Staying at Daisy's (29 page)

‘Now, you’re sure you’re OK?’ Maggie bustled into the living room with a fresh bottle of Perrier from the fridge. She stroked Tara’s hair, rattled her car keys, and said, ‘Poor darling, you still look dreadful. I’ll bring home some little treats for when you get your appetite back. D’you want me to pick up a couple of magazines?’

Tara nodded and felt cared-for. It was three in the afternoon and she’d reached the fragile-but-recovering stage. Every muscle in her body still ached, but she had managed to drink, and keep down, two whole glasses of water. Best of all, she no longer felt sick or as though she might have to dash to the loo at a millisecond’s notice.

‘I’ll be back by five,’ said Maggie, who was off to the supermarket for a big shop. ‘You just take it easy, watch a bit of telly, have a good rest.’

Oh, it was nice to be cosseted. And Maggie had recorded
Rain Man
for her last night. Snuggling up under the duvet on the sofa, Tara waved the remote at the video and determinedly didn’t think about Dominic. A couple of hours in the company of Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise was just what she needed to cheer her up.

The doorbell rang an hour later.

‘Jeopardy,’ said Dustin Hoffman on the television.

Wrestling her way out of the duvet, Tara hurriedly ran her hands over her sticking-up hair. It might be Dominic, come back to apologize and tell her he still loved her.

Well, it might be.

Though whether he’d still love her in her Madonna T-shirt and baggy jogging bottoms was another matter. She opened the door anyway.

‘Hello,’ said Annabel Cross-Calvert. Oh God. Tara prayed she’d fallen asleep on the sofa and was in fact having a horrible dream. This really couldn’t be happening, could it? ‘Probably best if you invite me in,’ Annabel suggested. ‘We need to talk.’

Oh, buggering hell. This was real. Fighting down panic, Tara wondered if she’d be allowed a phone call to her solicitor. If only she had one.

Dry-mouthed and with her heart pummeling her rib cage, she stepped to one side. Annabel swept past her in a mist of Chanel No. 19. She paused to survey the crumpled duvet, the drawn curtains, and the flickering TV screen.

‘Uh-oh,’ Dustin Hoffman bluntly announced. ‘Fart.’

‘Sorry, I’ll turn it off.’ Frantically, Tara reached for the remote control, shoveled the duvet out of sight behind the sofa, cleared a mound of Maggie’s cushion-making paraphernalia from the armchair, and gestured for Annabel to sit down. ‘Um… cup of tea?’

‘No thanks.’ Annabel shook her head and remained standing. She was wearing an expensive-looking grey suede coat, a crisp pink shirt, and pale grey trousers.

Not knowing what to do with herself, Tara rubbed her perspiring hands together and said in desperation, ‘Coffee?’

‘No.’ Annabel took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. ‘You’re having an affair with my husband.’

‘I’m not.’ Vigorously Tara shook her own head. ‘I’m not, I promise. I haven’t slept with him.’

‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. You spent last night with him at that hotel in Clevedon. He drove you back here this morning. I know all about it.’

Would this be a good moment to faint? Tara, feeling pretty wobbly anyway, sank down with a bump on the sofa.

‘Who told you? Dominic?’

Annabel’s upper lip curled with derision. ‘Of course not. I’ve been having him tailed.’

‘Tailed? You mean
followed
?’ Tara felt sweat break out all over her body. ‘By a…?’

‘Private detective. That’s right.’

‘But, but… he came to pick me up last night. We didn’t see anyone following us.’ OK, it was an admission of guilt but Annabel was clearly in possession of the facts. Well, most of them.

‘That’s because he’s good at his job,’ Annabel patiently replied. ‘And he didn’t need to drive bumper to bumper behind you all the way to Clevedon. He’d already planted a tracking device in Dominic’s car. The wonders of modern technology,’ she went on dryly. ‘Where would we be without them?’

An awful lot safer, Tara thought, that was for sure. Less caught out. She’d never liked modern technology and now she knew why.

She liked it even less when Annabel clicked open her handbag and took out a tiny cassette tape.

‘You had dinner together in the hotel restaurant. Remember the middle-aged man sitting on his own at the table next to yours?’

‘No.’

‘See?’ Annabel sounded almost pleased. ‘That’s another reason why he’s such a good private detective. Nobody ever notices him. But he noticed you.’ She paused. ‘He also recorded every word you said.’

Well, that was it, the game was well and truly up. In fact it couldn’t get more up if it tried.

‘You were in too much of a hurry to stay for pudding, it seems. Apparently you missed a treat,’ Annabel went on. ‘He told me the chocolate mousse was out of this world.’ She pulled a funny little face and added, ‘Who knows, it might even have been better than sex.’

Tara was suddenly struck by a thought at once both horrifying and welcome. If their room had been bugged as well, it meant Annabel knew that nothing physical had gone on between Dominic and herself. Which could only be good news.

On the other hand, it would mean she’d listened to a tape full of violent retching and throwing up.

Fearfully, Tara said, ‘Was there a listening thingy planted in our room?’

Annabel moved her shoulders almost imperceptibly, as if to say, ‘Might be, might not.’ ‘You’ve been seeing my husband.’ Her voice was cold. ‘Why don’t you just tell me what happened and then I’ll tell you whether or not there was.’

Tara rubbed her face hard with both hands, no longer caring how sweaty and disheveled she must look. ‘OK, OK. But I can’t do it with you standing there like that. You’ll have to sit down.’

***

‘So that’s it,’ she concluded fifteen minutes later. ‘The whole truth. Well, if the room was bugged, you’ll already know it’s the truth.’

‘The room wasn’t bugged,’ said Annabel.

Tara didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. ‘It’s still what happened,’ she said wearily.

‘But the fact remains, you would have slept with Dominic if you hadn’t been ill.’

‘I suppose so.’ Miserably, Tara nodded. She wasn’t proud of herself.

‘You
wanted
to have sex with him,’ Annabel persisted.

‘And Dominic wanted to have sex with me!’ Tara blurted out. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I know that what we did was wrong… well, almost did… but it’s not all Dominic’s fault, is it? You can’t marry a man and refuse him any kind of sex life and seriously expect him to just put up with it! That isn’t fair on him. It’s no way to treat
anyone
,’ Tara rushed on passionately, ‘and it’s just plain
selfish
not to even consider getting some kind of counseling—’

‘Yes, yes, I’ve already heard this on the tape.’ Annabel gestured impatiently with her hand. ‘I thought it was sweet of you to be so concerned. Something to do with easing your own guilty conscience, I imagine, plus making Dominic think what a thoroughly lovely person you are.’

Tara flushed. ‘But you
should
see a counselor.’

‘Actually, can I change my mind?’ Coolly, Annabel raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I will have that cup of tea now.’

It was probably what she announced to Dominic whenever he dared suggest going to bed together, Tara thought as she made her way through to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

She was pouring the boiling water onto the tea bags when Annabel appeared behind her in the doorway.

‘Shall I tell you why I haven’t been to a counselor?’ she inquired.

Because you’re frigid, thought Tara, and terrified that you might be forced to discuss body parts with a complete stranger—heavens, he might even start using revolting words like
intercourse
and, ugh,
penis
. ‘The reason I haven’t been to a counselor,’ Annabel went on, ‘is because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with our sex life.’ Tara splashed too much milk into her own cup. Oh well, didn’t matter, she wasn’t up to drinking it anyway.

Was Annabel
serious
?

‘But—’

‘We have a fabulous time in—and out—of bed,’ said Annabel. ‘Great sex and plenty of it. What’s the matter, do you think I’m making this up?’

Tara went cold all over. She turned round to look at her. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I believed you just now,’ said Annabel, ‘when you told me what happened last night. Now it’s your turn to believe me.’

‘But why would he say it if it wasn’t true?’ In her heart of hearts, even as her mouth formed the words, Tara knew exactly why.

‘Because Dominic’s a liar. And he’s greedy. Face facts,’ Annabel went on with a shrug. ‘Everywhere you look, there are men cheating on their wives and telling their mistresses how miserable they are at home. They do it for fun, because two women are better than one. It’s a hobby. Is that one mine? Thanks. And of course he’s a very good liar, you already know that. Well, we both do.’

Tara watched her standing there sipping her tea. Annabel was taking this remarkably calmly, considering.

‘I didn’t know,’ she protested.

‘Oh, come on. What about my wedding day?’

Tara flushed and prodded the tea bag still bobbing around in her own cup. ‘Tell me the truth,’ said Annabel. ‘You were covering up for him, weren’t you? That big confession of yours was to save Dominic’s skin. He was the one making all the moves and you ended up taking the blame.’

Oh hell.

‘I didn’t just do it for him. I didn’t want to mess up your big day.’

‘See? You’re not all bad.’ Annabel smiled briefly.

‘So what are you going to do now? I mean, you’ve listened to the tape,’ said Tara. ‘You heard what Dominic said. He wants to leave you.’

‘Actually, I’m quite peckish. Got any biscuits? Of course he doesn’t want to leave me,’ Annabel went on, as Tara pointed numbly at the black and white biscuit tin next to the kettle. Helping herself to a couple of Bourbon creams, she leaned against the worktop. ‘I’m rich, aren’t I? Dominic loves being married to me and my millions. He can’t wait for me to get pregnant.’

This was becoming frankly bizarre.

‘And you don’t mind that he cheats on you and tells people you’re frigid?’

‘Oh, don’t be so stupid, of course I
mind
,’ Annabel exclaimed through a mouthful of biscuit. Swallowing and shaking her head in apology, she patted her mouth neatly with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry, my old etiquette teacher would have a fit if she could see me now. I mean, Dominic was never what you might call the faithful type, but he swore he’d change once we were married. I wasn’t so sure, but he turned on the famous charm and… Well, you know how charming Dominic can be when he puts his mind to it. He persuaded me to marry him, and my mum thought he was wonderful. In the end I just got caught up in all the preparations, more to keep my mother happy than anything else. But I did think it was a bit much, him getting off with someone else on the morning of our wedding.’

Tara stared at her in disbelief. ‘So you knew it wasn’t my fault all along?’

‘Oh, come on, you weren’t completely innocent. You have to take some of the blame,’ Annabel declared with a touch of scorn.

‘But you were going to call off the wedding until I came up to see you. If you knew I was covering up for Dominic, why did you pretend to believe me?’

‘I couldn’t do it to my mother. She’d have had a nervous collapse or a heart attack or something. All the guests were arriving, she’d been planning the wedding for months. She’d never have been able to live with the shame. This is what didn’t occur to my big-mouthed sister when she saw you and Dominic disappearing into the summerhouse,’ Annabel said dryly. ‘If it had been me, I’d have kept it to myself.’

‘OK. Right. So what happens now?’ Tara was confused by Annabel’s relaxed, almost jovial manner. ‘Are you going to divorce him?’

‘I’m not sure. Haven’t decided yet. As I said, we do still have good times together. I just don’t want to be married to someone who’s unfaithful to me.’

‘Technically,’ Tara hesitated, ‘he hasn’t been unfaithful.’

‘You’ve been seeing him for weeks!’

‘No sex though.’

Annabel snorted with laughter. ‘Thanks to a dodgy tuna sandwich. OK, I trust you now. Are you going to see Dominic again?’

‘No.
No way
.’ Vehemently Tara shook her head. As far as Dominic was concerned, she had well and truly come to her senses. Every word he’d uttered had been a lie.

‘Sure? Even when he rings you up and does his charm bit?’

‘Definitely sure.’ Tara shuddered. ‘Although to be honest I can’t see him ringing anyway. After last night’s performance, I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again for dust.’ She pulled a face. ‘If you do end up having a baby, don’t expect Dominic to be great at coping with puking and nappies. Something tells me it isn’t his strong point.’

Annabel knocked back the rest of her tea, then checked her watch. ‘Time I made a move. Dominic’s expecting me back from London at five. Thanks for the tea and biscuits, and the chat. You look after yourself,’ she added as they reached the front door.

‘Thanks. And I am sorry.’ Tara meant it. ‘About… well, everything.’

‘Don’t worry. By the way, Dominic’s the one who’s desperate for me to have that baby.’ With a glint of amusement in her eyes, Annabel said, ‘He doesn’t know I’m on the Pill.’

At the hotel, a school reunion was in riotous progress in the bar. Two hours after dinner in the restaurant, overexcited forty-somethings were still greeting each other like teenagers, shrieking at the tops of their voices as they recognized someone else they hadn’t seen for twenty-five years, and exclaiming that they hadn’t changed a bit.

Which was, obviously, a huge lie.

Escaping from the smoky overheated bar, Daisy headed for the front steps. As she breathed in lungfuls of cold clean air, a familiar sound behind her made her turn round.

Clarissa was making her way jauntily through reception as if she owned the place, her claws clickety-clacking against the flagstones. Still descending the staircase was Dev, wearing an old Barbour over a black sweater and jeans. As she watched, Daisy saw him pause briefly to chat with Barney, who was covering the night shift this week. Determined not to be left out on the socializing front, Clarissa greeted Daisy with joy, winding her body like a hairy scarf around Daisy’s legs.

‘How’s it going?’ Dev joined them on the steps.

‘Lovely.’ Bending to ruffle Clarissa’s ears, Daisy said, ‘She’s keeping my ankles warm.’

‘I meant how are you coping?’ Dev gave her a be-serious look.

‘OK.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘I’ll live.’

‘I’m taking Clarissa for a walk. Fancy coming along?’

At that moment a fresh chorus of high-pitched shrieks and whoops spilled out of the bar. Daisy, whose ears were starting to ache from the sheer volume of noise—blimey, she must be getting old—decided that she did.

‘Give me two minutes to change out of these stupid shoes.’

Upstairs in her flat, the phone began to ring as she was peeling off her skirt and wriggling into a pair of jeans. Hopping clumsily over to the phone, Daisy saw Josh’s mobile number on caller display and left it. Josh would be surrounded by friends, phoning from some noisy bar to tell her about the wild time they were having. Instead, breathing in and zipping up, she pulled on a pair of flat boots, grabbed her purple fleece, and was out of the flat before the call even had a chance to switch to answerphone.

Well, mustn’t keep Clarissa waiting.

They set off together down the drive, breathing clouds of condensation into the night air. It wasn’t as cold as it had been; a thaw had set in during the day and the snow was now almost melted. Daisy took deep breaths, enjoying the rhythmic sound of their feet crunching over the gravel as Clarissa bounced around, goat-like, on the grass.

‘She thinks she lives here now,’ Dev observed. ‘She’s going to be gutted when we leave.’

Glad he wasn’t pursuing the subject of how she felt about Mel and Freddie, Daisy said, ‘How’s your house?’

‘Like a bomb site. Well, not quite that bad.’ Dev steered her round a puddle as they reached the end of the drive. ‘The roof’s been patched up and the plumbing’s more or less sorted. When I went over this afternoon the decorators were making a start on the bedrooms. You’re stuck with me for another couple of weeks yet.’

Clarissa raced ahead of them, investigating potential lampposts for wee-ability as they made their way down the High Street. Since it was too complicated to work out whether she would be glad or sorry when they moved out, Daisy shoved her hands into her fleece pockets and said, ‘It smells like autumn.’

‘No, here, girl, this way.’ Dev whistled at Clarissa, who was now turning right into Brocket’s Lane. As Clarissa blithely ignored him and he shouted, ‘No, come on,
back
,’ Daisy realized with amusement that he was still too embarrassed to call her by name.

‘You have a go,’ said Dev. ‘She might take more notice of you.’

‘She’s your dog.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘It’s your job.’

Dev whistled again. ‘Dammit.’ He raked his fingers despairingly through his dark hair. ‘She’s doing it on purpose.’

‘Her name’s Clarissa.’ Daisy gave him an innocent look. ‘You could always try using it.’

‘Look, I was trying to spare your feelings.’ Swinging round, Dev caught her laughing at him. ‘I thought you’d prefer to give Brocket’s Lane a miss.’

‘Because it’s where Barney lives with my late husband’s mistress and my late husband’s baby? That’s deeply considerate of you,’ Daisy patted his arm, ‘but I think I can handle it.’ Keeping a straight face she added meaningfully, ‘I’m not a wimp.’

Unlike some people around here…

‘I know you’re not a wimp.’ Dev ignored the implied slur. ‘I just don’t want you breaking their windows.’

‘I promise not to break any windows. Come on.’ Daisy gave him a playful push in the direction of the lane. ‘Follow that dog.’

As they passed Bert Connelly’s cottage, Daisy sniffed the air again.

‘Someone’s had a bonfire. That’s why it smelled like autumn before. I said it smelled like autumn, didn’t I? What a weird time of year to be having a bonfire.’

Clarissa barked and skittered on up the lane. Following her, Dev frowned. ‘I can smell it too. It’s getting stronger…
oh shit
.’

He had rounded the bend six feet ahead of Daisy. Catching up, she saw what he’d just seen. Smoke was curling from the downstairs windows of Brock Cottage. The whole place was in darkness, apart from a dull orange glow coming from the living room. As Daisy stared, momentarily rooted to the spot, she heard the faint crackle of flames inside the house.

Oh Jesus, oh no.

‘Fire brigade.’ Dev was speaking urgently into the mobile phone he’d already pulled from his pocket. ‘Brock Cottage, Brocket’s Lane, Colworth, the place is on fire… what? Yes, an ambulance too. I don’t know, I think so.’ As he spoke, he and Daisy raced the last twenty or so yards to the cottage. She knew what was going through his mind—if the place was in absolute darkness, it could be empty. Did this mean Mel and Barney had had a huge row? Had Mel packed her bags, taken Freddie, and left? Had she been so distraught and hellbent on revenge that she’d set fire to the place on her way out? Oh God, surely not—yet in one way it was infinitely preferable to the alternative.

‘
Mel!
’ bellowed Daisy, racing up the path and hammering frantically on the locked front door. ‘Mel, are you there?’

There was silence for several seconds, broken only by the crackle of flames and Daisy’s coughing as the smoke seeping through the letter box made its way into her lungs. The next moment her blood ran cold as they heard a shriek of alarm and a child’s piteous wail. Mel and Freddie were in there, upstairs, with a fire raging below. It would be fifteen minutes before any fire engines reached the village.

Above them the front bedroom window was flung open, billowing out smoke like ectoplasm. Stepping back, they saw Mel’s face appear, white with terror.

‘Mel, it’s OK, you’re going to be fine,’ shouted Dev. ‘Just throw the baby down to us and I’ll catch him, then we’ll get you out.’

Despite her terror, Daisy experienced a rush of relief. Far better that Dev—international rugby hero and all-round sporty ball-handling type—did the catching.

‘Help me! Help me! Freddie’s in the back bedroom,’ screamed Mel, beside herself. ‘The door’s buckled and I can’t get to him.’

Oh fuck. Daisy’s adrenaline was sky-high. Dev was already racing to the back of the cottage.

‘Mel, it’s OK, Dev’s here, he’s coming to get you, you’ll be fine, I promise!’

‘Help! Help!’ Mel bellowed.

‘Can you jump out of the window?’ Daisy yelled up at her.

‘I
can’t
leave Freddie!’

‘OK, just stay by the window. I’m going to find Dev.’ Tearing round the side of the cottage, Daisy found him barging the back door which stubbornly refused to give. There was less smoke here. Picking up a brick, she smashed the small kitchen window, unfastened the latch and began to scramble up onto the ledge. Dimly she recalled Dev warning her about breaking windows…

‘You’re not going in,’ Dev shouted, ‘I won’t let you.’

‘And you won’t fit.’ Her heart hammering, Daisy squeezed herself head first through the narrow twelve-inch gap, wriggled down the other side, brushed broken glass from her hands and unlocked the back door for Dev.

‘Good girl, now get out. Go and let Mel know I’m on my way.’

Coughing and spluttering, Daisy did as he ordered. Dev disappeared into the cottage and she heard his feet racing up the stairs. Moments later a bedroom door slammed and he yelled, ‘I’ve got him.’ Then there was a sharp cracking noise and a whoosh of flame visible deep inside the house.

‘AAARRGH,’ screamed Mel as another almighty crack convinced her that the whole place was about to explode.

‘It’s OK,’ Daisy shouted, sick with fear.

‘I’m in.’ Dev’s face appeared at the window above her. The cracking sound had been the bedroom door splintering as he battered it open. ‘Right, now stand back and hold out your arms. No, over there on the grass.’ He pointed and Daisy saw that he had Freddie in his arms. Freddie looked as petrified as she felt and was howling at the top of his lungs.

‘She won’t catch him,’ shrieked Mel, completely hysterical by now. ‘She’ll drop him, I won’t let you do it!’

‘Stop it. She won’t drop him, I promise.’

Daisy only wished she had Dev’s confidence. She might not drop Freddie, but what if she missed him completely?

‘Daisy, tell her,’ ordered Dev, his voice hoarse with smoke.

‘I’ll catch him,’ she shouted up obediently. ‘He’ll be fine.’ Oh God, let him be fine, please let me catch him.

‘Nooo!’ screeched Mel.

‘One… two…
three
,’ counted Dev, and threw Freddie out of the window.

Daisy caught him. She hadn’t even needed to move her feet, so accurate had been Dev’s aim. Freddie, having flown through the air in appalled silence, found himself clutched in Daisy’s trembling arms and promptly let out an ear-splitting wail. Daisy, tightening her grip on him and still panting, felt her own eyes fill with tears. She kissed Freddie’s blond head, hard, until he flailed his fists at her in protest.

‘Ouch, my ear,’ whispered Daisy.

‘WAAAAHH,’ Freddie bawled, whacking her again.

‘OK, now move out of the way,’ Dev shouted. ‘We’re coming down.’

Daisy could hardly bear to watch. It was a twelve-foot drop—what if he was killed?

But Dev wasn’t risking leaving Mel up there refusing to jump. He helped her onto the narrow window ledge and shouted like a parachuting instructor, ‘Three-two-one… go.’ Mel jumped and hit the ground with a sickening thud.