James ignored the hand, mouth a furious slit beneath narrow nose. ‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘Here.’ She traipsed down the staircase. James’s expression was a study in outrage. Olly Gray stood slightly behind him, staring at Tess’s bare feet, wet hair, towelling robe. And Ratty. Oh crap, she could’ve done without Olly.
She looked from Olly’s dismay to James’s disgust. Ah well, she was entitled to keep a naked man in her kitchen if she wanted to! Laughter began to simmer somewhere around her breastbone.
And the naked man looked so ... tense. Her mouth curled at the corners. ‘The sitting room, I think. Let’s leave Ratty to dress.’ She motioned her guests to pass into the next room on the Sunday Times side of Ratty, listening as he leapt the stairs and thudded into the bedroom. ‘Coffee? Tea?’
Leaving her father and ex-fiancé waiting on the blue moquette, she boiled the kettle and set out white china mugs. Ratty, swiftly dressed, jumped down warily into the kitchen; she grinned and kissed him.
‘I’m only putting up with this for your sake,’ he hissed.
She smothered a spurt of laughter and gave him the tray with four china mugs and a cafetière. ‘My hero!’ Then she raised her voice. ‘Fancy some toast, Dad?’
‘No, I bloody don’t!’ James’s annoyance was obvious in the straight lines of his face, the colourless pinches around his lips. Hating it, hating catching his daughter very obviously with her lover, a lover he hadn’t OK’d. Just when, she supposed, he’d thought she’d dipped her toe back into Olly’s waters. Presumably Olly had told him that he and Tess were getting along now, and James had decided to see what he could do to promote Olly’s cause. When had James turned into the kind of father who saw his child as a vehicle for his own preferences? ‘Eggs and bacon then?’ she suggested evenly.
From the sudden light in Ratty’s eyes and the lift at the corner of his lips, she saw that his sense of the ridiculous was beginning to kick in.
But poor Olly looked winded, body tight with it, face slack. She sighed. ‘Sorry, Olly. I don’t expect you’ll be staying very long.’ Settling down beside Ratty on the sofa, she sent her ex-fiancé an apologetic look. She really would’ve preferred Olly not to have been hurt. Wouldn’t she? Yes, she would. Although he had hurt her quite badly …
Olly’s features rearranged themselves as he visibly pulled himself together. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Long enough.’
When he looked down his hair slid forward. She studied him, the clean-shaven beauty she’d thought so bright, insipid now beside Ratty’s dark, stubbly strength and glittering eyes. He lifted his suddenly angry gaze to Ratty. ‘You?’ he demanded bitterly. ‘What d’you want with her, Caveman? You don’t know her.’
‘I know enough.’
‘You’ve hardly known her five minutes! You know enough? You don’t know her like I do! Bet you don’t even know ...’ He cast around for an example, conjured up, feebly, ‘You don’t even know what “Tess” is short for!’
Ratty shook his head, sipping his coffee and stroking Tess’s bare feet with his own. ‘That’s true,’ he agreed amicably. ‘Teresa?’
‘Therese!’ Olly said triumphantly.
‘Really? Very glamorous. Very suitable for a lovely, talented lady.’ Dangerous, rigid, bland courtesy. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you went?’
Olly switched his gaze to Tess. ‘Really? Him?’
She shrugged. ‘Sorry.’ The mug rattled on the tray, the kitchen door slammed behind Olly Gray.
Tess met her father’s eye. Grinned. Oh dear, in its way this was fun. Fun! It was lovely to have Ratty so obviously in her corner. ‘You haven’t, by any chance, lent Olly money?’
James broke the eye contact, leant forward to replace his empty mug on the tray. ‘It’s quite a small matter.’
She crowed with delighted laughter and slapped the arm of the sofa. ‘I thought somebody must have, he had more to chuck around than he ought to considering the job he’s got. You’ve seen the last of that, then. Olly’s financial control has slipped a bit – ask Guy!’
For several seconds James glared ferociously. Then the lines of his face softened, he looked down, examined his tie. Almost smiled, reminding Tess how he could be. ‘I had thought you might feed me,’ he suggested, changing the subject.
Ratty slid in. ‘Perhaps you’ll join us for a meal at the pub?’
James turned on him a glare that should’ve melted steel. ‘Thank you. Are we dressing for lunch?’
It might have been thoroughly uncomfortable, the tension. Tess might have felt anxious, torn, burbling herself stupid to cobble together a conversation.
But not today. Not with Ratty’s knee pressed against hers; closely shaved, sharply dressed, sleeves-down Ratty across the brass-topped table. Not now she was in love, not in her local where people tossed her congratulations about the Feast – was it only yesterday? Hadn’t it gone well? Which evening was the photo due in the paper, wasn’t Carola brilliant? Warm and safe, she belonged. James, in a buttoned-up shirt and a V-necked sweater, looked beige and out of place.
And where she might have felt worried by her father’s pensive silences, tried to coax conversation from him, now she shrugged, held Ratty’s hand across the table and listened to him talking to Bren from Port Road as to whether it was possible to drop the gearbox out of a Vauxhall Cresta without a pit. Thought about how good he’d been in bed with those hands which looked as if they ought to feel like sandpaper, but didn’t. Watched his lips. Felt her legs go funny.
James wouldn’t be ignored for long, of course, sipping Perrier and awaiting his roast chicken. And, as she anticipated, sure enough he launched suddenly into a snap of questions, palpably designed to discomfort Ratty. ‘I understand you’re self-employed in the car trade? Where? Your own premises? Rented or owned? Wholly owned? Really?’ James, of course, was pretty much into property himself.
Ratty stepped into James’s pause for breath. ‘Plus my place, Pennybun and three houses rented out.’
James lifted yet-to-be-convinced eyebrows. ‘Tick and a gold star,’ he mocked, leaning back to allow Janice from behind the bar to set a chicken dinner before him, cutlery in a red gingham paper napkin. ‘Forgive my enquiries,’ blandly. ‘But you seem close to my daughter.’
Ratty grinned. ‘I forgive you entirely. And, just to ease your enquiries on their way: yes, I love your daughter – enough, even, to suffer this interrogation.’
James gave a puff of outrage.
‘You might also like to know that I’m brave enough to communicate with her directly – not by e-mail. I won’t belittle her and particularly I won’t be slapping her face. I consider her entirely loveable, gorgeous, talented and able. Just to cover all your enquiries.’
James’s sharp laugh splintered the following silence. ‘You cocky young bastard!’
‘And I love her enough to have a go at getting along with you. Shall we have a Chablis with this?’
‘I’m driving. Well, perhaps just a glass.’
A spectator at this joust between irritation and staunch self-belief, Tess chewed slowly. This was good, she was enjoying it.
She turned the conversation. ‘So, how’s your development of the old tied cottages in Middleton going?’
James ever enjoyed an opportunity to talk about his own affairs. ‘Good. Only one left unsold, plenty of interest, won’t be long.’
She folded her napkin. ‘How’s Mum?’
‘Worrying about you.’ James leant in to exclude Ratty. ‘I hope you’re not going to be sorry over Oliver.’
She slapped the napkin down in exasperation. ‘I’ve finished being sorry over Olly! When he dumped me I was sorry, when I miscarried I was sorry. Though, with the way things have gone today perhaps I ought to be singing “Who’s Sorry Now?”’ She tried not to smile at Ratty’s sudden snort of laughter. ‘Stop poking your beak in, Dad. There’s no future for me and Olly.’
‘You can’t blame me for trying to
hint if I think you might be making a mistake, Therese …’
She met her father’s gaze. ‘Happily, in common with everything I say, and everything I do, I don’t need your permission to make my choices. If you want to ally yourself with Olly, that’s your privilege. It might be nice if you’d respect my choices, though.’ Colour high, she picked up her cutlery from the middle of an astounded silence.
Ratty covered her hand. ‘More wine, Princess?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Mr Riddell?’
‘No!’
Ratty tilted Tess’s chin, meeting her furious eyes. ‘I love you when you’re angry.’
She couldn’t help but smile. It took charge of her mouth and her eyes and floated her heart.
The chicken was crisp then succulent, the roast potatoes golden (peppered liberally to make the punters drink more) but Tess couldn’t wait for the meal to be over, for James to get back into his Volvo and go. Go! So she could wrap her arms around Ratty and feed on his strength, his maleness and the heat he radiated, which made her want him. After all, she’d only just gained the privilege.
But now James was frowning. He cleared his throat. ‘What’s this about slapping?’
She glugged the last of the wine and waved the bottle at Janice to be replaced. Oh no, she wasn’t getting into the slapping thing at this late stage. ‘The cherry pie is good, if you’re thinking of dessert.’
‘Slapping?’
‘Or perhaps fresh coffee? Revive you for the drive home.’ Please go.
‘Slapping, Therese?’
She groaned, smoothing back her hair and screwing up her eyes. Sight easier to be calm if James would stop winding her up. ‘Yes.’
James placed his cutlery very precisely together. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Her eyes opened to slits. ‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? Why ask when you’d already decided what to believe?’
‘Don’t you be like that with me!’
She made her voice ultra-low and soft, disguising the fury that was bubbling in her chest. ‘I’ll be anything.’ She sat forward, seeing him sit back. ‘I’ll be anything I please. Yes, Olly used to slap me to win an argument, he’s bigger, see, could hold me with this hand and hit me with that. Like this. Look, hold with the left, slap with the right. Quite hard. Enough to make me cry. Then he could make it up to me, once I was back in line. That’s your Olly! Of course, he said he’s sorry, now.’
Only Ratty finished his meal, watching Tess, freeing a hand to cover hers. Solid, silent, ready for anything.
The thought made her smile and his smile flashed back. I’m with you, Princess, said the lopsided twist of his lips, you’re doing fine, was the gleam in his sea-like eyes. She relaxed. What did James matter? What did Olly matter? Or Guy, who’d remained traitorously close to Olly when Olly had been behaving badly? None of them mattered.
She had Ratty.
This man, dark and sexy, strong and decisive, was on her side. It was in his reach across the table, in his eyes, in his expression and in the hand that gripped hers. James couldn’t spoil it.
Ratty held out his glass as she refilled her own. ‘You’ll be drunk.’
‘Would that worry you?’
‘No, I can carry you.’
He probably would, too. With his grins and leers, his mechanic’s hands, even his obstinacies and sarcasms, he was a hundred times Olly. ‘You’re very real,’ she told him suddenly.
‘If he slapped you, why on earth didn’t you tell me?’
Impatient at the interruption, she snapped back round to James. But saw something in his eyes, unhappiness, a flicker of guilt, to make her pause, make her voice reasonable, rueful. ‘You’d have said something like, “He must have had his reasons”.’
James was silent. He stared into the fireplace. Until he was ready for a sudden, cold, vicious about-turn. ‘I think I’m going to have to see him.’
‘Chop his head off,’ agreed Ratty, encouragingly.
‘For God’s sake!’ She freed her hands from Ratty, who was turning each of her rings around to inspect the patterns, and gripped her father’s arm instead, speaking slowly, calmly, emphatically. ‘I don’t want you to. Don’t act on my behalf, unasked and unwanted. Stay out of it, OK?’ She softened her expression and her voice. ‘If it makes you feel any better, Ratty’s already evened up the score a bit. Right? Stay out.’
‘I am your father.’
Her fingers tightened on his arm. ‘Too late! When I needed that, you were ambivalent. When I craved sympathy, you divided yours with Olly. But I’ve found my own way. Just ... just remember I’m an adult. Respect me. Maybe we’ll get along. I’d like that.’
He wasn’t surprised when, as soon as Jos went out on the breakdown, Pete appeared at his side. ‘Unexpected day off, yesterday.’
Spanner in his hand, Ratty tightened a series of bolts, beginning the round again, methodical, measured. ‘You know how it is. One of those days when I just couldn’t seem to get out of bed.’
Pete laughed, clapped him on the shoulder. ‘So it all worked out?’
He heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I’m shaking, it worked out so well.’ He returned to each bolt for a final time, that last crucial check.
‘I had to physically restrain Angel from ringing, she was gagging to know what happened!’
Straightening, Ratty finally let Pete meet his eyes. ‘I’m glad she didn’t.’
‘So ... no complaints?’
‘None.’ Ratty let the pause develop. He knew his grin was smug.
‘Everything you wanted?’
‘Sure.’
‘Rats! C’mon, share! Was it worth the wait?’
He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Christ, it was! She’s wonderful, she’s fantastic, we’re fantastic together. I just can’t get enough of her. Yessss, it was worth the wait!’
Pete went back to the distributor on the bench, chuckling. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before.’
‘Never been like it before. The real thing’s just ... amazing!’
Amazing that he should admit it, too, he who’d played the field at Olympic level, careful never to get too tied up, cynical about his best bets, ruthless when he got tired.
And now it was him surfing this tidal wave of passion after such a frustrating wait. Nobody, not even Pete, knew quite how bad it’d been, waiting for Tess to realise she loved him. How he’d struggled to give her space, how it went against his character to admit to himself that he, he, having finally bestowed his love, must machinate like mad for reciprocation.
How he’d held it together he didn’t know, when she’d persistently slid her eyes away and pretended not to feel the spark. The torture of the near-miss after the Spring Ball; how he hadn’t gone out and laid everything in sight, he, who thought sex had been invented especially for him. And whenever she laughed off the idea of romance, how he’d prevented himself from flaring up and shaking sense into her.
But he’d done it. Coolly played himself into being a winner and now his prize was this wonderful, magnificent love, this desirous lover. This gorgeous, sexy woman, the hang-on-tight, never-known-anything-like-it sex.
It had been worth it, yes, it had. But nobody realised how desperate he’d been; how frantically he’d had to hope.
The phone was greasy from a thousand oily hands when he lifted it from the bench where Pete had left it. Astounding that James Riddell should phone the garage. What the hell? ‘Yep?’
‘Is Tess all right?’
‘Fine.’ He listened to James’s hollow breathing.
‘As her father, I feel I ought to ... Her mother and I love her very much.’
He raised his eyebrows, searched for a response. ‘I’m sure.’
A scratching, fidgeting noise, as if James was scribbling whilst he chose his words. ‘I feel I’ve let her down.’
Ratty let the pause stretch itself, because what could he say to contradict that?
‘Are you still there?’
&nbs
p; ‘Yep.’
‘I want ... I’m ringing ...’
Ratty looked at the clock on the garage wall whilst he waited for James to order his words. What would Tess be doing at 2.33 p.m. on the first Tuesday they’d been together? Working? He pictured her bending close to her paper, wielding a delicate brush or making feathery strokes with a pencil. Would her mind be on him? Perhaps on their lovemaking, new and fresh and consuming. And exhausting. Or walking? Maybe with Angel, Jenna and Toby, maybe through the village, maybe they’d call in.
Or she could be out in her beloved Freelander. He wasn’t, to be honest, wild about driving with her. It unnerved him when she was distracted by the magic colours of a deep lilac bush lit by horizontal sun against a leaden sky; he could see exactly how she’d arrived in his life by smashing into his truck.
Maybe he’d phone her in a few minutes. Just for the chance of hearing her voice. Whisper, ‘Hullo Princess, I love you.’
He switched his attention back to James, who was blowing out a long sigh. ‘If you and Tess are, um, together now, I want you to ...’ He listened unhelpfully to another hesitation. ‘We want her to be happy.’
‘So do I.’
‘We don’t want her to have more trouble.’
‘Neither do I.’
Another pause. ‘D’you think things will work out between you?’
‘Yes.’
James laughed uneasily. ‘That’s uncompromising!’
‘I am.’
‘Young man, you’re making this very difficult!’
Through the door he noticed the trees were budding again and the birds were busy. He returned to the conversation. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t suppose you want me to comment on your behaviour? I certainly don’t want you to comment on mine. I accept you love Tess, if you want reassurance, I love Tess, and I’ll be good to her.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘We’re going to be good together. Don’t concern yourself.’
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