Always Mr. Wrong (2 page)

He let go of me as if I was damaged goods. I
wouldn’t say there was disgust on his face, more a look of
skepticism when you bite into a juicy looking apple and find a
great ugly green grub in there and wonder if you’ve eaten part of
it. It was at that this point he noticed my pair of juicy cox
pippins, shrink wrapped in chiffon, on full display.

A rush of colour flooded his face as he began
hastily pushing the towel into the neck of my dress, covering my
ripe fruit. His fingers, as smooth as silk, sent a tingle though my
body like an electric shock, a feeling I perhaps had at sixteen,
but never really knew what it meant. But I sure as hell knew
now.

For a moment, he stood staring at me as if
trying to comprehend what I’d said. Well, if past experience was
anything to go by, whenever I’d spoken to Dr. Foreman I seemed to
create my own language of gibberish. Or perhaps he was shocked to
hear me say a full sentence without blushing or giggling.

“Clare, you look... I mean you turned out...
You always were... What I’m trying to say is, you look great.” He
took my hands and stepped back, taking another long look. “I can’t
get over it’s you. Look at you.”

Okay, I have to admit the admiration and the
apparent flirting before he realised he was touching up his
ex-boss’s daughter had flattered me. But, really, what the hell was
he doing here at a cheese and wine party in North London? Was this
the Angel Gabrielle’s idea of a joke? Or was it some kind of
spiritual test? Thou shall not covet thy dentist. But, hell and
damnation, if I were to covet, then I’d covet away all night with
Dr. Foreman.

“I can’t get over you being here,” I said,
still clutching the tea towel to my chest. “What
are
you
doing here by the way? I would have thought a cheese and wine party
in leafy Southgate was not your ideal Saturday night venue?”

Well done, Clare. You sound unfazed, casual,
and mature.

“Oh, you know how it is back in town. I
called an old friend, asked her if she was free. Gayle’s a member
of the Ladies Circle. You’re right, not really my cup of tea. A bit
like you, I snuck in here to get out of the way.”

So he’s here with an old friend—female. Yes,
it had slipped my mind that the delectable doctor had never
married. What was it Mum said about him? He will still be sowing
his wild oats when they bang the last nail in his coffin. Well, I’m
all for ecology.

“Well it’s lovely to see you again and
congratulations, stepping into my Dad’s shoes.’ Not forgetting my
manners, I stepped forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, even
though the thoughts in my head were steaming like a compost
heap.

“Thank you. Look,” he turned to look towards
the door. “How about we hide away in here for a while? It keeps you
away from the geeks, and lets me off from being nice to people I’ll
never see again. I’d rather be in here with you.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. I grabbed two
glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge. “That would be nice,
Doctor Foreman.”

Taking my arm and with a soft squeeze, the
next five words made my knees tremble as he whispered, “Clare,
please call me Guy.”

* * * *

Conversation flowed between us like a
babbling brook; the more we talked the more we relaxed until
eventually we moved from trivial conversation to a more personal
level.

“I bumped into David and Victoria the other
day at your parents’.” David being my older brother and his wife.
“I don’t think I have ever met a couple who complement each other
so well. And the twins, Mathew and Martha, how they have shot up
since I last saw them.”

Even though it had been twenty years since
I’d seen Guy, he and my father had kept in close contact, meeting
up three or four times a year. It was strange how much he knew
about us all, and yet our paths had never crossed.

“I love my brother and Victoria dearly, but I
must confess I find all that compatibility malarkey rather
nauseating.” He gave me a curious look over the top of his wine
glass.

Oh no, now he thinks I am jealous of my
brother. Or, even worse, a bitter divorced woman who hates to see
other people in love.

“What I mean is...” He leaned on the table,
his chin cupped in his hand. For a minute I lost my train of
thought, as his sexy come-to-bed brown eyes seemed to look deep
into my soul. I had to avert my gaze so I could continue, fixating
it on the label of the wine bottle. “What I’m trying to say, and
badly, is that David and Victoria go through life with so much
optimism. He has so much enthusiasm for his job at the university
library. Victoria is so cheerful all the time, even though she
works two part-time jobs and looks after the family and home. The
twins are only ten, Thomas twelve, and they have already planned as
far forward as to when the children leave. What they will do when
they retire. I have no idea what I’m going to cook for dinner at
night or where my life is going next week, let alone when Olivia
leaves home.”

Guy gave me a sympathetic smile.

I hope it was sympathetic, and not him
thinking I was a totally useless woman.

“It’s only natural. You’re recently divorced,
and you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life
planning with your husband.”

I laughed. “Phil had planned his career out
down to the last detail, but when it came to our future, no
way.”

“You must have made plans at some point? Your
wedding? Olivia?”

“You’re joking. Phil was a spur of the moment
man. Out of the blue at a friend’s engagement party, he said,
‘Let’s do it. Get married.’ If I’d left the planning to him, I’d
still be waiting. As for Olivia, she certainly wasn't planned. That
was a result from a bout of food poisoning from a very iffy taco in
Mexico and a broken condom.” I could tell my last statement took
him aback when he began choking on his wine. “Don’t get me wrong. I
never regretted having her, but I just thought after she was born
we would have more children. I so wanted her to have brothers and
sisters. A real family life like the one I had. However, it was
always
we’ll talk about it another time
with Phil.”

Guy picked up the wine bottle and refreshed
our glasses. Taking his time he sat back in his chair, not
regarding me, but looking as if he was contemplating his past.

“I know exactly what you’re saying. When I
was ten and my sister was fourteen, my parents divorced. I stayed
with my mother. My sister went with my father. I’d never been close
to either my father or sister, but even at that age, I promised
myself if I ever got married and had children I would have a
Walton’s family home. Anyway, my mother passed away when I was
eighteen. I put all my efforts into my career. My relationships
were purely physical. Now I realise I’m in the autumn of my years,
that my live-for-today attitude may not have been the right
choice.”

From what my mother had said about Guy I
never thought settling down an agenda with him. Perhaps he’d never
met the right woman?

I laughed. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.
You sound just like Eleanor, my younger sister.”

He nodded and smiled. “Ah yes, Eleanor.
Always full of energy as a child.”

“That’s her, and her sentiments are
live-for-today. She’s twenty-eight, the only one of my parents’
children who could have gone on to do great things. But she has
spent her whole life flittering from one worthless job to another.
Lived a Romany life, crashing on friends’ sofas. That was until she
moved in with me after Phil left. She parties nearly every night.
You really should spend time talking with her.”

Never expecting Guy’s next move, it happened
so quickly I could hardly take it in. He slid forward on his chair,
took one of my hands and held it tight in his. His other hand
tenderly stroked the side of my face, his eyes intense, but I could
see this was no lame request. It was very genuine.

“I’d rather spend more time with you,
Clare.”

Oh my, was I the one? For goodness sake,
Clare. Get a life! Someone like Guy Foreman wouldn’t be seen dead
with a woman like you. He would go for a stunning professional like
Gayle. Yes, just like her. A judge. Maybe another doctor of the
same status. Not an over tired, underpaid and overworked midwife.
She would be the same age as him or maybe slightly younger, just
like Gayle. Not like me, I mean, let’s face it...he could quite
possibly be my father. They would spend Sundays reading the paper
over fresh juice, croissants, and French coffee. Certainly not
coco-pops, eggie bread and instant coffee. You stupid, stupid cow,
of course. He will be taking Gayle home tonight. Why else would he
be here? He is just being a polite middle-aged gentleman. I
certainly am not going to run for my bag, grab my diary and arrange
a night out. I must avert the conversation.

“So, why take Dad’s job when you were already
head of your own department?”

“Diverting me so you don’t have to answer...I
like that,” he smirked. “All right, going along...St. Andrews is
the best teaching hospital. Your father’s department is the best in
the country and three times bigger than my old one. Plus, my dream
has always been to step one day into your father’s shoes. So dream
complete, I can now fix my time and efforts looking for personal
happiness...a nice, beautiful, intelligent midwife maybe with whom
to share my lonely nights. See how I diverted the conversation
back?”

“Doctor Foreman, I don’t mean to butt in...”
We both looked up with a start to see Jess looking tremendously
uneasy, as if she was interrupting President Obama at a Summit
meeting. “But Gayle said she was sorry...she had to dash off. Her
husband rang. One of the children is apparently ill.”

Oh, well that put the kibosh on my idea of
him and Gayle. No, wait...was all that about lonely nights
insinuating he wanted me to...?

“Oh, not to worry, but thank you,” He turned
back to me to continue our conversation, realising that Jess was
still hovering. “Of course, yes. She needs a lift home. I’ll be
there right away. Tell her.”

“No, she’s called a cab. She’s waiting in the
hall. It will be another five minutes or so. I thought you might
like to say goodbye?”

“Yes, of course.” He lifted himself out of
the chair, then leaning back down to squeeze my hand, he said,
“Clare, do you mind? I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

“Of course not.” I looked at my watch. “Gosh,
is that the time? Really, I’ve kept you here talking, and your poor
friend...what must she think? Please take her home. I’ll be leaving
shortly myself.”

“OH NO! YOU CAN’T,” screeched Jess, Guy
nearly falling back in surprise at her outburst. “You have to stay,
the both of you. I mean, the cab is coming, and it seems such a
shame to spoil your little chat.”

What is with all the panic? Hang on a darn
minute. I know that tone of voice, and I know the way she is
looking at me. Jess is up to something. Oh God, she had heard Guy
going on about sharing lonely nights, too. Bloody hell, did she
just give me the thumbs up from behind Guy? Surely she can’t
think...?

“Well, if you’re ready to leave, Clare, I
could drop Gayle at home and then drop you off afterwards.”

Saints preserve us, Guy had read between the
lines and cracked Jess’s tactless code.

“Really, Guy, no. I only live around the
corner. I can walk from here.” I smiled politely at Guy and frowned
at Jess.

“I won’t hear of it. Can’t have you walking
the streets at this late hour. Let me speak to Gayle and fetch your
coat.”

“No, honestly, it’s so close I came without a
coat.”

Me and my big mouth. What was I
thinking?

“Well,” he lifted his arms in confirmation.
“There is no way you can walk home. It’s freezing out there. Back
in a sec.” Guy sprinted out of the kitchen, while it took me all my
time not to strangle Jess.

“Thank you
would be nice,” said
Jess.

“For what?”

“Oh, come on, Clare. I must have come in this
kitchen half a dozen times, and neither of you knew I was there.
The pair of you are so smitten with each other.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Jess,” I laughed.
“You are so barking up the wrong tree. Guy is an old friend of my
dad’s and HELLO! Sixteen years older than me. He could quite well
be my dad. Remember when Mr. Noland, the French teacher, got that
sixth form student up the duff? There was only seven years
difference with them, and what a scandal that was.”

“Sixteen years, what does that mean? At our
age, it means sweet Fanny Adams. Look at that Zeta-Jones woman with
Michael what’s-his-name. Then that girl in the paper the other
week...nineteen. Married a man seventy. He was older than her
granddad. Anyway, I thought you had a crush on him?”

“Yes, when I was sodding sixteen, you burke,”
I wailed.

“How long is it since you had sex?”

What that had to do with my teenage crush I
did not know, but I humoured Jess anyway. “Long enough for me to
think it has all healed up down there, and they have probably
changed how you do it. No, Guy will be working at the hospital.
It’s unethical, and boarding on insanity, I do have some
morals.”

“You never had any of those when you were at
college. I seem to recall you slept with that pathologist, the one
with the lazy eye, bad breath, and a limp, so he could help you get
an A in Pathology. And then when you specialised in midwifery you
were tempted to sleep with the course tutor because you thought
she
was going to give you a B.”

“Okay, okay, keep your voice down, will you.
But I’m telling you no way am I going to sleep with Guy.”

* * * *

“Well, thank you for the lift home and
walking me all the way up the path. I really could have done it on
my own.”