Falling for You

by Jill Mansell

  “Can I film you doing it?” Will picked up his handheld video camera.

  “What, bending over to stack the plates? Me and my big bottom filling an entire TV screen? What a treat that’d be for the nation,” said Marcella. “No thanks.”

  Estelle said, “Leave the dishwasher. I can do that. You go home and get some rest. And ginger snaps are good for stopping you feeling yucky,” she added, because Marcella’s morning sickness had kicked in with a vengeance.

  “You know, I’m just so glad to be pregnant, I don’t even mind the feeling sick.” Her eyes shining, Marcella gave her stomach a protective pat. “I’ve spent so many years longing to know what it feels like. It’s proof that it’s actually happening at last.”

  When Marcella had left, Estelle carried on with the ironing. Acutely aware of Will’s eyes upon her, she tried her best to concentrate on the sleeves of Oliver’s favorite speedwell-blue Turnbull & Asser shirt.

  “I love the way your bottom wiggles when you do that.”

  “Shhh.” Estelle bit her lip and smiled to herself, because it had to be twenty years since anyone had said anything nice about her bottom.

  “Slow, slow, quick-quick slow.” Will, coming up and standing behind her, placed his hands on her hips as they swayed from side to side. Into her ear he murmured, “I thought Marcella would never leave. I’ve been counting the seconds.”

  “And Oliver’s upstairs,” said Estelle, as if he needed reminding. Oliver was currently conducting a four-way transatlantic conference call before heading off to Zurich on yet another business trip. To allay any suspicions of hanky-panky, Will had to return to London. She wouldn’t see him for at least a week and already the prospect seemed unendurable.

  She must endure it; Estelle knew that. Oliver was basically a good man, hardworking—if not a bit too hardworking—and honest. He didn’t deserve to be cheated on.

  “You smell gorgeous,” Will whispered, nuzzling the nape of her neck.

  Oh, he definitely knew how to nuzzle…

  “Bugger,” squeaked Estelle as the smell of something far less gorgeous filled the air. Snatching up the iron, she gazed in horror at the brown V-shaped scorch mark on the cuff of Oliver’s shirt.

  “Oops,” said Will with a grin.

  “It’s worse than oops. This is Oliver’s favorite shirt,” wailed Estelle. With his own shambolic scarecrow style of dressing, Will couldn’t begin to understand.

  The telltale ting of the phone extension told them that Oliver’s call was at an end and he was on his way downstairs. Flapping her arms in desperation to get Will away from her and simultaneously dispel the smell of expensive burned shirt, Estelle squealed, “Oh God, here he comes now. He’s going to go mental…”

  By the time the kitchen door flew open, Will’s video camera was whirring away. Oliver, instantly aware of it but naturally pretending not to be, said, “Darling, have you finished my shirts?”

  Darling, ha.

  “Had a bit of an accident, I’m afraid.” Estelle confessed at once, because there was no point trying to pretend it hadn’t happened, Oliver would spot the scorch mark in no time flat. “Burned one of the cuffs.”

  His face reddened with annoyance. “Not the blue one.”

  “Sorry,” said Estelle.

  Instead of exploding in fury—“I wanted my shirts ironed. Four shirts, is that too much to ask?”—Oliver was obliged to shake his head with good-humored resignation, because this could end up in the final edit being broadcast to millions.

  Helpfully, Estelle said, “You could always roll your sleeves up.”

  His eyebrows raised in derision, Oliver said, “I’m not Tony Blair.”

  No, thought Estelle. Tony Blair has sex with his wife.

  “I’ll be leaving in ten minutes.” Gathering up the other ironed and folded shirts, Oliver headed out of the kitchen to finish packing. “A coffee before I go would be nice, if you think you can manage it without burning the beans.”

  “Just ignore him,” Will murmured when the video camera had been safely turned off.

  “I got off lightly. Thanks to you.” Estelle’s smile was rueful.

  Will gave her a wicked look. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d said this, but it still had the most extraordinary effect on Estelle’s knees. Like KerPlunk, she half expected them to give way at any moment, causing her to collapse in a heap on the ground.

  “Shhh.” Scooting over to the coffee machine, she began troweling in beans.

  “D’you know what I love about you? The fact that you have absolutely no idea how sexy you are.” Will followed her, a playful smile lighting up his face.

  “Right, all done. What are you two whispering about?” Oliver, barging back into the kitchen with his Louis Vuitton case, glanced at his watch.

  “How mean you are to me,” said Estelle, and he laughed, humoring her.

  “I’ll bring you back some of that scent you like from duty free, will that do?” Oliver dropped a fleeting kiss on her forehead. “Don’t bother with the coffee. We need to get going. OK?” he said to Will, who was dropping him at Heathrow on his way back to London.

  “No problem.” Ambling around the kitchen, Will collected up his belongings, the video camera, his tatty, haphazardly packed knapsack, and a Waitrose bag bulging with the battery pack and tapes he’d used so far.

  “Ready?” Always loath to waste a moment, Oliver was by this time hovering impatiently in the doorway.

  “Absolutely. Just one thing left to do before I go.” Making his way back over to Estelle, Will gave her a clumsy one-armed hug and kissed her noisily on both cheeks. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

  “My pleasure.” Estelle couldn’t believe how deliciously naughty this felt. “See you again soon.”

  A whole week without Will. She was missing him already. However would she cope?

  Chapter 37

  Maddy pulled up on double yellows outside Jameson’s, the tiny convenience store on the corner of Tapper Street and Marlborough Hill. She should have said no. The staff at Callaghan and Fox could find themselves another delivery service easily enough if they bothered to scour the Yellow Pages. It felt strange, preparing sandwiches that she knew were going to be eaten by Kerr. For a moment while she’d been making them this morning, she’d been horribly tempted to slip a love note into his chicken and chili-prawn wrap.

  But Sara had been unstoppable on the phone when she’d rung to place the order, informing Maddy in no uncertain terms that the arrangements had already been made. Basically, Maddy hadn’t had the nerve to turn her down.

  “You’re delivering all that stuff to this one little shop?” Next to her in the passenger seat, Kate was incredulous. “What, you mean the guy sells your food from here?”

  It had been during last night’s dart match at the Angel that Kate had overheard Maddy telling someone that she drove into Bath before ten o’clock each morning. Kate had said eagerly, “So you could give me a lift, save me having to get a taxi? I’ve got some shopping I need to do tomorrow.”

  And since they were now officially friends again, Maddy had felt compelled to say, “No problem, but I don’t know what time I’ll finish, so you’ll have to find your own way back.”

  Now, lugging the packed cooler out of the car, she said, “This is for Kerr’s company, Callaghan and Fox.” She nodded in the direction of Marlborough Hill. “They’re in Claremont House, up there on the left. I drop the order here, someone comes down later to pick it up, and I don’t run the risk of bumping into Kerr.”

  It was pathetic, but even saying his name was painful.

  “Actually, here’s fine for me.” Peering around, Kate unbuckled her seat belt. “I can cut through to Milsom Street from the end of that road down there. Thanks for the lift.”

  “No problem,
” said Maddy. “Have a good day.”

  As she click-clacked her way down the narrow side street, Kate smiled to herself. With a bit of luck, she might have a better day than she’d planned.

  Five minutes later, when Maddy was safely out of sight, she returned to the little convenience store.

  “Hi, I’ve come to pick up the delivery for Callaghan and Fox.”

  “Blimey, you don’t waste much time. It’s only just arrived. Hang on, love. I’ll go get it.”

  Moments later the wiry, middle-aged newsagent handed the cooler over to Kate. “Bit heavy, love. Sure you can manage?”

  He was doing his best not to stare at the damaged side of her face. Flashing him a broad smile, Kate said reassuringly, “I’m fine.”

  As he watched her leave—pretty girl, shame about the scars—Mike Jameson reflected happily that this was set to be the easiest twenty quid a week he’d earned in his life.

  Marlborough Hill wasn’t for the fainthearted. By the time she reached Claremont House, Kate was pink cheeked and panting like a porn star. Pausing at the entrance to get her breath back, she prayed that after all this effort Kerr wouldn’t be out.

  Careful not to disturb her foundation, she blotted her face with a tissue. Coming home to Ashcombe had undoubtedly been a good move. Against all expectations, the familiar village environment had done wonders for her self-esteem. Just a couple of months ago, she could never have envisaged herself working in a pub, serving customers, sometimes completely forgetting her scars for—well, maybe not hours, but certainly minutes at a time. The fact that people treated her normally and no longer cringed at the sight of her had boosted her confidence no end, proving that a life following physical disfigurement was possible. Hell, just look at what she was preparing to do now! Six weeks ago this would have been out of the question. And yet here she was, acting completely on impulse, ready to reintroduce herself to Kerr McKinnon, upon whom she’d once had the most enormous crush.

  Who knew what might happen, Kate thought giddily, fantasizing already as she made her way up the broad staircase. She and Maddy had mended their differences. They were friends again now and she was truly glad about that. But there was absolutely no need to feel guilty also coming here today, because Kerr and Maddy were no longer together. And just because Maddy wasn’t allowed to be with him…

  Well, it seemed a shame to let a good man go to waste.

  “Hi, can I help you?” The plump receptionist’s gaze zoomed in on the cooler as she spoke, her eyes lighting up, her glossy lips parting in delight. “Oh wow, is that…?”

  “I’m a friend of Maddy’s,” Kate explained. “We dropped this off at the convenience store this morning, but I thought I’d save someone the bother of coming to pick it up.”

  “You’re an angel. Aren’t they just the best sandwiches in the world? I tell you, I could have kicked Kerr when he broke up with Maddy—I mean, how could he? Typical bloody man—ooh, look!” Rooting busily through the contents of the icebox, the girl let out a yelp of recognition. “Here’s mine, rare beef and horseradish on rye. I’m never going to last until lunchtime. I just want to eat them now.”

  The girl was either a first-rate receptionist, trained not to react with so much as a flicker of revulsion to the sight of a scarred face, or she was so utterly entranced by her sandwich that everything else faded into insignificance. Mentally bracing herself—she was here, this was it—Kate said, “Actually, is Kerr around?”

  “Oh, you know Kerr too! No problem, he’s in his office. I’ll just give him a buzz.” As she reached for the intercom, the girl said excitedly, “Is that why you’re here? To give Kerr a damn good talking-to for being silly enough to dump Maddy?”

  “Um, something like that. Don’t buzz him,” said Kate, suddenly excited too. “Why don’t I give him a surprise?”

  He called out “Come in” when she knocked but didn’t immediately look up from the report on his desk. Kate, rather glad of the moment’s reprieve, took in the sight of him in his cranberry-red shirt, black trousers, and polished black shoes. His dark hair flopped over his forehead, his bone structure was as stunning as she remembered, and—

  “Kate.” Having glanced up and seen her in the doorway, Kerr put down the report he’d been studying. He rose to his feet. His gaze flickered for a split second as he took in the scars.

  “Hello, Kerr. Surprise.” Her heart was pounding audibly, Kate was sure. She’d had such a crush on him when she was fifteen. Did those feelings ever really go away? More to the point, was Kerr currently experiencing them too?

  “What’s this about?”

  Honestly, typical man question. You and me, Kate wanted to shout at him. Why else would I be here, you idiot?

  “Brought the lunch delivery,” she said aloud. “Maddy gave me a lift into Bath. Thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

  “Maddy’s here?” Kerr’s expression changed at once. You’d think she’d just announced that Madonna was waiting to see him in reception. Naked.

  “She isn’t here. But she’s absolutely fine,” lied Kate.

  There was no escaping the disappointment on his face. “Fine. Well, that’s good.”

  “We’re fine too,” Kate went on. “I mean, we’re getting on really well again. It wasn’t me who told Marcella about you and Maddy—she did tell you that, didn’t she?”

  Kerr nodded. “It was the TV cameras. I know.”

  “Anyway, it’s great to see you again.” Keen to move the line of conversation away from Maddy, Kate said, “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Ha, what was he going to say to that? Neither have you?

  To his credit, Kerr didn’t even attempt it.

  “Maddy told me about your accident. Nasty business. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

  “I wished I had been. When I saw my face, I wanted to die.”

  “That’s mad.” Kerr shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you look like.”

  Kate, her smile rueful, said, “Only someone who looks like you could say something as stupid as that.”

  * * *

  Kerr couldn’t imagine what Kate Taylor-Trent was doing in his office. She showed no sign of leaving. In her ruffled white shirt and sleek beige skirt, she looked tanned and fit. Interestingly, the scars on the left side of her face in no way detracted from her air of glamour.

  “Remember your last year at school?” Kate was saying now, smiling fondly at the memory. “Those school discos we all used to go to?”

  Kerr could just about recall them, but he failed to see their relevance. He had a dim memory of himself as an eighteen-year-old chatting up a group of leggy beauties from Ridgelow Hall, then discovering later that they were only fifteen years old. Then, the age gap had been vast, three whole years. Now, of course, it was nothing at all, but he still failed to see why Kate Taylor-Trent should have come to his office to blather on about their school days. The only person he was interested in talking about was Maddy, and every time he mentioned her name Kate swiftly changed the subject to something else.

  * * *

  When Kate at last left Kerr’s office, she knew it hadn’t worked. Back out on the street in the baking sun, she heaved a sigh and headed back down Marlborough Hill. That was it. She’d done her best and failed absolutely. Pulling out all the stops, she had flirted with Kerr with all her might and gotten nowhere. It had been like trying to flirt with a park bench.

  Yet somehow, Kate realized, she wasn’t downhearted. OK, it was disappointing in one way, because she’d lusted after Kerr McKinnon for so long, but this hadn’t been the kind of rejection you could take personally or blame on your facial scars. Because Jennifer Lopez or Halle Berry or, well, pretty much anyone in the world could have given it their best shot back there in that office and found themselves faced with similar lack of interest.

  Basically, unless you were Maddy Harvey,
Kerr couldn’t care less.

  Chapter 38

  “My poor baby.” Juliet’s heart went out to Tiff, normally so full of life and bouncing Tiggerish energy. Kneeling by his bed, stroking his hot forehead, she reflected that these days he had to be feeling really ill before he’d allow her to call him her poor baby.

  “Don’t go to work.” Tiff’s eyes were half closed, his fingers laced through hers. “Stay with me.”

  “Sweetie pie, of course I’ll stay with you. I’m not going anywhere.” Checking her watch, Juliet saw that it was seven in the morning. “Let me just give Maddy a ring. Maybe Nuala can help out in the shop. Would you like some juice?”

  “I don’t know.” Tiff plucked miserably at his Spider-Man pajama top. “I’m hot.”

  It absolutely wasn’t a problem, Maddy assured Juliet on the phone. Nuala and her one functioning arm would be only too delighted to step into the breach. She’d go wake her up. And give Tiff a big kiss from her and Jake.

  Making her way back into Tiff’s heavily curtained bedroom, Juliet said, “All sorted out. Here you are, sweetheart. I’ve brought you a drink.”

  Tiff’s spiky head emerged from the duvet, his little face paler than ever. In a high voice he said, “Mummy, I feel—”

  Oh dear. Maybe she wouldn’t give him that kiss on Maddy’s behalf just yet. Predictably, the fountain of sick managed to end up all over Tiff’s pajamas, pillow, duvet, and sheets.

  Tiff whispered, “Sorry, Mummy,” and the words squeezed at Juliet’s heart.

  “You don’t have to say sorry. It’s not your fault you’re sick.” Kissing the top of his head—currently the only part of him safe to kiss—Juliet said, “Come on, let’s get you into the shower. I’ll give the doctor a ring when the office opens, see if he’ll come take a look at you.”

  “There’s sick on the carpet, Mummy.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I’ll clean it up in a minute.” Stripping off his pajamas, Juliet gave him a hug. “It doesn’t matter a bit.”