened. ‘I can’t remember when I last enjoyed myself so much.’
Tara realized with a jolt that she couldn’t either. He was right; it had been a great evening, talking and laughing and catching up on old times. Whilst doing nothing wrong, naturally.
‘Or have you absolutely hated every second?’ Dominic’s tone was playful.
Responding in a similar vein, Tara smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I want you to say you’ll meet me again.’
Oh God.
‘Well—’
‘Please.’ Reaching across, Dominic touched her hand. His warm fingers closed around hers. ‘You don’t know how much it would mean to me.’
‘But you’re—’
‘Tara, will you stop going on about it? I know I’m married. But we can still be friends, can’t we? Old friends who meet up every now and again for a drink and a chat? Would that be so wrong?’
She exhaled slowly, no longer sure. Would it?
‘I don’t know,’ Tara admitted, hopelessly torn. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea.’
‘OK, fine, forget it.’
The unexpectedness of Dominic’s reply made her jump. He sounded sad and resigned but determined to go along with whatever she decided.
Tara promptly began to wish she hadn’t said it.
‘The thing is,’ she went on hesitantly, ‘other people might get the wrong idea.’
‘I know. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? All we want to do is talk. If you were a bloke or I was a girl, there’d be no problem at all, we could meet up for a drink and a chat as often as we liked. But just because I’m not a girl, you won’t see me again. Actually, that makes you sexist. I may have to take you to the Court of Human Rights.’
He was teasing her, doing his best to lighten the mood. Tara smiled, but he was right. It really wasn’t fair.
‘I’m going now. You have to get back.’
‘To my wife.’ Dominic grimaced. ‘God, married less than a month and already my heart sinks at the thought of it, seeing her and pretending everything’s fine.’ Sadly, he added, ‘Do you realize, you’re the only one who knows the truth? There’s nobody else I can tell.’
Tara’s heart went out to him. That was the trouble with men, they might be able to read maps and change tires, but they weren’t capable of sharing their deepest, innermost feelings with other men. It simply wasn’t in their genetic makeup. Sports they could discuss with a passion, but emotions were strictly a no-go area. Being able to gossip and confide in her friends, Tara realized, was one of the best things about being a girl. Along with mascara.
‘Look, you’ve got my number. If you’re ever desperate, you know where I am.’ Hurriedly, as if blurting out the words at a rate of knots didn’t count, she promptly flung open the passenger door and leapt out.
‘You’re fantastic. You know that, don’t you?’ Dominic shot her a grateful smile. ‘Really, the most amazing woman. You have no idea how much this evening’s meant to me.’
Pink-cheeked with the cold, but glowing oatmeal warm inside, Tara let herself into the cottage. Maggie was in the midst of a cushion-making binge, kneeling on the living-room floor surrounded by swathes of silk and velvet and the paper templates she used to cut out the relevant appliquéd shapes. It never failed to astound both of them that Maggie’s customized cushion covers, which she sold through one of the gift shops in the village, should prove to be such a hit with the tourists from overseas. Still, it would be churlish to mock their dodgy taste in home accessories.
‘What d’you think?’ Maggie held up one of the finished cushion covers, depicting two figures silhouetted on Colworth Bridge overlooking the river. Maggie, a whizz with the sewing machine, was a natural free stylist. Around the simply executed tableau were embroidered the words: Hank ’n’ EmmyLou, England, 2002.
‘Ain’t it just the cutest thing?’ mimicked Maggie, because making fun of the customers was sometimes impossible to resist. ‘Of course, in real life they’re much fatter. In fact I’m amazed the bridge didn’t collapse. Still, it’s what they wanted, so they’ll be happy.’ Patting the cushion cover with satisfaction, she looked up and said, ‘You’re looking pretty happy yourself. Where’ve you been?’
‘Oh, just out for a drink. With one of the lads I met in Bristol last week,’ Tara fibbed.
Maggie raised an eyebrow. ‘And? Will you be seeing him again?’
‘Um, not sure. Maybe.’ Feeling her skin getting hotter, Tara hastily took off her coat. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Ooh, yes, a cup of tea would be lovely. Well, you look as if you had a good time anyway.’
Maggie began tidying up her cushion-making paraphernalia. Tara hurried into the kitchen and began flinging tea bags into mugs. She couldn’t possibly tell the truth; Maggie would be shocked and horrified if she knew who
she’d spent the evening with. Nor, Tara realized, could she mention it to Daisy.
Honestly, so much for girls being able to confide in each other. Here she was, every bit as isolated as Dominic.
Tonight would have to remain their secret.
Oh, but she had had a good time, being paid all that attention, showered with compliments, and told over and over again how special she was. Like stumbling for weeks through a parched desert then finding yourself at the entrance to a vast Coca-Cola factory.
And all she and Dominic had done was talk, for heaven’s sake.
How could that be wrong?
Chapter 19
Daisy was on the phone when Pam the receptionist knocked and stuck her head round the door of her office.
‘Daisy? Someone to see you in reception.’
‘Who?’ Daisy frowned; there were no appointments in her diary.
‘A Miss Tyzack.’ Pam’s chins jiggled with suppressed laughter as Daisy’s head shot up.
‘Who?’
‘Miss Clarissa Tyzack.’
‘Alone?’
‘No. She has a gentleman with her.’
Daisy exhaled slowly, stalling for time. ‘Pam, I’m a bit tied up at the moment. Couple of important calls to make. Could you ask them to wait and say I’ll be out in five minutes?’
The moment Pam was out of the room, Daisy crashed the phone down, scrabbled furiously in her bag, found a lipstick and a hair tie, and got to work. In her dithery state she almost tied her hair back with lipstick and wrapped the scrunchie around her mouth.
Daisy took a couple of deep breaths. It was completely and utterly ridiculous to get into such a flap just because Dev Tyzack had turned up out of the blue. Anyway, he’d already seen her looking far worse than this. But she couldn’t help it, her heart was galloping and she had her pride. This morning she’d been in too much of a rush to wash her hair and it was looking borderline-stringy. Fastening it back would help to disguise this. As for the lipstick, why shouldn’t she put some on? A dash of pink was always a confidence booster. Nothing wrong with wanting to look your best.
Aaargh, supper last night! Spaghetti swimming in garlic! Rummaging once more through her bag, Daisy fell on a packet of Wrigley’s Extra, shoveled three into her mouth, and chewed energetically until her jaw felt as if it was about to drop off.
Well, she’d have done the same for any client. It was only polite.
Out in reception, Pam was making a tremendous fuss of Clarissa, who was in turn making valiant efforts to clamber onto Pam’s lap.
Which only proved that Clarissa was no Mastermind candidate, since Pam’s ample stomach took up all the available room.
Dev, clearly having spotted this too, was manfully keeping a straight face as Pam cooed delightedly, ‘Who’s a bootiful girl then? Is it you? Is it you? Oh yes, you’re sooo bootiful!’
‘It’s a national conspiracy.’ Dev shook his head and looked sorrowful. ‘This dog’s going to get ideas above her station. Next thing you know, she’ll be pestering me to enter her for Miss World.’
‘She’d look great in a bikini.’ As she said it, Daisy caught the gleam of interest in Pam’s eye. Their receptionist, who lived for gossip, had instantly noted the hair tie and freshly applied lipstick. ‘So what’s this all about then? Not a problem with the conference booking, I hope?’
‘No problems at all. I’ve brought the seating plan for lunch,’ said Dev.
‘Thanks.’ Daisy took the plan, which he could far more easily have faxed through to her.
‘But really I thought I’d just drop by so you can see how Clarissa’s getting on.’
Clarissa, her tail rotating furiously, had by this time transferred her attention to Daisy. Yelping with delight she licked Daisy’s hands and leapt up, her legs seemingly on springs.
‘She’s looking brilliant. How’s the incontinence?’
Dev gave her a saucy wink. ‘Fine thanks. How’s yours?’
‘I meant is she likely to wee all over our expensive rug? Maybe we should take her outside, let her run around a bit.’ This wasn’t really what Daisy meant, she was just keen to move away from Pam, who was capable of spreading rumors faster than typhoid. By lunchtime every member of staff and most of the guests would have heard that Daisy was embroiled in a red-hot affair with that gorgeous rugby fellow from Bath, the one who was always in the papers with some new showbizzy girlfriend or other, actresses and models and the like.
‘She won’t wee on your rug, she’s a lady,’ said Dev, but he headed over to the door anyway.
‘Oh, Daisy, there’s someone else to see you,’ remembered Pam as they moved away from the desk. ‘I sent him through to the bar.’ Daisy was too busy being enchanted by Clarissa’s ability to bounce backwards—like Tigger on rewind—to care.
‘They don’t have an appointment. I’ll see them in ten minutes.’
Outside, Clarissa tore across the graveled drive to investigate the fountain. Daisy and Dev watched her from the doorway.
‘I also came to say thanks.’ Dev turned to look at Daisy. ‘For making me choose her. She wasn’t what I was after, but I can’t imagine being without her now.’
‘My pleasure.’ Daisy’s mouth twitched. ‘So you’ve bonded.’
‘Oh, we’ve bonded. She’s even sleeping on my bed. It’s going to play havoc with my social life.’
‘But she’s worth it.’ Daisy gazed fondly across at Clarissa, now balancing like a tightrope walker along the narrow stone parapet encircling the fountain. ‘How could anyone not love her?’
‘Something’s been puzzling me. If you’re so mad about dogs, why don’t you have any of your own?’
‘I’d love to, but it wouldn’t be fair. I work such long hours. We’re a dog-friendly hotel,’ Daisy explained, ‘but I couldn’t trail one around with me all day long. And I wouldn’t want to have to beg other people to take it out for a walk because I don’t have time myself.’
Dev nodded. ‘Fair enough.’
‘I’ll be Clarissa’s doting maiden aunt instead,’ Daisy went on cheerfully. ‘I’ll take her out somewhere glamorous every now and again, feed her exotic food, and spoil her rotten.’
‘Actually, she’s pretty used to exotic food.’ Dryly, Dev said, ‘She learned how to open the fridge the other night. Polished off two fillet steaks and a Marks and Spencer double chocolate cheesecake.’
Two fillet steaks? Who had he been planning to entertain? All the modelly-actressy types she’d ever seen him photographed with in the papers had been awfully skinny; they surely wouldn’t be seen dead in the same room as a slice of double chocolate cheesecake.
Oh heck, maybe he was still seeing Annabel Cross-Calvert’s sister, the sturdily built bridesmaid he’d driven off with after the wedding. She’d certainly looked as if she could demolish half a cow.
‘Both the steaks were for me,’ said Dev, seemingly capable of reading her mind.
Which was a bit of a worry.
‘Serves you right then.’ Daisy shook her head pityingly at him. ‘Your selfish single days are behind you now. You have to learn to share.’
‘That brings back terrible memories.’ Dev looked pained. ‘My mother always used to say that when I wouldn’t let my cousins play with my Action Men.’
‘Well, I can see that would be difficult for you.’ Daisy was sympathetic. ‘But I really think twenty-five’s too old to be playing with Action Men.’
He laughed, and Daisy realized with a little shiver of pleasure that she was enjoying herself. She was almost, but not quite, flirting with him.
‘So what are your views on double chocolate cheesecake?’ said Dev.
‘Couldn’t eat a whole one. Well,’ Daisy went on happily, ‘not in under three minutes.’
Dev kept his gaze fixed on Clarissa as she launched herself into the shallow water around the
fountain, discovered the extent of its iciness, and promptly leapt out again in disgust.
‘When’s your next evening off?’
Daisy’s stomach muscles contracted in surprise. Crikey, this was a bit sudden, she hadn’t been expecting this.
‘Why?’ Prevaricating, she said, ‘Don’t tell me, you’re off out somewhere and you need someone to dog-sit?’
‘No.’ Dev smiled and shook his head. ‘Actually, what I meant was—’
‘Hang on a sec.’ Daisy stopped him, aware that they had company. Liza, one of the new waitresses, was hovering just behind them. ‘What is it, Liza?’
‘Um, sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone in the bar waiting to see you.’
‘I know. I’ve already told Pam I’ll be there in a minute.’
Liza, who had only started working at the hotel a few days earlier, looked embarrassed.
‘The thing is, he says it’s urgent, he needs to see you right now.’
Daisy heaved a sigh. Bloody guests, they certainly knew how to pick their moments.
‘Who is it? Did you get a name?’
‘Well, no.’ Liza shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘Not a name, exactly. He just said he was… um, your husband.’
***
Daisy didn’t seriously expect to walk into the bar and find Steven waiting to greet her, but for a split second back there she had experienced the mental equivalent of a punch to the solar plexus. Moments later, it occurred to her to wonder who on earth would have the gall to say he was her husband. Basically, they had to be either deeply insensitive, seriously psychotic, or…
Or someone she hadn’t seen for a very long time.
Daisy’s mouth dropped open in amazement as the figure over by the window turned to face her.
‘Josh?’
The man who most certainly wasn’t her husband grinned at her.
‘Hi, sweetheart.’
‘Josh!’ With a shriek of delight she raced the length of the otherwise empty bar and threw her arms round him. ‘I don’t believe it, what are you doing here? Oh my God, mind the window, put me down!’