Chapter 21

One minute Piers was being fantastic, the next he was back to playing silly buggers again. It was driving Clare mad. When they were clearly so great together, why did he have to do it? Why couldn’t he just admit to himself that it had finally happened, he’d met the one he was meant to be with and he didn’t need to play these ridiculous games anymore?

Because he was a man, probably. Scared of having the mickey taken out of him by his mates—who were only jealous anyway because they didn’t have gorgeous girlfriends of their own.

It was one o’clock in the morning and Clare, too agitated to sleep, was painting instead. Sadly she was also too agitated to paint and it wasn’t going well, but jabbing her brush at the canvas, like sticking pins into a wax effigy, was quite cathartic.

Sunday had been so brilliant, she’d been convinced Piers had come to his senses. They’d spent the day with old friends of his in Cheltenham, a brilliant married couple who lived in a glorious rambling Cotswold farmhouse. Clare had liked them immediately and they in turn had taken to her. After a vast lunch, they’d all walked for miles together through the stunning countryside surrounding their home. Piers had been cheerful, relaxed, and effortlessly affectionate, sliding his arm round her shoulders and planting jokey kisses on her face, which was something he never did when his Bristol friends were around. She’d felt loved and secure, and ridiculously happy. All the way back to Bristol on Sunday evening she had fantasized about them moving to the country and living in a stunning Ideal Home-style farmhouse like that.

When Piers had dropped her home, he’d kissed her lingeringly before murmuring in that full-of-promise way of his, “I’ll give you a ring on Tuesday.”

And—get this—she’d actually been idiotic enough to believe he would.

Jab, jab, jab went the paintbrush as Clare attacked the canvas with renewed irritation. All evening she’d waited for him to call and he hadn’t.

When she’d phoned his flat, there’d been no reply. His mobile was switched to the answering service. Pride had only allowed her to leave one message, but Piers still hadn’t got back to her.

Why, why was he doing this? It was all so unnecessary. And this painting was in danger of being completely ruined; if she couldn’t sell it, it would be all his fault.

Like an addict desperate for just one more fix, Clare snatched up the phone and pressed out his number again.

It went straight to the answering service.

Closing her eyes, she pictured Piers lying dead in the ER somewhere, with hospital curtains drawn round his cubicle and nurses sobbing helplessly at the tragedy of it all. His jacket lay across a chair and inside one of the pockets his mobile began to ring again. The nurses looked at each other, knowing that one of them had to answer it and break the terrible news to whoever was on the other end of the line. So young, so good-looking, such a waste…

Clare switched off the phone. Well, you could always live in hope.

***

It was the hottest day of the year so far and Nadia was stripped to a cropped white halter-neck tank top and denim shorts, with her hair tied up in a messy topknot. The sun was blazing down and her tan was coming along nicely, but it would never be a glamorous tan. Since a professional gardener couldn’t work in a bikini and bare feet, the middle sections of her legs were always going to be browner than the bits at either end. Which meant, basically, that you ended up looking pretty damn gorgeous with your shorts and trainers on, but a bit of a twit the moment you took them off.

Leveling the soil before laying down the patio stones was back-breaking work. Thirsty too. Pausing to uncap her bottle of water, Nadia glugged back a couple of tepid mouthfuls and pulled a face. Yeeurgh, disgusting. Never mind, there was more in the house, stored in the mini-fridge that Jay had brought along for them to use now that summer was properly here.

She was standing at the kitchen window guzzling down proper ice-cold water when she saw the taxi pull up outside.

The passenger got out and Nadia abruptly stopped drinking. It was the pregnant woman she’d seen arriving at Jay’s house the other day.

This time she was wearing loose white maternity trousers and a man’s dark blue shirt. Nadia wondered if the shirt belonged to Jay.

The woman wasn’t looking very happy, that was for sure. And she was keeping the taxi waiting while she approached the house.

Bart and the boys were working upstairs in the bedrooms. Nadia opened the front door and came face to face with… well, with whoever she was. Blimey, at close quarters she looked even more miserable, pale and drawn, and her shoulders were slumped in defeat.

Had Jay dumped her, was that it? Had he told her he’d do his bit financially, but that any kind of relationship between them was out of the question?

Frankly, Nadia couldn’t blame him. She felt sorry for the woman of course, but at the same time she wasn’t exactly making much of an effort. If she just looked more cheerful and wore some makeup, that would be a start. OK, it couldn’t be much fun being hugely pregnant and dumped by your boyfriend, but where was the incentive for Jay to change his mind? What she needed to do was disguise those dark circles under her eyes, dress herself up a bit, smile like mad, and show him what he was missing.

Damn, I’m good at this, thought Nadia. I really should be a therapist.

“I’m looking for Jay. Is he here?”

Nadia realized she’d been staring. This woman would look so much better if she washed her long stringy hair.

“Sorry, he isn’t.”

“Any idea where he is?”

Nadia shrugged and shook her head. “He doesn’t always tell us. I think there’s a property auction going on in Bishopston, but to be honest he could be anywhere. Have you tried his phone?”

“It’s switched off.” The woman’s expression was bleak and Nadia felt a surge of compassion.

“Tell me about it. That thing’s always switched off. Look, can I take a message?”

Nosy? Moi?

The woman checked her watch. She looked absolutely wretched. “No. I’ll just keep trying his phone. But if you do see him, tell him it’s urgent. I’m on my way to the hospital now.” As she spoke, the woman’s ringless left hand moved to her stomach. “He has to get there as soon as he can.”

Oh God, don’t say she was actually in labor!

“Of course I will.” Nadia nodded vigorously. “And your name is…?”

Well, she could hardly refer to her as the stringy-haired pregnant one.

“Belinda.”

“Belinda.” Nadia’s smile was reassuring. “No problem, I’ll definitely tell him. You get off to the hospital. And don’t worry, Jay’ll be there in no time at all.”

For what it was worth.

“Thanks.” The woman didn’t smile. She turned and made her way back to the waiting taxi.

Urrghh, imagine your water breaking on the way to the hospital and having the baby on the backseat.

Jay turned up an hour later. By the time Nadia had rushed in from the garden, he was deep in conversation with Bart and the boys, discussing the schedule for the rest of the week.

“Jay, could I—”

“Hang on a sec.” Jay held up a hand to stop her. “Let me just get this sorted out first.”

Agitated, Nadia said, “But—”

“Please.” Jay glared at her. “I need to speak to Bart.”

“You need to get to the hospital,” Nadia blurted out. “Belinda was here. It’s very urgent, you have to go right away.”

That got his attention. She watched the color drain from Jay’s face.

“Belinda was here?”

“Looking for you. Your phone was switched off. She was desperate to find you.”

“I was at the auction.” Jay raked back his hair, visibly shaken. “It had to be switched off.”

Was that guilt in his eyes?

“She’s gone straight there in a taxi. You’d better hurry,” said Nadia. “Or you might be too late.”

Bart let out a low whistle when Jay had left.

“What was that all about? Who’s Belinda?”

“She’s nine months pregnant,” Nadia told him. “And not very happy with our boss.”

“Bugger me,” whistled Bart.

“Maybe we won’t throw in together for a congratulations card,” said Nadia.

“See? Let that be a lesson to you.” Bart turned and wagged a stubby index finger at Kevin and Robbie. “Messing about with girls, not takin’ proper care—this is the kind of trouble you’ll end up in. You want to take my advice and keep it zipped.”

Kevin, never the brightest sparkler in the packet, nodded sagely at his father. Then he frowned and looked puzzled. “Keep what zipped?”