Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

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.

  ‘This is the countryside. Elsie’s lived here all her life. You keep chickens, you kill chickens.’ Tara felt obliged to defend her neighbor.

  ‘She gives them names.’ Dominic shook his head in disgust. ‘It’s barbaric. Actually, I could do with a drink.’

  ‘Oh well, don’t worry, at least you won’t have to eat Madge.’

  Reaching up into the cupboard, Tara found the half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich that had been there for years because neither she nor Maggie liked it. In a way she was grateful to Elsie; her arrival had certainly put Dominic off the idea of sex.

  ‘Here.’ She poured an inch of whisky into a tumbler and handed it to him. ‘Shall we go through?’

  Dominic led the way, muttering, ‘Anything to get away from that decapitated chicken.’

  Back in the living room, he slumped down in one of the armchairs, gazing moodily into the fire and clutching his drink. Less than ninety seconds after Elsie had left, the doorbell rang again.

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud, what now?’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Let me guess, she’s found Madge’s head and thinks we might like to boil it up and make stock.’

  Dominic stayed put in the armchair; he clearly had no intention of moving anywhere. He was being ironic about Elsie’s reason for coming back, whereas Tara suspected he might be spot on.

  Bursting with flavor, chickens’ heads.

  Pulling open the front door, Tara gulped and said, ‘Oh!’

  Elsie had had a lightning sex change.

  ‘You left your jacket in my car,’ Josh announced, holding the offending article in front of him. ‘I thought you might need it tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Right, yes, thanks, great.’ Tara snatched the jacket from him as Josh’s eyes flickered over Dominic. He nodded and smiled pleasantly enough, while Tara’s stomach performed agitated cartwheels. This was mad, how could he make her feel this guilty? They weren’t even doing anything wrong.

  ‘I’ll be off then.’ Josh winked at Tara.

  ‘Yes, great, bye.’ What a stirrer, she thought crossly as she closed the door.

  ‘Who the bloody hell was that?’ Dominic wasn’t looking amused.

  ‘Nobody. He’s just teaching me to drive. Well,’ Tara admitted, ‘he’s Daisy’s boyfriend.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘It’s OK. He doesn’t know who you are.’

  ‘God, I’m so bloody glad I came here tonight.’ Dominic drained his glass and promptly rose to his feet. ‘Let’s get out of here before bloody Daisy turns up.’

  Chapter 36

  ‘Pssst,’ hissed Tara, who was down on her knees polishing the legs of a walnut plant stand when Josh appeared in reception the next morning. Outside, the temperature had plummeted to arctic and the grounds were covered in a thick hoarfrost. Josh, dressed for his morning run in three sweatshirts, a grey knitted hat, and black jogging pants, swung round in surprise.

  ‘Oh, hi. Good night last night?’

  ‘Did you say anything to Daisy?’

  Josh raised his eyebrows beneath the rim of his pulled-down woolly hat. ‘About what?’

  ‘About who I was with.’

  ‘I don’t know who you were with.’ He did a couple of warm-up exercises, stretching from side to side from the waist. ‘You didn’t introduce us, remember?’

  Tara breathed out slowly. Of course she hadn’t, but it was still a relief to know she was safe. Last night she’d dreamt that the cottage had been kitted out with hidden cameras, Big Brother style, all ready to transmit her every hapless move on national TV. Hardly conducive to a restful night’s sleep.

  ‘Watch yourself out there.’ Tara nodded in the direction of the frosty landscape. ‘The High Street’s like a skating rink. Don’t want to break a leg.’

  ***

  It didn’t take her long to change her mind about this.

  ‘So. You and Dominic Cross-Calvert. What’s this all about?’ said Daisy with deceptive innocence as she poured the coffee.

  Tara’s stomach squirmed. When Daisy had invited her upstairs to the flat she’d expected a bit of gentle teasing about last night’s mystery caller. But not this. Certainly not this. And Daisy wasn’t guessing either. She knew.

  Ever the coward, Tara prevaricated. ‘What’s what all about?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you. He was there at the cottage last night.’

  Feebly, Tara said, ‘Dominic? Who says?’

  ‘Josh told me.’

  Bloody bastard Josh. Tara hoped he slipped on the icy road and broke both legs and both arms. Shattering the bones to smithereens, preferably.

  ‘Josh doesn’t know Dominic.’ By this time clinging to microscopic straws, Tara adopted the mentality of a three-year-old stubbornly refusing to admit she’d broken something expensive. Daisy might, just might, be bluffing.

  ‘He described your visitor. Light-brown hair. Medium height. Medium build. Averagely good-looking.’

  ‘That describes a million men.’ Privately Tara was outraged—Dominic was very good-looking. Lots handsomer than sodding Josh, that was for sure.

  Daisy, pouring milk into the coffees and sliding Tara’s cup across the table, said, ‘Oh, and he was wearing a socking great Rolex. On his right wrist.’

  Bum.

  ‘OK.’ Tara held up her hands in defeat. ‘OK, it was Dominic.’

  ‘I know it was Dominic! How long have you been seeing him?’

  ‘Three weeks. Please don’t be cross, don’t shout at me,’ Tara begged in desperation.

  ‘You twit, of course I’m not going to shout.’ Daisy was shaking her head as she tipped sugar into her coffee, but she looked as if she wished she could be cross. ‘But you have to tell me everything. I want to know why.’

  No mention of on-the-spot dismissal. Despite everything, Tara was glad Daisy knew. It had been horrible having to keep Dominic a secret from her best friend.

  ‘He got in touch, begging to see me.’ The words came tumbling out in a long-overdue rush. ‘He said he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me on his honeymoon, that he still loved me, and his marriage was a disaster… and he actually comes to see me,’ Tara emphasized again, desperate for Daisy to understand just how much this meant to her. ‘He drives all the way down from Berkshire and he doesn’t mind that it’s a hundred-and-twenty-mile round trip, because as far as he’s concerned, I’m worth it!’

  Daisy sat back on her chair, understanding only too well. Flattery would get you anywhere and Tara had been through a rough time recently on the man front. Her self-confidence had taken a series of knocks. And now here was Dominic, back in her life again, promising her the world and flattering her for all he was worth.

  ‘Why is his marriage such a disaster?’

  ‘Annabel won’t sleep with him,’ Tara explained. ‘She’s frigid. He’s married someone who refuses to have sex with him. Can you imagine how that makes him feel?’

  Like a big old liar, probably, thought Daisy. What was the betting that Dominic had told Tara his wife didn’t understand him?

  ‘So he’s having sex with you instead.’

  ‘No! No, he isn’t.’ Vehemently, Tara shook her head. ‘We just see each other, that’s all. We meet up and talk. No sex, I promise.’

  ‘Although he’d like there to be.’

  ‘Well… yes. But I won’t do it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s married!’

  ‘But why is he still with Annabel?’ Daisy ruthlessly persisted. ‘If he kn
ows it’s such a total disaster and it’s never going to work out, why doesn’t Dominic leave her?’

  Tara rubbed her forehead as if it ached. It felt as if it should ache.

  ‘He feels he has to give the marriage a chance. He can’t give up this quickly. But he knows it’s hopeless really. He’ll leave her sooner or later. It’s more to spare Annabel’s feelings, you see. She’s actually incredibly neurotic. Dominic’s worried about the effect it could have on her… I mean, they’ve only been married a few weeks, she’d feel so humiliated—oh, it’s you.’

  The door was flung open and Josh burst into the flat. Both legs disappointingly intact. Out of breath from his run, he rubbed his hands together, grinned, and said, ‘Oops, am I interrupting?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daisy, ‘but it’s OK.’

  ‘Hello, Judas.’ Tara attempted a scowl but it didn’t quite come off.

  ‘Don’t be bitter. These things are better out in the open. Bloody hell, it’s cold out there.’ Gleefully, he danced up to Tara and pressed his icy hands against the back of her neck, making her squeal. ‘Anyway, if you’re having an affair with a married man, that’s when you need your friends around to pummel some sense into you.’

  ‘I’m not having an affair,’ Tara wailed, squirming off her chair and out of reach. ‘He comes to see me, that’s all. We talk. Swear to God, I’m not sleeping with Dominic.’

  ‘Blimey. Poor sod.’ Josh looked amused. ‘So what’s in it for him, then?’

  ‘He loves me!’ Tara couldn’t help it; she experienced a burst of pride. Being loved, unconditionally, was a heady experience. Not to mention a pretty novel one.

  Daisy’s heart sank. She checked her watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting. We’ll talk later. But you mustn’t sleep with Dominic—you know that, don’t you? Promise me you won’t.’

  ‘God, you’re so boring. OK, I promise,’ said Josh with a broad grin.

  ‘It isn’t funny.’ Ignoring him, Daisy gazed at Tara. ‘He’s married,’ she said steadily. ‘Don’t ever forget that.’

  Tara bit back the urge to remind Daisy, crossly, that of course she knew that, hadn’t she just explained that the whole reason she hadn’t slept with Dominic was because he was married?

  But of course it was an extra-sensitive subject where Daisy was concerned. She’d been married to Steven Standish, who had been unfaithful to her. It couldn’t be much fun being cheated on.

  ‘I won’t forget,’ Tara dutifully promised.

  ‘Right, let’s get back to work.’ Reaching across the kitchen table, Daisy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘I can’t stop you seeing Dominic, but I’m telling you now, you deserve better.’

  Tara smiled. What a completely ridiculous thing to say. She’d spent the last goodness knows how many years deserving better. Didn’t Daisy realize that Dominic was it?

  Josh, heading for the shower, was peeling off layers of sweatshirts. ‘Are we still on for five o’clock? Or am I public enemy number one?’ He winked at Tara from the bathroom doorway.

  She couldn’t be cross with him. That was the other thing about Daisy, Tara thought; it was OK for her, she had Josh now. They were happy together. She’d forgotten how lonely and horrible it felt to be minus a man. Plus, in a few months, she could be moving to Florida with him.

  Anyway, a free driving lesson was a free driving lesson.

  Tara gave Josh a look to indicate that she had forgiven him but only just. For good measure she threw in a sigh.

  ‘I’ll see you at five.’

  ***

  She did see Josh at five o’clock but didn’t get her lesson. By midday the first fat snowflakes had come cartwheeling out of a slate-grey sky. By three o’clock the lawns were iced in a layer of white. By five, the snow was a good couple of inches deep. Now, huge snowflakes were hurtling past the window harder and faster than ever. The roads weren’t undrivable but they were slippy enough to scare the wits out of Tara.

  ‘If it’s any comfort,’ said Josh, buying her a drink in the hotel bar as a consolation prize, ‘I can’t play golf either.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Was that meant to cheer her up? If the snow kept up at this rate, she wouldn’t be able to see Dominic for days.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about this morning,’ Josh went on, not sounding sorry at all. ‘I didn’t know I’d be letting the cat out of the bag. I just notice watches and which hand they’re being worn on. When you’re a golf pro, you can’t help it.’

  ‘OK. Don’t keep on about it.’ Tara rolled her eyes. ‘Daisy knows now.’

  ‘She’s just worried about you. Doesn’t want you making a big twit of yourself and ending up suicidal.’

  Josh was clearly the chap to come to if you were in need of sympathy and understanding.

  ‘Actually,’ said Tara, ‘I wasn’t planning on doing that.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it’s pretty dodgy. Admit it,’ Josh scoffed, ‘he’s not going to leave his wife for you.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Don’t get in a strop, I’m not saying you’re too ugly for him. We both know you’re not. But let’s face it, financially you can’t compete. He’s married to someone with a lot of cash.’

  ‘The money doesn’t matter to Dominic. It means nothing to him.’ Tara’s cheeks were flaming but she kept her voice low so that Rocky, behind the bar, wouldn’t overhear.

  ‘Sweetheart, that’s what he tells you.’

  ‘Is that why you’re with Daisy? She’s not exactly hard up. Steven married her for her money,’ Tara shot back. ‘Maybe you’re doing the same thing.’ Below the belt, maybe. But he’d started it.

  ‘Touché.’ Josh acknowledged the jibe with a brief smile. ‘No, that’s not why I came here. But I can’t prove that. You just have to make up your own mind. Or rather, Daisy does.’

  Tara didn’t think for one minute that he was after Daisy’s money, but she was damned if she was going to say so.

  ‘I don’t know you well enough to judge something like that. And you don’t know Dominic. Nor does Daisy. So neither of you has any right to judge him.’

  ‘We just don’t want to see you get hurt,’ said Josh as she downed her Bacardi in one go.

  ‘So you keep saying. But I do know Dominic. And I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.’ Tara slid down from her bar stool. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Oh dear. On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?’

  ‘Thirty-eight.’

  Josh grinned. ‘You deserve better. Married men are nothing but grief.’

  Trying to loathe him but failing to manage it, Tara said dryly, ‘Single ones too.’

  Chapter 37

  Next morning, Josh built a snowman on the lawn in front of the hotel. Daisy smuggled Hector’s second-best kilt out of his wardrobe and they fastened it round the snowman’s ample waist. An empty champagne bottle was clasped lovingly to the snowman’s chest and beneath his other arm was tucked a set of bagpipes fashioned from a tartan cushion and the wooden spindles from a broken chair back.

  ‘I say, who is that fine figure of a man? What a handsome fellow,’ Hector declared when he stepped out of the hotel. Roaring with laughter, he beckoned to Paula. ‘And such a relief to know we’ll be leaving the place in safe hands!’

  Paula, smothered in ivory floor-length fake fur, adjusted her dark glasses and checked that the car waiting for them had been fully defrosted.

  ‘What I want to know,’ said Hector, ‘is what he’s wearing under that kilt.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Paula thrust her hands into her coat pockets; if the car’s engine had been running for a full ten minutes, it would be warm inside.

  ‘I just hope nobody’s stuck a carrot under there.’ Hector chuckled. ‘Especially not a small wizened carrot.’

  ‘Who’s it supposed to be?’ said Paula.

  ‘Ha! Who does it look like?’
>
  ‘A snowman.’ She sensed she was missing something here. ‘In a kilt.’

  ‘It’s me, woman! That’s me in the MacLean tartan! Of course, you couldn’t know,’ Hector instantly excused her. ‘You haven’t seen me let loose with my bagpipes.’

  Paula shivered dramatically. Her feet were icy already. According to the weather forecast it was seven below zero, the coldest cold snap for years.

  ‘Hector, the Cardews are expecting us at midday.’

  Josiah Cardew and his wife lived in Cheltenham. Josiah, a theatre director, was hosting a lunch for them and they were staying the night at the Cardew’s Georgian mansion.

  ‘Let me guess. Josh,’ said Hector as Daisy joined them on the steps.

  ‘Who else?’ Daisy was quietly marveling at Paula’s ability to shiver in the manner of a Broadway star whilst wearing more clothes than an Eskimo.

  ‘But you were the one who stole my kilt.’

  ‘Hector,’ Paula hinted. Heavily.

  ‘Yes. We must go. Will you be OK?’ He kissed Daisy on the cheek.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage. We’ve got the boss keeping an eye on us.’ Daisy nodded at the jaunty, kilted snowman. ‘Just so long as he doesn’t melt.’

  ***

  Maggie bumped into Barney in the village shop. Flushed with success, he told her how the cottage was progressing. It was Sunday morning and thanks to the snow, far fewer bargain hunters than usual had turned out for the swap meet in Castle Combe, enabling him to snap up all manner of brilliant buys.

  ‘I was there at eight,’ he explained happily, ‘and back by ten. I picked up a toaster for fifty pence, a fantastic sheepskin rug for a pound, a tricycle for Freddie, and a set of garden chairs for a fiver.’ Checking his watch he added, ‘I should just have time to finish the skirting boards in the bathroom before starting my shift.’

  Barney had come in to buy a bottle of white spirit and a packet of cleaning cloths. Maggie envied him his busyness. Her own empty day stretched interminably ahead as only Sundays could. She was here to pick up a newspaper, a packet of sage and onion stuffing, and, oh God, just something to cheer her up.