by Jill Mansell
‘I just think there’s something fishy going on.’ Josh spoke lightly. ‘I reckon you’re feeling guilty about something.’ He shrugged. ‘If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.’
For a moment, Tara wavered. The idea of confessing everything and being able to talk through the whole muddled scenario was hugely tempting. OK, Josh was Daisy’s boyfriend, but she really trusted him and sensed he would understand. It would be so lovely to have someone to discuss it with, especially if they weren’t going to give her a good shake and call her a disgusting little tart.
On the other hand, she was still in her uniform and desperate for a bath before Dominic turned up.
‘It’s nothing. Nobody special.’ Tara scrambled out of the car. ‘The only reason I haven’t mentioned him to Daisy is because he isn’t worth mentioning.’
‘OK, if you say so.’ Also climbing out so he could move into the driver’s seat, Josh said, ‘Same time tomorrow?’
Phew, inquisition over.
‘Great,’ said Tara. ‘If you’re sure you still want to.’
‘Of course I do.’ Josh winked at her. ‘You can tell me all about him then.’
***
The forecast on the radio had warned of dramatically worsening weather. Plunging temperatures and icy roads followed at the weekend by blizzards. Mel, stuffing her gloved hands into the pockets of her padded jacket, stood beside her car and gazed at the cottage. The air was already cold enough to sting her nose and the tips of her ears. The night sky, purply-black, was dotted with bright stars.
Was this really going to be her home? Less than three hundred yards from Colworth Manor? Would all hell break loose when Daisy MacLean found out?
Shuffling from one frozen foot to the other, Mel thought of something else. She was less than three hundred yards from the churchyard where Steven lay buried. Would he mind?
As proud as a new father, Barney gave her the guided tour. Most of the windows were open in an effort to dispel the cloying smell of wet paint. The house was icy, empty, and echoey underfoot, but Barney was buzzing with plans.
‘I’ve got carpets coming tomorrow, and a new bed,’ he rattled on. ‘Daisy’s giving me some old stuff from the hotel—a sofa and dining table and chairs. Pam on reception says she’s got some curtains we can have and Bert Connelly’s brother can get his hands on a cheap fridge-freezer.’
Mel looked at him. ‘How can you afford to do all this?’
‘I borrowed some money from my mum.’
‘Have you told her about us?’
Barney hesitated, blushing wildly. ‘Not yet. I said my car needed a new engine. Anyway, I’ll pay her back.’
Mel glanced down at Freddie, fast asleep in his baby carrier on the floor next to her. She was touched that Barney was prepared to do so much for the two of them, but something else was bothering her.
‘Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?’
‘You don’t know my mother.’ His smile rueful, Barney said, ‘She’d just ask a million questions and worry herself sick. She’s the protective type.’
He was holding back, hiding something. Mel, recognizing the signs, realized that he looked like she felt.
‘Barney, you’re twenty-six. If you were sixteen I could understand it, but you’re old enough now, you can do anything you want.’
‘OK, look. There’s something I have to tell you.’ Barney shook his head, psyching himself up to do it. ‘The thing is, I haven’t been completely straight with you.’
Mel shivered suddenly; up until now it had all been going so well. ‘God, don’t tell me you are sixteen.’
Barney smiled slightly. ‘It’s nothing like that. And it isn’t anything awful, I promise.’
‘You’re married?’
‘Of course I’m not married!’ Pulling the sleeves of his paint-splattered purple sweatshirt down over his forearms, Barney reached for Mel’s icy hands. Puffballs of condensation hovered in the air as he took a couple of deep breaths. ‘Right, here goes.’
***
Mel didn’t know what to think. She’d imagined a lot of things, but not this, never this. So many thoughts were careering around inside her head that she was having trouble keeping them under control.
Barney was alive because Steven was dead. The scar on Barney’s lower back was from where one of Steven’s kidneys had been transplanted into his body.
‘I knew I’d have to tell you sooner or later,’ Barney had explained. ‘I need to take all these different pills, you see, to stop my body rejecting it.’ Pausing, he’d added diffidently, ‘You look pretty shocked.’
Shocked didn’t begin to describe it.
‘Give me five minutes.’ Mel had pulled her hands free and moved over to the far wall. As she slid slowly down to floor level, gazing at Freddie still asleep in the middle of the room, Barney said quietly, ‘The brushes need washing out. I’ll go upstairs and clean them.’
He went, and Mel pressed the heels of her hands hard against her closed eyelids. While Barney had been bracing himself to tell her everything, she had been silently welcoming it, whatever it might be. Because then she could forgive him and reveal her own secret, and he in return, in a rush of gratitude, would instantly forgive her. It could have been such perfect timing. One revelation in exchange for another.
Mel twisted the heavy silver ring round and round her left thumb like a string of worry beads. Her stomach was churning and it wasn’t just a reaction to the overwhelming smell of paint. Oh yes, it could have worked out so well, brought them closer together still. It was a pretty significant connection after all.
But there was one major problem. Daisy MacLean. The not-so grieving widow, Mel thought with a grimace.
And it wasn’t so much Daisy’s reaction that bothered her, as Barney’s. Because now at last she understood why he idolized the woman, practically worshipped the ground she walked on. As far as Barney was concerned, Daisy had saved his life and he wouldn’t dream of doing anything to hurt her.
By this time numb with cold, Mel stood up and shook some feeling back into her fingers. It was no good; if she told Barney now, he could, if he wanted, kick her out and tell her he never wanted to see her again. Which would leave her—if she couldn’t persuade him to change his mind—effectively homeless.
Panic crawled through Mel’s bones. Gazing across at Freddie, she knew she couldn’t take that risk. Not yet, anyway, not until she absolutely had to.
She breathed out. Stick with the original plan. Move in here with Barney. That way, if he tried to get rid of her, she would have rights. And in the meantime, make him realize how truly happy they were together, how lucky they were to have found each other. Even if the way it had happened was, frankly, a bit bizarre.
Freddie stirred, opened his eyes, spotted his thumb, and stuck it comfortably into his mouth. The next moment he was asleep again, his cold cheeks as red as the fleecy lining of his coat.
‘Barney.’ At the top of the stairs, Mel saw him through the open bathroom door rinsing the paint from the brushes under the tap. He turned to look at her, the merest hint of trepidation in his beautiful light-brown eyes.
All this painting, all this hard work, just for her.
‘Yes?’
‘I love you.’ She held out her arms and smiled. The look on Barney’s face was a picture, as if he’d just been told he didn’t have to face the firing squad after all. The brushes clattered into the sink.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Mel hugged his warm body like a hot water bottle. ‘It was a shock, I needed time to think. But I love you and that’s all that matters. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives.’
Hopefully, Barney would remember this when the time came for her to spring her own little surprise.
He was smiling now, kissing her and stroking her hair. Monumentally relieved.
>
‘I’m healthy. I’m fine. I’m not going to die,’ Barney promised.
‘Better bloody not.’ For a moment, tears welled up in Mel’s grey eyes and this time it had nothing to do with paint fumes. It was all true, she’d meant every word, she did love him.
If she didn’t love him so much, she wouldn’t be having to lie, would she?
Chapter 35
Bath, tick. Hair, tick. Makeup, tick. Sapphire-blue velvet stretchy top and skin-tight white trousers, tick tick.
Overall effect, completely gorgeous.
Having arranged to meet Dominic in the car park behind the Hollybush Inn, Tara was all ready to make her way downstairs, throw on her coat, and race up the road, when the doorbell went. Mystified, she squirted herself with scent, checked her reflection one last time in the dressing-table mirror, and galloped down to answer it.
‘Dominic!’
He grinned at her. ‘OK to come in?’
‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to wait in the pub car park!’ Dumbstruck, Tara stared at him. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Don’t panic, everything’s fine. Change of plan, that’s all.’
Oh God, please don’t stand me up! Please don’t dump me!
Her voice tremulous, Tara said, ‘Why?’
‘You mentioned on the phone that your aunt was out this evening. It seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up.’ Feigning curiosity, Dominic peered past her into the living room. ‘I’ve been wondering what this cottage was like on the inside.’
Oh dear. A bit of a tip, frankly. The usual assortment of wet washing was draped over the radiators, Maggie’s sewing materials were piled high on one of the armchairs, and the coffee table was littered with magazines and empty mugs.
Tara, watching him look around, felt like an unsuspecting householder opening her door to Loyd Grossman and a gaggle of cameramen.
‘It’s a mess,’ she apologized, trying to kick biscuit crumbs under the sofa while Dominic wasn’t looking.
‘It’s cozy. Small. Nice enough,’ he said generously.
When you lived in an eight-bedroomed mansion, Tara supposed, practically anything would seem small.
‘I like it,’ Dominic went on, turning back to face her. ‘I especially like the fact that it has you in it.’
Uh-oh, there was a look she’d seen before; she was familiar with that particular playful smile.
‘We should go.’ Tara began to panic.
‘We don’t have to.’
‘We really should.’
‘There’s no need.’ Dominic moved closer, hooking two fingers through her chain-link belt and gently drawing her towards him. ‘I’d like to stay here.’
Of course he would. Tara knew exactly what was going through his mind. The fact that they had nowhere they could meet and be alone together bothered Dominic. This was the chance he’d been waiting for.
And now he was kissing her. Tara closed her eyes but resolved to be strong. When she’d told him Maggie would be out this evening, it had been because Dominic had asked if she was hungry and she’d been explaining why she hadn’t eaten. It definitely hadn’t been a hint. Seeing Dominic was one thing, but sleeping with him quite another. He was married and that would be a bad thing to do. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to jump into bed with him.
‘You are gorgeous,’ Dominic murmured against her neck, his hand busily attempting to unfasten the button on her skin-tight jeans. ‘Damn, you’re difficult to unwrap. It’s worse than trying to get the cellophane off a new videotape.’
‘We can’t do this. It’s not fair on Annabel. Oh, please don’t, you mustn’t,’ Tara protested, trembling all over as his warm hand gave up on the jeans button and slid slowly up her spine instead. ‘Really, I mean it, we can’t stay here.’
‘That’s not fair on me.’ Several wet socks and a couple of thermal vests slithered off the radiator behind Tara as Dominic eased her against the wall. ‘None of this is my fault, you know,’ he breathed, his tongue deftly exploring the hollow at the base of her throat. ‘If you weren’t so irresistible, I wouldn’t be here now, would I? It’s all your fault for being… you.’
Tara felt like a Beanie Baby, all floppy and bendy. Her knees, always suckers for a compliment, were no longer capable of holding her up. Damn, it was all very well being strong-willed in principle, but it wasn’t so easy when you were actually in the throes of being seduced, when you were feeling all lustful and wanton and—
Rrring, trilled the doorbell, causing Dominic to spring off her in alarm.
‘Jesus, who’s that?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Realizing she was panting like Muttley, Tara hastily smoothed her hair and tugged down her velvet top. ‘Go and hide in the kitchen.’
‘You can’t just answer the door, it could be any—AARGH!’ Dominic let out a bellow of pain as his ankle caught the leg of the wooden clothes airer. Turning green and clutching his foot, he crashed back against the wall.
‘Well, I can’t pretend we’re not in.’ Tara rolled her eyes. Tiptoeing over to the window, she pulled the curtain back an inch and peered out. ‘Phew, panic over, it’s only Elsie from next door. She’s ancient.’
Dominic was still cursing under his breath. ‘God, what does she want?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Just get rid of her,’ he hissed, limping into the kitchen. ‘I think I’ve broken my bloody foot.’
Men, honestly. The fuss they made.
‘Elsie, hi!’ Beaming broadly, Tara flung open the front door. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Hello there, my love, I heard some banging and crashing going on, are you all right?’ Elsie might be eighty-three and pretty lame, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. Leaning heavily on her briarwood walking stick, she surveyed the empty living room. ‘On your own, are you? Only it was Maggie I really came to see. Got her a little something for her birthday.’
‘Oh, what a shame, Maggie’s not here.’ Tara, who adored presents of any kind, eagerly eyed the supermarket carrier bag swinging from Elsie’s gnarled hand. ‘That’s really sweet of you. D’you want to give it to her tomorrow, or shall I take it now and tell her you called round?’
‘Well, it’s kind of a double present,’ Elsie confided. ‘My way of saying thank you for all the things Maggie does for me. She brought me back a whole load of books the other day, you know. Such a kind girl. Lots of lovely Barbara Cartlands, none of that mucky stuff you get these days—nothing but pornography, half these so-called modern romances—oh no, you can’t beat a bit of Barbara Cartland…’
‘Shall I take it?’ prompted Tara, holding her hands out for the carrier bag. Once Elsie got started she could ramble on for weeks.
‘I’d better do it myself, love, carry it through to the kitchen for you. She’s dripping a bit, see.’ Elsie held up the bag to show Tara the underside. ‘I know they put holes in to stop young kiddies suffocating themselves, but it’s a blasted nuisance, if you ask me.’
‘It’s OK! I’ll do it!’ Tara made a reckless grab for the bag, but the older woman whisked it out of reach.
‘No, love, you just keep clear, we don’t want you getting blood all over those nice white jeans.’
Tara’s heart sank. The old woman might be vehemently anti-porn but she wasn’t averse to a spot of violence. Elsie had a chopper and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
‘It’s not one of your…?’
‘It is, it is.’ Elsie beamed with pride, making her way awkwardly across the living room with the help of her stick. Nudging open the kitchen door with her elbow, she discovered Dominic pretending to be busy making a cup of tea and chuckled loudly. ‘Well, well, you must be Tara’s young fellow. Thought I heard a man’s voice when I was on the doorstep just now.’
There had been no hiding place for Dominic in the kitchen. With th
e back door locked, he had found himself trapped and unable to escape. Still, at least the old woman hadn’t the faintest idea who he was. And she seemed harmless enough.
‘Elsie’s brought something round for Maggie.’ Behind the old woman’s back, Tara pulled a face.
‘A special treat. She deserves it.’ Shoving Dominic’s cup out of the way, Elsie swung the carrier onto the drainer with a hefty thud.
‘Madge,’ Elsie announced, beaming at Dominic.
‘How do you do, Madge? Nice to meet you.’ Confused, Dominic attempted to shake her wrinkled hand.
Oh God, thought Tara. Madge.
‘Not me.’ Elsie cackled with laughter. ‘I’m Elsie. This is Madge in here.’ She reached inside the crackling plastic carrier bag and lifted out a dead hen.
Dead, and minus her head.
Dominic shrank back in horror. ‘Jesus!’
‘She’s a little beauty, one of my favorites.’ Elsie lovingly smoothed the glossy chestnut feathers. Casting a beady eye over Dominic’s white face she added sharply, ‘You a vegetarian?’
‘N-no.’
‘Stop looking so disgusted, then. She’s had a good life and a quick death, has our Madge. Who could ask for more? Mind you, she put up a fight after I’d done the deed.’ Cackling like a maniac, Elsie gave Dominic a boisterous nudge. ‘Flapping all round my kitchen, she was, like a headless chicken!’
‘Elsie’s joking,’ Tara put in hurriedly. ‘She doesn’t mean it.’
‘It’s OK, I’m fine.’ Looking as if he wanted to be sick, Dominic clutched the side of the sink. Tara, feeling faintly squeamish herself, held the bloodied carrier bag open so Elsie could pop Madge back inside head first.
Well, severed neck first.
‘She’ll make a lovely Sunday dinner,’ Elsie boasted. ‘Lots of stuffing, that’s the secret, and keep her on her back—ooh, and don’t forget to boil up those giblets for gravy.’
***
‘God, how can people do something like that,’ Dominic shuddered the moment Elsie had left.