Chapter Eighteen

David wasn’t sure agreeing to go and see Sally had been a good idea, but him being out of the way would allow Andrea and her family some space, he supposed. He was pretty sure Andrea would prefer not to have to feel awkward in his company, which she would do after their kiss and now he’d hinted at his suspicions about Eden.

Sighing, David checked his watch and turned back to Sally’s door to ring the bell again. Hearing noises inside, he waited a while longer, debated, and then peered through the opaque glass in the door. And then wished he hadn’t.

‘Shit!’ he gulped, witnessing Sally tugging a silk kimono over … not a lot … as she clunked hurriedly downstairs in her high-heeled shoes.

Hell. She didn’t think he’d come with anything other than talking in mind, did she? No, he’d caught her on the hop that was all. She was getting ready for bed. A bath. But … hadn’t she been expecting him?

‘David!’ Sally beamed, pulling the door wide.

‘Sally.’ David tugged in a breath and tried to avert his eyes as the kimono fluttered open, the apparel underneath definitely not designed for sleeping or bathing in.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Sally purred. ‘Do come inside.’

David hesitated. ‘Er …’ No, I won’t, he was about to say, when he noticed a neighbour emerging from a house a few doors away. ‘Thanks,’ he said instead, stepping in as the neighbour walked her dog towards them. A scantily clad woman greeting him on her doorstep would definitely send the village drums into overdrive.

Sally closed the door behind him. ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ she said, locking suggestive eyes with his as she squeezed past in the intimate space of the hall.

‘Right.’ David took another deep breath and then followed her as she sashayed toward the kitchen, trailing a heady aroma of perfume behind her.

‘What do you fancy?’ Sally paused at her work surface to glance over her shoulder. ‘Red, white, tea, coffee?’

David hung back by the door. ‘Er, something cold might be nice.’ He ran his hand over his neck and wondered whether to stay and say what he’d come to, or make his excuses and leave.

‘Perfect. I’ve just opened a chilled Sauvie B. It would be a terrible shame to waste it.’ Sally picked up an open bottle and turned to fill a glass, already in position on the table.

Picking up the glass, she walked across to him, her eyes travelling over him, before resting purposefully on his. ‘To a fulfilling future,’ she said, offering him the glass and then holding on to it as he reached for it.

‘That’s what I wanted to talk about, Sally,’ David started determinedly. ‘I hoped we could talk and clear things …’ he trailed off, watching warily, as Sally ran the pink tip of her tongue slowly over her lips, tilting his glass towards her as she did.

‘You’re, er, spilling the, er …’ David stopped awkwardly again, as the wine bled through the thin fabric of her kimono, causing it to cling to her flesh.

‘Oh, dear, clumsy me.’ Sally sighed, a long expansive sigh, then eased the kimono from her shoulders to let it flutter to the floor.

‘Would you like another?’ she asked huskily, her eyes still on his. ‘Or would you prefer … something else?’

Transfixed, David watched the rise and fall of her breasts, firm and round, above the wispy lace of her basque, as Sally reached again for his glass, taking it easily from his dumbstruck hand.

He should go. Now. She was vulnerable, feeling hurt. She needed someone. Someone to make her feel wanted; to help ease the pain. She wouldn’t find that in him. ‘Sally, could we please just talk?’

‘Later. We have plenty of time. We’re practically living on top of one another now, after all.’ Placing the glass on the surface next to him, Sally stepped towards him.

‘Sally, I …’ David found his voice as Sally’s hands sought to loosen his shirt. ‘It’s too soon … for me. To get into a relationship, I mean. I should—’

‘Then don’t,’ Sally said, holding his gaze as her fingers worked nimbly on shirt buttons. She leaned towards him, brushing his lips with more than a hint of a promise, before seeking the bare flesh of his chest, teasing his torso with her tongue, her mouth, her hands.

‘Sally, I … Damn it!’ David reached for her, gripping her forearms to ease her away from him. ‘Just stop. Please. You don’t want to do this, not like this. I don’t.’

Sally blinked, shock peppered with uncertainty flickering across her wide eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …’ Ashamed of himself, David fumbled for the right words. He shouldn’t have pushed her away like that. Shouldn’t be here. What the hell was he—?

Sally cut his thoughts short, her eyes on his now fiery and determined as she slid her hands provocatively over the silk bodice of her basque. David watched, perspiration tickling his forehead and his throat too tight as, slowly, silently, seductively, she eased down the top of the garment.

Stupefied, he watched on as she inserted her forefinger into her mouth, wetting it suggestively and then trailed it the slender length of her throat to her breasts, circled first one taut nipple, then the other.

‘I think you do want to, Doctor Adams,’ she murmured, stepping towards him, pressing herself to him, her lips now hard against his, her tongue probing for his.

David pulled back sharply. ‘Sally, I …’ Clamping his eyes shut, he faltered, then, ‘I’m so sorry, Sally,’ he said, on a long exhale of breath.

And Sally froze.

‘For what?’ she asked panic-struck as he stepped physically away from her, looking embarrassed, angry even.

‘I just can’t, Sally.’ He glanced at her, hardly meeting her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘But why?’ Sally asked, a tremor in her voice. ‘Am I really that repulsive?’ she asked tearfully.

‘No,’ David said adamantly. ‘No,’ he repeated, raking a hand through his hair, hastily re-buttoning his shirt. ‘It’s nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I just … can’t.’

Sally eyed him narrowly. ‘But you could before?’ she asked quietly.

‘Things have changed, Sally. I shouldn’t have. Not then. Not now. I … I have to go, Sally. Jake will be wondering where I am.’

David retrieved her kimono from the floor and handed it to her to cover her modesty.

‘You’re an attractive woman, Sally,’ he mumbled, ‘I—’

‘Not attractive enough, obviously,’ Sally said, clutching the kimono to her.

‘Very attractive,’ David insisted. ‘It’s just …’ He glanced towards the door desperate to be gone.

‘You’re not ready for a relationship,’ Sally finished flatly.

David nodded slowly and dropped his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Sally, truly. You deserve much better than this.’

Sally notched her chin up. ‘You’re right, I do.’

‘I’d better go.’ David sighed heavily and turned to the door.

‘You’re all the same! Thinking you can walk away from your responsibilities,’ Sally shouted furiously after him. ‘Well, you can’t, David Adams. I won’t let you!’

Stepping out of her lingerie where she stood, Sally plucked the silly garments from the floor, then walked slowly across to plop them in the bin.

She was shocked. She felt as if she’d been physically punched. Pulling the kimono around her goose-pimpled body, she headed towards the door. Then back again for the remainder of the wine.

Wine bottle in one hand, glass in the other, she padded to her lounge and the warmth of the fire. She felt cold through to her bones, and hunched, and old. And cheap. And disgustingly unattractive, no matter what David had said. He’d been trying to let her down lightly, clearly having found some kind of moral code where before he’d had none. Swiping at a tear on her cheek, Sally unscrewed the bottle and filled the glass to the brim. How very noble of him.

A cushion clutched to her tummy, she seated herself on the edge of her sofa, and gulped back her wine, feeling as desolate and deserted as she had as a child, when her father hardly acknowledged she existed, when Nick had spurned her advances, no matter how hard she’d tried, finally to cruelly cast her aside. Most of all, she felt cold and lonely, just like she had when she’d walked away from the hospital without her baby. She didn’t want to go there again, the dark black cloud descending, like a soft cloying blanket threatening to suffocate her.

Why had he turned her down? She was certain that what had passed between them previously hadn’t been that bad. They’d done it every which way. In fact, if she’d let him, they’d have had sex before they got through the hotel room door. The man had almost been driven, passionate, exciting, and apologetic even, but driven somehow. And now Sally was single, and available, and so was he. It just didn’t add up. If he’d been so ready and willing before, why would he be getting a guilt attack now? He had been widowed long before they met in the hotel so it wasn’t because of a wife that was dead and buried, that was for sure. So it had to be because of someone current in his life. And the only person current in his life, permanently ensconced in his life, as far as Sally could see, was Andrea.

He might not have made a move on her yet, Sally contemplated as she refilled her glass, but he would. She was sure. Far from being put out by Andrea and her entourage camped in his home, David seemed to like having them there. The way he was with Chloe, like a father almost.

The way he looked at Andrea – with a smile in his eyes. Sally had seen it, the warmth and affection there. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Poor wounded hero, David Adams, was falling in love with Andrea, and sooner or later, he would do something about it.

Andrea might not know it, of course. Sally tried to quiet the green-eyed monster writhing inside her. Might not even encourage it, which was difficult to imagine, David being an eligible and extremely attractive man, but as sure as the sun rose in the East, he was being distracted by someone.

Sally had to stop it. Now.

‘Oh, dear, I take it the exercise didn’t help, then?’ Andrea asked, reaching the hall from the stairs as David came through his front door.

‘What?’ Still contemplating his disastrous liaison with Sally, David looked up sharply.

Andrea eyed him curiously. ‘The walk, to ease your headache,’ she reminded him of the reason he’d said he was going out.

‘Oh, right. No, it didn’t much.’ David stepped back to allow her to pass to the kitchen. ‘Is everyone in?’ he asked, looking her over as he followed her. She looked good. Still in his shirt, she looked … at home. Reminded that this wasn’t her home and could never be, he sighed inwardly.

‘He’s in the lounge,’ Andrea said quietly, meaning Eden David guessed. Then, casting him a brief guilt-ridden glance, she deposited Chloe’s dish in the sink and turned to face him. ‘He’ll stay at his mother’s again tonight. I hope we’re okay to stay a little longer, just until I can sort something else out?’

‘You’re fine here,’ David assured her, part of him wishing she could stay ad infinitum, however unfeasible it seemed. ‘I actually meant Sophie, though,’ he clarified. ‘She was … Well, you know, a bit upset, earlier.’

Andrea stared at him for a moment, and then, looking towards the lounge where Eden and the boys were obviously into some space adventure film, she leaned towards him and brushed his cheek with a feather-light kiss. ‘Sophie’s back safe. She’s upstairs with Dee and Chloe, and you’re a lovely, caring person, David Adams,’ she said, holding his gaze for a second, before she turned back to the sink.

David stifled another despondent sigh. He doubted she’d think that if she knew what had passed between him and her best friend.

‘Nice aftershave,’ Andrea commented. ‘Is it new?’

David tried to quell a surge of panic, wondering whether she was referring to Sally’s perfume. He was sure he must reek of the stuff.

‘Er, no. Old stuff.’ Flicking the kettle on – an excuse to move away – David tried to assimilate what Sally had said. Responsibilities? What responsibilities? They’d spent one night together. Their brief encounter she’d said then, intimating that that was all she’d wanted. A knot in the pit of his stomach, David scrambled through his brain, trying to think of anything he’d said that hinted he might have wanted more. The truth was, he couldn’t remember half of what they’d talked about. He’d drunk too much. Away at a mind-numbing conference, he’d been anaesthetising himself that evening, as he had many a time since Michelle had died, craving at least a few hours’ elusive sleep when no dark thoughts came in the night to haunt him.

Yes, he’d been willing. More than. No intimacy in his life since he’d idiotically destroyed what was left of Michelle’s, the prospect of spending the night with a warm body up close was infinitely more inviting than spending it alone in a soulless hotel room.

As the thin light of dawn trickled through the blinds though, feeling not very proud of himself, it had occurred to him to consider the consequences – and there were none. How could there be? Michelle was gone. And when the sun pierced his addled brain, Sally had left. She’d scribbled a simple note – thanks for listening – and slipped silently out of his life. Or so he’d thought. They hadn’t even swapped mobile numbers, so what the hell …?

‘You look terrible,’ Andrea cut through his thoughts, looking him over as she stacked the dishwasher.

David ran a hand through his hair, feeling tired and utterly confused. ‘I, er, think I’ll go up and take a bath. Might help ease the headache.’ A headache that was all too real since he’d left Sally’s house, and which seemed to be exacerbated by the pungent perfume clinging to his shirt.

Andrea smiled sympathetically. ‘Good idea. Chloe’s already bathed. If you nip up sharpish, you might even be able to use your own bathroom before Sophie and her iPod take up residence in there. I’ll make us all a hot drink when you come down. How does that sound?’

‘Like a plan.’ David smiled, wishing he could take her in his arms, but he couldn’t, of course, particularly with her partner ensconced in his lounge as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Had the guy really done anything about the insurance? He’d said the assessors were ringing him back, but surely if they’d already been in Andrea would have mentioned it. ‘Andrea,’ he started hesitantly, ‘about the house insurance …?’

Wrist-deep in water, Andrea gave him a sidelong curious glance.

‘Have they given you any indication of when they might settle the claim?’

‘No.’ Andrea reached for the towel and turned to face him. ‘Why?’

‘I just wondered, now the assessors have been in, I mean, whether they’re making any progress.’

Andrea looked at him warily now. ‘The assessors haven’t been in.’

‘Oh, right.’ David nodded contemplatively. ‘Strange. Jonathan assured Eva they had.’

Andrea glanced down, looking troubled, and David hated himself for being the cause of it. Wasn’t it better she was alerted to the fact that there might be something amiss, though … if there was? David hoped he wasn’t being overly paranoid here. He had good reason, after all, to want to discredit Eden in Andrea’s eyes.

‘She probably got muddled,’ Andrea said, flustered now and on the defensive, which meant he’d be the accused, David supposed.

He hesitated, and then, ‘Like Dee?’ he asked pointedly.

‘Yes.’ Andrea shook her head. ‘No. David, what’s this all about?’

‘I was there, Andrea, when Jonathan told Eva. I—’

‘Well, he obviously forgot to tell me, then!’ Andrea hissed. ‘I don’t understand this, David. I really don’t. Two grown men in the house and they’re acting more like children than the children are. What is the matter with you?’ She tossed the towel angrily on the work surface and headed for the door.

David watched, deflated, as Andrea stuffed Chloe into her coat the next morning, refusing to meet his eyes, even when he passed her the frequently dropped Igglepiggle. She’d barely eaten any breakfast, hardly spoken to him.

‘Where’re you going?’ Sophie asked, stifling a yawn mid-stairs in favour of eyeing her mum suspiciously.

‘Out,’ Andrea said shortly, glancing up at her. ‘Can you keep an eye on Gran, please, Sophie? And put some clothes on, will you? I’m absolutely fed up with you walking around half-naked.’

‘I’ve got some on,’ Sophie protested, glancing down at the slightly longer T-shirt she’d obviously ‘borrowed’ from David’s collection.

‘And I don’t need an eye keeping on.’ Dee appeared in the kitchen doorway, a baked bean coated spatula in hand and wearing David’s tennis sweater, he noticed, and wondered whether he might soon end up walking around half-naked himself. ‘I’m perfectly capable of keeping an eye on myself,’ Dee informed them and went back to the cooker, presumably to dish up more beans.

David wasn’t sure he was partial to them being fried in bacon fat, but it was more than he dared to admit.

‘Aw, Mum,’ Sophie said, plodding on down the stairs. ‘Can’t I keep an eye on Chloe instead? At least then I’ll look like any other normal teenager if I go out.’

Wincing at Sophie’s wish to pass as a teen-mum, David caught Andrea’s look of now utter despair. She rolled her eyes at him, which David saw as progress of sorts on the communication front, and then, ‘No,’ she addressed Sophie adamantly, turning to the front door.

‘Typical. Give me all the dross jobs, why don’t you?’ Sophie trailed past them to the kitchen. ‘Morning, David,’ she said over her shoulder, with a world-weary sigh.

‘Morning, Sophie.’ David looked at Andrea, his mouth curving into a smile, despite her stern glances. ‘I see someone’s talking to me, then?’

Andrea’s answer to which was to huff, ‘Yes, well, you’ve obviously won Sophie over, haven’t you?’

She reached for the doorknob. ‘Ryan, I’ll be back shortly,’ she shouted, out of necessity. The boys were hard at raucous tug-of-war in the lounge with Dougal – and one of David’s socks.

‘Need some company?’ David asked, retrieving a once again abandoned Igglepiggle from the floor.

‘No!’ Andrea said quickly, and then, her shoulders slumping, she at last looked at him properly. ‘I’m sorry, David.’ She sighed down to her charity boots, which were actually too big, and which she’d filled out with woollen walking socks – his. ‘I’m just … confused.’ She searched his face, and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

You and me both, David thought, hands in pockets and his heart heavy as he watched her head purposefully towards her car. He didn’t know where she was going. She hadn’t said, and nor should she, he supposed. She was probably off to meet up with Jonathan, who he’d insisted on rubbishing in her eyes. At least that’s how it must look.

He watched on as Andrea slowed at the end of the drive, looking towards the empty shell of her house with its boarded, soulless windows. Swiping at what David assumed was a tear on her cheek, she then turned the car towards the High Street and drove on, leaving David wishing he hadn’t said anything about Eden. Hadn’t kissed her, though every fibre of him had wanted to, wanted her. All he’d succeeded in doing was complicating her situation further. Hadn’t she already had heartbreak enough?

Checking Jonathan’s car wasn’t there, Andrea parked in the car park and went around the front of the building to let herself into his office with the spare key on her ring. She seriously hoped Jonathan didn’t suddenly decide to ‘do a couple of extra hours at the office’ today, as he often did at weekends, and find her there, rummaging through his things like some thief in the night.

‘Two minutes, sweetie,’ she said, leading Chloe in, who was quite content now she had learned that Ronald was no longer poorly and McDonald’s was on the menu for lunch.

‘Dougal!’ Chloe exclaimed delightedly as Andrea turned to close the inner office door.

‘No, sweetie,’ Andrea whispered, alarmed at how Chloe’s shrill tones seemed to resonate around the walls. ‘Dougal’s at home with …’ Andrea turned around and the words died in her throat. Astonished, she looked from the little dog’s dish by the wall to the dog’s bed parked next to Jonathan’s filing cabinet. What on earth …? He’d been keeping Dougal here? Why? And for how long? And where the bloody hell had he really found him?

Not the park, that was for sure. David had been right. Dougal hadn’t looked at all bedraggled and, apart from the dog’s hairs he’d been so fastidiously plucking from his coat, there hadn’t been a hair out of place on Jonathan. Even his shoes had been clean, hadn’t they? She tried to recall. The boys’ trainers had been covered in mud, caked into the rubber soles and treading all over the kitchen floor. David’s, too; he’d even apologised for the mess he’d made in his own house, for goodness’ sake. She hadn’t noticed Jonathan leaving a trail behind him.

Nipping worriedly on her lower lip, she turned back to Chloe. ‘That’s right, darling. That’s Dougal’s bed,’ she said, in the best cheery tone she could muster.

‘Dougal’s bed,’ Chloe repeated happily, and toddled over to tuck herself and Igglepiggle up in it.

Just in case she decided to go the whole hog and lap water from the dog’s dish, Andrea retrieved Chloe’s baby beaker from her bag and handed it to her, then headed for Jonathan’s desk to rifle through papers, searching for anything that might resemble household insurance documents. Nothing jumped out at her. She wasn’t even sure why she wanted them, other than to phone the insurance company and hear from the horse’s mouth what the situation was regarding their claim, which actually she should know. David was right about that, too.

It was all surely just forgetfulness on Jonathan’s part, though. Hadn’t he been through a huge trauma, too? He was bound to be as stressed as she was. Did David take that into account when he was casting aspersions, for whatever reason?

Agitatedly puffing her fringe from her eyes, Andrea tried to stay loyal to Jonathan, though she couldn’t possibly, she realised, guilt tugging again at her conscience, because she’d already been totally disloyal. And she hated herself for it. But she didn’t, absolutely didn’t hate David. Every nerve in her body had come alive at his touch, his kiss, which seemed to reach down into the very core of her. She felt safe in his arms, wanted, as she was: a sensual, sexual woman in her own skin, rather than tarted up in some breath-restricting, ridiculous bodycon dress.

She’d imagined him a cold-hearted, arrogant pig, but David was far from it. He’d shown himself to be sensitive, caring and completely understanding. Whereas Jonathan … Andrea sighed. He’d been distracted and distant way before the fire, she reminded herself. She thought she’d known him. She’d thought she’d loved him. Had that love dwindled and died when she’d thought he’d deserted her on the night of the fire? Or had it faded before then, as Jonathan’s love for her seemed to have done. Their lovemaking had been infrequent to non-existent. There was no passion in Jonathan’s embrace, in his eyes, as there had been in David’s.

Was she searching for reasons, though, to excuse her own unforgivable behaviour? No. David’s kiss had ignited something inside her, but he wasn’t the cause of her troubling thoughts about Jonathan, of that much Andrea was sure.

Swallowing back her guilt, she set about straightening the paperwork, attempting to leave it somewhere near how she’d found it, then stopped dead, her eyes falling on a Post-it note parked next to the phone. Assessors. Fri. 3.00 pm, she read. They’d been? But … Jonathan hadn’t said a single word.