by Jill Mansell
Maggie couldn’t believe it. Three whole hours, five cups of coffee, a chicken sandwich, six chocolate biscuits, and he still hadn’t even mended the bloody thing.
‘How long before the circuit board gets here?’
‘Oooh, let me see now. Five or six days?’
‘But—’
‘Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. These things happen. Now, Mrs Donovan, if you’d just sign this form for me, I’ll be out of your hair.’
It was a bloody wonder she had any hair left, Maggie thought sourly as she signed on the dotted line.
Chapter 14
Forty-eight hours and still none of them had rung. Smarting from this multiple rejection, Tara was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else. Which was irritating, because she’d never regarded herself as one of those sad needy girls who couldn’t think of anything but boys.
It wasn’t as if she even wanted a boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. She was just desperate to dump one. And in order to dump a boyfriend you had to have one in the first place. Had the total nerd tried ringing the joke number she’d given him? If she’d told him her real number, even hearing his reedy voice would have been better than nothing at all.
Cross with herself for being pathetic, Tara threw herself across the sofa and reached for the Daily Mail. Flicking through the pages, her attention was caught by a piece about a girl tipped to win a medal at the next Olympics. Modern pentathlon, fancy that, all manner of running and riding and swimming and goodness knows what else. Tara marveled at the girl’s dedication. She trained, evidently, for six or seven hours a day, six days a week.
Modern pentathlon is my life, the attractive brunette had explained to the journalist interviewing her. Winning is my number one priority. I don’t have time for a relationship, but that’s not what’s important to me right now. I’d rather have a gold medal than a boyfriend, any day!
Golly. And she was really pretty too. Tara was both impressed and envious; imagine having that kind of attitude. Maybe she should take up some form of sport and get so involved in it that boys, quite simply, no longer fitted into the equation. Perhaps she could give marathon running a go? Or golf, or tennis, or—
The phone rang.
In a flash, Tara was off the sofa, scattering sheets of newspaper in all directions and trampling them underfoot.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Tara? This is Jerry. From the other night, remember?’
Yay, result!
‘Oh yes, of course I remember. How are you doing?’
‘Great, great. Listen, so how about this drink then? Fancy coming out with me tomorrow night?’
Tara’s heart began to thud. Oh yes, this was it, this was the moment she’d been waiting for. He’d asked her out and now she could turn him down. It would make her feel so much better, boost her morale, allow her to prove to herself that she could say no…
The trouble was, it was nice of him to ring her, and it must mean he liked her. Which was flattering in itself. Plus, Tara realized, he sounded really nice on the phone, all sort of cheerful and friendly and actually quite sexy now she came to think of it. The others may have let her down, but Jerry hadn’t. He was inviting her out for a drink and a chance for them to get to know each other better.
Crikey, you never knew, he could be The One. Jerry might turn out to be the boy she had been waiting for all her life. If she rejected him now, for the sake of some feeble, fleeting morale boost, she could be condemning herself to a lifetime of lonely jam-making spinsterhood.
‘Hello?’ said Jerry. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I’m here! And I’d love to come out with you tomorrow night,’ Tara exclaimed joyfully. ‘That sounds great. Oh, but I don’t drive, so you’ll have to pick me up.’
‘No problem.’ Jerry sounded unperturbed. ‘OK, I’ve got a pen here. Give me your address.’
There was silence after Tara had finished telling him. Finally, he said, ‘Colworth? God, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you lived that far out.’
The local dialing code covered a wide area, ranging from just outside Bristol to… well, Colworth, Tara remembered. But it couldn’t make that much of a difference to him, surely?
‘It’s nothing,’ she hurriedly assured Jerry. ‘Twenty minutes on the motorway. You’ll be here in no time at all!’
‘Look, I’m not sure… oh hell.’ Tara heard him sigh. ‘This is awkward… maybe we should just leave it. Colworth’s bloody miles away.’
‘So what you’re saying is, I’m outside your radius.’ Tara’s voice grew unsteady. She couldn’t believe it. This was so hurtful. Didn’t he know what he could be missing out on here? Hadn’t he heard of destiny?
‘Sorry. Never mind, maybe I’ll see you around in Clifton or something, OK? Bye!’
And that was it. The phone went dead in Tara’s hand. Jerry had hung up, scarpered, made his speedy getaway. They weren’t going to end up living together happily ever after, after all.
Tara hoped he had a minuscule willy.
And that very soon it would turn blue, shrivel up, and drop off.
***
Why am I here? Why? What am I doing here? Oh, this is mad, thought Daisy as the car sped through the back streets of Bristol, I still don’t even know where we’re going.
She sneaked a sideways glance at Dev Tyzack’s hands on the steering wheel, the sleeves of his pale grey sweater pushed up slightly to reveal strong brown forearms and a Breitling watch. He seemed to know where they were going, anyway, although she suspected he was the kind of man who always would know. Dev Tyzack simply wasn’t the faffing-about indecisive type.
Well, she jolly well wasn’t going to ask him again. She was also extremely glad she hadn’t dressed up for the occasion. Black jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt had been a deliberate decision, to prove to Dev that she didn’t want to be taken anywhere glitzy for lunch. When he had turned up in jeans himself, she had been doubly glad.
Besides, she probably wouldn’t even bother with lunch. Once they’d done whatever it was they were here to do, she would tell him that she had other things lined up, and ask to be taken home.
God knows where they were headed anyway. This wasn’t the most salubrious area of Bristol. St Philips, Daisy read, peering at a road sign. Brilliant. She just hoped Dev Tyzack hadn’t volunteered her for a spot of canal dredging on her day off.
***
‘I don’t know, what is it with you and water?’ Sounding resigned, Dev passed her a handkerchief. ‘Every time I see you, your face is wet.’
But he said it kindly, not in a sarcastic way, and when Daisy had finished trumpeting into the handkerchief like an elephant he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat.
So much for keeping aloof, thought Daisy, wiping her eyes and struggling to control the great shuddery sobs that were making it almost impossible to speak. This wasn’t at all how she’d been expecting the day to turn out.
‘Is this why you b-brought me here? To see me m-making an idiot of myself?’ She scrubbed at her tear-stained cheeks, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.
‘Of course not. I didn’t know you were going to get emotional, did I?’
Get emotional? Blub like a big baby, more like.
‘This is what I call a dirty trick,’ Daisy muttered.
‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’ The corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. ‘Think about it. You run a hotel, you shout at your guests, you climb trees like a—’
‘I do not shout at my guests!’
‘You shouted at me,’ Dev reminded her. ‘Pretty comprehensively, as I recall. And let me tell you, I was scared.’
‘Oh, very funny.’
‘Anyway, you get my drift. I thought you’d be perfect for a job like this.’
‘Thanks, that’s fantastic. You mean you thought I was the kind of cold heartless
bitch who drowns kittens and steals money from blind orphans in my spare time.’ Daisy shook her head. ‘You certainly know how to flatter a girl.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. It just didn’t occur to me that you’d react like this.’ Dev indicated his own face. ‘See? I’m not crying, am I?’
Hmm, maybe not. Maybe not actually crying, but Daisy was pretty sure she’d spotted a telltale glistening in his dark eyes at one point. He hadn’t been as completely unaffected as he liked to make out.
She blinked hard and took a deep breath, mentally bracing herself.
‘Right, I’ve stopped. I’m OK now. Shall we go back in?’
‘Sure?’ Dev flashed her an unexpectedly warm smile. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’
‘Come on.’ Daisy shoved his damp hankie up her sleeve, squared her shoulders, and turned to face the scuffed, blue painted door. ‘Let’s do it. I’ll be fine.’
***
There were rows of sectioned-off cages along each side of the concrete corridor. Each cage contained a dog.
So many dogs, of all shapes and sizes. Some were recognizable breeds, others weren’t. Some lay on the floor, watchful and silent, but most leapt up as their cages were approached. Some barked loudly, others whimpered with delight in their eagerness to socialize. Their tails wagged, their paws scrabbled eagerly against the bars, their eyes were bright…
Daisy’s own eyes promptly filled up once more. Well, how could anyone not cry? How could any human being fail to be moved by their innocent little faces?
Oh God, here I go again.
‘Right, let’s be sensible about this,’ Dev Tyzack announced. A little brusquely, Daisy felt. ‘I brought you here as the voice of reason. You’re going to help me choose the right dog for me. I’m after something that’s a decent size for a start, maybe a Labrador or a setter. I want a dog that’s well trained and intelligent. Nothing yappy or delinquent, and definitely not—Daisy, are you listening to me? How about this Great Dane over here, I’ve always liked Great Danes… Daisy, where are you going?’
‘This one,’ Daisy called from the far end of the corridor. ‘This is the one you have to have.’
‘What? Which one?’ He joined her, stared into the cage and gave a snort of amusement. ‘Oh, please. You have to be joking.’
‘This is the one.’ Daisy sank to her knees in front of the cage and pressed the palms of her hands against the wire.
‘Not a chance,’ Dev said flatly. ‘Daisy, get up, come and have a look at the Great Dane.’
‘No. I won’t.’ Daisy shook her head, breaking into a smile as the dog joyfully licked her hands. This was it, she was in love. Her mind was irretrievably made up.
‘Daisy, this isn’t why I asked you to come along. You haven’t been listening to me at all, have you?’
‘Sshh, you’ll frighten her. Oh, look, isn’t she just the most adorable thing you ever saw?’ Daisy’s eyes shone with happiness as she patted the concrete floor beside her. ‘Dev, come on, come down here and say hello.’
Dev didn’t say hello. He was seriously regretting bringing Daisy along to the rescue center now. The dog in front of him was small, for a start. It was also a mongrel of the ugly/quirky variety, terrier-sized, and female. Everything, in fact, that he didn’t want. The little creature was frantically licking Daisy’s face—probably because it was nice and salty—and wriggling her daft stumpy tail so ecstatically it looked as if it was about to whirl right off.
Daisy withdrew her face from the bars and grinned at the dog, who appeared to be grinning back.
‘This is Dev.’ Daisy solemnly introduced them. ‘OK, I know he’s looking a bit scary right now, but he’ll get better, I promise. And guess what?’ she whispered confidentially into the animal’s whiskery, pricked-up, asymmetric ears. ‘He’s going to be your new daddy!’
Dev watched the two of them down on the floor, separated by the metal grille fronting the cage but otherwise irredeemably bonded. It seemed that both their minds were made up.
Dev felt as though he’d advertised in the personal columns to meet a willowy Jerry Hall look-alike and had somehow ended up with Mick Jagger instead.
And then he saw it. The final straw. The slim card fastened to the top of the cage.
‘Oh no, I’m sorry, there is absolutely no way I could own an animal called—’
‘Don’t be such a wet blanket! She’s beautiful,’ Daisy declared. ‘Dev, you know you can’t fight this anymore, she’s the perfect dog for you. So just stop making feeble excuses and come and say hello to Clarissa.’
Chapter 15
They went for lunch at San Carlo, in the center of Bristol. Daisy was far too ecstatic to refuse his offer. She was also ravenous. Happily, San Carlo was one of those buzzy, glamorous establishments who weren’t bothered about their clientele adhering to a formal dress code. So long as you were buzzy and glamorous too, jeans were fine.
Flushed with success, Daisy ordered seared scallops and fettuccine Alfredo. Dev chose the mussels, followed by rack of lamb.
‘You lied,’ he announced, when the waiter had brought their bottle of Barolo. ‘You said she was beautiful.’
‘She’s more than beautiful! She’s cute and flirty and fun. Clarissa has character.’ Daisy couldn’t stop grinning. ‘Bags of personality and that’s what counts. I promise you, you won’t regret this.’
‘Look at me.’ Dev sat back and gestured to himself with an air of despair. ‘I’m six foot three, I played rugby for my country, I have an image to maintain. People expect to see me with a certain kind of dog, something sleek and powerful with a name like Brutus or Jet. When they catch sight of me with a scruffy little handbag-sized apology for a mutt called Clarissa… well, I’m just going to be a laughing stock. I’ll never live it down.’
Daisy wasn’t worried. She knew he didn’t mean it. Even as he listed Clarissa’s many shortcomings he was smiling despite himself. What’s more, he had already paid the rescue center’s fees and filled in all the necessary forms. By two o’clock the rest of the paperwork would be completed and they could go back there and pick up Clarissa.
‘You saved her life. Imagine being kept behind bars when you haven’t even done anything wrong. And she’d been there for ages,’ Daisy reminded him. ‘Another week or so and it would have been curtains for Clarissa. She’d have had to be put down.’
‘OK, fine, you can stop the emotional blackmail now. You’ve made the sale. I’m not about to change my mind and send her back to death row.’ Dev paused. ‘I don’t think they do that anyway, you know.’
Daisy didn’t either, but it sounded good. And you could never be absolutely sure.
‘Let’s change the subject.’ She stuck her elbows on the table and reached for a marinated olive. ‘Tell me about this business of yours. What made you go into management development?’
Their first course arrived and Dev told her how he had set up the company. More recently he had begun producing management training videos. The business was young, but doing well, due in part to his own high profile as the rugby star who had led his country’s team to victory in both the Six Nations and the World Cup.
‘Then again,’ Dev added, ‘I’ve worked bloody hard to build the company up. It didn’t happen on its own. You have to put in the hours.’
‘And then there’s your modeling,’ Daisy mischievously reminded him, unable to resist it. There was a range of sportswear endorsed by Dev Tyzack. She imagined him at a photo shoot, having a tantrum because the stylist hadn’t got his hair exactly right or maybe going into a strop because his café latte was the wrong temperature.
‘Don’t knock it.’ Sensing her amusement, Dev said bluntly, ‘Signing that contract was what enabled me to get my own business up and running in the first place. If they’re willing to pay silly money to have my name on their clothes, that’s fine by me. Here, try o
ne of these mussels.’
Moments later, Daisy caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the many gilded mirrors lining the walls of the restaurant. It gave her a jolt to see herself unexpectedly like that, leaning forward with her elbows resting on the table, laughing and tilting her head back as Dev Tyzack deftly tipped the mussel out of its shell and into her mouth.
Anyone looking at us now would think we were a couple. Crikey, from the way we’re carrying on they might even think we’re a couple of newlyweds!
Shaken, Daisy hastily swallowed the mussel, sat back in her chair, and took a hefty gulp of wine.
‘How are your scallops?’ said Dev with a grin.
For heaven’s sake, what was going on here? Was she supposed to feed him one of her scallops now?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to do that. Anyway, there was only one left on her plate. Spearing it with her fork, Daisy stuffed it into her mouth. When she’d chewed and finished swallowing, she licked her lips in appreciation and said, ‘Great.’
If he was that desperate to try a scallop he could jolly well order a plate of his own.
Shuddering inwardly, Daisy experienced an unwelcome flashback. At home, at the back of the wardrobe somewhere, lay an album of wedding photos. Among them was an informal shot of her and Steven sitting together at the top table during their reception, her head thrown back with laughter as Steven attempted to feed her the last langoustine from his plate. It had been the happiest day of her life. She had loved Steven and thought he was in love with her. Whereas in all probability he had been secretly congratulating himself on having inveigled himself into her family.
Don’t think about it.
Just don’t.
‘Any word from the happy honeymooners?’ said Daisy abruptly.
‘Dominic and Annabel? As a matter of fact I had a postcard from them yesterday. They’re flying home this weekend, and they’ve had a fantastic time. Their hotel was right on the beach and they couldn’t fault the service, apparently.’