Nadia Knows Best (2 page)

Gosh, weren't gay men lovely? There was just something about them, Nadia thought delightedly as they lay in bed together two hours later. You could relax and chat away about anything at all, secure in the knowledge that there was no underlying agenda. She'd told Jay about her job at the garden center, her family in Bristol, and last night's party in Oxford.

Now he was asking her about Laurie. Only too happy to oblige, Nadia propped herself on one elbow and said, “Oh, he's just brilliant, the best boyfriend in the world. If you saw him, you'd fancy him yourself. He's a model.” She added with pride, “Last month he was on the cover of
GQ
.”

“I'm impressed.” Jay smiled at the look on her face. “So how did you two meet? At some fantastically glitzy party? Did Brad and Angelina invite you to dinner and there he was? Or were you working at the garden center and he just turned up one day in desperate need of a clematis?”

“Ho ho.” From inside her sleeping bag, Nadia aimed a playful kick at his leg. “Actually, we've known each other since we were kids, we practically grew up together. Laurie's the original boy-next-door. Well, not exactly next door,” she amended, “but he lived over the road from us. We used to go tadpoling together. Laurie taught me how to ride a bike with no hands, I taught him how to shoplift candy from Woolworth's…”

“
Cider with Rosie
meets
Bonnie and Clyde
.” Jay raised an eyebrow. “So you've been together how long? Since you were
seven
?”

“Oh no, we were just friends then. I went away to college at eighteen then Laurie was off the following year. When he came back two years ago we took one look at each other and it hit us both like a brick.” Nadia clapped her hands together. “
Bam
, just like that. We couldn't believe how fast it happened. And we've been together ever since.”

Jay shook his head. “I'm confused. So when did the modeling thing start?”

He certainly seemed interested. Nadia wondered if he was entertaining hopes of moving into the same field himself—not that he could, at twenty-nine. Oh dear, should she gently warn him that he was way past his sell-by date?

“I entered him for a competition,” she explained. “One of those daytime TV programs was offering a prize of a contract with a top modeling agency. They interviewed last year's winner and he wasn't a patch on Laurie, so I just stuck a photo in an envelope and posted it off without telling him. A month later they phoned and told him he'd been short-listed for the final.”

“Was he shocked?”

“Shocked? He went mental! He thought modeling was for poofs—ooh, sorry, but he did.”

“That's OK.” Jay inclined his head.

“Anyway, we managed to persuade him that it
wasn't
,” Nadia hastily emphasized, “and Laurie finally agreed to go up for the final. Mainly to shut me up, I think. But when he met the organizers and found out how much money he could make, he realized it might be worth making the effort after all. So then he won the competition and that was it, the agency put him on their books and the whole thing took off like a rocket. Before, he'd been training as a stockbroker and hating every minute. Now he's traveling all over the world doing magazine shoots and ad campaigns. It's just brilliant, a whole new career.”

“Thanks to you,” Jay said mildly. He paused. “Ever regret it?”

Nadia had heard this question before. About a thousand times.

“Why would I regret it? We're still together, Laurie hasn't changed. We might not see as much of each other as before, but he comes back whenever he can. We still love each other. And it's not going to last forever, we both know that. By the time you hit thirty, you're well and truly over the hill.” There, slipped it in, just in case Jay was still hankering after a change of career. “If my phone was working, I could speak to him now,” Nadia went on. “We talk to each other all the time. He's been in Egypt for the last few days, shooting an ad campaign for Earl jeans.”

Jay looked mildly skeptical. “And you trust him?”

It wasn't the first time she'd been asked this one either.

“Of course I do. One hundred percent.”

“How about him? Does he trust you?”

“Laurie knows I'd never cheat on him.” Smiling to herself, Nadia plumped up her pillow and changed the subject. “Anyway, your turn now. Tell me all about your boyfriend.”

The candle on the bedside table flickered, sending an eddy of shadows across the wall.

“Actually, I'm not gay,” said Jay.

Oh for heaven's sake.

“So why did you tell me you were?”

“To relax you.” His eyes were bright with amusement. “And it worked.”

“That's cheating,” Nadia groaned. “I trusted you. You lied to me.”

“What can I say? I'm a man, it's what we do.”

Hang on, was he insinuating something about Laurie? Nadia bristled. “If that's meant to be some kind of dig—”

“OK, I'm sorry.” Laughing, Jay held up his hands. “But it did calm you down, didn't it? You stopped panicking about spending the night in bed with a strange man who might try to seduce you.”

“And now you tell me you aren't gay after all. Wouldn't it have made more sense to carry it on? You could at least have waited until the morning before telling me you were straight.”

“I was going to. Until you asked me about my boyfriend. Anyway, you don't have to worry,” said Jay. “I'm still not going to even try to seduce you. So you're perfectly safe.”

“Right. Well, that's good.” Nadia wriggled down into her sleeping bag, affecting indifference but secretly wishing he could have invented a boyfriend. She preferred him gay. Just because she'd never be unfaithful to Laurie didn't mean she couldn't be attracted to a good-looking man.

“You could ask me about my girlfriend if you like,” Jay prompted.

“Go on then, tell me about her.”

He winked. “We broke up a couple of months ago.”

Typical.

“See?” Nadia heaved a sigh. “You're doing it already. You wouldn't have said that if you'd still been gay.”

“Wouldn't have had a girlfriend to break up with,” Jay reminded her. “Oh, come on, don't get all defensive. I said I wouldn't try to seduce you, didn't I?”

“But now you're flirting with me,” Nadia complained. “And don't tell me you aren't, because you are.”

“So? I'm allowed to flirt. You were doing it earlier,” he pointed out, “when you thought I was gay.”

“I was not.” Feeling herself blushing, she was glad of the dim light. “Why would I want to?”

“Because you thought I was safe.” Jay's chestnut-brown eyes glinted with amusement.

Oh crikey, was he right? Had she been flirting with him? Something in the pit of Nadia's stomach went
ting
and tightened in alarm. She hadn't even realized.

“And now you aren't doing it,” he went on. “You're backpedaling like mad. Which has to mean you like me at least, ooh”—he held out his hand, the thumb and forefinger half an inch apart—“this much.”

Not fair, not
fair
.

“If I didn't like you that much, I wouldn't be here.” Nadia tilted her head in the direction of the other bedroom, where Pete the landlord was snoring like an elephant seal. “I'd rather sleep in the snow than share a bed with him.”

Gravely, Jay nodded. “Well, thank you. I think.”

“Then again, you might snore too.”

“Not at all. I'm the perfect gentleman in bed.” He flashed a wicked grin. “No one's ever regretted spending the night with me.”

Nadia's mouth was dry. She didn't doubt it for one second. Anyone would be attracted to him. He was great company, confident and charismatic. If she weren't involved with Laurie, let's face it, she'd be tempted to go for it. Why not, after all? Here they were, cut off from the rest of the world, stranded in a snowbound pub. No one else need ever know…

Oh good grief, she was actually imagining it, picturing the scene in her mind, wondering how it would feel to reach out and slide her hand up beneath that thick dark blue sweater of his… What was the matter with her? She was just a shameless hussy, stop it, stop it,
stop
it
.

Delete that fantasy.

She had Laurie. Who could ask for more?

Appalled with herself for even thinking it, Nadia abruptly leaned over and blew out the flickering candle. Passionately thankful that Jay wasn't able to read her mind—and horribly afraid that he could—she said, “I'm going to sleep now. Good night.”

***

Pete, the landlord, was perplexed to wake up the following morning with a violent hangover—well, that was par for the course—
and
a pub full of bleary-eyed strangers. He promptly helped himself to a large Scotch and set about discovering what they were doing there.

Upstairs, Nadia brushed her teeth and sent up a passionate prayer of thanks that she'd managed not to give in to last night's moment of weakness. Not many girls, she wouldn't mind betting, shared a bed with Jay Tiernan and emerged with their morals intact. Then again, not many girls would go to bed with him dressed in jeans, socks, two heavy sweaters, and a less than gorgeous tank top.

Clomping downstairs in her boots, she discovered an arctic wind whistling through the empty pub and the front door gaping open. Everyone had gathered outside to cheer and applaud the snowplow that was shooting great plumes of snow up into the air as it made its stately way along the main street.

Nadia found Jay among the crowd. “We're saved. We shan't have to eat each other, that's a relief. How am I going to get my car out of the ditch?”

“The cavalry have arrived.” Jay indicated the tractor, trundling along in the wake of the snowplow. It slowed to a halt outside the pub and a burly farmer type jumped down.

“Passed some cars back there in need of a tow.” Spotting Nadia's hopeful face he said, “One of them yours, love? Want some help, do you?”

She could have kissed him. Her fiftysomething knight in a filthy tractor! This was village life for you, Nadia thought gratefully. Everyone pulled together, helping each other out. There were so many kind people around, unsung heroes, prepared to do favors out of the sheer goodness of their hearts.

“Oh, I do,” she said with joyful relief. “Mine's the black Renault, this is so
ki
—”

“No problem, love. Any time. That'll be fifty quid.”

For heaven's sake, talk about highway robbery. Country people weren't lovely at all.

“Just don't say cash,” Nadia warned the greedy selfish mercenary farmer. “Don't ask for cash up front, because I haven't any left.” Shooting a meaningful look in Pete the landlord's direction, she added, “I can do a check.”

“Got a guarantee card?” The farmer was nothing if not blunt.

Nadia, who could be blunt too, said, “Who shall I make the check out to, Dick Turpin?”

“Have you out of there in a jiffy, love.” The farmer winked at her, unabashed. Business was business. Sudden blizzards might cause misery and hardship for many people, but they were always a nice little earner for him.

***

By the time the Renault had been hauled out of the ditch, dented but otherwise unharmed, Jay had arrived at the scene on his way back to his own car.

“Drive carefully now,” he told Nadia as she revved the engine.

“We're only three miles from the motorway. I'll be home in an hour.”

“It's been nice meeting you.” Jay's eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked down at her. “Could have been nicer still, but never mind. We had fun.”

Nadia nodded. In the cold light of day, fun was infinitely preferable to sex. If she'd given in to temptation last night, she'd be feeling twisted with guilt by now. God, she'd be a disaster on a clubbing holiday in Ibiza.

“Thanks for everything. Bye.”

The churned-up snow creaked beneath her tires as she turned the car in the direction of home.

“That boyfriend of yours is a lucky bloke.” Jay rested his hand briefly on the roof of the car. “Tell him I said so.”

For a moment Nadia wondered if he was about to bend down and give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek; he looked as if he might. She waited, giving him every opportunity to do it, and realized she was holding her breath. Just a sociable peck, not full-frontal snogging, a sociable peck on the cheek was absolutely fine…

Well, it would have been, if it had happened.

“Do the window up,” said Jay. “Keep warm. And don't skid into any more ditches.”

“Yes, boss. You too.” As she buzzed the window shut, Nadia saluted then grinned and waggled her fingers at him. “See you around.”

Why did people always say that to each other, when they both knew they wouldn't?

The flight from Barcelona to Bristol Airport had landed fifteen minutes ago and Nadia was hopping impatiently from one foot to the other at the arrivals gate. Any second now, the first passengers would begin to emerge through the sliding smoked-glass doors. There were butterflies in her stomach—huge, excitable tropical butterflies rather than the sedate English kind—and her knuckles were white as she gripped the chrome rail. Adrenaline was sloshing through her body like free beer at a student party. Were there paramedics around? Did lots of people waiting to greet returning loved ones feel like this? Did many of them keel over with heart attacks and—ooh,
door
!

Nadia gazed, transfixed, as an ultra-smart businesswoman tip-tapped out on ultra-high heels, followed by a gaggle of tourists, then some studenty types, several businessmen, and a frazzled-looking girl in her twenties with a screaming baby and a toddler in tow.

At the sound of a shout behind her, the girl turned and let out an exclamation of relief as Laurie raced through the doors clasping a battered toy giraffe.

“I found it on the floor by the luggage trolleys.” He waved the giraffe at the baby, who promptly snatched it back and glared at him with breathtaking lack of gratitude.

“That's why she was yelling. I didn't even realize she'd dropped it. Thank you so much.” The girl's face was alight with gratitude.

“No problem.” Laurie flashed his trademark broad smile and Nadia, watching them from six feet away, realized that this was why she loved him. He was kind and thoughtful and would help anyone. Plenty of men might have picked up a toy giraffe and chased after a beautiful girl with a wailing baby, but how many would bother to do the same for a girl who was plain and scrawny, with bad teeth and dull, greasy hair?

It would never occur to Laurie not to. That was the kind of person he was.

And here he was now, coming toward her, holding out his arms.

“Nad!”

Mushy with love, she threw her own arms round him then felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her up and swung her round. For a millisecond, before Laurie's mouth found hers, Nadia glimpsed the look of envy on the plain girl's face. Then he was kissing her and she knew they were the center of attention. Everyone was watching them, enjoying the sight of them together. You couldn't beat a romantic airport reunion, it restored everyone's faith in humanity. In fact, they were in danger of getting a round of applause.

“I've missed you so much.” Hugging her tightly, then taking a step back, Laurie surveyed her and said, “God, you look fantastic.”

“So do you. Messy, but fantastic.” Grinning, she put a hand up to his slept-on sun-streaked blond hair, then cupped the side of his gold-stubbled jaw. For a professional model, Laurie had no vanity whatsoever. Anyone else would never get away with it. He was wearing baggy black trousers that looked like yard sale rejects but had undoubtedly cost a fortune. The pale gray sweater with holes in the elbows had once belonged to his father. His trainers were state-of-the-art and filthy. There was a huge purple bruise on his left forearm and what looked like a juice stain on the right sleeve of the sweater.

“I know, I know. I'm a mess.” Laurie's green eyes widened with good-natured resignation; he was well used to being fussed over by his booker at the agency, by highly strung editors and frenetic casting agents. “That's just black currant juice,” he excused the stain on his sweater. “I was playing scissors-paper-stone with a kid on the plane and he knocked his drink over me.”

“And the bruise?” Nadia gently touched it.

“Oh, that's nothing. Fell off a jet-ski and hit a rock.” Laurie, who was both fearless and accident-prone, kissed her again. “Let's go. How is everyone? Is that damn parrot still alive?”

Harpo, who belonged to Nadia's grandmother Miriam, had a long-standing love-hate relationship with Laurie.

“Of course he's alive. You're still going to be asking that question when we're eighty.” As Laurie expertly heaved his bags over one shoulder, Nadia said, “He's missed you like mad.”

“Did he get my card?” Laurie had sent Harpo a postcard of a parrot in a mini deck chair with a tiny knotted hankie on his head.

“We tied it to his cage. He pecked holes in it, said something about gross exploitation and cruelty to parrots.”

“That's because he has no sense of humor,” Laurie said loftily. “When we get back I'm going to wrap his beak in Scotch tape.”

They made their way out of the terminal and headed for the short-term parking lot, catching up on each other's latest news. When they reached Nadia's Renault, Laurie paused to admire the dented front wing she hadn't yet got around to getting repaired.

“Not bad.” He bent to take a closer look. “So there you were, upside down in the ditch, when this complete stranger turns up out of the blue and persuades you to spend the night with him. Was it a hobby of his, d'you think? Another kind of bird-watching?”

Nadia, her arm still wrapped round Laurie's waist under the frayed sweater, pinched him beneath the ribs.

“The car skidded in the snow. It wasn't my fault. He came and rescued me. I was so grateful, I thought the least I could do was sleep with him…
ouch
.”

“Very funny.” Grinning, Laurie pinched her in return. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

“Like them.” Nadia tilted her head up to watch as another plane soared skyward.

Laurie's eyes followed the plane as it disappeared through the gunmetal-gray clouds. “That'll be me tomorrow. Off to Paris.” He sounded resigned.

Nadia gave him a hug. “Not until tomorrow night. We've got a day and a half.”

Laurie looked down at her. With a half smile he said, “I know.”

Nadia, who was driving, felt her insides begin to churn during the twenty-minute drive back to North Bristol. An ill-defined squiggle of unease was warning her that something was up. On the surface they were both chattering away, talking nonstop as usual, but beneath the surface lay an undercurrent that filled her with fear.

She kept waiting for the feeling to go away, but it didn't. Finally they reached home and she pulled into the driveway of her family's house, having by this time narrowed it down to two possibilities.

“OK, let me just say this. Did you think I was serious when I told you I'd spent the night with that chap at the pub? I mean, d'you think I might actually have had sex with him? Because I didn't, I swear. I just said it as a joke.”

“I know that. Of course I didn't think you were serious.” Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Laurie raked his fingers through his streaky hair.

Nadia braced herself. OK, now she had to put the second question to him, the one she
really
didn't want to ask.

“So have you? Met someone else, I mean?”

“No.” Finally Laurie shook his head. “I haven't. I'd never do that to you.”

Phew. Well, that was a relief. Realizing that her fingers had gone tingly, Nadia slowly exhaled.

“But something's wrong,” she persisted.

“Nothing's wrong. I'm fine.”

The words were great, just what she wanted to hear. Sadly, they were coming from the mouth of the world's poorest liar. Laurie might not be seeing anyone else, but he certainly wasn't fine.

“Laurie, you can't pretend there isn't something wrong, just
tell
me—”

“Here he is, back at last! Darling boy, let me have a good look at you!” Miriam flung open the passenger door and clasped Laurie's face between her thin hands. Huge diamonds flashed on her fingers, there was mud caked beneath her lacquered nails, and for a slender seventy-year-old woman she had a surprisingly firm grip.

But when it came to seventy-year-olds, Miriam Kinsella was hardly par for the course. She could wear couture clothes or ancient corduroy trousers and men's shirts with equal panache. Her glossy black hair was fastened in a bun and, as ever, her dark eyes were heavily accentuated with kohl liner. As the inside of the car filled with Guerlain's L'Heure Bleue, Nadia was reminded that Miriam might spend an entire day gardening, attacking hedges on a stepladder and vigorously demolishing overgrown shrubs, but she wouldn't dream of doing it without first spraying on her favorite perfume.

How many seventy-year-olds had been stopped by the police for speeding at ninety-six miles an hour along the A38? More to the point, how many had batted their long eyelashes at the police and managed to persuade them to let her off?

“Beautiful as ever,” Miriam pronounced, having deposited a crimson lipstick mark on Laurie's thin, tanned cheek. “Now come along inside. Are you hungry? Your father's still at the clinic but he'll be back soon. Good grief, darling, aren't they paying you for all that poncing about you do? Surely you can afford a better pair of trousers than that?”

Edward Welch, Laurie's father, was a neuropsychiatrist. Now sixty-six and no longer employed by the National Health Service, he had been unable to face complete retirement and retained a consulting room at one of Bristol's private clinics where he saw patients twice a week. It kept his own brain active, he maintained, staved off boredom, and gave him something to do other than the
Telegraph
crossword.

And lust helplessly after Miriam, thought Nadia as her grandmother led the way into the house. Following the death of his wife, Josephine, five years earlier—and allowing for the obligatory period of mourning—Edward's feelings for Miriam had rapidly become apparent to all of them. Blindingly obvious, in fact. And what handsome, successful intelligent older man wouldn't be attracted to her?

The only fly in the ointment had been Miriam's steadfast refusal to return Edward's feelings. As far as she was concerned, he was a wonderful man, a dear friend and neighbor, and that was as far as it went. They enjoyed each other's company, played canasta like demons, visited the theater, took endless country walks, and were invited everywhere together, but Miriam had made it clear there could be no more to their relationship than that. And since Edward had no say in the matter, he had been forced to accept it. Being Miriam's friend and a sizable part of her life was infinitely preferable to not being her friend and being excluded from her life. When other, keener women periodically made a play for him, he simply wasn't interested. Compared with Miriam, there was no contest.

“Now, let's feed you up. I can do steak and mushrooms with fried potatoes.” Bustling into the kitchen, Miriam threw open the king-sized fridge. “Or there's some chicken casserole left over from last night, or one of those microwave prawn-and-sole things, but it's only low-fat.” The tone of Miriam's voice indicated exactly what she thought of low-fat microwave meals. Not nearly good enough for Laurie. Checking out the freezer, she went on, “And there's an apple crumble in here, made it myself last week—”

“Miriam, chicken casserole's fine.” Laurie was trying not to laugh. “I ate on the plane.”

“But you need—”

“And I'm taking Nadia out to dinner, so I don't want to be stuffed. Markwick's,” he added when Nadia raised her eyebrows. “Table's already booked.”

Markwick's was one of her favorite restaurants. Nadia wondered if it was the equivalent of the guilty husband buying his wife roses and chocolates. From a petrol station. Then again, maybe she wasn't being fair; when he came home, Laurie was always taking her out to gorgeous restaurants.

She just didn't have a good feeling about it this time.

Still, whatever it was would have to wait a few hours. Miriam was here now, and Edward would be back soon, followed by Clare and Tilly—Laurie wasn't just hers, he was a part of the whole family.