Читать книгу Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets - Cathy Kelly - Страница 21

Leonie stared into the cage at the heavily drugged cat. He lay like a soft marmalade cushion, belly curled up and fat paws lifeless on the post-operative sheepskin blanket. Poor Freddie. Removing the elastic bands he’d swallowed had been touch and go, and Angie had been understandably nervous about operating on such an elderly cat.

‘He’s fourteen, he might die under the anaesthetic,’ she’d said worriedly to Leonie.

But there’d really been no option once Mrs Erskine was told what Freddie’s chances were. She’d broken into sobs as she held her beloved cat in her arms, saying he was her only comfort in life since her husband had died. ‘Please operate. I know he’s old, but so am I, and I’d be lost without him.’

Leonie had a lump in her throat as Angie patted the old lady on the arm, firmly helping her from the surgery into the waiting room, while Leonie held on to the distressed cat. But Freddie had come through the operation with flying colours, his intestine yielding five small elastic bands which would have certainly killed him if they hadn’t been removed.

She reached into the cage and patted his soft fur gently. ‘You’re a fighter, aren’t you, Freddie?’ she said softly, watching his body rise and fall with deep breaths. Louise, the other practice nurse, had a few phone calls to make to other anxious owners and she’d volunteered to phone Mrs Erskine to tell her the good news. The old lady would be so happy. But Freddie wouldn’t be going home for a few hours until he’d slept off the anaesthetic.

Leonie checked the cages next door. Freddie’s neighbours were two female cats who’d been spayed that afternoon. Both were still knocked out. But three cages down, the inhabitant was wide awake. He was a black tom who’d been enjoying life as a feline Don Juan in his neighbourhood for many years, fathering countless litters. The knife had finally fallen on Tommy, who’d just been neutered as part of Angie’s Wednesday afternoon surgery. Hissing from the back of his cage, he glared at Leonie fiercely, as if he knew exactly what had been done to him and was determined to wreak revenge for the loss of his tomhood.

‘Is tonight the night for romance?’ enquired Angie, coming out of the cramped surgery toilet having changed into her going-home clothes.

‘Be quiet,’ whispered Leonie in horror. ‘Somebody might hear you. No one else knows – and yes, tonight is the night.’

Leonie was already regretting everything about her blind date. She regretted having put the personal advert in the paper in the first place, and she regretted telling anyone about it. So far, the only people who knew were Hannah, Emma and Angie. But they were quite enough. The girls had been sweet about the whole idea, while Angie kept mentioning it with increasing excitement, as if Leonie would be announcing her engagement any day. If it hadn’t been for Hannah’s calm and sensible encouragement, Leonie might well have thrown all the replies in the bin.

Her ‘statuesque blonde divorcée’ advert had warranted ten replies, two of which were from men who obviously assumed she was a hooker offering a bit of French polishing under the guise of respectability. One respondent had sent a note in splotchy Biro, telling her ‘a mother of children should be ashamed to be throwing herself at men like a brazen hussy’. She considered framing it for posterity but decided against it on grounds of decency. The other seven sounded reasonably normal. Well, semi-normal. But then, as Leonie had spent a month deliberating, what exactly was ‘normal’?

Was the man who said he liked golf going to be the type who talked of nothing else but handicaps and would refuse to spend any summertime daylight hours with her when he could be out on the course? Or would the ‘good-humoured professional, loves the theatre and literature’ turn out to be a card-carrying snob who’d spit at the sight of the copy of Hello! on Leonie’s kitchen table and insist on reading Kafka in bed?

Hannah had been thrilled at the number of replies Leonie had received. ‘I told you there were scores of lonely single men out there who just want to meet someone,’ she said proudly when Leonie had phoned with her exciting news. ‘Which ones are you going to contact?’

‘I thought just the best one,’ Leonie answered, still hung up on the idea that she’d only need to meet one and that would be it.

Hannah said nothing to that but asked Leonie to read out a couple of them. They both agreed that Bob – ‘tall, forty-something, losing hair but not my sense of humour’ sounded the best.

‘Hold on to the rest of the replies,’ Hannah advised sensibly. ‘And if Bob turns out to be a complete nutter, then you can phone up the others.’

Leonie agreed but secretly thought that Bob sounded as though he might very well be the man of her dreams. His answer to her advert had been everything she’d ever fantasized about: ‘I’ve never done anything like this before. Help! I’m forty-something and my last relationship broke up a year ago. I don’t have a clue how to get into this dating thing – it’s all changed since I was young. I love children, animals, hill-climbing and the cinema. This is the first advert I’ve ever answered and I hope that it’s fate that we should both meet the first time we try this. So should we actually meet?’

The second-last sentence had sealed things for Leonie. She lived for the idea of fate, kismet and destiny; the idea of lovers who lived worlds apart but met by chance, purely because they were destined for each other in the great cosmos of love…

‘Where are you meeting Mr Wonderful, then?’ Angie asked, putting on lipstick.

‘The China Lamp,’ Leonie said. He’d said he’d be sitting on the left-hand side, wearing jeans and a tweed jacket. He’d had a lovely voice on the phone too: soft and cultured. She’d thought that the Chinese restaurant in Shankhill was far enough away from Greystones for her not to meet anyone she knew, but she might. To do so would be terminally embarrassing.

‘OhmiGod, am I mad to be doing this?’ she said out loud. ‘I mean, I’m forty-two years old and I’m going on a blind date. This is insane, isn’t it?’

‘No it’s not. It’s perfectly normal, modern stuff,’ Angie said, unperturbed.

‘What if he’s some weirdo? Maybe I should cancel, or simply not turn up.’ Panic was beginning to set in. This was the final step, much more final than sending off an advert or answering letters sent to an anonymous post office box. That was practically child’s play. Nobody knew you, nobody could contact you unless you wanted them to. This was something else.

‘Relax, will you. He’s probably telling all his pals he’s scared out of his mind in case he’s going to meet this sex-starved woman who links up with unsuspecting men via the personals for wild rampant sex.’

Leonie shuddered as she changed out of her nurse’s blue tunic. ‘I’m beginning to feel like that. Normal people don’t have to meet up like this, do they?’

‘They do if all their friends are living in married or co-habiting bliss and the only offers they get are from bored husbands who think they’re game for an uncomplicated quickie,’ Angie retorted. ‘You haven’t told anyone else about this, I assume?’

Leonie grinned ruefully. She hadn’t breathed a word to her mother. Not that Claire would have disapproved of the idea. On the contrary, she’d have been delighted to see her daughter actually do something to change her life if it meant escaping from the endless loneliness of divorced parenthood. It was just a tad embarrassing to tell your nearest and dearest that you’d resorted to the personal ads for…well, a personal life. Which was why she hadn’t said anything to the kids either. They thought she was going into Dublin for dinner with Emma and Hannah. It would be too humiliating for them to discover – and subsequently to tell the blissfully happy Ray – that their mother was going on blind dates, when her ex-husband was about to marry the Best Dressed, Cleverest, Most Beautiful lawyer in the greater Boston area. God, she hated that bitch.

‘Give me his phone number,’ Angie commanded.

‘His phone number?’

‘In case he does turn out to be a weirdo, stoopid. Then when you don’t turn up for work tomorrow, I can notify the police and your whole sordid personal life will come out in the tabloids.’

Angie’s joke had the desired effect. Leonie started laughing helplessly.

‘I don’t know what’s so bloody funny,’ said Tim, the senior vet grumpily, arriving with a limping Great Dane the size of a large pony. ‘I’ve got to stay late and operate on Tiny here to get a splinter out of his paw. Can you stay late, Leonie?’

‘No, she can’t,’ Angie answered sharply. ‘She’s worked late twice already this week. Get Louise to do it.’

Leonie waved gratefully to Angie and, grabbing her coat and handbag, hurried out the door.

Back home, World War Three had broken out and Leonie was dragged in to referee before she’d even taken her coat off. The previous day, taking advantage of Leonie’s rare plans for an evening out, Mel had asked could she and Abby have some schoolfriends over for dinner. No problem, Leonie had said, and then dutifully trudged round the supermarket in order to buy the vegetarian sausages and veggie grills that were currently the most popular food group with figure-conscious Greystones teenagers. However, Danny had arrived home with uninvited guests – two equally large, gangling students from college – and as it had been hours since their last enormous meal in the student canteen, they’d rampaged through the fridge, eating all Mel and Abby’s dinner along with the potato salad Leonie had earmarked for her lunch the next day.

‘He doesn’t even like vegetarian food!’ shrieked Mel to her mother, eyes glinting with a mixture of tears and sheer rage.

‘It’s my home too and you should have said if you wanted to keep your girlie food for your girlie friends,’ sneered Danny, who was being ultra-cool because he had pals in the house to impress. He’d then stomped off into his room, slamming the door so hard that the entire cottage shook. Loud music began emanating from the room and Mel had burst into tears.

‘I hate him,’ she sobbed. Leonie hugged her, wondering how she was ever going to find time to doll herself up for her blind date. Penny, who hated rows, was curled up miserably in her basket beside the dresser, her dark retriever eyes two great pools of distress. Catching her mistress’s eye, she whimpered softly. Leonie blew a kiss to the dog over Mel’s head. Penny had that miserable, unwalked look about her.

‘Now come on,’ she said to her daughter. ‘We’ll race to the shops and buy something else for the girls, OK?’

Mel sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Despite wearing one of her very adult American costumes – a teeny pink long-sleeved jumper and baggy, faded denims – Mel looked younger than her fourteen years when she was upset. ‘OK,’ she said grudgingly.

Just then, the doorbell rang loudly.

‘They’re here,’ Mel wailed, breaking into fresh sobs.

A chatter of excited female voices could be heard and then Abby, the peacemaker, stuck her head round the kitchen door cheerily: ‘Liz and Susie say they want chips tonight, Mel. Is it all right if we go to the chipper, Mum?’ Abby asked. ‘We’ll only be fifteen minutes, twenty max.’

‘You can, but don’t be long. I want you all here before I go out,’ warned Leonie, relieved that the threatened tantrum had been bypassed.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Mel, with a dazzling smile, her good humour restored. ‘Can I borrow some money?’ she wheedled.

‘Take some change from my purse,’ Leonie said. ‘But don’t touch the twenty-pound note.’

‘I promise I won’t,’ Mel said. She danced out of the room and a chorus of, ‘He’s gorgeous!’ could be heard.

‘Is he one of Danny’s friends?’ asked a breathless voice that Leonie identified as Liz. One of Danny’s pals – the Ricky Martin lookalike, she guessed – had obviously briefly stuck his head out of the bedroom door to see what all the noise was about.

‘Yeah, I’ll introduce you to him when we get back,’ Mel replied, as if she hadn’t been threatening murder and destruction to her brother and his pals just seconds before. The front door slammed and the loud music went up a notch in Danny’s room.

Peace more or less restored, Leonie sighed and wondered if she could risk a speedy bath. When Mel came back she’d be bound to wonder why her mother was getting all dolled up for a mere dinner with two female friends. Mel only bothered with serious beautifying for the male of the species and would be suspicious at longer than normal time spent getting ready for a girls’ night out. Fifteen minutes was enough for a soak, Leonie thought longingly. But Penny had other ideas. Now that there was nobody shouting, she emerged from her basket and stretched languorously in front of Leonie, arching her golden back and then shaking herself, blonde dog hair flying everywhere.

It was obvious she was ready for a walk, and equally obvious that none of the children – all of whom adored Penny and bickered over whom she loved most – had no intention in hell of bringing her out. Leonie relented and said that one magic word: Walkies? She knew that Penny pretended not to comprehend sentences like, ‘Get off the couch!’ or ‘You’re a bad dog for eating the remains of the chicken dinner.’ But Penny instantly understood the word ‘Walkies’.

Danny reckoned she could even spell it, because saying things like, ‘Did anyone take the dog for a W.A.L.K.?’ made her yelp delightedly.

‘Come on, Penny,’ Leonie said, bending down to give her most adoring friend a cuddle, ‘let’s go.’

She pulled her old anorak from the peg inside the back door, took Penny’s lead from the pocket and went out into the October evening. It was nearly six fifteen and it was still light, but a very wintry breeze rushed up the valley, rattling the leaves on the beech trees along the road. Thrilled to be out, Penny bounced along, pulling Leonie with her as she danced into puddles and joyously scattered piles of leaves. They hurried along the cottages on the road, the wind whistling through Leonie’s anorak. They crossed over the main road and turned left into a winding country lane which went away from the suburban streets of Greys-tones. The lane was perfect for walking Penny when it was too dark for their field walk. In the summer, Leonie thought nothing of trekking along the fields, with Penny off the lead, bounding enthusiastically to the edge of the ditches that circled the field and into the trees which bordered it. But when it was growing dark, she preferred the laneway where at least you had somewhere to run to if you met a dark menacing figure. She never let Mel and Abby walk Penny in the field: it was too isolated and you never knew who you’d meet.

Tonight, she and Penny walked quickly along the lane, Penny snuffling piles of leaves where the local dogs had left their mark. At every interestingly smelly point, she simply had to pee, looking apologetically at Leonie as she did so, a ‘sorry, but this has to be done’ look on her smiling face. Usually, Leonie didn’t mind what Penny did or how long it took her. But tonight, she was a bit tight for time.

‘Come on, Honey Bunny,’ she said reprovingly, ‘you can’t pee at every spot. Mummy is in a hurry to go home. We’ll have a long walk tomorrow, I promise.’

‘Hello.’

Leonie nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t noticed the man coming out of the big black gates accompanied by two collies straining at their leashes. Mortified at being caught talking baby-talk to her dog, she mumbled, ‘Hello,’ in reply and hurried on.

How embarrassing. He didn’t look as if he’d call his dogs honey bunnies or even let them on the bed for cuddles at night. A gruff, big bear of a man who’d bought the old house in the woods that used to belong to the doctor, he probably kept his poor dogs outside in freezing kennels. Leonie marched on. She couldn’t very well turn back yet or she might catch up with him and then he’d think she wasn’t much of dog owner, giving Penny such a short walk. It was half six but she kept going with Penny straining delightedly at the lead in front of her. After another ten minutes, Leonie realized she’d never get to have a shower at this rate, never mind a bath, so she turned for home, walking as fast as she could.

When she opened the kitchen door, a blast of warm air greeted her and the pungent aroma of fat, greasy chips from Luigi’s made her realize she was ravenous. The girls were sitting around the kitchen table, all eating daintily. Recently, Mel had been picking delicately at her food, eating in an exaggerated fashion like a supermodel determined to make a lettuce leaf last ten minutes. But at least she did eat, Leonie thought. Abby, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be eating at all. She was pouring orange juice for everybody, listening while Liz told a convoluted story about her impossible French homework and how the teacher ought to be shot.

‘Hi, Mrs Delaney,’ chorused Liz and Susie, the French story drying up immediately.

‘Hello, girls,’ Leonie said, repressing the impulse to steal a chip. ‘You’re not eating, Abby?’ she asked.

‘I’ve had mine,’ Abby said quickly. ‘I was starving.’

‘OK, girls, I’ll leave you to it.’

Fifteen minutes later, Leonie was driving down the road, hoping she didn’t look a complete fright. Bob would be expecting some glamorous type rattling with jewellery and confidence, no doubt. And he was getting a dishevelled Earth Mother who probably smelled of chips, perspiration and eau de veterinary surgery, thanks to nothing but a speedy scrub in the bathroom with a flannel. The last squirt of Opium in the bottle had definitely not been enough.

The China Lamp in Shankhill had opened a few months ago but, looking at the redbrick building which seemed strangely familiar, Leonie realized she remembered it aeons ago when it had been the Punjab Kingdom. She’d been there when she was still married to Ray. Aeons indeed. She parked outside and got out of the car, willing herself not to look in the mirror to primp. The remains of her early-morning make-up would have to do. She was a normal, modern woman who was going on a blind date. Lots of people did it; there was no need to be nervous, really.

Once inside, her courage vanished and she nearly bolted out the door. How did you ask for a man you’d never met before? March up to a waiter and purr: ‘Can you tell me, where’s the single bloke in the tweed jacket and jeans? I’m his date for the night. The name’s Desirée.’ She felt herself go weak with embarrassment at the thought. This was a ludicrous thing to be doing. She should be at home watching the telly, chatting to Mel and Abby’s friends, finishing up the remaining few chips and washing up after Danny’s next commando raid on the fridge, not here, waiting to see a strange man –

‘Leonie?’

She blinked and focused on the man in front of her. He was indeed wearing a tweed jacket and jeans, along with a very nicely ironed pale blue shirt. She looked up. He was tall, too. Very tall. And he hadn’t been joking about the going bald bit, either. His sparse hair was confined to a fast-disappearing tonsure. But he had a kind face, thin and tired perhaps, but still kind. Not Psycho material, thankfully.

‘Bob?’ she said with a strained smile.

‘That’s me!’ He kissed her awkwardly on the cheek. ‘So nobody knows we’re meeting for the first time,’ he said cautiously. ‘I thought it’d be a bit obvious if we shook hands, you know, classic signs of a couple who’ve never met before. Let’s sit down.’

He darted over to a table in a corner and held a chair out for Leonie, as if he was very keen to get her seated. She didn’t think they stood out like a personal ad sore thumb. Neither of them had a red rose clamped between their teeth or a copy of Time Out under their arm.

She sat obediently and the waiter arrived with menus, the same waiter she remembered from the Punjab Kingdom days, Leonie thought in surprise. When he was gone, she looked at Bob and tried to remember what you said on first dates.

‘So,’ she said brightly. ‘Nice to meet you. Finally.’ She knew she was smiling again, a big fake grin.

‘You too,’ Bob said, a similar smile painted on his face. ‘Er, will we look at the menus first?’

‘Yes!’ Leonie responded. Anything to avoid having to start the conversation. She pretended to look at the set menu details and surreptitiously tried to study her date. He looked fifty-something instead of forty-something; maybe it was all that teaching. His hair was greying and his face was quite lined. Then again, she couldn’t talk. Every morning when she studied herself in the mirror, her face looked a little more like a road map of Paris, complete with périphériques in red.

Bob had nice dark blue eyes, friendly but a bit anxious. She could easily imagine him at the top of a classroom, gravely trying to educate young minds into the arcane mysteries of…what?

‘What do you teach?’ she asked, delighted to have hit upon a line of conversation.

Bob’s eyes lit up. ‘Maths and physics.’

Leonie’s smile faltered. If he’d said biology or history, she’d have a hope of making sensible conversation. But physics and maths…A vision of Sister Thomas Aquinas came to her, standing at the blackboard and waiting for a clueless fifteen-year-old Leonie to recite Theorem 2.3. Sister Thomas Aquinas had had a long wait, if Leonie remembered correctly.

‘Gosh,’ she said helplessly, ‘I’m not exactly the most mathematically minded person in the world – ’

‘It’s OK,’ he interrupted her. ‘Most people aren’t. Particularly the kids I’m teaching right now.’ He grimaced. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about my job. It’s so boring compared to yours. My ex always says I could enter the Olympics in the Most Boring category when I get started about my job. Tell me about yours instead.’

Leonie filed away the bitter mention of his ex (girlfriend or wife?) for further analysis and went into a spiel about her job and how one minute you were holding some sweet little animal and the next, you were squealing with pain from a bite from the cuddly successor to Jaws. Laughing about it broke the ice and Bob was soon telling her about his beloved terrier, Brandy, a charmer with a fondness for fig rolls and licking the remains of Bailey’s Irish Cream liqueur out of glasses.

‘He sounds lovely,’ Leonie said. If Bob had a dog, then things were looking up. She could never go out with someone who didn’t adore animals.

‘Of course, he’s not with me any more,’ Bob added with a sigh. ‘He lives with my ex and her husband. She has more space and it’s only fair. I’m out all day, you see. She’s there with the baby.’

‘Oh.’

The waiter never knew how close he came to being kissed for arriving precisely then.

‘We’re ready to order,’ Leonie said brightly.

‘I’m not sure what I want,’ dithered Bob.

The waiter began to move away.

‘NO!’ Leonie said loudly. ‘It’ll only take a moment to decide.’ At least ordering would get them off the subject of ex-partners.

But there was to be no joy on that score. Bob wasn’t to be deterred. Obviously labouring under the opinion that any new inamorata had to know all about the previous ones, he considered it his duty to tell Leonie as much as he possibly could about Colette. By the time the crispy duck had arrived, Leonie knew more about Colette than she did about Bob. Colette was also a teacher but had taken a career break to have her first baby. She lived in Meath, was doing an aromatherapy course in her spare time and had been extremely gifted at the violin, if only she’d kept it up.

‘You’ve got to move on, though, haven’t you?’ Leonie announced firmly when she’d had enough of both Colette and the duck. ‘That’s why we’re here, Bob. To move on.’ She gave him an earnest look, the one she saved for telling children in the surgery that pets were a responsibility and had to be looked after, not just cuddled once and dumped back in an unclean cage.

‘Yes,’ Bob said passionately, as if he spent endless hours thinking about the concept of getting on with your life. ‘To move on, to meet other people who understand just what it’s like out there on your own: the pain, the hurt, the sleepless nights. I can tell that you understand, Leonie,’ he added heatedly, eyes roving over the purple velvet tunic that made her look even more bosomy than usual. ‘You look like the sort of person who understands things.’

Nodding, Leonie wondered whether he assumed this type of understanding would involve her pulling his head towards her bosom and letting it rest there, comfortingly. Probably, she decided. Colette had been cast in the role of the perfect partner, the one who’d got away, while Leonie was the Motherly Stand-In, who’d be good for a bit of affection to stave off pangs of loneliness.

‘Not many people understand what it’s like to be just dumped and left there, all because you’ve changed from the sort of person you were in the beginning,’ Bob said, staring at the remains of his dinner. ‘People change, I know that now, but you can change together. It’s a challenge, but you can do it. You just need the chance.’

‘You mean, Colette didn’t give you the chance?’ Leonie asked, abandoning the attempt to have a Colette-less conversation.

He shook his head sadly.

Leonie sighed. It was perfectly obvious that Bob didn’t want a partner; he wanted a support group: the Been Dumped, Now Talk About It Group. He’d blindly assumed that a voluptuous blonde divorcée must fit into the same emotional category and that was why he’d answered her advert. He wasn’t looking for love. He was in love. With Colette.

The only positive side of Bob’s descent into emotional misery was that he stopped being so jumpy. Leonie realized that if she was a bit nervous about being seen on a blind date, Bob was positively phobic about it. Every time a waiter appeared within his range of vision, he jerked, as if expecting to see the parents’ committee descend upon him and mutter something about blind-dating teachers not being suitable role models for impressionable young minds.

What was he doing here, Leonie wondered, idly crunching up another prawn cracker. They did manage to talk about Bob’s supposed other hobbies: cinema and hill-climbing.

‘I’m not much of a climber, although I walk Penny every day. But I love the cinema. I don’t really have anyone to go with because my mother prefers the theatre and the kids want to see James Bond or things with teenage actors I don’t recognize.’

‘We can go together,’ Bob said, sounding pleased. ‘How about this time next week? You pick the movie.’

At least she had a date of sorts for the following week, Leonie reflected as she drove home, stuffed to the gills with Chinese food yet feeling deflated. Bob certainly wasn’t suitable partner material, but he was a new friend and wasn’t that what agony aunts always advised: meet new people, new friends, and, when you’re least expecting it, a partner will appear. It looked good written down, anyhow.

What a strange evening. She realized she’d even talked about Ray. Well, when you were with somebody who was passionately interested in the concept of ex-relationships, you couldn’t help putting in your thruppence-ha’penny worth. And Bob had been interested too, although astonished when he realized that she had instigated her marriage break-up. ‘You simply decided it was over?’ he said, shocked.

Leonie shrugged. ‘What was the point of staying married if we weren’t right together?’ she said. ‘Too many people do, purely for convenience, because the other person is there. I don’t understand that. It’s like you’re too scared to do anything different even though you’d secretly like to do it. That’s fear of the unknown, not real love. I couldn’t cope with a life like that. I believe there’s somebody perfect out there for all of us.’

Bob had looked at her so blankly that it was obvious he couldn’t comprehend what she was getting at. Mind you, Leonie thought as she parked outside the cottage, her mother had never been able to understand it either. Every once in a while, the normally orange-juice drinking Claire would have a couple of glasses of wine and start gently berating her daughter for divorcing Ray.

‘You’ll never find a man like Ray,’ she’d mumble sadly.

Leonie thanked the man above she hadn’t revealed anything about her blind date to Claire. Because Bob certainly wasn’t a man like Ray – husband material, in other words.

Mel’s good humour appeared to have evaporated when Leonie got home.

‘Danny’s a spanner-head,’ she said crossly, emerging from the sitting room before her mother had time to struggle out of her coat.

‘Don’t use that type of language, Melanie,’ Leonie said wearily. ‘What’s he done now?’

‘He was watching videos all evening and we couldn’t bring Liz and Susie in to see ER,’ sniffed Mel. ‘And he let them smoke in the house, too,’ she added triumphantly.

‘You can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?’ roared Danny, who could hear what was going on from the sitting room.

‘Well, you let them smoke,’ roared Mel back.

‘Oh yeah, and you’re Miss Goody Two Shoes who’d turn her nose up at a cigarette if she got the chance, right?’

Mel clammed up like a shot. She must have been smoking herself, Leonie realized. That’d have to stop. Mel could forget about ever getting pocket money again if she started smoking. But that was an argument for tomorrow. Leonie felt she’d had enough tonight.

‘Would the two of you stop this bickering,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not in the mood for it. Try and act your age for once.’

Abby was in the kitchen with Penny and her plain face lit up with a grin when Leonie went in.

‘Well done, Mum,’ she said. ‘They’ve been at it since you went out. I nearly rang Gran to ask could I go round to her house to escape. By the way, Hannah rang and asked you to give her a buzz when you got in.’ Abby’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I never pointed out that you were supposed to be with her and Emma.’

Leonie grinned back. ‘I’ll let you in on my secret if you promise to keep it to yourself.’

‘Mum!’ Abby looked wounded. ‘You know I can keep a secret.’

‘Of course, I know you can.’ Abby would carry a secret to the grave, unlike her sister, who’d promise not to breathe a word to anyone but wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself for longer than a day. Leonie didn’t like asking Abby to keep something from her twin, but she knew that while Abby would be pleased her mother had had a date, Mel wouldn’t. Capricious and demanding, Mel liked to be the centre of her mother’s world and wouldn’t have coped well with news of a rival for her affection, even if it was Bob.

‘I was meeting a man for dinner. Hannah set me up with a friend of hers,’ Leonie improvised. ‘He’s very nice and she thought we’d get on. We did,’ Leonie paused delicately, ‘but as friends, really. We’re going to the cinema next week, but we’ll just be friends, nothing else.’

‘Do you still love Dad? Is that why you haven’t got a boyfriend?’ asked Abby suddenly.

Leonie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. ‘Is that what you think?’ she asked. ‘That I still love Dad like that, that I’m upset about Fliss?’

Lips clamped together as if she was scared she’d said the wrong thing, Abby nodded mutely.

‘It’s not like that at all, darling,’ Leonie said. ‘I’m happy for Dad, and I’m not in love with him in that way. I love him…but as a friend, as your father, not as anything else.’ God, she thought blankly, what else could she say to convince her daughter that she wasn’t in bits over Ray and Fliss’s nuptials?

‘I’m not upset about the wedding…’

‘But you looked as if you were,’ blurted out Abby.

‘Did I?’

Abby nodded.

‘It was a shock, that’s all,’ Leonie said, floundering. She must have looked terrible the day the kids came back from America. She thought she’d hidden it well. Obviously she hadn’t. ‘I didn’t want to go out with anybody when you were younger,’ she said in a rush. ‘It was too hard to think about men when I wanted to look after you all.’ She reached out to touch Abby affectionately.

‘I want you to be happy,’ Abby said, her face crumpling. ‘If Dad is happy, I want you to be too. Is he nice, this man you met tonight?’

For the first time since the strained conversation had started, Leonie smiled genuinely. ‘He’s nice, but he’s not Brad Pitt.’

Abby giggled. ‘Mel would kill you if he was.’

‘He’s a teacher and he’s a lovely man, but I think going to the cinema is as far as we’re going to get. Still, it’s nice to have some new friends. It’s a bit boring going out with the people your father and I knew twenty years ago.’

‘Dad told me he’d love you to come to the wedding,’ Abby said.

Leonie was astonished. ‘That’s sweet of him but…I don’t think it would be a good idea.’

Abby wasn’t finished. Now that she’d broached the subject, she was determined to finish it. ‘We had a big talk one day when Fliss had taken Mel off shopping. He wanted to know how you are and if you’re happy. He says he’s happier than he’s ever been.’

‘Great,’ Leonie said faintly. ‘Of course I’m happy, Abby. I have you three and Penny and Clover. I don’t need a man to make me happy, you know that. Granny lives alone and she’s happy, isn’t she?’

‘Granny’s different. She doesn’t need anybody.’

Which was true, Leonie reflected. Her mother was one of life’s loners, content with the company of her beloved cats and pleased to dip in and out of her daughter’s life every few days, staying for a cup of tea and then returning to the sanctuary of her own home. Her mother was a solitary woman. Leonie wished she’d inherited that trait.

‘I was thinking the other night about what happens when me and Danny and Mel are gone and you’re here on your own with Penny,’ Abby said. ‘You’ll be lonely. I know I would.’

‘Abby…’ Leonie kissed her daughter on the forehead. ‘That’s a long, long way away. Let’s not even think about a time when you’re not living here, OK? Now, you better hit the hay, love, it’s a school day tomorrow, although your sister seems to have forgotten.’

While Abby went off to tell Mel it was time for bed, Leonie sat down at the kitchen table and phoned Hannah, who was deeply apologetic for having rung while Leonie was still out.

‘It was eleven before I rang and I thought you were meeting him at half seven, I was sure you’d be home. It must have gone well,’ she added, a knowing tone to her voice.

‘Er…’ Leonie hesitated, ‘that depends entirely on your definition of “gone well”,’ she said.

‘Oh.’

‘Oh, is right. I would not expect a wedding invitation to land on your doormat any time soon, let’s put it that way.’

‘Well, I didn’t think you were angling for a white dress anyway, but I take it that Bob didn’t turn out to be the answer to any maiden’s prayers?’

‘Only if the maiden in question was a psychiatrist specializing in post-relationship trauma who needed a subject for her doctoral thesis.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘I wish I was. He is a sweet, kind man, but he is obsessed with his ex-girlfriend. On our next date, I’m expecting to see a photo of her,’ Leonie joked.

‘You mean, you’re having a second date!’

‘Not really. We’re going to the cinema together. Probably to something black and white and Swedish,’ she shrugged, ‘but it’ll get me out of the house.’

‘Phone the next guy on your list,’ Hannah urged.

Leonie shook her head and then realized she was on the phone and that Hannah couldn’t see her. ‘I think I’ve had it with blind dates for a while,’ she said. ‘I’ve dipped my big toe in the water and I’m testing the temperature.’

‘Leonie,’ pleaded Hannah, ‘you can’t back out now. Think of the other guys who answered your ad. They could be wonderful – Mr Wonderful,’ she corrected herself, ‘waiting to happen.’

‘Mr Wonderful can wait,’ Leonie said firmly. ‘I need a chance to get over my first great date with Bob. And who knows,’ she said, even though she did know, ‘he could turn out to be Mr Wonderful. He may simply need time.’

‘Time in therapy, more like,’ declared Hannah. ‘OK, you win. I’ll keep shtoom about your next date, but there’s a time limit on my silence. I want the romance of the century happening soon and I’ll keep nagging you until you get it!’

Hannah got back into bed and began to flick through her copy of Understanding Property: Your Guide to Real Estate. David James had given it to her and she was half-way through it, consuming it greedily in order to know as much as possible about her new career. After talking to Leonie, she found she couldn’t concentrate.

Leonie was a wonderful raconteur. She could make the silliest stories utterly hilarious, especially when she was being self-deprecating. Her version of the date with Bob was a classic but, Hannah thought, it was a pity it hadn’t worked out. Leonie deserved a nice bloke. Like Felix. She dropped her book and hugged her knees to her chest. Felix, Felix, Felix…Even his name was thrilling. He was an incredible guy, dripping with charisma and talent. You name it, he had it. There weren’t words for all the qualities he possessed.

And he was so ambitious, like her. That was one of the things they shared.

‘You’re like the other half of me,’ he’d murmured only the night before. They’d been lying in her bed, Felix on the side where Hannah usually slept, sprawled carelessly on the newly changed sheet, his naked body inviting her to caress it. ‘We have this connection, Hannah: you want the whole world and so do I. It’s a dangerous obsession.’ He played with her hair, curling the strands with his long, sensitive fingers. ‘My career isn’t the only thing I’m obsessed with,’ he added. ‘I’m crazy about you, do you know that?’ he said suddenly, gazing at her, dark eyes brooding.

She was afraid to speak in case she broke the spell. It would be wrong to say she was crazy about him too, although it was true. She could think of nothing else. These last few days, it was a miracle she’d been able to do any work at all for losing herself in a daydream of Felix. She couldn’t understand it really. How she’d miraculously changed overnight from being wary and suspicious just because of him. If Emma or Leonie could see her now, they wouldn’t recognize her: this adoring woman who used to be so in control, who now quivered whenever Felix merely glanced in her direction. Ms Cojones of Steel had turned into a woman in love, and she adored the sensation.

He sat up in the bed and leaned over her, his gaze trailing lasciviously over her nakedness.

‘You’re very sexy,’ he growled, the timbre of his voice rich and deep.

As usual, Hannah felt every bone in her body melt. She’d never met anybody with a voice like that. What would he sound like on stage, his rich, resonant voice reaching the back row, capturing every member of the audience in his spell?

‘I’d love to see you on stage,’ she blurted out.

‘I haven’t done much theatre,’ he said, fingers idly trailing designs on Hannah’s bare shoulder. ‘I prefer the cinema. If this TV series really works, it could be the big time for me, darling. If I make it big, will you come with me? To London?’

Hannah was still. She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Felix’s lifestyle meant he had to be the ultimate free spirit. With that in mind, she’d tried to keep things deliberately light. She never expected to see him and treated each phone call or date as an enjoyable bonus, half-knowing that Felix wouldn’t have tolerated a woman who clung to him. And now he was the one making plans for the future. She’d have to be careful, she knew. Love could hurt with greater accuracy than hate. She was scared to get too close to Felix in case he dumped her just when she’d given herself body and soul to him.

‘That’s a flattering thing to say, but I’ve never expected us to be a permanent fixture,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I can’t think of anything more wonderful than living with you, Felix, but we both have our hopes and dreams and I don’t believe in tying someone down.’

He buried his face in her shoulder and licked her skin, moving off to her mouth and kissing her deeply.

‘That’s what I love about you, Hannah. You’re so independent, you’re your own woman,’ he said admiringly when his lips left hers. ‘It’s refreshing, different. We’re made for each other, darling. You’re the sort of woman I need. An actor needs a strong partner, like you. Not some namby-pamby little hausfrau who has a nervous breakdown every time he performs a love scene with his leading lady. You’re a star, Hannah.’

He grinned at her triumphantly and she returned his smile, thanking God she hadn’t blown it all by squealing with delight at the very notion of living with him. Felix liked his women independent and in control: that was the way he’d find Hannah Campbell. Not for her the role of clinging, limpet girlfriend consumed with anxiety about her handsome lover. Strong and independent were her middle names. She let her fingers slide under the duvet where they encountered Felix’s muscular stomach.

‘One hundred sit-ups a day,’ he’d told her proudly, the first time she commented on his physique. Wash-board wasn’t the word for it. Tonight, that wasn’t what she was interested in.

‘Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?’ she murmured, fingers sliding down further.

‘I haven’t got any pockets,’ said Felix huskily, ‘but I’m certainly pleased to see you.’

‘Have a nice night out, did you?’ asked Gillian tautly, when Hannah arrived into work the following morning, still glowing from the night before. She’d slept well. Felix insisted on a good night’s sleep.

‘My skin looks terrible in the morning if I don’t,’ he said apologetically when he asked her to turn out the light. But they’d made up for lights-out at midnight by waking up at dawn to a very erotic interlude. The things that man could do with his mouth, that perfect made-for-TV mouth…Hannah sighed.

‘Lovely, yes,’ she answered Gillian automatically, ignoring the bite to the other woman’s enquiry. ‘How about you? Has Leonard got over his cold?’

Gillian, as she had discovered, liked morning chit-chat and enquiries about her health. Otherwise, she sat at her desk all day in a tight little knot of resentment, icily deflecting all subsequently friendly remarks. After a few days of that, Hannah had realized that a bit of conversation first thing made the atmosphere in Dwyer, Dwyer & James much cosier.

‘I meant to watch that Jane Austen thing on BBC last night, but I was out and forgot to tape it. What did you think of it, Gillian?’

‘I prefer real-life documentaries, to be honest,’ sniffed Gillian. ‘It was on in the background but I didn’t really watch it,’ she added and then proceeded to give Hannah a blow-by-blow account of the first episode of the costume drama.

As she talked, Hannah listened with one ear and began organizing her desk for the day ahead. The office had been so busy the last few days, ‘the last flurry before the season dies down,’ David James remarked. Last flurry or not, Hannah wanted to hire a new photographer before too long. The current guy could make a glorious multi-million-pound stately home in rolling parkland look like a two-up, two-down in need of renovation. He was hopeless and she was determined to get rid of him before the new influx of clients began to sell their homes elsewhere. Of course, bad photography worked when it made people arrive at a house they’d thought was hideous from the photo only to discover it was really a bijou residence with buckets of potential. But when it put them off viewing altogether, bad photography was a major disadvantage. He had to go, that was it. Today, she’d start phoning around for replacements.

‘Where were you last night that you weren’t in watching telly like the rest of us?’ Gillian asked archly, removing a bit of imaginary dust from her desk.

‘Out.’ Hannah had no intention of telling Tell-All Gillian about her actor boyfriend. She relented, however, seeing Gillian’s mouth metamorphose into a prune. ‘With my girlfriends. We went to an Indian restaurant for a meal.’ Well, they’d eaten Indian, after all, though she could hardly tell Gillian that her lover had licked cucumber raita off her nipples because they’d been eating their takeaway in the nude.

‘I can’t stand Indian food,’ Gillian muttered.

You would if it was served on six foot of blond sex god, Hannah thought with a secret smile.

By noon, she’d been in touch with four photographers who were going to visit the office with their portfolios and she’d arranged for a stand-in to replace their own photographer, whom she’d fired.

‘You can’t do this to me,’ he had sputtered on the phone when Hannah rang him to politely tell him that she was giving him a month’s notice. ‘I’ve been working for your boss for years. I’ll go over your head and have you sacked, you bitch. You can’t fire me.’

‘Actually, I can,’ Hannah said calmly. ‘You work for us on a freelance basis, which means that I don’t even have to give you a month’s notice. I was doing that out of respect for the years you’ve worked for us. It’s not necessary. And you may phone my boss if you wish. But you’ll find that this decision is final.’

‘It’s so sudden,’ he roared, ‘not a clue you were going to do this. When I think of the work I’ve put in for you people, out in all weathers, trying to make crappy dumps look nice. This is the thanks I get, being dumped by some whippersnapper who’s probably screwed somebody to get the job. Or have you some boyfriend in mind for my job? Is that it, eh? Nepotism?’

Hannah had had enough. ‘If you haven’t seen this coming, you must be living on another planet,’ she said. ‘Ever since this branch has been renovated, I’ve had to phone you about bad photos. Remember the property on Watson Drive? You had to go back twice because of how terrible the photos were. The house was a total blur the first time. It was impossible to tell where the house ended and the garage began. The owners wanted to go to a different estate agency and only a promise that we’d give them a discount in their fees, as well as taking the photo again until they were satisfied, made them stay with us. You must have realized that we were not pleased with your work. And, no, I’m not firing you so I can conveniently hire one of my relatives. I have four total strangers coming in tomorrow to apply for the position. As office manager, it’s my job to make sure this business runs smoothly. If you were doing your job properly, you’d still have one. Good day to you.’

She put down the phone to find David James and at least half of the office staring at her. Gillian looked outraged. David looked amused, his dark eyes shining at her and a smile curving up the dead straight line of his mouth.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to do that. His shots are so obscure that they practically qualify as modern art.’

Hannah let herself indulge in a small smile. ‘Nobody likes firing people, but it has to be done if we want the company to grow,’ she said seriously. Not that I’ve ever fired anyone before, she added to herself. But nobody here had to know that.

She may have come from a background where her family took orders rather than gave them, but she was determined to hide the fact. Hannah knew she could play to the manor born as well as the best of them.

Her phone buzzed. Hannah jumped, hoping it was Felix, but it was David James. ‘Can you drop into the office?’ he asked.

He was staring at an open file on his desk when she arrived but Hannah had the funniest feeling that David wasn’t paying any attention to it. He looked distracted, tired even, which was unusual for him. He was such a powerhouse of a man, she often felt that if the electricity went off, they could power the office from the energy emanating from him. But today he had shadows under his eyes and there were new lines etched in his already craggy face. He had the weary air of a man who’d spent the night with a sick child, although she knew he didn’t have any kids.

Gillian often mentioned David’s ex-wife, with whom he had a strained relationship. According to Gillian’s intelligence-gathering machine, they’d separated a few years ago but weren’t divorced yet. David was still in love with her, insisted Gillian wistfully, although his love wasn’t returned. Unlike some of Gillian’s wilder bits of gossip, this titbit made sense: why else would a clever, attractive man like David James still be single?

Hannah wondered briefly if his miserable love life was the reason David looked tired or if it was something to do with work. She’d never dream of asking, though. Anything other than business was taboo between them for all their easy-going relationship.

They talked briefly about the type of photographer they needed and, when the conversation was over, Hannah stayed in her seat. ‘Is there anything else, David?’ she asked, sure there was something he wanted to discuss.

‘No.’

She rose gracefully to her feet.

‘Actually, there is.’

He looked ill at ease and he fiddled with his pen as he spoke. ‘I know it’s not exactly any of my business, but I believe you’re seeing Felix Andretti.’

Hannah stared at him, taken aback by this personal remark. ‘It isn’t really any of your business, David,’ she said formally, ‘but I am seeing him. Is there a problem with that in relation to my job?’

David sighed. ‘Come down off your high horse,

Hannah,’ he said in exasperation. ‘I’m not playing the heavy-handed boss and there’s no law that says you can’t go out with a friend of mine. I’m just asking. I’ve seen Felix a few times lately and he never mentioned it to me.’

Hannah stared at him. How strange. Felix had said nothing to her about seeing David. Stranger still that Felix hadn’t mentioned her to David, but then perhaps he was trying to be discreet for her sake.

‘Another friend of mine who’s a film producer mentioned that Felix was dating you. I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think Felix would be your type.’ David looked up from his desk to gaze at her. His expression was, as usual, unreadable. He had to be a superb poker player, Donna always said. You’d never know what he was thinking behind that cool, detached exterior.

‘Who knows what sort of person is anyone’s type,’ Hannah said dismissively, trying to remain calm even though a maelstrom of emotions were stirred up inside her at the thought of her lover’s secretiveness. How could Felix meet her boss and say nothing to her? What else had he been hiding? He was so damn enigmatic, so insistent on keeping parts of his life shrouded in mystery.

‘Of course, I appreciate that,’ David was saying slowly and painfully as if he was pulling teeth. ‘I was merely concerned about you, that’s all. You’re my star employee and I don’t want to see you being hurt because I’ve inadvertently introduced you to someone…’

Hannah finally tuned in. ‘Because you’ve inadvertently introduced me to someone who’s what?’ she demanded hotly at the implied criticism.

David’s face was impenetrable as he ground his pen nib into his desk until it left a mark.

He must hate doing this, Hannah thought suddenly, aware of how tense he was. Every muscle in his face was taut. Getting involved in personal matters was obviously distasteful to him, but he seemed to have an old-fashioned feeling that he had some duty to his workers. Victorian wasn’t the word for it.

‘Someone with a reputation for being a playboy,’ David said finally, as if it was vitally important that he pick his words with care.

‘I’m a big girl, David. I can look after myself,’ Hannah said with finality. The conversation was over as far as she was concerned. ‘Is there anything else?’

David shook his head and stared at her for a moment before looking back at his paperwork.

The rest of the morning sped past. Hannah tried not to think about Felix’s odd behaviour in meeting David and not mentioning it to her. It was nothing, she was sure of it.

Dismissing the idea that he was sly from her mind, she began to plan their dinner tonight. Felix was coming round after his first day’s filming in Wicklow. She’d told him she’d cook, as distinct from ordering pizza, although her nerve faltered at the idea of making something edible that didn’t involve chicken breasts and a tin of supermarket sauce.

Normally, she didn’t take a full lunch break, preferring to eat a sandwich in the office before going for a brisk ten-minute walk to clear her head for the afternoon. But today, as soon as the clock hit one, she nipped down to the main street in Dun Laoghaire to buy something special for dinner. A bottle of really good wine, she decided, browsing through the wine shop and wondering if the most expensive wine was the best. David would know something like that, she thought, staring blankly at racks of bottles. She’d meant to ask his advice earlier, but after this morning’s strange discussion it had seemed best not to. In the light of his remarks about her inability to look after herself, she hated to show her lack of savoir-faire when it came to wine. No, she’d ask the guy in the shop.

‘I’m not much of an expert on wine,’ she said, ‘but I want a Spanish red…’ she tried to remember what wine Felix had picked that first time they’d gone out to dinner. Spanish, definitely. But her accent was atrocious. ‘Marques de…?’ she said hesitantly, thinking she’d probably said it totally wrong.

‘de Caceres,’ finished the wine shop man confidently.

Admitting you didn’t have a clue was a novelty for her but it had certainly worked out well, Hannah decided as she strolled back to the office carrying her two bottles of wine, some horrifically expensive Parma ham and a Provençal tart. Felix would be impressed, she was sure of it. Cooking was not her strong point. When she’d lived with Harry, they’d existed on a diet of chicken with supermarket sauces or takeaways.

‘Press the redial button on the phone and you’ll get the Kung Po Palace,’ Harry used to joke. He thought it was a howl telling people that. But then, he was hardly king of cuisine himself. His idea of a home-cooked meal was putting the little tinfoil containers back in the oven when he got home to re-heat them.

Felix, on the other hand, said he loved cooking. ‘I’ll cook you my special veal parmigiana soon,’ he’d told Hannah. She couldn’t wait. In the meantime, she was going to show him that she too could cook, even it that wasn’t strictly true. The Provençal tart was straight from the deli, but what Felix didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

That afternoon Hannah was so busy, she barely had time to think about Felix. She still managed it, though. By half six, she was home, singing to herself as she carelessly arranged the arum lilies in her glass vase. She put her Carmen CD in the player, poured herself a glass of wine and started getting dinner ready. He’d be there by seven thirty at the latest, he’d said.

By eight, the edges of the Parma ham were beginning to curl from being left out on the carefully laid table, so she put the plates back in the fridge. She poured another glass of wine and waited.

At ten, she listlessly ate her part of the meal and watched the second half of Romancing the Stone. She’d seen it so many times she didn’t need to see the first three-quarters of an hour to know what had happened. As she watched, she unconsciously listened for the sound of footsteps outside. One of the paving stones on the path to the front door made a very distinctive noise when anybody stepped on it. Even from her first-floor flat, Hannah could hear people walking to the red-brick Victorian villa. She sat up eagerly when somebody stepped on it at half ten but sank back into her seat dispiritedly when she realized it was the couple from the flat downstairs coming noisily home. The bottle of wine was empty by the time Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner were kissing on board his new yacht as it was towed along a New York city street. Hannah switched off the television, threw Felix’s dinner in the bin and went to bed. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered going to bed as she lay wide-eyed in the darkness. She couldn’t sleep, but going to bed was automatic. Like getting up and going to work the next day.

Nobody in Dwyer, Dwyer & James noticed the dullness in Hannah’s usually sparkling toffee-coloured eyes. She was determined they wouldn’t. She chatted idly with Gillian about inconsequential things, interviewed four photographers with her usual polite skill and even had a quick tuna sandwich with Donna Nelson in the little coffee shop around the corner. She talked, smiled and worked, all on automatic pilot. Inside, she was screaming. Screaming at herself for being so incredibly stupid as to ever trust a man, and screaming at Felix for treating her like this. If she ever saw him again, she’d kill him, so help her.

She wasn’t the only one in the office in a raging bad mood. David James was in a foul temper.

Most uncharacteristically, he’d roared at Steve Shaw over some deal that had fallen through and later the walls of his glass office rattled as he was heard yelling down the phone at someone. Hannah knew how he felt. She could have contributed a bit of screaming herself.

When he threw open his office door and yelled that he wanted coffee – now! – all the staff flattened themselves into their seats and hoped they wouldn’t have to brave his temper by being the waitress.

‘You go,’ Gillian begged Hannah. ‘I’m having one of my turns. I couldn’t face him in this mood.’

Anything for a quiet life. Hannah made coffee and put four chocolate-chip biscuits on the tray before carrying it into David’s office. He glared at her, taking in the heavy make-up to hide her exhausted eyes and the bright red shift dress she’d worn to try and lift her mood that morning. Severely tailored though it was, the dress couldn’t hide Hannah’s slim curves and, as the skirt ended just above the knee, it showed off a length of slender leg in elegant high heels. She’d left her hair loose today, hoping to make herself feel like a desirable woman instead of a dumped cow who couldn’t keep a man longer than a few weeks. The long, lustrous curls rippled around her face prettily, half hiding her elegant pearl stud earrings.

David was not impressed. ‘I’d prefer if your private engagements didn’t interfere with your obligations to this office,’ he snapped, staring at her grimly. ‘I don’t think that outfit is really suitable for Dwyer, Dwyer & James.’

The Vesuvius inside Hannah erupted. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve worn this outfit into the office many times before and I am not wearing it because I’m going on a date. In fact, I’m wearing it for exactly the opposite reason. You bloody men are all the same,’ she hissed.

David’s chilly eyes grew a few degrees warmer.

‘What do you mean, “for the opposite reason”?’ he asked mildly.

Hannah had had enough. Always controlled and calm, she’d have preferred to be dragged naked over hot coals than to let her professional demeanour drop in a business situation, but today, exhausted and heartsore, she let everything drop.

‘I’m wearing it to remind myself that I’m a clever, powerful woman who doesn’t need a bloody man around, especially not anal-retentive bosses who can’t cope with the sight of a woman in sexy clothes in case she emasculates them, and,’ she paused, her voice quivering with rage, ‘because I’ve had it up to here with men, full stop. You’re all insecure, unreliable and utter liars!’

She slammed the tray on to his desk and the coffee slopped out of the cup and on to the tray. Picking up two of the biscuits, Hannah dropped them venomously into the cup. ‘Here’s your coffee, your lordship. I hope you choke on it!’

She slammed the door on the way out and marched into the ladies’, where she allowed herself a few moments leaning against the cool tiles of the wall to get herself back to normal. She wasn’t apologizing, no way. David had been out of bounds with his comments. He had no right to make such personal remarks, and if he thought he had, then he’d better start looking for another office manager because she was leaving. Her only regret was that she’d revealed as much as she had. Unless David was thick as four short planks, he’d figure out that things weren’t going too well between her and Felix. Damn him, anyway.

‘I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s in great form now,’ Gillian whispered as Hannah sat at her desk, head held high, daring anybody to say a word of reproof to her. ‘He’s laughing so loud you can probably hear him half-way down the street.’

Hannah peered in through the glass partition and there was David, phone jammed against his ear and his head thrown back as he laughed uproariously, eyes crinkled up with amusement.

‘Like all men, he needs to be kept on a tight rein,’ Hannah said grimly. ‘That’s all they understand.’

An hour later, David, briefcase and coat in hand, left his office and stood in front of Hannah expectantly. Normally, she’d have smiled back, admiring the Italian grey wool suit that hung so well on his large frame, the clever tailoring emphasizing broad shoulders and hiding the slight thickening around the waist from too many business lunches. Today, she glared at him.

‘I’ve told you I was flying off to Paris for a long weekend,’ he said to her.

Hannah’s eyes were frigid. He could go to Kathmandu overland on a limping camel for all she cared.

‘I think we need to talk, so I’m sorry I’m going,’ he added, looking at her almost regretfully.

Hannah didn’t give a damn if he was feeling guilty and wanted to apologize. Let him feel guilty: let every man on the planet feel guilty. They deserved to.

‘I’ll be back on Tuesday and maybe we could go to lunch?’ His face had lost that impenetrable look. He appeared hopeful…yes, that was definitely the word. Hopeful that she wouldn’t resign, Hannah decided.

‘Fine,’ she said with the frosty manner of a duchess.

He left smiling and, as he shut the door behind him, David turned and gave Hannah a rowdy wink that could clearly be seen by everyone else in the office. Honestly, he was incorrigible, she thought crossly.

The rest of Friday passed in a blur and, at the thought of facing a Felix-less weekend at home, Hannah decided to work on Saturday morning. It was that or spend the day feeling like a balloon with the air let out of it. Hannah didn’t know why she felt so empty without him. She’d lived quite happily on her own for the past year and a half, so why now, a mere month after meeting Felix Andretti, had he become such an important part of her life? Why had all the things she enjoyed doing up to now, like going to the gym or sitting in her small, cosy sitting room reading, seem dull and hopeless?

‘I thought you’d given up working weekends now the place is shipshape,’ commented Donna when Hannah arrived in the office at eight fifteen on Saturday morning.

‘I have a few things to get organized and it’s so busy during the week that I never have a chance,’ Hannah replied, bending over the bubbling percolator so that Donna wouldn’t see her tired eyes and the dark circles under them. She’d planned to camouflage her misery with make-up in the ladies’ loo, thinking that she’d be the first in. But now that Donna was here, she’d have to talk. Donna was one of those people who noticed things. Hannah didn’t want her noticing the palpable misery she knew was emanating from her like radioactivity from plutonium.

Yawning deliberately to make it look as if she’d had a late night, Hannah picked up her coffee and her handbag and made for the loo. ‘Must tart myself up or I’ll frighten the clients,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘Remind me never to drink too much Spanish wine again!’ she added ruefully.

‘Drowning your sorrows?’ Donna said gently.

Hannah stopped and looked at her. Donna wasn’t inquisitive or the office gossip, for that matter. Just someone intuitive.

‘That obvious, is it?’ Hannah said finally.

‘Only that you looked pretty wretched yesterday. Not that anyone else would pick up on it,’ Donna added hastily. ‘You hide it well. But I recognize that look; I’ve had it often enough myself. If you want to talk, be my guest. I won’t be broadcasting to the Gillian Network. And if you don’t feel like talking, that’s fine too. I thought you might need a shoulder to cry on yesterday when we went out to lunch, but I can understand you wanting to keep your private life private.’

Hannah put down her handbag and her coffee and sank into the nearest chair. ‘You have to have a life to keep it private,’ she said, trying to joke.

‘Is it David James?’ Donna asked gently.

For a moment, Hannah was startled out of her misery. ‘David?’ she repeated in astonishment. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? He behaved like a complete asshole yesterday, but, God, that’s all. Nothing I can’t manage. Typical boss.’

‘Oh,’ Donna said. ‘I’d rather got the impression that there was something between the two of you…’ Her voice trailed off as Hannah gaped at her.

‘Where did you get that idea?’ demanded Hannah. ‘He’s good to work for, but there’s nothing between us.’ She cast around wildly for words to describe her relationship with David, words to explain how platonic it all was. ‘He’s a nice man and all that, but, really…And he’s still besotted with his ex, isn’t he?’ she added.

Donna raised one eyebrow. ‘I don’t know where you got that idea. I don’t think there are two people on Earth who were happier to get shot of each other. A marriage made in hell was how I heard it described, by someone who knows them both.’

‘Gillian said he was still in love with her.’

‘Gillian desperately hopes he’s in love with his ex because then he can’t fall in love with anyone else…like you, for example,’ Donna said shrewdly.

This time Hannah laughed out loud. ‘How ludicrous.’

‘It isn’t ludicrous at all,’ Donna protested. ‘I’m not the only one who thinks David is keen on you and Gillian wouldn’t be able to stand it. She hates you, you know, and it would kill her if her beloved Mr James fancied you.’

‘Well, she’s safe from instant death because he doesn’t fancy me,’ said Hannah jokingly.

‘I think he does, actually,’ Donna said quietly.

Hannah couldn’t hide how jolted she was. ‘I…I…’ she stammered. ‘I’m in love with someone else,’ she managed finally. ‘David is just a colleague, the boss. He knows my boyfriend, he knows I’m going out with someone,’ she said.

‘And this boyfriend is the one giving you sleepless nights, then?’

Pleased to have the uncomfortable subject changed, Hannah nodded wryly. ‘I like having some trauma in my life,’ she said caustically. ‘Heartbreak and romantic nightmares are my hobbies. Mind you, at least I’m not in love with David. God,’ she shuddered, ‘imagine being in love with the boss. What a nightmare that would be!’

Talking to Donna had helped, Hannah realized, as she climbed on to the stepper in the gym that afternoon and began entering in her weight and what programme she wanted to use. This would help even more. Nothing cleared her head like pounding away on the step machine, working up a sweat until her muscles ached from the exercise. It had worked on Harry; it’d work on bloody Felix, the bastard! Up down, up down, she ground away like a machine, letting the intense and repetitive action work the fury out of her system. What she’d do to that bloody Felix-fucking-Andretti if she ever met him again. Pound, pound, pound. He’d be lucky if he was able to walk when she was finished with him. Disturbingly, David James’s face kept shimmering into her subconscious mind. He’d been telling her only a few days ago that he hadn’t been to the gym in two weeks because of work.

‘When you get to my age, you’ve got to try harder,’ he sighed, patting his stomach. ‘You wouldn’t think I once ran three marathons, would you?’

‘You’re very fit-looking,’ Hannah had protested.

‘I’m a stone heavier than I was when I ran the marathon,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ve got to get to the gym three times a week. But the way business is right now, the only way I’m going to get any exercise is if I install a running machine in my office.’

Hannah increased the intensity of the stepper. David couldn’t possibly fancy her, Donna must be wrong about that. Yet the look on his face when he’d left the office the day before kept coming back to her. He wanted to talk to her about something on Tuesday, but what? And he’d cheered up out of his black mood when she’d screamed at him about how unreliable men were. He’d known she meant Felix, must have figured out it was over between them. Perhaps he wanted to tell her he was interested in her after all. She felt a hot flush that had nothing to do with exercise flood through her. What an awkward mess. There was no room for anyone in her heart but Felix, damn him.

Pulling her gym bag out of the car was an effort after two solid hours of working out. Hannah’s body ached pleasurably from it, her limbs feeling leaden. She was ravenous and wondered if she had the energy to cook anything or if she’d simply stick a curry in the microwave and pig out on that.

She was trying to recall exactly what was in the freezer section when she saw the blond head. Lounging beside the front door, all in black and wearing the expression of a child who has just seen his kitten run over and was considering whether to cry or not, was Felix.

He’d been leaning against the red-brick wall, staring off down the road as if waiting for Hannah to arrive from the other direction. With his head turned slightly, she could see the exquisite profile in perfect detail. Probably what he’d planned, Hannah was surprised to find herself thinking. His nose was chiselled like a Greek god’s, while strands of golden hair fell over eyes staring morosely into the middle distance. It was a pose that must have looked wonderful through the lens of a camera, she thought grimly. Well, if dear Felix had arrived with the intention of acting his way out of this one, he was in for a big surprise.

She banged the front gate viciously and flakes of blue paint fell off on to the weeds between the paving stones.

‘What do you want?’ she said coldly, stopping a few feet away from him.

Felix looked at her and his eyes filled with misery. He said nothing but stared at her mutely, expressing so much emotion in that tortured gaze that Hannah felt her iciness melt away. God, she’d missed him. It had been like a pain, a physical pain. And now he was here…waiting for her, looking like he’d been in pain too.

Sensing the change in the way she felt, Felix took a step forward and crushed Hannah in his arms. At that first touch, she dropped her gym bag and clung to him, letting his mouth bury itself in her hair, letting him murmur endearments to her. The scent of his aftershave filled her nostrils, that dear familiar spicy smell which warmed her heart and sent little shivers up and down her spine. Shivers of erotic excitement. After their third date, she’d considered buying a bottle of it, just to be able to smell him when he wasn’t around. Today, she’d smelled it on some bodybuilder in the gym, a tantalizing waft of Felix that had made her knees go weak with longing and misery.

And here he was outside her door, longing for her too. She pulled away briefly, to stare up at him questioningly.

‘I couldn’t get away, my love. The director…’ he paused, eyes flickering over her face as if memorizing every detail of a beloved painting. ‘I thought you’d never forgive me for the other night but it was so late when I finally got out of his trailer and then I almost lost my nerve. I was scared you’d never forgive me. You’re so determined, so brave, so sure of everything. But I missed you terribly, I had to come, even if you throw me out.’ He hung his head and Hannah couldn’t bear it.

‘Course I forgive you, silly,’ she said, half-laughing, half-crying. ‘I missed you too, so much. I was worried when you didn’t even phone me. I couldn’t get in touch with you.’

‘I’m sorry, the director kept me late going over scenes. He’s a slave driver, I told you.’ Felix grinned at her, his laughing golden beauty restored now that he was forgiven. ‘Let’s go inside so I can show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.’

Afterwards, they lay lazily in bed with Felix indulging in his secret vice: smoking. He even smoked beautifully, she thought, propped up on the pillows and watching his long fingers hold the white cigarette languorously as curls of smoke drifted from his lips. ‘Everybody is becoming terribly anti-smoking,’ Felix grumbled, inhaling deeply. ‘I daren’t say I smoke any more or some bloody casting director will complain about how it ruins the skin and gives you lines around the mouth.’

‘You don’t have any lines around your mouth,’ protested Hannah, looking at the lush mouth in question.

‘Thankfully. I’m going to have dermabrasion at the first sign of them,’ he said, feeling for lines.

‘You goose! Men look better with lines,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s actresses who have to stay young for ever. Actors turn into Clint Eastwood. Although you’re much better looking.’

He kissed her. ‘You’re so good for my ego, darling,’ he purred.

‘Tell me what happened on the set,’ Hannah said in what she hoped was a non-accusatory tone of voice.

She wanted an explanation of sorts. To be absent without explanation for one day was one thing; to miss a dinner they’d planned was another thing entirely. He could have phoned. Wicklow wasn’t Outer Mongolia.

Felix sighed. ‘The director and I were having very different views on my character. Radically different. He thinks I should be playing Sebastian as someone without sophistication, a callow innocent, if you like. While I know he’s supposed to be a complex character who pretends to be unsophisticated, do you see?’

As Felix had originally explained his role in the First World War drama as that of a blindly patriotic young officer who was sent off to fight as nothing more than cannon fodder, Hannah couldn’t see how the character had metamorphosed into a sophisticate. The innocence of his character, Sebastian, was what had drawn Felix to the role in the first place. It was totally different from the street-wise, knowing roles he’d always played on television previously. Or at least, that’s what his agent had said, according to Felix.

‘Sebastian understands what’s really going on but feels it’s his duty to fight, even though he knows he’s going to be killed,’ Felix said fiercely. ‘That’s his motivation – duty not stupidity.’

‘Have you and the director resolved the problem?’ Hannah enquired delicately.

‘I don’t know. Not really, not yet.’ Felix threw the covers from his body and climbed out of bed. He stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one. ‘I can’t play this guy as a fool, it’d be so bad for my profile. Felix Andretti playing some bloody stupid idiot. I’d be stuck playing halfwits from now until the year dot.’

His face was dark. It was evening and the pale October sun had long since disappeared, leaving the bedroom cast in shadows.

Hannah watched him from the bed. She wasn’t sure what to say. Pointing out that he’d fought to play this character in the first place would be a mistake. Actors’ egos were such fragile things, as she was discovering daily. Yet, if Felix argued with the director, he could be thrown off the series. That happened, she knew. He wasn’t the star, he was replaceable.

An idea struck.

‘What about your agent – couldn’t you ask her opinion?’ she said.

‘I’ll have to use your phone,’ Felix said thoughtfully. ‘My mobile’s broken.’

‘I didn’t know you had one.’

He shrugged, his mind already miles away. ‘That’s because it’s been broken for so long.’

She left him dialling his agent, Billie, in London and went into the kitchen to see what she could rustle up for dinner. A Spanish omelette was being browned under the grill half an hour later when he danced into the kitchen, his depression gone and his face animated. Felix slid his arms round Hannah’s waist as she stood at the grill, peering in at the omelette. ‘You’re a miracle worker, do you know that?’

Thrilled he was happy, she smiled. ‘No, why?’

‘I phoned Billie, and she agreed with me. Said Sebastian was obviously a more intelligent and aware character than they’re giving him credit for. But she says we’ve got to give the director his shot at it. Says he’ll discover he’s wrong but we’ve got to do it all as per the script. The director had already rung her and told her my scenes were dynamite, so I’m going to give him a chance. I phoned him now and he’s delighted.’

‘Phoned the director on location?’ Hannah enquired innocently, taking two plates out of the cupboard. So there were phones on the set. Hannah felt a knot of unease in her guts. Felix could have phoned her if he’d wanted to. The way he could have told her he’d met David James if he’d wanted to. She looked down. The hand holding the plate was shaking. Stop it, she commanded herself. Remember your middle names: Hannah – Strong Independent – Campbell.

‘Yeah, he was happy.’ Felix didn’t appear to notice her comment. ‘This smells great. Let’s eat, then we’re off into town to Lillie’s. There’s a gang from location going out on the town tonight. It’ll be fun, are you up for it?’

‘You bet,’ Hannah said automatically.

She’d never been to the Grafton Street nightclub before. Harry had been more of a pub sort of bloke and their nights of wild revelry had been confined to drinking sessions in Ryan’s of Parkgate Street, which was near their old flat. She loved dancing and put on her designer strappy dress with glee, thankful that she’d washed her hair earlier in the gym. Felix was crazy about the dress and, after looking at the mainly conservative garments in her wardrobe, said she needed lots more like it. In the taxi into the city centre, he was so turned on by the outfit that he nearly made the driver turn around again and take them back to Hannah’s flat.

‘I thought you were mad to go partying,’ said Hannah, slightly embarrassed by his touching her up with the taxi driver pretending to keep his eyes on the road.

‘You mean, you’re a party animal after all?’ Felix murmured, fingers burrowing under her hem.

‘Raring to go,’ she replied primly, removing his hand and giving him a jokey smack on the wrist.

But by the time she and Felix left the Shelbourne after a few quick drinks to go to Lillie’s, Hannah, who’d been up at seven to get into the office early, was feeling the effects of both her early morning and her energetic gym workout. It was only ten forty-five and she was already tired. Felix, on the other hand, was like the constellations in the sky – he came alive at night.

‘I’m crazy about you, babe,’ he crooned at her as they walked down Grafton Street, clicking his fingers to some inner beat. He was wired, almost as if he’d taken something, Hannah thought worriedly. But he couldn’t have, he’d been with her the entire time.

Queues of people thronged the small entrance to the nightclub, all eager to be seen in the place where rock stars and models let their hair down. For a brief moment, Hannah wondered how they were going to get in but she’d reckoned without her boyfriend. Even though he’d only been living in Dublin for six weeks, the bouncers obviously knew Felix and welcomed him in with open arms. Within minutes, they were being led into what the blonde waitress had described as ‘the library’ where a gang of people lounged around on armchairs with ice buckets and glasses splayed on the tables in front of them. Despite the music and the booze, everyone looked studiedly bored.

‘Felix, honey!’ squealed one lean and rapacious redhead in a leather dress, unwinding herself from the arm of a sofa to wind herself around Felix.

‘Carol,’ he said, giving her a long kiss on the cheek, one long-fingered hand resting on her sinewy hip. ‘Said I’d come, didn’t I?’

‘Not that you’d be bringing company,’ Ms Leather Dress said, giving Hannah the once over.

Hannah recognized competition when she saw it. And she knew how to deal with it too.

She let her full mouth curve into a feline smile and, as extravagantly as possible, let her coat slip from her shoulders to the seat behind her. With the amethyst dress moulded to breasts already shoved into a breathtaking Wonderbra’d cleavage, she was a match for any skinny redhead.

‘Felix and I go everywhere together,’ she said to Carol.

Felix pulled himself away from the other woman’s grasp and moved towards Hannah.

‘Got yourself quite a babe there, Felix, my man,’ said one of the onlookers appreciatively.

‘I know,’ drawled Felix, draping one arm protectively around his property.

Hannah gave Carol a loaded smile. Don’t mess with me, it said.

More champagne was ordered, packets of cigarettes were circulated and nobody appeared to want to dance. They were all far more interested in posing in the exclusive section of the club, looking coolly distant each time anyone unconnected with their party was given admittance. Hannah was sure she recognized a couple of guys from an American rap band in one corner but as nobody gave them a moment’s notice she reckoned she was wrong. It was only when a fan sneaked past the library security to get an autograph that she realized she’d been correct all along. It was just that the gang of actors she was with refused to recognize anyone else. Hoping to be recognized themselves, they feigned ignorance of any other vaguely famous people. Her first insider glimpse into the world of showbiz made Hannah realize that there was only one thing more important than fame to this lot: looking coolly unconcerned. It was an art form that they all practised desperately. Hannah was pretty good at looking coolly unconcerned herself.

She drank champagne and sat calmly beside Felix, who was more animated than a Duracell bunny. She’d have loved to have asked him who everyone else in their party was. Who was playing which part, or even, were they all actors? They all appeared to work on the TV series with Felix but were quite vague about their jobs, apart from Carol, who told everyone within a fifty-metre radius that she was playing a nurse and had trained in RADA.

‘What do you do?’ she asked Hannah beadily, sinking into Felix’s seat when he’d gone off to the loo.

Without blinking, Hannah lied. ‘I run a property business.’

Carol looked upset at this information. Obviously Carol had hoped she was a bimbo, Hannah smiled to herself.

‘How did you meet?’ Carol wasn’t giving up yet. Watching her prey from narrowed eyes, she looked like a magpie about to launch itself on an unsuspecting worm. Hannah was no worm. She could bullshit with the best of them.

‘Carol was giving me the third degree while you were gone,’ Hannah told Felix later.

‘What did she want to know?’

‘What I did for a living and what my social security number was – you know, meaningless stuff.’

‘What did you tell her?’ he asked idly, eyes suddenly opaque.

Hannah nibbled his ear. ‘That I ran a property business and we met when I was showing you my most valuable property, a duplex overlooking the harbour in Dun Laoghaire.’

He smiled with satisfaction. ‘That’s my girl,’ he said. ‘Everybody in this business lies. It’s all about deception and perception. The more they think you have, the more they want you,’ he added. ‘They’re all impressed with you. We’re a good team,’ he said, before locking his mouth over hers.