Paradise Fields (43 page)

‘Yes? I'm dying of suspense here.'

‘It's about Simon,' said Jake eventually.

‘Oh? I have no intention of marrying him, you know, or indeed anyone.'

‘That's a relief.'

A tiny part of Nel had wanted Jake to protest at this determined statement. ‘Oh?'

‘Not the getting married at all part, but that you're not going to marry Simon.'

‘Oh? Are you going to tell me why?' She bit back the rider, ‘If you don't want to marry me yourself.' She didn't want to marry him, she was almost sure, but she didn't want him to have made that decision before she had.

‘I did a bit of research on him.'

‘I know he was in cahoots with Gideon Freebody and that lot. That's not news.'

‘But did you know he's been married twice before, and the women in question had to sell their houses in order to get rid of him?'

Nel went cold. ‘No, I didn't. How did you find out?'

‘Friends in the trade.'

‘But that's horrendous!'

‘Yes, it is. And one of the women lost the house she'd lived in with her late husband, and brought all her children up in.'

‘How on earth did he do that?'

‘He was clever and the judges were stupid. I'm quite sure it was what he planned for you.'

‘Huh! As if he could have got away with it! Besides, he bossed the children. I could never have married him. And he didn't like the dogs on the furniture. It's why I won't marry again.' Then she frowned. ‘So why did you bother to find out about Simon's past life?'

Jake shrugged. ‘I had my own reasons.'

‘Which were?' She wasn't going to let him get away without telling her.

‘When you're thinking about moving into an area and you meet a woman you really fancy, it's only natural to check out the opposition.'

An involuntary sound emerged from Nel, but she suppressed it. She couldn't quite decide if Jake ‘checking out the opposition' was intensely flattering, or a bit stalkerish.

‘But having found out all that stuff, I didn't want to tell you, in case it looked like I was claiming an unfair advantage.'

‘What, by not being a man who marries women for their property?'

‘There is something else, Nel . . .'

The bubbles of excitement and happiness which had been beginning to form suddenly went flat. This was when he told her he was still married, that they were
only separated or, worse, giving themselves a break. ‘What?' she demanded crisply.

‘I've applied for a job.'

‘Well, that's not usually a reason to behave as if you have a secret life. What sort of job? Besides, I thought you'd got one.'

‘You are a bit involved.'

‘Am I? How can I be? You're not planning to take my job setting up the farmers' market out of my hands, are you?'

‘No, you idiot! At the hospice!'

‘The hospice?'

‘Yes! The one you've just spent the best years of your life trying to save! I've got the job as the director!'

‘But why didn't I know about it! I'm always involved in interviewing.'

Jake was getting more and more uncomfortable. ‘I had to declare an interest.'

‘What?'

‘I had to explain that I – entertained certain feelings for you.'

‘Jake, when did you apply for the job? We've been looking for someone for ages—'

‘It was before we'd slept together.'

Nel was suddenly far too hot. She fought her way out of her waxed jacket and pushed it out of the way. ‘I can't believe that no one told me.'

‘Very few people knew. Chris Mowbray didn't, but although he's the chairman, he's not the real power on the committee. It's Father Ed. He's been looking for ages, which you know. It was when I went for the interview I had to tell him about you.'

Nel now wanted to take off her jumper, but didn't
think she should, given she wasn't wearing much underneath. ‘What did you tell him about me?'

‘That I found you very attractive, but I couldn't pursue a relationship with you if you knew I was applying for the job. You would have thought I was doing it for the wrong reasons.'

Aware that this was exactly what she'd have thought didn't help her internal thermostat. ‘It's not very well paid, you know.'

‘I can do a bit of consultancy on the side. They've agreed to let me do that. And living in the country will be so much cheaper than in town.'

‘Oh. Good.' Nel had a sudden desire for deodorant. She didn't know if anxiety and heat had given her an unpleasant ‘glow' but she couldn't take the chance. ‘I don't suppose you might be stopping for fuel anytime soon?'

‘I've got enough to take us all the way' – Nel winced – ‘but if you want to stop, there's a services coming up soon.'

‘Oh good. I could do a little essential shopping.'

‘As long as you promise not to escape.'

Nel gave him a withering look. It was nice to be able to do so. ‘Oh yes, I'm very likely to run away in a service station and hitch a lift back home. Obviously, I'd get dozens of offers.'

‘You'd get a lot more offers than I care to think of. You're a very lovely woman. The fact that you're unaware of it does not make you any less attractive.'

NEL WONDERED IF
there was something inherently sluttish about trying to re-do your make-up in a motorway service station when all you have is a stump of pencil, a dried-up mascara and one lipstick, or was it just her own anxiety that made it seem so? Her feelings weren't helped by the fact she was still wearing her wellington boots.

She had heaved her bag over to the front of the Jeep and found that the shoes Fleur had put in were what were known as her ‘Killer Heels'. Nel called them that because she did find it hard to walk in anything too high, and these had heels of nearly two inches. Fleur and Viv called them that because they thought it was killingly funny that she could refer to such mild shoes as ‘Killer'. Call them what you like, she thought now, they would not look right with thick, albeit laddered, black tights and her old black trousers. Smart trousers possibly, but not mud-splattered ones.

What was it about Jake and her and mud? There seemed to be a symbiotic relationship she couldn't avoid.

But she was edgy, and she knew it wasn't really her make-up, or lack or it, or the fact her hair needed washing that was making her so. And she should have been blissfully happy.

She had so much to be happy about. The least awful scheme for Paradise Fields had triumphed over the expensive, badly built rabbit hutches which would have covered every inch of land if their plan had failed. She was on her way to a good hotel in Cornwall with the man who had taken up every waking thought and many of her sleeping ones for months, who was not only too gorgeous to live but had turned out to be a thoroughly nice man. They'd even slept together and knew it was fantastic. There was absolutely no reason for Nel to be anything but ecstatic.

As she rinsed her hands she noticed the women on either side of her looking at her oddly. She hoped they didn't think she was on the game. After all, why else was a middle-aged woman desperately trying to glam herself up at six o'clock at night? No, if she was on the game, she'd have her kit with her. She probably looked like she'd run away from home and was desperately trying to look respectable enough to be taken in somewhere for the night. Which was actually the case.

As she wet her fingers and started pulling at her hair she concluded her edginess was because what was about to follow was a foregone conclusion. Jake would expect her to sleep with him. God! If she'd gone to all that trouble, she'd expect it too – it was not remotely unreasonable. She hadn't exactly been unwilling to be seduced before, in fact she had been embarrassingly eager.

But it had been entirely spontaneous. So spontaneous it had required a humiliating trip to the chemist the following day. Now she looked at the condom machine with trepidation. Should she take responsibility for her fertility and buy some? Or should she assume that he
would have thought about this unromantic aspect of weekends away and dealt with the matter himself?

A glance at the women (why were they spending so long in here?) and Nel's overstretched brazenness quota expired; she couldn't buy condoms – at least, not from a machine while she was being watched. After all, if the hotel was really all that good, they could probably supply them. Jake could just pick up the phone and say, ‘Send up some double-ribbed, extra fine' or something that sounded equally like knitwear. A slightly hysterical giggle erupted from somewhere and she had to disguise it as a cough. Why didn't the women leave? Were they the service station equivalent of store detectives? Would they check to see she hadn't vandalised her cubicle with her lipstick?

She dragged her mind back to condoms. One thing was certain, she couldn't have unprotected sex again. She had just about forgiven herself for the first time, but to have it again would be completely unforgivable. How cross she would be with her children if she thought they weren't taking proper precautions.

She could buy some in the shop. She'd already been in there to buy a toothbrush, toothpaste and a better hairbrush than the hairy, broken-handled thing she had in her bag. She'd seen them by the counter. She would just go up, select some chewing gum and then pick up a packet of condoms and say, ‘Oh, I'd better have these.' How hard could that be?

Not hard at all if she were in her twenties or thirties. The fact that she had definitely hit forty did make it a tad worse. Indeed, it made it nearly impossible.

She peered into the mirror and took a brief count of the wrinkles round her eyes. There was, she concluded,
not just the feet but the nest of the crow on either side – laughter lines be damned. She was too old for this, that was the problem.

Her mind went back to one of those conversations she had had with Fleur and Viv, one about taking your clothes off in front of a man you didn't know. It would be all right if one's body was smooth and tanned and slim, but Nel had stretch marks, cellulite, and, not having been given any warning of this weekend, hairy legs. Not very hairy, admittedly, as she'd been waxing them for years and a lot of hairs had given up the struggle, but her legs weren't shining and sleek. Half of her cursed Fleur and Viv for colluding with Jake. Didn't they realise she wouldn't want to do this sort of thing without having had a facial, a thorough exfoliation and possibly a fake tan as well?

She almost groaned aloud. Vivian and Fleur wouldn't understand her anxieties. They had womanly confidence. They were gorgeous and they knew it. And while Nel knew she had quite a lot of followers, as her mother would have called them, for the most part they weren't men who did her ego any good. Only Jake did that, but even now he didn't do it quite well enough for her to believe she was an attractive, sexy woman who was entitled to an attractive, sexy man.

She gave her hair a last despairing tweak and forced herself out of the brightly lit safety of the Ladies. Jake wanted her, fancied her, and had gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap her: she must have something about her. She put her shoulders back and went to find him in the shop.

‘You were a long time. I thought you'd skipped off back home.' He kissed her cheek. Someone kissed her
cheek almost every day, but now, it seemed the tenderest gesture anyone had ever made to her.

‘Well, I did try my luck with the lorry drivers but it was no good. They said the black heels with the trousers and tights made me look like an Essex Girl in mourning. And the wellington boots are the wrong sort of kinky.'

He grinned. ‘Shall we go?' He took her hand and led her back to the Jeep. We must look like lovers, she thought. I wonder if we are?

‘You're very quiet. You haven't said a word for hours.' They had turned off the motorway, which they had thundered down at a speed which should have been terrifying, but somehow wasn't, and were now on narrow, high-sided roads which all looked the same and were all sprinkled with primroses, just visible in the evening light.

‘Oh well, I'm tired, you know, and enjoying the scenery. It's so lovely here. I love the moment when you see that the soil has turned that deep red colour and you know it's growing grass that's feeding cows who are making all that clotted cream—'

‘And now you're gabbling. Are you nervous?'

She gave a long, shuddering sigh. There seemed no point in denying it. ‘The thing is, Jake, although this is a really lovely idea – really, really, lovely – I am a bit – well . . .'

‘Nervous?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘To be brutally frank—' after all, that ‘why' had been quite brutal. He should have just said, ‘Don't worry, I won't make you do anything you feel uncomfortable with.' ‘—it's the whole taking my clothes off thing.'

‘Oh?' He was polite but disbelieving, as if she'd admitted to an inability to handle zips.

‘
Yes!
Jake, I have a body that is less than perfect. I am overweight. I have stretch marks and cellulite. In fact, I could be in a painting by Lucian Freud!'

‘Could you?' He seemed much more interested now. ‘Which one? I'll buy it immediately.'

Nel giggled. ‘You are a twit! You won't be able to afford paintings by anyone if you become the director of the hospice, let alone by Lucian Freud. We pay peanuts.'

‘I know you do and I told you, I'm going to do a bit of agency work on the side. My present firm are happy to keep me on to do bits and pieces they haven't time for.'

‘But going back to my body—'

He put his hand on hers and squeezed it. ‘If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about your body while I'm driving. These lanes are quite confusing and it's getting dark. We'll get to the hotel, and then we'll go for a walk along the beach. Then we can talk about whatever you like.'