An Autumn Affair (14 page)

Natalia stood there. Wearing an oversized blue shirt and not a lot else.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ she purred, gazing up at him through a sweep of dark lashes. ‘But my cursor’s gone all funny. You couldn’t sort it out for me, could you?’

Chapter Nine

‘Do you mind if I hang out at yours this evening?’ Faye asked Josie, as they left college together that afternoon. ‘It’s completely mental in my house at the moment.’

Josie shook her head. ‘Of course not. But you do realise I still haven’t been to your house. And you haven’t introduced me to any of your family. I’m beginning to think you’re ashamed of me.’

Faye snorted with incredulous laughter. ‘It’s the other way round actually. Think of the definition of dysfunctional, then quadruple it. And there you have my family.’

Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m sure they’re not that bad.’

‘Well, I suppose they’re all right sometimes,’ conceded Faye, recalling the great time they’d all had bowling. ‘But that accounts for, like, 10 per cent. The other 90 per cent, they’re totally nuts. And more so lately. Mum’s been losing the plot at a rate of knots over the last few weeks. She’s like a ticking bomb, ready to explode at any minute. She’s even started doing Pilates in the living room every morning, which is like the weirdest sight ever. Dad’s spending more and more time at work. For which I frankly cannot blame him. And Leo is seventeen going on thirty-seven. He’s so middle-aged, it’s scary. You should think yourself lucky your life is so perfect.’

‘Perfect?’ echoed Josie. ‘It’s hardly that. Besides, I think your family sounds quite normal. I’d love to have a brother or sister. And I’d love my dad to be around more.’

‘But you’ve got your mum,’ pointed out Faye. ‘And she’s, like, the coolest mum on the planet.’

Josie shrugged. ‘I dunno. I guess there must be something in the water because she’s been acting weird lately too.’

‘Oh?’ Faye’s antennae switched to red alert.

‘I’ve no idea what’s happened,’ continued Josie. ‘But over the last couple of years – since Lydia moved to the village really – she and I haven’t hung out at all together. She’s got on with her stuff, and I’ve got on with mine. Now, though, she seems completely focused on me and this party. And whereas a few weeks ago she and Lydia were inseparable, since their last trip to Spain, she seems to be doing everything she can to avoid the woman.’

‘Really?’ said Faye, in what she hoped was an encouraging tone. To her great delight, Josie carried on.

‘And whenever Eduardo’s due at the house, she, like, totally disappears.’

At this information, a portfolio of glamorous scenes flicked through Faye’s mind, all starring Miranda as the beautiful, innocent heroine. ‘Maybe Eduardo made a pass at your mum and she told Lydia, and now the two of them have fallen out about it,’ she gasped.

Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t be daft. That kind of stuff only happens on the telly. And you, Faye Blakelaw, shouldn’t watch so much of it.’

As Faye made her way to Buttersley Hall later that evening, she mulled over this latest revelation regarding Miranda. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the fall-out with Lydia had been over the Spaniard. After all, how could he resist a woman like Miranda? She must be every man’s dream. And in a completely different league to Lydia Pembleton. With Josie’s dad away so much, Faye wondered if Miranda ever reciprocated the interest she undoubtedly received from the opposite sex. She’d bet men swarmed around her like bees round a honeypot. Unlike her own mother, upon whom no man would waste a second glance. And who wouldn’t know an affair if it bowled into the side of her crappy little car. The problem with Josie, Faye concluded, was that she was way too naive. She had no idea about men, and even less apparent inclination to learn. Faye, on the other hand, would prove a very willing pupil indeed. And if Eduardo ever made a pass at her, she’d …

‘Watch out, Sis.’

Startled out of her musings, Faye jumped to the side of the pavement as her brother sprinted past in his running gear.

‘It’s against the law to scare people like that,’ she hollered after him.

Leo’s response involved the waving of a finger in the air.

Faye chuckled and shook her head despairingly.

When Faye arrived at Buttersley Hall, Josie and Eduardo were at the kitchen island.

‘Sorry, Faye,’ apologised Josie. ‘I’d only planned on running three miles, but Eduardo made me run six. Which is why we’ve only just got back now. The man is a hard task master.’

‘
Sí, sí
,’ chuckled Eduardo, swinging around on his stool and winking at Faye. ‘I can be very hard.’

Faye’s cheeks flew scarlet. Not only because of the innuendo and the accompanying sexy smile, but because he looked breathtakingly gorgeous in navy sweatpants and a yellow hoodie, his dark hair dishevelled and a shadow of stubble covering his jaw. She silently chided herself for acting like a gawky kid, then reasoned that it was only because he’d caught her off-guard. She hadn’t expected to see him this evening. At the party, when she’d be fully prepared for his presence, she’d be much more in control. And when he saw her in her new outfit, he’d be in no doubt that Faye Blakelaw was no kid, but one hundred per cent woman.

*****

Since the kiss with Max, Julia’s attention span had shrunk to the size of an ant’s kneecap – if indeed ants even had kneecaps. Also severely reduced was her ability to sit still for longer than two seconds, and to think of anything other than … Max.

The four hours they’d spent together in the pub had zipped by, demonstrating perfectly that well-worn adage of time flying when you’re enjoying yourself. Because Julia
had
enjoyed herself. Immensely. Her initial nerves dissolving within minutes, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d had such a relaxed, entertaining evening. Nor when she’d last been so at ease with someone. What had really amazed her, though, had been the snippets of the old Julia that had re-emerged. The fun Julia. The Julia who sparkled and shone. The Julia who’d been buried under almost two decades of domestic drudgery.

The Julia Max had fallen in love with.

She hadn’t wanted the evening to end. But, adhering to that other old adage, that all good things must, it had. And the huge grin she’d sported all the way had evaporated the moment she arrived back at Primrose Cottage, when the sharp blade of guilt had sliced through her.

Not that she’d done anything wrong.

Not really.

It had only been one little kiss between friends.

But, deep down, Julia knew it was much more than that. With all the proficiency of petrol on ailing cinders, that one kiss had reignited a flame. A flame of desire. Not only for Max, but for the person Julia used to be. Before Paul and the twins.

There’d been no improvement in her and Paul’s relationship since the cocktail party evening. Primarily because Paul had hardly been home. But also because, during his fleeting appearances, neither of them seemed inclined to change the sorry situation. Communication occurred on a needs-must basis only. Like the evening he arrived home from his business trip to Paris …

‘I’m, er, not very hungry,’ he mumbled, staggering into the kitchen just as Julia and the twins were sitting down to spaghetti bolognese.

‘Good trip, Dad?’ asked Leo.

‘Er, yes,’ Paul blustered, running a hand over his forehead which, Julia noticed, was beaded with sweat. Why on earth would he be sweating when all he’d done was walk from the car to the door on a particularly cool evening?

‘See the Eiffel Tower?’ asked Faye.

Paul made a grab for the kitchen bench. ‘Er, yes. Yes. I did.’

‘How tall is it again?’

Julia watched as her husband’s face grew worryingly pink.

‘How tall is what?’

‘The Eiffel Tower.’

Paul seemed to be struggling for breath. ‘I, er, can’t remember. You’ll have to look it up on the internet.’

‘You all right, Dad?’

‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Just a bit tired. Think I’ll grab a shower,’ he muttered, before scurrying out of the room without once making eye contact with Julia.

‘God, even Dad seems to have lost the plot now,’ huffed Faye, dumping a pile of spaghetti onto her plate. ‘This house is getting more mental by the day.’

Julia had to agree. Their domestic situation seemed to be going from bad to worse, but she hadn’t the mental capability to address it, her entire head space being completely commandeered by Max.

The time with Max had not only proved that the old Julia remained very much alive and kicking – albeit under several tons of rubble – but had also highlighted the glaring deficiencies in her relationship with her husband. Never had she enjoyed an evening with Paul as much as she had that evening in the pub with Max. Even before marriage and the twins.

When she and Paul had met, during that crazy weekend in Durham, she’d been stressed out with university work, desperate to achieve a good degree so she could follow her dream of becoming an interpreter. Ha! What a waste of time that had been. And then, immediately after graduating, she’d fallen pregnant. Leaving no time in-between for fun.

Paul had been great when she’d told him about the pregnancy. The two of them, naturally, had been completely terrified at first, but he’d supported her all the way and, while making his steady ascent up the corporate ladder, had nevertheless always put the family first. Never failing to be there in times of crisis – like when Faye stuck her head through the railings at school, at exactly the same time Julia should have been driving Leo to his trumpet exam. Without the slightest bit of demurring, Paul had zipped over from the office to sort out Leo, while Julia had stayed with Faye and waited for the fire brigade.

As a team, the two of them had functioned well. And Julia did love him. Not with the same passion she’d loved Max. That was a complete one-off. In fact she doubted the existence of another living soul with whom she could share that strength of connection again. No, rather than ‘falling in love’ with Paul, she would more accurately describe it as ‘growing to love’ him.

Unsurprisingly it had taken Julia months to recover from the break-up with Max – if indeed she ever had recovered from it. It was ages before she could bring herself to sleep with Paul. Every time they’d come close, she’d stop, feeling like she was betraying Max. But then one day, she’d been walking to a lecture in York and it had hit her. She actually missed Paul. And it was about time she showed him how much. That same evening she’d hopped on a train to Durham and raced around to his student digs. She hadn’t wasted any time explaining her feelings. The demonstration had been far more effective.

‘Wow,’ Paul exclaimed afterwards. ‘What made you change your mind?’

‘It was time,’ said Julia. And it had been. Time for her to move on from Max. Time for her to enjoy another healthy relationship.

But she hadn’t really had time to enjoy it because, in a flash, the twins had arrived.

Julia couldn’t help but wonder if, had she not fallen pregnant, their relationship would have lasted. She doubted it. As much as she’d grown to love Paul, he still lacked so many of the attributes she found attractive in Max. And she obviously fell very short of Paul’s expectations. Their conversation the evening of the cocktail party, his subsequent cool behaviour, increasingly frequent absences, combined with the bucket-load of guilt he seemed to be lugging around following his Paris trip, all proved that he wasn’t happy either. Paul wanted a glamorous wife. A corporate wife. A wife who drove a sporty little Mercedes. A wife who supported him. Showed an interest in his career.

A wife completely unlike Julia.

On all fours on the living room floor, Julia paused her Pilates DVD and sat back on her heels. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps she should have supported Paul more. Rather than wallowing in her own misery, beating herself black and blue for her disastrous life choices, she should be making the best of her lot. For all she and Paul had never – and would never – experience the chemistry that sparked between her and Max, Paul was a good man, and a good husband and father.

Maybe then, if Julia made more effort, rather than harbouring ridiculously fanciful notions of reigniting her relationship with a lover of twenty years ago – and imagining she could regain her body of twenty years ago with a few Pilates DVDs – life at Primrose Cottage would be a whole lot better.

*****

‘Oh, Annie, it’s amazing.’

In the centre of Buttersley High Street, in her tiny cake shop, Crumbs
,
Annie O’Donnell flushed pink and blew out a breath of relief. ‘Phew. I’m so pleased you like it.’

‘Like it?’ gasped Miranda, beaming at the cascade of tennis ball cupcakes which formed Josie’s eighteenth birthday cake. ‘It’s fantastic.’

‘Well, it’s certainly one of my more original creations,’ giggled Annie. ‘I love the theme for the party, by the way. It sounds amazing.’

‘Thanks.’ Miranda felt her own cheeks warming. She wasn’t used to praise but, she had to admit, it felt rather nice. Especially from someone who seemed as grounded as Annie O’Donnell. She’d never had much to do with Annie before. She and her husband, the famous author Jake O’Donnell, mixed in completely different circles. But, on the rare occasions their paths had crossed, Miranda had always found Annie to be extremely pleasant, and she’d been an absolute star about Josie’s cake, particularly given the short notice.

‘Hey, why don’t you come along to the party?’ she suggested. ‘And bring Jake and the children. It would be lovely for you to hear the compliments about the cake first-hand.’

Annie’s smile widened. ‘Thanks. I’d really like that. But I’m not sure about bringing the rug rats to your lovely house. Not if you want it to remain lovely. Thomas is crawling now, which means he’s into absolutely everything. I’m sure Jake would love to come, though. It’ll be an excuse for him to escape the laptop for a while. This latest novel of his seems to be taking forever.’

Miranda silently kicked herself. How could she have lived beside such interesting people for so long and know so little about them? A sudden urge to change that overtook her. ‘It must be exciting being married to a famous author,’ she said.