‘RACHEL wants you to come to dinner on Saturday night,’ Oliver said.
‘And you’d rather I said no?’ Caroline asked.
‘Well.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘It’s a bit awkward.’
Caroline put her coffee mug down, walked over to him and whispered in his ear, ‘Stop panicking. I’m not going to try and get Rachel alone to—’
Oliver felt the heat zing through his face. ‘Um, I didn’t think you would.’
She grinned. ‘Yes, you did. And I suppose it is understandable.’
‘It isn’t that,’ Oliver muttered. ‘Women talk.’
‘Well, that’s how people communicate. Even men talk. Rubbish, most of the time, mind, but they still talk.’ Caroline ruffled his hair. ‘Do you think you might be going through some kind of male menopause, Ol?’
‘The andropause doesn’t exist,’ Oliver said stiffly.
‘You would say that. You’re a man.’ She chuckled. ‘Chill out. If you’re worrying that I’ll tell Rachel everything you’ve told me, then don’t. Look, I know we lost touch for a while, but we were good friends when we were younger, right?’
‘Yes.’ Caroline had been his girlfriend. Or so he’d thought. Until they’d been eighteen and she’d cried all over him and confessed the secret that had been eating away at her.
‘And whatever you told me in confidence when we were younger—you never worried then that I’d tell anyone, did you?’
‘No, of course not.’ Just as he’d always kept Caroline’s secret. Lied for her, even.
‘Nothing’s changed. Now, stop worrying.’ She gave him a broad wink. ‘I trust I am allowed to bring flowers?’
‘Do what you want.’
She grinned. ‘If your mother invited me to dinner, I’d take her flowers. You wouldn’t think anything of that, would you?’
Oliver crossed his arms and tucked his hands into his armpits so he wouldn’t shake Caroline. ‘Not with my mother, no.’
‘So what’s different about giving flowers to your wife?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but sighed. ‘This was why I stayed away from Hollybridge for so long. Small-town mentality. If people know who I really am...’ She sighed. ‘I just don’t want life made difficult for my parents.’
‘Would it be that bad?’
‘I don’t want to take the chance.’ She looked bleak. ‘But secrets always come out in the end.’
‘I haven’t said anything to anyone.’ Not even Rachel. Maybe he should have told her—but, then, the secret wasn’t his to tell. And it had all been in the past when he’d met Rachel, anyway.
‘That’s why I trusted you all those years ago. I didn’t think you’d changed, but maybe you have.’
‘Maybe I just don’t understand women. I can’t seem to make any of the women in my life happy.’ Things still weren’t right between him and Rachel; he’d managed to upset Caroline just now; Sophie had had a wobbly lip because he hadn’t had time to read her a story that morning; and even his mother seemed to be offhand with him. Clearly he’d said or done something to upset Isabel—that, or he hadn’t said or done something she’d wanted him to do. ‘Why are women so complicated?’
‘Chromosomes, dear,’ Caroline said, patting his hand. ‘Right, I’ve got a surgery to do.’
‘Me, too.’
Flora Carson looked extremely embarrassed when she saw Oliver. ‘Um, I really wanted to see the other Dr Bedingfield,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid she’s off this week,’ Oliver said. ‘Our little girl’s got chickenpox. If you’d rather see our locum, Dr Prentiss?’
Flora bit her lip. ‘It’s taken me ages to get the courage to come and see you. If I have to wait...’
‘Maybe I can help,’ Oliver said gently. ‘Tell me what’s worrying you.’
‘It’s my periods. They seem to go on for ever. And I only seem to get a week or so between them.’
‘How long have they been like this?’
‘Three or four months. I’m sorry to waste your time—I know you should be seeing people who are really ill—but it’s just getting me down, and I’m so tired all the time.’
‘You’re not wasting my time at all. You’re not feeling well, and that’s what I’m here for,’ he reassured her. ‘Are your periods lighter or heavier than usual?’
‘Heavier. It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.’ She grimaced. ‘My husband made me come and see you. He’s getting fed up with the fact that I’m always on. Our, um...well, you know.’
Their sex life. Yeah, Oliver knew all about non-existent sex lives. He wished he could persuade his wife to see someone about their little problem.
‘The tiredness could be caused by anaemia,’ he said. ‘If your periods are long and heavy, it’s depleting your iron stores. I’d like to take a blood sample to check your haemoglobin levels—if you’re anaemic, a course of iron tablets will sort that out.’ The blood test would also enable him to check for thyroid problems, which could also cause heavy periods. ‘In the meantime, I’d recommend that you eat lean red meat, plenty of dark green leafy veg and drink orange juice rather than tea with your meals to help iron absorption.’
‘What’s causing the heavy periods?’ she asked as he took the blood sample.
‘Could be a few things,’ he said. ‘Are your periods painful at all?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘That probably rules out endometriosis, where part of the lining of your womb grows in the wrong place and causes cramps. It might be fibroids or polyps. Polyps are growths in the lining of your womb, and fibroids are benign growths or swellings in the muscle of your womb,’ he explained.
‘Growths?’ Flora paled. ‘You mean cancer?’
‘That’s rare,’ Oliver said. ‘No, I mean benign lumps. Not cancer. There’s also the possibility that you’re coming up to the menopause early. I know you’re only thirty, but sometimes in the years before you actually reach the menopause when you stop ovulating the lining in your womb gets a lot thicker before it breaks down.’ He paused. ‘Would you mind if I examined you, or would you prefer to come back next week when Rachel’s here?’
Flora blushed. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing.’
He nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I understand. I’ll make you an appointment to see Rachel then. She’ll check you over—if she sees any sign of fibroids, she might refer you to the hospital for more detailed tests.’
‘Will I have to have surgery?’
‘If they’re causing you a problem—if they hurt, or they’re causing you to bleed so heavily—then, yes, we can remove them.’ He paused. ‘I do need to check a couple of other things with you. Is there any possibility you’re pregnant?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m on the Pill. And I’m bleeding so much, I can’t be pregnant.’
‘The Pill isn’t a hundred per cent effective—there’s always a tiny chance,’ Oliver said. ‘Sometimes a foetus doesn’t travel all the way down to the womb as it should do, and implants in one of your Fallopian tubes instead—that’s called an ectopic pregnancy. Eventually it’ll rupture the tube, and that’s very painful.’ As well as being a medical emergency. ‘So can I ask you to do a urine sample for me, please, and give it to Rita before you leave so I can do a test?’ He handed her a sample bottle.
‘Well, all right.’
‘If it’s positive, I’ll ring you and you’ll need to go straight to the emergency department,’ he warned. ‘Other than that, the most likely cause is fibroids or the run-up to the menopause.’
‘If it’s the menopause, do I have to have HRT?’
‘You don’t have to have anything,’ Oliver said. ‘Hormone replacement therapy’s one possible treatment to help you with symptoms, but there are other options. We can talk them through together once we’ve established what’s causing your heavy bleeding.’
‘Right. Thank you.’ Flora gulped. ‘Well, for being understanding.’
‘Any time.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do the sample for me, and I’ll book you an appointment with Rachel. You’ve put up with this for long enough—we’ll try and get it sorted for you as quickly as possible.’
* * *
On Friday morning, Rachel drove her mother into Maidstone, saw her off on the train and went home to blitz the house. Knowing Sophie’s capacity for turning the house into a complete tip within the space of thirty seconds, she roped her daughter in to help. ‘Let’s have a race—see who can make their window the shiniest! Winner gets some chocolate buttons.’
‘Me, me, me!’ Sophie announced, and polished her bit of window for ages.
Oliver didn’t comment that evening about how nice the house looked, Rachel noticed. Worse still, he spent the evening in his office. Well, tough. Tomorrow he’d have to spend time with her. And she was going to make quite sure that Oliver’s mistress saw a united household. The house would be spotless, the food would be perfect, she would look stunning and the children would be utter cherubs—however much it cost her in chocolate buttons, Princess Mouse stories and a new puzzle book for Robin.
* * *
‘Why can’t we have tea with you?’ Robin asked.
‘Because it’s a grown-up tea. But you can read for an extra ten minutes tonight,’ Rachel said.
‘You smell nice, Mummy,’ he said. ‘And I like your eyes. They’re all sparkly.’
Gold eyeshadow, from the posh set Fiona had given her at Christmas as a stocking-filler. Caroline, from all accounts, was stunning. Rachel had no intention of looking dowdy beside her.
‘You’ve dressed up,’ Oliver said in dismay, when she knocked on his office door and reminded him their guest would be there in fifteen minutes, and he needed to save his file, turn the computer off and shower.
‘Well, it’s not every day we have people to dinner. Maybe we should have invited someone to partner her.’
‘No, no—no need for that,’ Oliver said hastily.
Well, he would say that. Caroline didn’t have a partner. She just had her eyes on her partner. Besides, Rachel and Oliver didn’t really know any single men. Except Oliver’s elder brother—and Nigel preferred his girlfriends to be in their early twenties, so he could pretend he wasn’t really forty. ‘I’ll just check on dinner,’ she said.
As the minutes passed, Rachel grew more and more nervous. Adrenalin pumped through her, making her fingers and the back of her neck tingle. Please, please, let this work, she prayed silently. Make Caroline see that Oliver isn’t right for her. Make her see that she’ll ruin three lives, not just one, if she takes him from us.
When the doorbell rang, Rachel was just testing the potatoes, and the saucepan lid slipped from her hands. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ she muttered, hastily retrieving it and mopping up the water from the floor. Damn. Now Oliver would be answering the door, not her.
As soon as she opened the kitchen door, she heard a small voice ask earnestly, ‘Are you a fairy?’
‘Sadly, no. Though I do have a friend with a magic wand.’
Oh, no. Rachel had forgotten how much Sophie liked answering the door and pretending to be the lady of the house.
‘You must be Sophie and Robin, right?’
‘Right,’ Robin said.
‘I’m Caroline.’
‘You’re a very important guest,’ Sophie said.
‘Mummy’s put candles on the table. We never put candles on the table,’ Robin added.
Never try to hide things when children are about, Rachel thought wryly. ‘Not for you, sweetheart. Unless they’re birthday-cake candles. This is a grown-ups’ dinner, so that’s why we have candles,’ she said, urging the children back from the door. ‘Manners, you two. If you’re going to answer the door to a guest, you’re supposed to let them in! Now, scoot—go and play in the play room.’
There was a chorus of ‘oh’ and ‘but, Mummy’, but eventually the children headed for the play room. Then Rachel had her first real look at The Enemy.
The type who’d manage to look glamorous in a bin bag. Ginny had been understating things just a tad, Rachel thought. Caroline was indeed tall, slim and pretty, with long blonde hair styled to frame her face and flatter her to perfection, intensely blue eyes and a charming smile. Her dress was clearly a designer number, beautifully cut in gorgeous fabric. No wonder Sophie had thought her a fairy. She looked absolutely stunning.
Rachel’s heart sank. She’d made an effort, really tried, and she needn’t have bothered. Next to Caroline Prentiss, she looked positively dowdy. She might just as well have scruffed around in tracksuit bottoms and a baggy T-shirt, scrubbed her face shiny and kept her hair in a scrunchie. ‘Do come in,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ Caroline’s smile was full-wattage and, even though Rachel wanted to push her off a cliff, she couldn’t help responding. ‘It was so kind of you to invite me—and I know it was you who invited me. It wouldn’t have occurred to Ol.’
Ol? Nobody shortened Oliver’s name, ever!
But, then, he and Caroline went back a long, long way. Longer than he and Rachel did.
Tough. He’d chosen Rachel. She’d make sure Caroline realised that tonight.
‘Well, it must be difficult, coming back to your old home town. Everyone’s changed. Besides, it’s a sort of thank you from me as well—for standing in for me this week.’ Hopefully Caroline would take the hint: as of next week, she would be back at the practice. And she had no intention of moving her job or her home to suit Caroline Prentiss.
‘It was a pleasure. I hope I’ve left a decent set of notes for you, but if I haven’t and you want me to explain anything, just ring me—Ol knows my number.’
I just bet he does, Rachel thought.
‘Would you like a drink?’ she enquired sweetly. A cock tail, perhaps. Arsenic Surprise with a sprinkle of cyanide for good measure.
‘I’d love one.’
‘We’ve got some white wine in the fridge, or I can open a bottle of red.’
‘White would be lovely, thanks.’ Caroline handed her a huge bunch of peonies. ‘I’ll admit now, I pinched these from Dad’s garden—but as he and Mum went on holiday for a fortnight this afternoon, I’m sure he’d rather someone actually appreciated them. They won’t last long with me—I’ve got brown thumbs,’ Caroline added with a grimace. ‘I water the things, I even talk to them, and it doesn’t make a bit of difference. Two days, and the whole garden’s brown.’
‘Right. Er, thank you. I’ll put them in water.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
Apart from leave my husband alone? Rachel wanted to ask. ‘No, it’s fine.’
‘Mind if I tag along?’ Caroline followed Rachel into the kitchen. ‘I brought this as a contribution for tonight, too.’ She set a bottle on the worktop. ‘Ol, of course, is completely hopeless—didn’t give me a clue as to whether you wanted red or white. Men! So I played it safe.’
With an expensive bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Caroline might be a cold-hearted cow, Rachel thought, but she had good taste in wine.
‘I brought the kids something, too, but I thought I’d check with you before I hand over any goodies.’ She handed Rachel a carrier bag in exchange for a glass of wine.
‘Do you have children of your own?’ Rachel asked.
‘No. I’m afraid I took a bit of a guess, based on friends’ children. I’ve heard that all little girls under four adore anything pink, and boys like things they can build.’
The tiara and feather boa were absolutely Sophie, and Robin would adore the build-your-own-spaceship kit. Was this Caroline’s way of buying her way into the children’s affections? Rachel forced herself to be pleasant. ‘Thank you. They’ll love them.’
‘Good. I can remember as a child getting presents I hated, and I always had to be polite and grateful when I really wanted to ask if I could have a book rather than a doll next time, please.’ Caroline smiled. ‘Luckily my friends usually give me a list of suggestions for Christmas and birthday presents for their littlies. I wouldn’t have a clue otherwise.’
‘Would you like to give them to them? I’ll go and see why Oliver’s taking so long upstairs.’ Subtext: my husband. My bathroom. My bedroom.
‘Men claim they don’t take as long as women in the bathroom—that’s only because they take longer,’ Caroline said with a grin.
Damn. Not only was she glamorous, she was witty as well. In fact, Rachel thought as she hurried upstairs, if it wasn’t for the fact that Caroline was trying to steal her husband, she’d actually like the woman.
‘Oliver, she’s here. Will you hurry up?’ she muttered through the en suite door.
‘Thirty seconds,’ Oliver called back. ‘Promise.’
It was more like five minutes, but at last he appeared, looking handsome, gorgeous—and Rachel definitely had the feeling he’d made the effort for Caroline’s sake, not hers.
Well, she wasn’t going to make a scene. She was just going to be super-nice. And hopefully Caroline would feel so guilty that she’d leave Oliver alone in future.
‘Right, you two. Bedtime,’ she said to the children.
‘But I want to wear my crown!’ Sophie protested.
‘And I want to make my spaceship!’ Rob said, his bottom lip mutinous.
‘OK, as it’s Saturday, you can stay up a bit longer—in your bedrooms. Daddy will be up later to read you a story, Soph—that’s one story—and turn out the lights,’ she warned.
‘Love you, Mummy,’ Sophie said, hugging her and kissing her. ‘Love you, Daddy.’
Rob followed suit, then both of them stood looking at Caroline.
‘Goodnight, Princess Fairy. Goodnight, Astronaut Bedingfield,’ Caroline said solemnly.
They beamed, and hugged her. Rachel’s heart wrenched. She hadn’t wanted Caroline to be vile to the children—but she hadn’t wanted the children to be a complete pushover either!
Silently, she put the first course on the table. And then suddenly it was just the three of them, and the dining room seemed far too small.
‘This is very nice, Rachel. You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble,’ Caroline said of the home-made smoked salmon mousse.
‘I like cooking,’ Rachel said.
Caroline grinned. ‘I detest it. After years of being forced to bake cakes and cut prissy little sandwiches for vicarage garden parties, I swore I’d never, ever cook again. I’m the Queen of Ready Meals. But don’t tell any of the patients, or they’ll never listen to me when I bang on about watching the amount of saturated fat they eat and reducing their salt intake.’ She winked.
Good. That was one area where she’d score higher than Caroline, then: Oliver liked Rachel’s cooking. She made a mental note to pull out all the stops over the next few weeks. Remind him what he’d be giving up.
The second course went down just as well. ‘Don’t tell me you grow your own herbs as well,’ Caroline said. ‘That’s tarragon in the sauce with the chicken, yes?’
Rachel nodded. ‘Though I’ll admit I bought the fresh herbs from the supermarket.’
‘Much easier. I would, if I ever cooked.’ Caroline gave a sigh of bliss. ‘Minted Jersey Royals. That’s when I always know it’s summer.’
Why did Caroline have to be so nice? Why couldn’t she have been a horrible, nasty piece of work? Not that Rachel wanted Oliver to spend the rest of his life with someone who made him miserable. She just wanted him to be happy. Preferably with her.
‘So you two were friends for years, then?’ Rachel asked.
‘Mmm. We both went to the same school.’
Weren’t vicars supposed to be poor? How come Caroline’s parents had been able to afford private education?
‘She’s cleverer than me. Got a scholarship,’ Oliver said.
Rachel flushed, hoping that her thoughts hadn’t been completely readable.
‘That’s why she went to Oxford, not London,’ he added.
‘A medical degree’s still a medical degree, wherever it came from. And it’s how you treat your patients that counts,’ Caroline corrected him.
Rachel’s thoughts exactly. Hell. Why did Caroline have to be in tune with her? Why couldn’t she be a prissy, cold-hearted snob? Surely that was the sort of woman Isabel Bedingfield would have wanted for her son: a woman out of the same mould as her own?
‘We lost touch a year or so after I went to Oxford. I had a bit of, um, well, a breakdown, really,’ Caroline explained. ‘And I didn’t want to come back to Hollybridge.’
Why? Because she’d split up with Oliver? And why had she split up with Oliver? Had it been anything to do with her ‘breakdown’?
‘What made you change your mind?’ Was it because she wanted Oliver back? Rachel had to know.
‘After I qualified, I travelled a bit,’ Caroline said. ‘I spent some time in the States, then went to Australia. I worked in Sydney for a few years.’
Well, that would explain why she hadn’t come to the wedding.
‘I half thought about settling out there for good.’ She grimaced. ‘But being a vicar’s daughter means you get this strict sense of duty—sort of through osmosis. Dad’s getting near retirement, and Mum’s not been so well lately, so I thought I’d better show my face again. I applied for a locum registration, caught the plane back and here I am again.’
‘And are you staying?’
‘Maybe. I’m using the time while Mum and Dad are on holiday to look for a place of my own.’
Just as long as it’s not this one, Rachel thought.
‘You’re from Newcastle, aren’t you?’ Caroline asked.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a part of the world I haven’t been to. Though I’ve heard the scenery up there’s amazing. Castles and lighthouses—and Holy Island, of course.’
‘There are plenty of castles in Kent,’ Rachel said.
‘Mmm, but it’s not the same. Kent’s pretty flat—and covered in motorways.’
It sounded as if Caroline didn’t really want to stay around here. Oliver wouldn’t go with her, Rachel knew—if nothing else, his loyalty to the practice would keep him in Hollybridge.
‘I’ll, um, get pudding,’ Rachel said when the silence had stretched just that little bit too long.
‘I’ll help you bring the things out,’ Caroline said.
Odd. Shouldn’t she be looking for any excuse to be on her own with Oliver? And why did Oliver have that panicky look in his eyes? Maybe I’ve drunk too much wine, Rachel thought.
‘That looks incredibly full of calories,’ Caroline said as Rachel took the pudding from the fridge.
‘Sorry, are you dieting?’
Caroline scoffed. ‘Not on your life. I was thinking of Ol.’
‘What about me?’ Oliver demanded as they returned to the dining room.
‘I saw your brother the other day. He’s definitely spreading round the middle. You’ll be next. So really, if Rachel and I eat your share of this, we’ll be doing you a favour.’ Caroline let Rachel help her to a large amount. ‘Oh. This is to die for,’ she said after the first taste.
‘White chocolate mousse,’ Rachel said.
‘And raspberries to take the edge off the sweetness. Perfect.’
‘Do you really think I’m spreading round the middle?’ Oliver asked.
Caroline shrugged. ‘You tell me.’
Didn’t she know? Hadn’t she been...well...close enough to Oliver’s naked body to notice?
Caroline had second helpings of the pudding. And when Rachel brought in the coffee and cannoli wafers, Caroline snapped her fingers. ‘Rats. I knew there was something I meant to bring.’
Rachel frowned. ‘What?’
‘Tim Tams. Aussie chocolate biscuits,’ Caroline explained. ‘You have to drink coffee through them, then eat them quickly before they collapse. Dad would have a fit, saying it’s bad manners, but it’s really the best way to eat them. The Aussie way.’ She grinned. ‘Maybe I can tempt you over to have lunch with me one day next week, and you can try them for yourself.’
‘What about me?’ Oliver asked.
‘This is chocolate. Women’s stuff,’ Caroline admonished him. ‘So, how about it, Rachel? Or shall I call you Rach?’
‘Er—I don’t really get a chance for lunch. You know, with picking Soph up from nursery and meeting Rob from school.’
‘Bring Sophie with you. The house is very child-friendly; Mum’s got a box of toys.’
‘Well...thanks.’ She’d find a polite excuse nearer the time.
By the end of the evening, Rachel thought that in other circumstances she would have liked Caroline. But then Oliver saw Caroline to the door. And he was gone for ages. Rachel couldn’t help peeking through the kitchen door, and she regretted it instantly. Caroline and Oliver were talking very quietly—and standing so close together that you could barely have got a blade of grass between them.
Oh, Oliver. How can you possibly do this, in our house, with our children asleep upstairs? Rachel thought.
But she wasn’t giving up on her marriage yet. Not by a long way. Caroline might be nice—but Rachel wasn’t going to hand over her husband on a silver platter. Now she knew what the competition was, she could start to do something about it.