Staying at Daisy's (15 page)

Lettonie was fabulous. Tara, who was
feeling
fabulous, gazed around the opulent entrance hall with a shiver of delight. Colworth Manor was equally posh, of course, but everyone there knew her as a chambermaid and kept asking her to do depressingly chambermaidy things like fetching more towels or scrubbing out that grate.

Suppressing a smug grin as she glimpsed her reflection in one of the long Georgian mirrors, Tara reveled in her anonymity. The maitre d’, leading them through to the sitting room for their pre-dinner drinks, had already called her ‘madam.’ And if she said so herself, she really was looking stunning tonight. Anyone seeing her and Dominic together would take them for an affluent couple, accustomed to frequenting only the best restaurants. Crikey, even her hair—slicked back tonight, instead of sticking up in its usual arrangement of chaotic spikes—looked chic.

‘I love this place,’ Tara whispered excitedly when they had been served their drinks and left in peace to survey the menu. ‘This is so great—oops, sorry!’ She clutched at her stomach, which was growling like a cement mixer.

‘Don’t apologize. You look gorgeous.’ Dominic reached for her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. He smiled. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all week.’

Tara’s heart overflowed with gratitude. A man being nice to her was one of her favorite things in the world. A man bringing her to a place like this, gazing lovingly into her eyes, and paying her lavish compliments was enough to make her insides go completely squirmy.

On an impulse, she leaned over and kissed him—just briefly, but quite lustfully, on the cheek. Maybe it wasn’t what chic, affluent couples did in restaurants (‘Oh God, a public display of affection, how naff!’), but she didn’t care.

Dominic didn’t seem to either.

‘You don’t know what you do to me.’ As he murmured the words, his mouth hovered tantalizingly close to her own. ‘God, Tara, you should come with an X rating, you’re so—
shit!
’

‘Thanks a lot.’ Tara spluttered with laughter, but Dominic wasn’t listening. Abruptly shoving her off him, he leapt to his feet, straightened his tie, snatched up his drink, and shot over to the other side of the room.

What?

Tara stared at him, wondering if this was some kind of joke. When he’d sucked in his breath and sworn like that, she’d thought he had cramp in his leg. But now he wasn’t even looking at her. For heaven’s sake, he was behaving as if she didn’t
exist
.

Mystified, she followed the direction of his panic-stricken gaze. The maitre d’ had just shown another couple into the sitting room and was busy taking their coats. As the middle-aged woman turned to decide where she’d most like to sit, she spotted Dominic and let out a shriek of delight.

‘Oh my goodness, I don’t believe it! Gerald, Gerald, will you look who’s here?’

Tara didn’t believe it either. Dominic, his face suddenly wreathed with smiles, crossed the room and greeted them both with apparent delight.

‘Marion, Gerald, how
are
you? This is such a coincidence, Annabel and I were only talking about you this morning, saying we hadn’t seen you since the wedding.’

Wedding. Oh fuck. Sliding down in her seat, Tara grabbed one of the glossy magazines from the low table in front of her, wrenched it open, and held it inches from her face.

‘Darling boy, of course you haven’t seen us! You’ve not long been back from your honeymoon.’ Marion twinkled up at Dominic. ‘Oh, but what a wedding that was! Beautiful, just beautiful… I wept buckets, didn’t I, Gerald?’

You weren’t the only one, thought Tara.

‘You and Annabel must come over for dinner soon,’ Gerald jovially announced. ‘You can tell us how you’re settling into married life.’

‘It’s our thirty-second wedding anniversary,’ Marion went on, sounding smug. ‘That’s why we’ve come out tonight. But what are you doing here, Dominic?’

Sensing the older woman’s eyes flickering over her, Tara concentrated violently on the magazine, apparently riveted by a feature on barn conversions.

‘Business meeting,’ Dominic said easily. ‘I’ve been having dinner with a couple of clients. You’ve just missed them actually, they had to drive back to Taunton. I’m waiting for my taxi to arrive and take me home.’

Tara swallowed. Inside her shoes, her toes were scrunched up so much they were practically bent double. The feature on barn conversions blurred before her eyes as she listened to Dominic cheerfully telling the couple how well they were looking, how great it was to see them again, and how much he was enjoying married life. Finally, announcing that his taxi had to be here by now, he said his good-byes, kissed Marion on both cheeks, shook Gerald’s hand, and made his way out to the entrance hall.

Leaving her sitting there with an empty glass, a furiously rumbling stomach, and aching, doubled-over toes.

Over by the open fire, Marion and Gerald chatted happily, enjoyed their drinks, and slowly—very,
very
slowly—perused their menus.

‘Poor thing,’ Tara heard Marion whisper in that carrying way so beloved of women in their sixties. ‘See her all on her own over there, Gerald? Mark my words, that girl’s been stood up.’

Heroically, Tara didn’t react. In her head, she thought of all the things she
could
say. As she turned the pages of the magazine—
Country Life
, to add insult to injury—she mentally willed Marion and Gerald to knock back their drinks, race through to the dining room, and give her a chance to
get out of here
.

***

As Tara made her way across the darkened car park she thought for a sickening moment that Dominic
had
disappeared in a taxi.

But he was still there, waiting for her in the car. She found him huddled down in the driver’s seat like a refugee in a lorry.

‘Jesus,’ Dominic hissed, glancing furtively around him before driving out through the gates. ‘That was close. That was
way
too bloody close.’

‘Where are we going?’ Tara wondered why he’d turned left instead of right. Right was the way that led into Bath.

‘What?’

‘The Red Rose isn’t far from here. That’s supposed to be really nice.’

Puffing out his cheeks and exhaling noisily, Dominic shook his head. ‘No way. Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m not going through that again. Let’s face it, restaurants like that are too much of a risk. There’s always the chance of bumping into someone who knows you.’

‘And your wife,’ muttered Tara, not quite under her breath. It didn’t seem quite fair somehow. She
wasn’t
‘the other woman,’ yet she already felt like one. All of the guilt and none of the sex to make up for it.
And
she’d had to settle their drinks bill before scurrying out.

‘Sweetheart, I’m just as disappointed as you are.’ Briefly, Dominic reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘But we had a bloody lucky escape back there.’ With a wry smile he added, ‘To be honest, I don’t think I could eat a thing now anyway.’

Tara suppressed the urge to scream. It clearly wasn’t such a big deal for Dominic. He ate out at swish restaurants all the time; one more or less gourmet meal didn’t bother him.

But Tara’s stomach didn’t work that way; it wasn’t so readily put off. She had read the menu at Lettonie, heard the gentle clinking of cutlery against plates in the dining room, smelled the fabulous cooking smells emanating from the kitchen…

Basically, her stomach was ready for food and it wasn’t going to be fobbed off.

‘I’m hungry. I’m starving.’ Her voice wobbled and rose a couple of octaves. ‘I want us to go out for a meal
now
.’

***

Tara kept trying to tell herself it didn’t matter, it really didn’t matter that Dominic had brought her to possibly
the
most horrible pub in England.

But it did, it just did.

The Brown Cow was one of those ugly, soulless establishments built in the sixties. Apart from a few surly regulars clustered around the bar, the place was empty. Every footstep echoed like a gunshot against the linoleum floor.

Dominic, evidently still not hungry, ordered a meal and ate nothing. Tara forced herself to chew her way grimly through sausage ’n’ chips in a basket, apparently the culinary high point of the evening menu at the Brown Cow. The chips had been microwaved, the sausage was tougher than a dog chew, and the peas kept getting wedged in the gaps between the woven plastic strips that formed the basket, but she didn’t stop eating until every last hideous morsel was gone.

She didn’t know if she was punishing Dominic or herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. For about the twentieth time.

‘Don’t be. I’m fine. The tomato ketchup was delicious.’ Tara’s voice had gone jerky and brittle. Taking a swig of lukewarm white wine—God, was this
really
wine?—she said, ‘And did you notice how perfectly it matched my dress?’

She was wearing, needless to say, her very best dress. Crimson velvet and spaghetti-strapped, daringly low-cut but in a way that was elegant rather than tarty, it had been perfect for Lettonie. Whereas here at the Brown Cow, she looked a complete prat. Apart from Tara and Dominic, every other customer in the pub wore mud-encrusted wellies.

‘I’d rather be here with you,’ Dominic took her hand, ‘than in any five-star hotel with Annabel.’

For a moment Tara couldn’t speak. Some juvenile part of her longed to yell that it was OK for him, he’d already stayed in plenty of five-star hotels, she’d only scrubbed their toilets.

‘I’ve blown it, haven’t I?’ said Dominic sadly. ‘You won’t want to see me again after this.’

Tears sprang into Tara’s eyes. Oh God, how could he even think that? It wasn’t his fault.

‘You can say it,’ Dominic went on. ‘Go ahead, I know you feel let down. Just tell me it’s over.’

‘And you’ll what?’ Her voice was low, her knuckles clenched white.

‘Me?’ He looked regretful. ‘I’ll leave you alone, to get on with the rest of your life.’

The rest of her life, ha. That would be her completely shitty, no-fun, man-free life, would it? The one she’d been trudging through like treacle for the last couple of years?

Were the wellie brigade listening to them? It had gone suspiciously quiet up at the bar.

‘All this hassle and we’re not even having an affair.’ Tara managed a wobbly smile. ‘Oh God, this is stupid. Of course I still want to see you. Just as a friend,’ she added hastily, in case their table was bugged.

There was a collective snort of laughter from the regulars. The one with the muddiest wellies, nudging his neighbor, leered, ‘Yeah, and the rest.’

Once, when Maggie Donovan had been six or seven, she had put her tooth under the pillow and fallen asleep happily dreaming of the tooth fairy.

When she’d woken up the next morning, her tooth had still been there.

It was exactly how she was feeling now, Maggie realized. Except this time it wasn’t the tooth fairy who was too busy to visit her. Nor, at forty-five, was she allowed to fling her teddy across the room, stamp her feet, and burst into floods of noisy tears.

‘Sorry to mess you about.’ Hector, on the phone, sounded genuinely apologetic. ‘It’s all my fault. I thought I was meeting my accountant next week, but it’s tomorrow, and I can’t really cancel at such short notice.’

‘Of course you mustn’t cancel.’ Who’s more important, after all—your fat-cat accountant with his swish offices in Clifton, or your paid tart in her unswish cottage in the High Street?

Maggie didn’t say this. To make sure she sounded cheerful and unconcerned, she determinedly fixed a bright smile to her face.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Hector sounded relieved.

‘Me? Heavens, why would I mind?’ Gazing out of the living-room window, alarming a couple of locals heading home from the pub, Maggie realized that her smile was making her look deranged. It was also starting to make her cheeks ache. ‘I’ll be fine, I’ve got heaps of things to do tomorrow anyway.’

‘We’ll fix up another meeting,’ said Hector.

Go on then, thought Maggie, silently willing him to set a date. But, frustratingly, he didn’t.

‘I’ll give you another ring in a day or two when I know what’s happening.’ He paused. ‘By the way, did you get that washing machine fixed?’

‘No.’ The washing machine saga was driving Maggie to distraction. ‘The bloody repairman was meant to be bringing the spare part this afternoon. He rang and told me he had flu.’ It’s really been my day for being fobbed off with feeble excuses, she didn’t add.

‘I wish you’d let me buy you a new one,’ said Hector. ‘Wouldn’t that be simpler all round?’

It wasn’t the first time he’d offered, but Maggie was adamant.

‘No, it wouldn’t. My washing machine
is
new, for heaven’s sake. It’s six months old, still under warranty, and it’s jolly well going to get fixed by the people who are meant to fix it. Why should you let them off the hook?’

‘But—’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Maggie said firmly. She might not have many principles but she was determined to hang on to this one.

Hector chuckled. ‘Look, what’s the time? Only ten thirty. If you’re on your own I could pop over for twenty minutes.’

It had evidently just occurred to him. With Tara safely out of the way, he could slip out of the hotel, take the short cut through the woods, and arrive at her back door in ninety seconds flat.

A consolation prize, Maggie thought, to make up for ducking out of their original agreement. Even more humiliatingly, there was nothing she’d like more. But Tara hadn’t said what time she’d be back. It would be too much of a risk.

Normally Maggie would have come straight out and told him the truth. This time, though, she heard herself say, ‘I don’t think so. Bit short notice. Actually, I’ve got a couple of cushions to finish.’

‘Oh. Right. Well, I’ll be in touch.’

Was Hector put out? Just a tiny bit miffed? Ha, jolly well served him right, thought Maggie. He’d started it.

Carelessly she said, ‘OK, fine, bye!’

***

Barney was fast asleep. He didn’t stir when Mel slid out of bed at midnight.

Her mind still whirling, she bundled herself up in her ancient blue terry cloth dressing gown and went through to the icy kitchen to put the kettle on.

Could she really move into a cottage in Colworth?
Dare
she?

Padding back into the marginally warmer living room with her mug of tea, Mel curled up on one corner of the tatty sofa and tried to picture it. Barney had been so thrilled with his news when he’d turned up after work this evening, she hadn’t had the heart to spoil it for him. As far as he was concerned, it was the answer to all their problems.

‘But… but it isn’t your problem.’ Mel had struggled to hide her shock. ‘It’s mine.’

‘That’s rubbish. You know how I feel about you.’ Barney had shaken his head vigorously. ‘Look, I know this is all a bit sudden, but we’re a couple, aren’t we? Why take things slowly when we both know what we want? And it’s fate, don’t you see? Now we can be together properly, the three of us! Mel, I can’t think of anything nicer. I want to look after you and Freddie more than anything else in the world.’

His eyes had shone as he’d gone on to describe the cottage to her. Freddie had demanded to be lifted onto his knee and without hesitation Barney had obliged. Mel, watching the pair of them together, had felt sick with fear. Barney
thought
he loved her, but how would he react if he knew the truth? He had mentioned Daisy MacLean several times already and clearly liked and admired her a lot. Daisy had given him the job he’d so desperately wanted, she was by all accounts a great person to work for, all the staff were devoted to her, and—Barney’s words—she hadn’t had an easy time of it either.

‘She’s a widow, you know. Her husband was killed in a car crash just over a year ago.’ His dark eyes had actually filled with tears as he’d related the story to her. ‘They were really happy together, then something like that happens. Can you imagine how she must have felt? But she doesn’t go on about it. She’s just a brilliant person.’

‘I’m sure she is.’ At the time, Mel had swiftly changed the subject. Happily married—yeah, right.

But now Barney was forcing the issue. Sooner or later she would have to tell him. And face the fact that it might drastically alter his feelings towards her.

Mel wrapped her chilly fingers round the mug of tea in an attempt to warm them up. Barney had moral standards, he might be disgusted and repulsed when he learned she’d had an affair with a married man. How much more badly might he take it when he discovered her particular married man had belonged to none other than his precious boss, the oh-so wonderful Daisy MacLean?

There was Daisy’s reaction to consider too. She might sack Barney on the spot.

And then, of course, there was Freddie…

‘What are you doing?’

Mel jumped. Barney was standing in the bedroom doorway looking worried. His hair was stuck up on one side of his head and he was wearing just his T-shirt and boxer shorts.

Would he hate her when he found out?

‘Nothing.’ Guilt made her feel sick. ‘Couldn’t sleep, that’s all.’

‘I woke up and you weren’t there.’ He broke into a crooked smile. ‘See? Must be love.’

The smile melted Mel’s heart. She said, ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘No thanks.’ Grinning now, he moved towards her and removed the
Simpsons
mug from her hand. ‘I want you to come back to bed with me.’

As he put his arms round her, Mel buried her cheek in the warm, comforting curve between his neck and shoulder.

She had to tell Barney.

She
would
tell him.

Just not yet.

***

Josh was kissing her, and Daisy was wondering how this had happened.

One minute they’d been roaring at the TV, attempting to drum some sense into the dithering housewife on
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
The next minute, Josh had taken her face in both hands and kissed her.

Her, Daisy. Not the dithering housewife from Beckenham who didn’t know her flageolets from her haricots.

It was one o’clock in the morning. Daisy always recorded
Millionaire
to watch before she went to bed and Josh had never seen the British version before. There was something wonderfully cozy and reassuring about watching the program together, just as seeing Josh and her father returning from a round of golf this afternoon had given her a warm, oatmeal glow in the stomach. Glancing out of her office window at three o’clock, Daisy had seen them pull up outside the hotel entrance in one of the electric buggies, laughing and joking with each other as they unloaded their clubs and headed through to the bar.

That was the thing about Josh, everyone loved him. He was humorous, easygoing, and unfailingly good company. For her own sake, Daisy knew, Hector had always made an effort to get on with Steven and had pretended to like him, but in reality he hadn’t thought much of his son-in-law. He’d hidden it well because he wanted her to be happy. But, deep down, Daisy had always known how he felt.

Anyway,
anyway
. Back to the present. The nice thing was, she had quite forgotten that kissing was something Josh had always been brilliant at.

‘Well.’ Daisy realized she was panting a bit. ‘I wasn’t expecting that to happen.’

‘Silly old bag,’ said Josh.

Indignantly she pinched his arm. ‘That’s not fair. How could I know you were going to do something like that?’

‘Not you. Her.’ Josh nodded at the TV screen. ‘Dippy Dora got it wrong, she’s just lost fifteen grand. And I just felt like it, OK? I wanted to kiss you. Don’t worry, I’ve stopped now. Won’t happen again.’

This instantly made Daisy want it to happen again.

‘Why not?’ Whoops, steady, those three glasses of wine had gone straight to her head.

‘Because we tried it once before, remember? And it didn’t work out. I’m not perfect enough for you.’ Josh shrugged, apparently unperturbed. ‘I’m a seven, maybe an eight. And as far as you’re concerned, only a ten will do.’

Was he right? Was he
still
right? Or was this where she’d been going so horribly wrong all these years? Sitting next to him on the sofa, Daisy realized that she was idly stroking his thigh. And she still wanted Josh to kiss her again. Quite badly in fact.

‘Maybe it’s time you were promoted.’

‘I’m not a ten.’ Josh’s eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I’ll never be a ten. What’s more, I wouldn’t want to be one.’

That was what she liked about him. Josh was supremely comfortable with himself, he always had been. What you saw was what you got; there was absolutely no hidden agenda.

‘OK,’ Daisy conceded. ‘Maybe it’s time I sorted myself out. Made up my mind what I really want.’

‘You and your search for Mr Perfect.’ Josh’s smile was playful. ‘What you need is a real man.’

‘Warts and all?’

‘Bloody cheek, I don’t have warts!’

‘You have faults, though,’ Daisy reminded him. ‘Leaving tea bags in the sink, for a start.’

‘You’re not so perfect yourself,’ Josh promptly retorted. ‘I’m not nearly as untidy as you are.’ As he said it he reached over and, with his finger, lightly traced the outline of her mouth.

Lightning streaks of desire darted like fireflies through Daisy’s body. Frowning, she said, ‘You leave wet footprints on the bathroom carpet when you get out of the shower.’

‘God, how dreadful, no wonder I’m only a pathetic seven. You never put the lid of the coffee jar back on properly.
And
you have disgusting knife habits. There was peanut butter in the jam yesterday, and you left Marmite in the butter this morning.’ This time, as he spoke, Josh moved slowly towards her. Frustratingly, his mouth stopped short a couple of inches from her own, leaving her craning her neck like a puppy desperate to be tickled.

‘You snore,’ Daisy whispered.

‘Ah, but only when I’m on my own. If I’m in bed with someone else, I never snore.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘What, you don’t believe me? You think I’m lying? Come on then, I’ll just have to prove it to you.’ Pulling her gently to her feet, Josh kicked her discarded shoes out of the way. ‘And that’s another thing you do, leave your shoes all over the place.’

Reaching for the remote control, Daisy pressed the OFF button.

‘And you always leave the TV on.’

‘Bloody hell, good job there’re some things I’m brilliant at, don’t you think?’ Mischievously, Josh planted another brief kiss on her mouth. ‘Now, your room or mine?’