by Jill Mansell
As Tara glanced over her shoulder, the boy up at the bar gave her a friendly grin. He was in his mid-twenties, drinking Guinness and wearing a suit that looked as if it didn’t get out much.
‘I saw him earlier, up at the hotel. He’s with the wedding anniversary party.’
‘He’s nice. And he’s definitely interested in you.’ Liza giggled and drained her half of lager. ‘Go on, finish yours and look thirsty. With a bit of luck he’ll buy us a drink.’
With a meaningful smirk in the direction of the bar, Liza made a strategic withdrawal to the loo, leaving Tara sitting alone at the table by the window feeling stupid. She was twenty-seven, far too old to be playing these ridiculous games. Anyway, the only male she was interested in was Dominic—who had phoned this morning to tell her he wouldn’t be able to see her before Thursday at the earliest.
The boy levered himself off the bar and came over, indicating the spare chair at their table with a twinkle in his eyes.
‘Hi. Mind if I join you? I saw you up at the hotel. Andy,’ he introduced himself as he pulled out the chair and sat down.
‘Tara,’ said Tara, smiling despite herself at his confidence. ‘I saw you too. And you’re still supposed to be at the hotel with the rest of your party. You’re playing truant.’
He pulled a conspiratorial face and offered her a cigarette. ‘You noticed. I had to get out of there. My mother re-married a year ago. This is their first wedding anniversary. I’m surrounded by fifty of my stepfather’s boring friends and relatives. I tell you, it’s a fate worse than death. Not my idea of fun. I didn’t think they’d miss me if I absconded for an hour. Can I get you a drink? And your friend, of course…’
***
Liza had been gone for ages. Tara wondered what she was doing in the loo. Filing and re-painting her nails, perhaps. Tidying her handbag. Knitting herself a nice sweater.
Nevertheless, Tara was grateful. She had found herself warming to Andy, who was funny and friendly and actually rather attractive in a subversive, naughty-boy-dressed-up-in-a-smartsuit kind of way.
For the first time in a long time, there was a squirrelly feeling in her stomach that hadn’t been put there by Dominic.
‘You’ve been ages,’ said Tara, when Liza finally returned from the loo.
‘And now I’m off. You’ll be OK here, won’t you? Ooh, is this for me? Thanks.’ Beaming at Andy, she knocked back the half of lager he’d bought her in one impressive go. ‘Have fun.’
‘I think she was being discreet,’ Andy confided when Liza had jauntily exited the pub. ‘Leaving us alone together, giving us time to get to know each other better.’ He paused. ‘Not that I need it. I already know I like you.’
It was an awfully long time too, since anyone other than Dominic had said that to her. Tara attempted to look nonchalant, as if she heard it at least fifty times a day.
‘Only because being here is better than being stuck at your mother’s boring party.’
‘Speaking of which, I suppose I should be heading back.’ Andy regretfully checked his watch. ‘They’ll have my guts for garters if I miss the speeches. Look, are you doing anything later?’
‘Um, not really. Why?’ Tara made it sound as though she had no idea why he’d be asking such a question.
‘Another couple of hours at the hotel, then I’m out of there. I thought maybe we could go somewhere. If you’d like to,’ he added with a teasing grin. ‘Just dinner or something. Of course you might not want to at all. Don’t worry, you can turn me down. I’m used to rejection, I can handle it.’
Not a drink. Dinner, Tara thought joyfully. And he was clearly lying about the rejection; she doubted he’d ever been turned down in his life.
‘Sounds fun.’ She smiled at him, thinking that it would be fun. What the hell, it was better than sitting at home knowing Dominic wasn’t going to ring. And Daisy would be overjoyed.
‘Great. Meet me back here at six o’clock.’ Andy finished his Guinness and rose to his feet. ‘I think I can cope now, knowing I’ve got something to look forward to. And get yourself dressed up,’ he added with a flirtatious grin. ‘We’ll be going somewhere decent to eat.’
***
Daisy, heading across reception, was stopped by a pretty girl in a fuchsia-pink dress.
‘I’m sorry, I know I’m horribly late but could you point me in the direction of the Grenfells’ party?’
‘Down the corridor, second door on the left. It started at one o’clock,’ Daisy added, because it was now almost five.
‘I was held up at work. Harry Grenfell’s my godfather,’ the girl explained. ‘But I missed his wedding last year so I had to promise I’d get down here today, so he could introduce me to his wife and her family. I’ve got some serious catching up to do.’
‘Oh well, you’ll have plenty of time for that.’ Daisy’s tone was reassuring. ‘The party’s expected to carry on all evening.’ As the girl started along the corridor, she called after her, ‘Have fun!’
***
‘Just thought you might like to know,’ said Tara, sounding incredibly smug, ‘that you told me to keep my options open, and I am. I’ve been asked out by someone really, really nice and I’m seeing him tonight.’
Daisy, answering the phone out in reception where she was covering for Pam during her coffee break, breathed an inward sigh of relief. Someone really, really nice? So not Dominic then. This was just the kind of lucky break Tara so badly needed.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Andy. I met him in the Hollybush this afternoon. He’s taking me out to dinner,’ Tara boasted. ‘Somewhere smart. And he’s not married.’
‘I like him already.’ As she idly wound the curly telephone flex around her fingers, a flash of fuchsia-pink caught Daisy’s eye. Looking up, she saw Harry Grenfell’s pretty goddaughter slip out of the ballroom with one of the other party guests, a lithe boy of around her own age wearing a dark grey suit.
As Daisy watched, they headed on up the corridor. The boy veered left into the gents’ loo, leaving the girl outside. Moments later, having ascertained that the coast was clear, his arm shot out like an ant-eater’s tongue and pulled the girl inside.
‘I’m going to wear my red dress,’ Tara said happily, ‘and my red shoes with the silver bits on the sides.’
‘Perfect,’ said Daisy. ‘You’ll have a brilliant time. Look, I’ve got to go.’
It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Bursting into the gents, she found the girl in the pink dress locked in a passionate embrace with her fellow guest. Luckily not too passionate—they hadn’t had time to get that far.
‘Ahem,’ coughed Daisy, shaking her head in mock disapproval as they guiltily sprang apart.
‘God, sorry!’ The girl stifled a giggle. ‘We just got a bit, you know…’
‘Carried away.’ Daisy nodded to show she understood. ‘I know. But maybe not here. We don’t want to go giving our older guests heart attacks.’
‘Sorry.’ The boy’s eyes twinkled at her.
‘No harm done.’ Holding the door open for them, Daisy winked at the girl. ‘Nice to see you’re getting on so well with your godfather’s relatives.’
The girl replied with a grin, ‘Oh yes, we’re really hitting it off.’
***
‘What are your plans for the evening? Tara coming over again?’ Hector hoped Daisy wasn’t working too hard; when he’d knocked at the door and walked into her office, she’d looked jumpy and on edge for a split second before realizing it was only him.
‘No. I’m going to have a long bath and an alcohol-free night.’ Daisy sat back in her revolving chair and stretched her aching back. ‘Complete rest, just me and the TV and a packet of chocolate Hobnobs. Anyway, Tara’s otherwise engaged this evening, off out on a hot date with some new man. And she’s wearing her red shoes with the silver bits on the side
s, so he must be pretty special.’
Leaving Daisy to it, Hector made his way through to the bar. Paula was upstairs in her suite preparing for dinner with her visiting agent. Since her arrival at the hotel, the suddenness and intensity of the relationship between them had caught Hector by surprise, but it was evidently par for the course with Paula. She was in show business, and this was the way things happened in show business circles. You met someone, you slept with them, you declared that you were in love with them… it was a whirlwind of exaggeration and high drama that bore little relation to real life. Paula hadn’t mentioned marriage yet, but he suspected it was already on her mind. Which was ridiculous, of course, but flattering.
Hector, famously easygoing, was taking none of it too seriously. Paula was an enchanting lady and he enjoyed her company a lot, but he wasn’t about to be rushed into anything legally binding. Equally, spending so much time together—both in bed and out of it—was fine, but a bit of breathing space was equally welcome. The news that she would be spending the evening with her agent had actually come as something of a relief. He’d planned to head over to the golf club to catch up with all the golfing news he’d missed out on since Paula’s arrival at the hotel. Then again…
‘Hello?’ Behind the bar, Rocky waved a hand in front of Hector’s face. ‘Can you hear me? D’you want a drink? Hector, you’re miles away. Blink once for coffee, twice for Scotch.’
Hector blinked—accidentally—and saw Rocky reaching for the cafetière. It was no good, he’d been doing his best to put Daisy’s words out of his mind, but they were still there. Like an ex-smoker catching a waft of unexpectedly delicious just-lit cigarette smoke or a dieter rummaging in the glove compartment and discovering a Snickers Bar they hadn’t known was there.
Tara had a hot date tonight. Tara had a hot date tonight.
Which meant the coast would be clear at Maggie’s cottage. Tara was out of the way. If he wanted to see Maggie, he could.
And now that he had finally allowed himself to think about it, Hector discovered that he did want to see Maggie again. Very much indeed.
A cup of coffee was pushed in front of him. He frowned at it.
‘Who’s that for?’
‘You,’ said Rocky.
‘I didn’t ask for it.’
‘Yes you did.’ But Rocky moved the coffee away with a sigh. ‘So you want a Scotch instead.’
‘Bloody stupid question,’ said Hector, checking his watch. ‘Of course I want a Scotch.’
Chapter 43
Tara couldn’t believe it. Six forty-five and still no sign of Andy. For the last fifty minutes she’d been stuck here in the Hollybush and he hadn’t turned up.
It wasn’t just unbelievable—he’d seemed so keen earlier—it was unbelievably, toe-curlingly humiliating. She knew practically everyone in the pub and they in turn all knew exactly what she was doing there, done up to the nines in her scarlet satin dress and looking as out of place amongst the casual jeans and sweaters as a Fabergé egg in a chicken shed.
‘Another one?’ Gerry, the landlord, indicated her empty Coke glass with a sympathetic smile. At least the smile was sympathetic now, but Tara just knew he and all the other regulars would be having a jolly good laugh at her expense the moment she was out of earshot.
Nearly ten to seven. The excuses she’d been conjuring up on Andy’s behalf were beginning to sound increasingly feeble. OK, so he was stuck at a family party, the speeches could be dragging on longer than he’d expected. Or he might have been cornered by some ancient old relative reminiscing endlessly about the war. Or his mother had begged—literally begged—him to stay longer, just until seven o’clock…
Oh God, Gerry was still waiting for her to say something. ‘No thanks.’ Tara shook her head; the three Cokes she’d already drunk were straining against her rib cage and it wouldn’t do to start burping like a navvy. ‘I’ll just give it five more minutes, then—’
‘Call it a day.’ Gerry nodded wisely. ‘Poor old thing, you don’t have much luck with men, do you?’
Tara forced a tight smile. Kind of you to point it out, Gerry. Swiveling round in her chair she glanced out of the window—for about the five hundredth time—and conjured up a fantasy of Andy screeching to a halt in his car, rushing into the pub, and shouting with relief: ‘Oh, thank God you’re still here! My family wouldn’t let me leave, I was going frantic, I was so scared you wouldn’t wait for me…’
In fact there was a car emerging from the hotel car park and making its way towards them now. Craning forward, fingernails curling into the palms of her hands, Tara mentally willed the dark blue Renault to slow down as it reached the pub.
Outside, dusk was falling but it was still possible to see who was driving the car as it raced past without stopping. It was also possible to see the person in the passenger seat.
There was Andy, laughing and smoking, with a pretty girl in a pink dress sitting next to him, her right hand affectionately splayed across his left thigh.
He didn’t so much as glance in the direction of the pub. The next moment the car was out of sight.
Tara wondered if it was physically possible to feel more snubbed than this.
Gerry, his eyes lighting up with recognition, exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell! That was him, wasn’t it?’
Loudly enough to inform the rest of the pub and anyone who may have been loitering in the toilets.
‘Thank you for that,’ sighed Tara, reaching for her bag.
‘Looks like he’s had a better offer.’ Gerry gave her shoulder a clumsy, consoling pat. ‘Oh well, that’s life, isn’t it, love? Another one bites the dust.’
***
How long had it been since he’d last seen Maggie? Quite a while, Hector thought as he threaded his way along the overgrown path to the right of the churchyard that led from the hotel’s grounds to the cottages bordering the High Street. Since he’d seen her properly, at least. Not sprawled in an ungainly heap on the pavement outside her house. That didn’t count.
God, it was disgusting out here in the woods. Cold and wet and with snow dripping gently from the branches overhead. And so dark. If he tripped over a tree root, he could break a hip and be left lying out here all night.
What was he doing anyway? He hadn’t even phoned first to check that she was there. He knew Tara was out for the evening, but Maggie might be too. And why was he suddenly so desperate to see her? It wasn’t the prospect of sex that was propelling him through the dank icy blackness. He didn’t want to sleep with Maggie, he just needed, for some reason, to talk to her. Then again, maybe it was his conscience that was troubling him. She slept with him and in return he paid her, albeit discreetly, in cash. He knew she needed the money.
As he neared the cottage, Hector heaved a sigh of relief. Through the trees, he could see that the lights were on. Maggie was at home. Alone. He hadn’t come all this way in sodden shoes and with snow dripping down the back of his neck for nothing.
With an ease borne of long practice, his hands deftly lifted the latch on the back gate. Soundlessly, he made his way along the narrow path bisecting her back garden. The blue and white gingham kitchen curtains were closed but the light shone through them, and he was able to make out the shadowy movement of Maggie in her kitchen.
Should he be feeling guilty? Was he in some way being unfaithful to Paula?
Too bad.
Experiencing a frisson of pleasure, Hector raised his cold hand and knocked gently on the back door.
Silence. Abrupt cessation of movement within the kitchen.
It occurred to him that Maggie might be terrified he was a burglar.
Finally he heard her voice, taut with fear.
‘Who is it? Who’s there?’
Smiling to himself, he said reassuringly, ‘Maggie, it’s OK, it’s me.’ Then, just in case it had been so long she’d forgotten him completely, he a
dded, ‘Hector.’
This time there was no hesitation. He heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock, then the back door was flung open.
Tara stood there, her hands caked in dough and with flour in her hair.
‘Hector, this is so weird, we were just talking about you! But what on earth are you doing here?’
Never mind me, thought Hector. What are you doing here?
Thinking on his feet, he turned and gestured into the darkness. ‘I was just taking a walk and I came across a family of badgers. Five of them, playing in the clearing back there. I didn’t even realize there was a sett in the woods. It was such a fantastic sight I just had to share it with somebody, and then I saw the lights on in your cottage.’
‘Badgers,’ Tara exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she reached for a tea towel and wiped her doughy hands. ‘I love badgers! Maggie, did you hear that? We must see them!’
Hector could barely bring himself to look at Maggie, who was hovering behind Tara wearing a stunned expression and a pair of oven mitts. Plus jeans and an old sweater, of course. On automatic pilot, she turned and opened the oven door, removing a baking tray of oddly shaped scones.
‘Come on, let’s go!’ Tara was eagerly tugging on the boots she’d dragged out of the coat cupboard. ‘We don’t want to miss this!’
They were unable to find the family of badgers. Frustratingly, Tara refused to give up. For twenty minutes the three of them trudged around the clearing, investigated the overgrown paths leading off it and searched for the nonexistent sett.
Sorry, Hector mouthed at Maggie as Tara forged intrepidly ahead.
Maggie shrugged, then abruptly stopped in her tracks.
‘Tara, this is hopeless, you’re crashing around like a baby elephant. The badgers are probably terrified and my feet are frozen solid. Hector and I are going back inside.’
‘Feeble,’ Tara shouted over her shoulder. ‘I’m not giving up yet.’
***
Inside, the kitchen was blissfully warm. The baked scones smelt wonderful.
‘I’m sorry.’ Hector shook his head. ‘I should have phoned first. Daisy told me Tara was out.’