Chapter Eleven

Ankle accentuating or not, wearing stilettos to run around after a class full of seven-year-old children all day was definitely a bad idea, Sally decided.

Once inside her front door, she kicked the torturous things off and then padded straight to the kitchen in search of tea, all the time musing about what had happened at lunchtime. David still hadn’t looked overly interested. Damn. Was it too much? Sally worried as she dunked a teabag. Had she come on too strong? Far from turned on, David had actually looked shocked when she’d produced almost her entire underwear collection. Some of the stuff she’d donated to Andrea wasn’t exactly ready for the charity shop, but the whole point of producing it had been to prompt David into picturing Sally in it, with the toe-deforming stilettos, of course, which hopefully would do it for the good doctor.

Well, she’d just have to pique his interest, wouldn’t she? All she needed were the right props, good wine, mood music, soft lighting. But how was she ever going to orchestrate it? How was she even going to get the man on his own when he suddenly had a houseful of people? She took a pensive sip of her tea and reached for a bag of crisps which she had a craving to eat by the big bagful lately. So, how was she going to get David Adams to make a house call?

Munching contemplatively, Sally headed for the lounge. Obviously she would have to come up with a way to get him on her home turf, where she could set the scene and they could talk without Andrea looking on. Talking of whom, it seemed to Sally that Andrea and David had been doing an awful lot of swapping glances when she’d called round, almost as if there was some kind of connection between them.

Crisps in hand, Sally curled herself up in the corner of her Italian leather art deco sofa, a comforting cushion clutched to her midriff. David had had a faraway look in his eye at one point. Sally had hoped he might be mentally undressing her. Now, it almost seemed …

Hell! Had he been fantasising about Andrea in silk and lace?

Sally swallowed, then choked, then coughed up the crisp wedged in her throat.

Oh, no, no, no! She unfurled herself, and leapt to her feet. That wasn’t fair. Andrea already had a man. If there was any connecting to be done with David Adams, it was Sally who was going to be doing it, damn it!

She was going to phone him. That’s what she’d do. Right now. Strike while the iron was hot. Nip it in the bud. She had to do something.

Where was Jonathan, anyway? Sorting out their affairs, Andrea had said. What, from afar? Granted there wasn’t much room at David’s house, but surely Jonathan wouldn’t want to be away from his family when their house had just burned down? Had they had a row? An irreconcilable difference of some kind? Had he not proposed, as Andrea had expected him to? He’d taken his time up until now, after all, and if he had evaded the issue again …? Could it be that Andrea and he had agreed to some kind of separation? Her mind going into overdrive, Sally tossed the cushion arbitrarily behind her onto the sofa. Might Andrea be orchestrating her own plan – to make Jonathan jealous? Was that it?

That was awful. Terrible.

Relieved that she’d remembered to get David’s number from Andrea should she need to contact her, Sally took two steps towards the phone and then turned back. Arbitrarily scattered cushions she simply couldn’t live with.

Using a man like that. Dreadful. Ooooh! And that was worse! Crisp crumbs – all over the Jean Renoir Ferrari-red sofa with contrasting piping.

Eeeargh! Grease! It would stain! Muttering, Sally turned on her heel and marched to the kitchen. Then back again with a soft cloth and beeswax leather polish.

‘Damn,’ she muttered, on her knees, dabbing delicately at the offending stain. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Cursing liberally, she worked the polish in, buffed it sparingly, and then cocked her head to one side to appraise the damage.

Phew. No unsightly blemishes in sight, thank goodness. The sofa was safe. The day was saved. And Andrea hasn’t got a single stick of furniture to her name, you self-centred cow.

Swallowing guiltily, Sally plopped the cloth on her rescued Victorian chiffonier – then stopped, and swallowed back an altogether different emotion.

Hesitantly, she reached for the photograph album on the shelf of the chiffonier and flicked through the pages for the precious memory she kept there: her second trimester ultrasound scan. She found it and traced a finger lightly over the grainy image. The twenty week anomaly scan.

There were no anomalies though.

Apart from there not being an abundance of amniotic fluid around him, his little body had been perfect: limbs, hands, feet, fingers, toes. All accounted for. All perfect. So why had she lost him? Why had her baby’s perfect little heart never beaten independently of her?

Sally wiped away a slow tear. She’d planned to have a four-dimensional scan later; moving images of him. She’d hardly been able to wait until the recommended twenty-six weeks. ‘Never quite made it, did we, my angel?’ she said softly, breathed out a shuddery sigh, and placed the scan back carefully.

How could Nick have been so utterly cruel, turning his back on her when she needed him most, abandoning her for some twenty-something trollop, as if what they’d had together meant nothing? Their child meant nothing. Damn him to hell. Gulping back a sob, she recalled the black, awful emptiness she’d felt after the birth, walking empty-handed away from the hospital, the desolation she’d felt knowing she was losing Nick too. Sally had decided she would have her baby, with or without a man. But preferably with.

It was time to make that phone call. Pulling herself up, she turned to the phone. And before she spoke to David, she’d speak to Andrea. Double-check she really was okay and be a friend to a person who was actually Sally’s only friend, the one person who’d been there for her when she’d been so terribly down, instead of being a complete bitch because David Adams had appeared on the scene. Just because Andrea had been forced to move in with him didn’t mean she had designs on David.

Did it?

Finding the number Andrea had given her next to the phone, Sally dialled and waited, determined to resist flirting with him in favour of speaking to Andrea first if David picked up. But she fluttered her eyelashes nevertheless when he did.

‘David Adams,’ he said, the timbre of his voice deep and sultry, like delicious, decadent, dark chocolate, immediately causing Sally’s determination to waver and her pelvis to dip.

‘Yes, hi, David,’ Sally said, flustered as a soft flurry of butterflies took off in her tummy. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ David replied. ‘Er, who are you?’

‘Oh, whoops, sorry.’ Sally laughed. ‘It’s me, Sally, she who gives in far too easily to her desires.’

‘Ah,’ David said, and paused, ‘about that … things … in general,’ he hesitated, during which time Sally’s butterflies nosedived, ‘I, er, think we might need to talk, Sally.’

‘Talk away. I’m all ears,’ Sally said, flippancy masking her apprehension.

‘No, I, er …’ David paused again.

Oh no. Sally closed her eyes and clutched the phone hard to her ear.

‘In private might be better, I think,’ David went on, ‘if that’s okay with you?’

Private? Sally’s mouth curled into a delighted smile. As in the two of them alone? Together? Yessss! She whooped silently. ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘No problem at all. Come on over now, why don’t you?’

David went quiet again.

‘No time like the present, after all, is there?’

‘No, I, er, can’t tonight. I’ve got some things I need to attend to,’ David answered. ‘How about tomorrow? About seven?’

‘Great. See you then. I’ll, um …’ Put the champers on ice, Sally wanted to say. ‘… make sure to pop the kettle on,’ she said instead, on a softly-catchy-man basis. She’d pop the new Intrigue purple and noir basque on too, though, on a fishnets-guaranteed-to-catchy-man basis.

Excitedly, Sally rang off, and then remembered with a guilty pang that she’d completely forgotten to even enquire about Andrea.

Andrea was in the kitchen with Eva when the doorbell went yet again.

‘I’ll get it,’ David offered, coming through from the conservatory, where he’d been listening to Elgar’s cello concerto, which was beautiful, but a little reflective and melancholic, in Andrea’s opinion.

‘Thanks.’ She smiled appreciatively, still holding the gorgeous silk crêpe de Chine 1920s wedding dress Eva had brought in front of her.

‘Suits you,’ David said.

‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Andrea smoothed the dress over her silhouette. It was Eva’s mother’s gown apparently, quite exquisite – and would be madly expensive to purchase.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked Eva, overcome by such open generosity. It was a wonderful gesture, offering the dress to help kick-start Andrea’s Second Chance Designer collection, but she was concerned Eva might regret it.

‘Positive,’ David assured her, his eyes sweeping over the graceful, diaphanous outline. ‘Cream is definitely your colour. So when do I get the pleasure of seeing you in it?’

He gave her another appreciative once over and then, smiling, headed for the hall.

‘Good Lord.’ Eva’s jaw dropped. ‘Andrea, my dear, you’re not …’ She moved closer, glancing nonplussed toward the door where David had just left. ‘You and he are not …’

Getting the gist, Andrea laughed, astonished. ‘No, we are not. We’re just friends. I’ve only moved in with him temporarily, Eva. Honestly.’

‘Who’s moved in with whom?’ asked Dee as she struggled in from the hall with the vacuum cleaner.

Eva dashed over to help her, despite her dippy hip. ‘Andrea,’ she imparted, ‘moved in with the good doctor.’

‘Has she?’ Dee’s eyes pinged wide, and then almost flew out on sight of the dress. ‘You’re getting married?’

‘No, I am not,’ Andrea stated adamantly. ‘It’s Eva’s dress, Mum.’

‘Humph, well no one in their right mind is going to marry Bunty, darling, are they?’ Dee scoffed. ‘And she’s not going to fit into that tiny little thing, unless she has radical surgery.’

‘Mum!’

‘I’m just saying.’ Dee smiled innocently and then walked in the opposite direction to Eva with her bit of the vacuum. Deliberately, Andrea suspected. ‘It’s Eva’s mother’s wedding dress, Mum. Eva has very kindly offered it as part of our Second Chance Designer collection.’

‘We’re thinking of advertising,’ Eva picked up enthusiastically. ‘We thought we’d invite people to bring along their glad rags, which we’d sell on for a percentage of, and, hopefully, they’ll have a browse of the stock while they’re there.’

Andrea smiled. Ooh, she was glad to have Eva on board. ‘It’s a splendid idea, Eva. We don’t have much of a stock yet, but …’

‘We could start at home, right here in the village,’ Eva went on, warming to her idea. ‘Ask people to have a rummage in their wardrobes and—’

‘Codswallop,’ said Dee, rudely bursting Eva’s bubble.

Eva stared at her. ‘Beg pardon, my dear?’

‘What’s the point of collecting a load of old jumble when we haven’t got room to swing a cat?’ Dee rolled her eyes at Eva and then turned her gaze on Andrea. ‘And why Bunty’s help and not mine?’

Andrea blinked at Dee surprised. Oh, dear, was her mum jealous? ‘It’s not just Eva participating, Mum. It’s a joint enterprise, remember? You’re involved, too. We’re going to run it to—’

‘I have posh frocks.’ Dee abandoned her vacuum and belligerently folded her arms. ‘Whole wardrobes full.’

Andrea glanced mournfully at Eva and then dropped her gaze to the dress she was still holding to her.

‘But you don’t, do you, my dear,’ Eva pointed out gently. ‘They’re … Well, they’re probably a bit wet, from the fire hose. But you never know,’ she went on jollily, ‘we might be able to salvage some of your stuff.’

‘Oh, Mum …’ Andrea noticed her mum’s eyes filling up, despite the petulant pout, and her heart ached for her. She wasn’t feeling jealous. She was feeling expendable, vulnerable. Two homes lost in such a short space of time, and Dee so missed her own cosy little cottage. It was just so unfair. Silence ensued for a second, where Dee would normally have a sharp answer, until someone said from the doorway, ‘I’ll take a look for you tomorrow, Dee.’

Andrea’s head snapped up. ‘Jonathan?’

David tried to dismiss his feelings of disappointment as, intrigued, he looked over at the hitherto missing man in Andrea’s life. Andrea’s expression – which was more overwhelmed than overjoyed – added to his curiosity.

‘Can I take your coat?’ he offered, waiting for a discreet moment to step between the reconciled couple, who’d come into the hall to talk.

‘Oh, yes. Thanks.’ Jonathan nodded distractedly, shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to him.

A wool and cashmere coat, David noted as he hung it on the coat stand, tastefully cut and reasonably expensive. As was the suit, which told David the guy was successful at whatever it was he did for a living.

‘God, Andrea, what on earth happened?’ Jonathan turned back to Andrea, looking bewildered as he stepped towards her.

Andrea stepped back a little. ‘Jonathan,’ she started, searching his face, her expression now one of incomprehension, ‘I …’

‘What happened, Andrea?’ Jonathan repeated urgently.

Her house burned down, sunshine, David thought scathingly. He couldn’t help it. If the man was as concerned as his tone and demeanour might indicate, where the hell had he been?

Jonathan reached for Andrea’s hands, which put David in the awkward position of having to stay where he was by the front door.

‘There was a fire. It—’ Andrea started, looking flustered.

‘Good God, Andrea, I can see that much!’ Jonathan cut in sharply, which did nothing to endear him to David. Tense the man might be, but there was no call for condescension.

Jonathan breathed deeply, obviously trying to calm himself. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Andrea nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’

‘The kids?’

Andrea nodded again, all the while looking troubled. Looking at Jonathan as if it was him she was troubled by, which puzzled David.

He wasn’t sure why, except … In a world where there were no excuses any more for not being in communication with people, why didn’t Jonathan know there’d been a major catastrophe that could have ended in tragedy? Which begged the question, where had he been? Even if he’d been away on a business trip, which the suit might indicate, he would have tried to contact his family, surely, and realised something was seriously wrong?

‘Thank goodness.’ Jonathan’s body language relaxed some. He moved closer to Andrea, attempting to rest his forehead on hers.

Andrea did pull back then, noticeably. ‘Jonathan, where have you been?’ she asked quietly, scanning his eyes for answers.

Jonathan dropped his gaze. ‘Not where I should have been.’ He closed his eyes briefly, before looking back at her. ‘I … had an accident, Andrea. When you rang me, I—’

‘What?’ Andrea’s expression was now one of alarm, swiftly followed by guilt. ‘Oh my God.’ She squeezed her eyes closed.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Jonathan said quickly. ‘Someone ran into me. I’ve been at the hospital since and I—’

‘Hospital?’ Andrea looked horrified.

‘I’m okay,’ Jonathan assured her. ‘It was just a concussion.’

Must have been one hell of a concussion, David thought cynically, as Andrea shook her head, clearly trying to assimilate.

‘I did try to ring you, Andrea,’ Jonathan insisted, ‘as soon as I was able to. When I couldn’t get you on the landline or your mobile, I was worried sick. I had no idea …’

It explained the business suit and the lateness in the day, David supposed, if he’d been taken to the hospital in it. Still, somehow, his story didn’t ring quite true. Wouldn’t he have tried to get hold of her at the school? Tried to find out if the kids were where they should be, whether Chloe was at nursery? David would certainly have done. And would a man’s first priority on reaching the village to find his house a blackened shell be to poke around in the ruins before checking up on his family?

David doubted it. Even if one of the neighbours had told him Andrea and the kids were safe, he would have sought them out, surely, rather than go straight to the house, which he had. The guy’s coat reeked of charred wood and smoke.

Andrea was wavering, David could see by her expression, now somewhere between shock and sympathy, but he didn’t believe the man’s story was the whole story. As a GP he’d learned to read the signs when people were lying: in need of a sick note maybe, or too embarrassed to say what the real symptoms were, possibly. Whatever, you learned to spot less than the truth, and Jonathan was telling it, which might well mean the man was bad news.

David narrowed his eyes. Had he cheated on her? Been cheating on her? No, he didn’t think so. The guy looked as guilty as sin, but – he watched carefully as Jonathan folded Andrea into his arms – whatever it was he was guilty of, he did love her. That much seemed apparent.

David glanced down, struggling, he realised, with an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. He ran his hand over his neck and tried to dismiss it. He was envious of what this Jonathan had, that was all, a whole family. Someone to come home and tell his troubles to. All of which David had had, until he’d chosen to throw it away.

And the man’s family didn’t actually have a home any more. David pulled himself up sharp. Talk about petty and judgemental. However neglectful Jonathan appeared to have been, it really wasn’t his business. He should go, at least give them a little privacy. ‘Do you mind if I, er …’ He nodded past the couple to the lounge.

‘Oh, sorry, David.’ Andrea stepped quickly away from Jonathan, who was now looking David up and down, a quizzical look in his eye.

‘David Adams,’ David introduced himself. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Jonathan shook the hand David offered, his expression communicating, right, and you’re who, exactly? He couldn’t blame him for that. The man had a pretty, witty, courageous woman in Andrea. David just hoped he appreciated her and didn’t take anything for granted, only to wake up one day and find that he’d lost it.

‘Jonathan Eden. Thanks for taking care of them,’ Jonathan said, letting go of David’s hand to drape an arm proprietorially around Andrea’s shoulders.

‘It’s been a pleasure,’ David assured him, squeezing past to the sanctuary of the lounge. You might be wise to take better care of them yourself in the future though, he couldn’t help thinking.