Mixed doubles
Page 38
Margaret Lawson appeared in the sitting room doorway, drying her hands on a kitchen towel.
‘Silly woman, should have grabbed her chance while she had it,’ she observed briskly. ‘Should have gone off with the doctor.’
Liza scooped out another handful of Sugar Puffs and crammed them into her mouth.
‘Careful,’ said Margaret Lawson, ‘you’re getting them on your new jumper.’
Liza was wearing the turquoise and white zigzag-patterned jumper because her mother had knitted it for her and when someone gives you a jumper for Christmas you have to wear it, even if it does make you look like Roger Whittaker. Personally Liza felt a few Sugar Puffs dotted here and there amongst the zigzags didn’t go amiss.
‘Molly McKnight’s having a few friends round to her house this evening.’
‘Didn’t know she had that many,’ said Liza. Heavens, now she even sounded like a teenager. It must be the Sugar Puffs. ‘Well, she’s invited us,’ said her mother, ‘if you’d like to go.’
Molly McKnight’s booming voice still made Liza quail. Nothing had ever been said, but she had an uncomfortable feeling her parents’ eagle-eyed next-door neighbour knew exactly what had been going on in the back garden that night.
‘I don’t think so.’ Liza didn’t want to socialise anyway. The whole point of coming down here to Devon had been to avoid other people and the need to put on a brave face. Especially on New Year’s Eve.
‘Not even for an hour or two?’ Her mother looked disappointed. ‘We wouldn’t have to stay until midnight.’
‘Mum, you and Dad go. I’ll be fine. Honestly, Id rather be on my—’
‘No, no,’ Margaret Lawson cut in hurriedly, ‘we wouldn’t dream of doing that. Goodness, it was only a suggestion – you know us, we’re just as happy staying here.’
Liza hid a smile. So her mother had read the article in this morning’s Mail too, the one about more people committing suicide on New Year’s Eve than on any other night of the year.
‘Mum, I’m not going to kill myself.’
Margaret Lawson tried to react as though the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
‘Liza, what an idea! Of course you’re not. I’m just saying we don’t want to go to one of Molly’s silly parties anyway. They’re fearfully dull. All she ever talks about is education cuts and bringing back the birch. And she serves home-made wine.’
When the doorbell rang an hour later, Liza was too engrossed in The Great Escape to answer it.
Maybe this time Steve McQueen could squeeze a few extra revs out of his bike and make it over that wire fence.
Vaguely she heard her mother, still busy in the kitchen, mutter, ‘Now who’s that at the blasted door?’
Moments later, the sitting room door swung open. A great waft of aftershave filled the room.
Liza, who was delving into a newly opened box of Cheerios, twisted round to have a look at whoever had just walked in.
She froze in mid-delve when she saw who it was. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I’ve got the Bentley outside,’ Leo Berenger announced. When Liza didn’t react he heaved an irritated sigh. ‘Well, come on then, woman, get a move on, will you? We haven’t got all bloody day.’
‘I phoned your friend Dulcie,’ he said brusquely. ‘She told me where you were. What are those things stuck to your front?’
‘Sugar Puffs.’ Liza picked them off her sweater. Far too agitated to eat them – her stomach was churning like a washing machine – she clutched them in the palm of her hand.
‘That’s a terrible sweater.’
‘Thanks. I already know.’
The Bentley raced on along the narrow country lanes. Leo Berenger clearly didn’t like to hang about. If he was doing sixty miles an hour now, thought Liza, toes curling, what kind of speed was he planning on when they hit the motorway?
She gazed out of the window at the stark black outlines of the trees whizzing past and wondered if this was really happening.
‘We flew back from Washington this morning.’ Leo interrupted her muddled thoughts.
So that’s where he’d taken Kit. Liza breathed out slowly, forcing herself to relax. Her toes were now gripped with cramp. ‘Why Washington?’
‘The doctors here couldn’t make me any cast-iron promises. Kit’s insides were a mess.’ As he spoke, Leo kept his gaze on the road ahead. ‘This surgeon was recommended to me. He’s one of the best thoracic guys in the world ... and Kit was in a bad way,’ he added grimly. ‘He needed the best.’
‘But he’s going to be all right?’ whispered Liza.
Leo Berenger nodded.
‘It’s been a rough couple of months. He’s been through a hell of a lot, but they reckon he’ll make a full recovery.’ The relief was indescribable.
Liza gazed down at the gluey mess of crushed Sugar Puffs in her hand. Light-headed, she addressed Leo Berenger’s grim profile.
‘Okay. So ... so why am ‘I here with you now?’
He blasted his horn at an old woman dithering in a Morris Minor, then leaned across and lit a cigarette.
‘I blamed you for what happened,’ he said finally, with characteristic bluntness. ‘If Kit had died,
‘I daresay I’d have carried on blaming you. But he didn’t die. He’s come through it, thank God.
And he’s still as bloody stubborn as his father.’ At this point Liza caught a glimmer of a smile.
‘All he talked about – when he could talk – was marrying you. Trying to tell him to forget you,’
Leo said gruffly, ‘was about as effective as persuading the Pope to use a condom.’ He cast a sidelong glance at Liza. ‘In the end I realised one of us had to give way.’
She shook her head, still dazed by what was happening. ‘I don’t imagine giving way is your style.’
Leo Berenger’s smile was brief. He indicated left and swung on to the M5.
‘Kit’s been through enough. And nothing on earth was going to make him change his mind about you. ‘I can’t keep the two of you apart any longer.’ He paused, cleared his throat and said reluctantly, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you know where he was, but...’
‘I understand. You were only doing what you thought best.’ Shades of Dulcie, thought Liza; always so sure she was doing the right thing, more often than not getting it horribly wrong.
‘He’s my son. He means everything to me. ‘I love him.’
‘I know. ‘I do too.’
A sign flashed past: Bath 85 miles.
‘It’ll be another hour yet.’ Leo put his foot down. ‘Grab some sleep if you want to.’
As if. Liza bit her lip, trying hard not to smile. ‘I won’t sleep,’ she said.
The nurse hired by Leo to look after Kit while he was still bedbound met them at the bottom of the staircase.
‘He’s been asleep for the last hour,’ she told them. ‘The flight tired him out. If you want to wait down here I’ll let you know when he wakes up.’
‘Could I see him anyway?’ Liza was trembling, holding on to the banister. ‘I’ll be quiet.’
The nurse glanced at Leo Berenger. He nodded.
‘You go on up,’ he told Liza. ‘Turn right at the top of the stairs. Third door on the left. Pauline, you can make me a coffee.’
Behind her, Liza heard Pauline saying with exaggerated patience, ‘Mr Berenger, my job is to take care of your son. I’m not employed to run around making you coffee.’
‘All right, all right,’ Leo sounded irritable, ‘make one for yourself then. And just do one for me as well while you’re there.’
Liza opened the door, slid noiselessly into the bedroom and closed the door again behind her.
Kit was still asleep.
A splayed-open Dick Francis paperback lay on the chair pulled up next to the bed. Removing it, Liza sat down and gazed at Kit’s face.
He was thinner, and paler, but she had expected that. What she hadn’t imagined was that he would look even more heartstoppingly handsome than she remembere
d. Every curve and angle of his face seemed somehow more perfect. His hair seemed glossier and thicker. Even his dark eyelashes seemed longer.
Liza realised she was holding her breath. She mustn’t disturb him. Still shaking, she leaned forward, closer to the bed.
Kit opened his eyes.
He blinked.
‘Are you having an affair with Noel Edmonds?’
‘No.’
‘So why are you wearing one of his jumpers?’
The smile was the same. It was still quirky and totally irresistible, and it still had the ability to make her stomach turn helpless somersaults.
Liza sat up, pulled the turquoise and white zigzagged sweater over her head and put it on the bedside table.
‘That’s better.’ Kit eyed her vest, appreciating the way the black Lycra clung to her golden breasts.
‘I’d be careful if ‘I were you,’ said Liza, her voice not quite steady. ‘If I tell my mother you commented on my jumper she’ll knit one for you too.’
Kit smiled again. Then he reached for her hand. ‘Are you really here?’
‘I’m really here.’
‘How?’
‘Your father came down to Devon. We’ve just driven back.’
‘My father.’ Kit sounded amused. He shook his head slightly. ‘Can you believe that man? He kidnapped me. Did you even know I was in America?’
‘No. No one knew,’ said Liza. ‘Not even the police. They were mad as hell.’
‘I couldn’t even phone you.’ Kit stroked her hand. ‘I tried to bribe the nurses but he’d got to them first. It was like being in Colditz. ‘I swear, ‘I used to dream of tunnelling out.’
‘You’re out now,’ whispered Liza.
He reached up and touched the side of her face. She leaned against his hand, knowing he could feel the pulse hammering frantically away in her jaw.
‘Something else ‘I used to dream about. Kissing you again.’
‘Are you up to it?’
‘I don’t care if I’m bloody up to it or not. Just get on with it,’ Kit murmured. ‘It’s New Year’s Eve, isn’t it? Kissing the woman you love is what you do on New Year’s Eve. Except’ — he hesitated — ‘hang on, let me take that Sugar Puff out of your hair first ...’
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Document creation date: 7.9.2011
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Jill Mansell
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