Staying at Daisy's (33 page)

‘You’re a star,’ said Maggie, keeping the safety chain on while Tara fed the olives, the anchovies, and the two bottles of wine one by one through the four-inch opening in the door. Having taken possession of everything, she returned the favor by squeezing a supermarket carrier through the gap.

Tara opened the bag. As well as a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, it contained her toothbrush, Robbie Williams T-shirt-cum-nightie, battered pink terry cloth slippers (so uncool), and makeup bag.

‘So he’s staying the night.’ She still couldn’t believe Maggie was actually doing this.

‘Looks like he’ll have to.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘No sign so far of my new washing machine.’

Tara noted with disapproval that she wasn’t exactly sounding distraught.

‘Never mind her,’ said Daisy, indicating Tara’s pursed mouth. ‘Are you having fun?’

Maggie grinned, instantly looking ten years younger. ‘Daisy, the most fun I’ve had in my life.’

***

‘Daisy. Can I have a quick word?’

Daisy’s heart sank as Mel approached her in reception. She had another meeting lined up. She could handle being civil to Mel but she really didn’t want to be her friend.

‘I’m a bit busy.’

‘Sorry, I know. It won’t take long.’ Mel was clearly determined to have her say. ‘Barney’s just told me something I think you should know.’

Barney. Brilliant. Had he had an affair with Steven too?

‘What?’ Daisy glanced at her watch.

‘The night of the fire. He saw Paula Penhaligon kicking Clarissa.’

Now Mel had her undivided attention.

‘
What?
’

‘He was too embarrassed to tell you. I mean, she is pretty famous, isn’t she? But I said you’d want to know. That night, she turned up with Hector in her high heels. Barney saw Clarissa dancing around her and Paula just kicked her away. Really hard, according to Barney.’

Daisy didn’t know whether to feel sickened or elated.

‘
Really
hard?’

Mel nodded.

‘Like a football.’

Well.

‘Thanks,’ said Daisy.

***

She couldn’t bring herself to admit it to Dino—too embarrassing for words—but Maggie had never eaten homemade fresh pasta before. The difference between homemade fresh and supermarket dried was unbelievable. The two bottles of Montepulciano had been jolly nice too.

‘That was delicious,’ Maggie sighed, pushing her empty plate away.

The great thing about the word delicious was that you could be a bit tipsy and still pronounce it.

‘It was.’ Dino nodded in agreement, his elbows resting comfortably on the table. His dark eyes bright with mischief, he said, ‘Are they still outside?’

Maggie raised herself slightly unsteadily from her seat, just enough to see through the living-room window.

‘Some of them. I wonder what they’re thinking.’

‘Doesn’t take a tabloid journalist to work it out.’ Dino grinned at her. ‘You can’t really blame them. It’s a nice little angle.’ He paused, then said gently, ‘We could, you know, if you wanted to. I’ve really enjoyed this evening. I think you’re great.’

Gosh. Maggie was flattered but taken aback. It just went to show how hopelessly out of practice she was. These days, clearly, if a man found you attractive and fancied sleeping with you—well, he just came right out and said it. No shilly-shallying around.

‘We’re both adults,’ Dino went on easily. Moving their wine glasses out of the way, he reached for her hand. ‘So, what d’you think?’

Maggie was lost for words. Talk about upfront. Then again, why shouldn’t he be?

Flushing slightly, she realized she was tempted. Why not? After the misery of the last few weeks, didn’t she deserve a bit of cheering up?

‘Decisions decisions,’ Dino teased. Crossing over to the window he waved to the loitering journalists, flashed them a cheeky grin, and drew the curtains.

A ragged cheer went up outside.

Under the table, Maggie felt her knees begin to knock.

‘No pressure,’ Dino promised, drawing her to her feet. Then he put his arms round her and kissed her.

It was a really nice kiss. Warm and skillful and just the right pressure, not too hard and not too soft. All in all, as kisses went, practically perfect.

Sadly, it came from the wrong mouth.

The moment his lips brushed against hers, Maggie knew she couldn’t go through with it. Dino was attractive and single and thoroughly good company, all the things you could ask for in a man, but he simply wasn’t Hector.

Gently, she extricated herself and gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

Maggie nodded.

‘Damn,’ said Dino good-naturedly. ‘I hate it when that happens.’

Maggie laughed; she couldn’t imagine it happened often. ‘Shall I make some coffee?’

He nodded. ‘Coffee would be great.’

While she was boiling the kettle, the phone began to ring in the living room. Dino, who was nearest, answered it.

‘Who was that?’ said Maggie when he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

He shrugged. ‘No one. The line just went dead.’

Two minutes later, the phone rang again. This time Maggie picked it up.

‘Jealous lover?’ Dino whispered as he put her cup of coffee on the table in front of her.

Some hope.

Maggie briefly covered the receiver. ‘Not quite. Sky News.’

***

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Paula when Hector came downstairs.

‘Fixing up a round of golf for tomorrow.’

‘I’ve been waiting down here for ages,’ she complained. ‘They’re expecting us in the restaurant at ten o’clock, so we’ve time for a drink in the bar before going through.’

The hotel bar was full of press, but Paula no longer minded. The last faint signs of bruising had faded from her face and neck. That plastic surgeon had certainly known what he was doing. Modesty aside, she knew she looked great.

That was the funny thing about the press—you complained about them when they pestered you nonstop, but after a few weeks without them you found you kind of missed having them around.

Hector glanced in the direction of the smoky bar and shook his head. The hotel was buzzing with talk of Maggie and her handsome hostage; everywhere he went, people were discussing them and speculating on the likely outcome.

‘It’s too noisy in there. Anyway, I’d rather eat out tonight.’

‘Dad! Can I talk to you?’ Daisy shot out of the bar to the accompaniment of several wolf whistles, the journalists noisily demonstrating their appreciation of her black-stockinged legs and above-the-knee leather skirt.

‘Sorry, we’re running late.’ Hector, who just wanted to get out of the hotel, abruptly took Paula’s arm. ‘Some other time.’

‘Oh bum,’ said Daisy, when they’d gone.

‘That’s a coincidence.’ One of the journalists winked at her. ‘We were just remarking on yours.’

***

Maggie was woken the next morning by the sound of tapping on her door. Her first thought was: bleeugh, red wine hangover. The second was to be fervently grateful that she hadn’t slept with Dino last night.

‘Are you decent?’ called Dino through the door.

‘Yes.’
Completely decent
. Hooray!

He came in, carrying a mug of tea and a newspaper. ‘Thought you might like to see this.’

Wriggling into a sitting position, Maggie thirstily gulped down the hot tea and opened the paper. Unbelievably, there they were, on page 14 of the
Daily Mail
. A surprisingly flattering photograph of her leaning out of the bedroom window with Dino beside her. The tone of the accompanying piece—the consumer strikes back—was upbeat and supportive, and for good measure there was a second smaller photo of Dino dressed as Frank Sinatra for his appearance in
Stars In Their Eyes
.

I could have slept with Frank Sinatra last night, thought Maggie with a smile.

The irony that this was Hector’s all-time favorite singer didn’t escape her.

‘I’ve put some toast in downstairs. And we’ll have to switch the phone back on,’ said Dino, sounding efficient. Tossing Maggie’s dressing gown over to her, he went to pull back the curtains.

‘Don’t!’ squeaked Maggie, but it was too late. Sunlight poured into the room.

‘Look at that. They’re outside waiting for us,’ Dino marveled.

‘And now they’ve seen you opening my bedroom curtains! What are they going to think?’

Battling frantically to get into her dressing gown, she stopped to listen to herself. ‘Oh sod it, who cares? We already know what they think.’

Joining Dino at the window, Maggie exclaimed with delight at the sight of the reporters gathered outside, and flung open the window to hear what they were shouting up at her.

‘Morning, Maggie! Did you have a good night?’

‘Marvelous, thanks.’ She broke into a broad grin. ‘I’m feeling very… rested.’

‘Are you letting him go?’

‘Not until I get my new washing machine.’

‘Any word yet from Carver’s?’

‘Nothing so far. Then again, we’ve still got the phone switched off.’

‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’ one of the reporters shouted up hopefully.

‘What?’ Maggie was distracted by the sight of Hector at the back of the group. Until that moment she hadn’t realized he was there.

‘Cup of tea?’ The reporter blew on his hands and rubbed them together; the sun might be shining but it was still nippy outside.

‘Of course. I’ll put the kettle on,’ Maggie promised.

Dino placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘You get yourself dressed. I’ll make the tea.’

The reporters chuckled.

‘Reckon you’ll miss him when he’s gone, Maggie. You’ve struck gold there!’

Hector, not chuckling, turned and headed back up the road.

The phone rang less than a minute after Maggie had switched it back on.

‘Oh! Mr Ellison!’ Hurriedly swallowing her mouthful of toast, she waggled her eyebrows at Dino, who was busy piling sugar into an assortment of mugs.

‘
Ms
Donovan, you’ve caused more than enough trouble for Carver’s.’ Gilbert Ellison, his tone distinctly frosty, didn’t add that his company chairman, having been shown this morning’s papers, had given him a right bollocking for not getting the matter sorted out before now. ‘I’m ringing to inform you that a replacement machine will be delivered to you by eleven o’clock this morning.’

‘And fitted,’ Maggie prompted. ‘Free of charge. And it has to be a washer-dryer,’ she reminded him.

‘One of our most exclusive models.’ Gilbert Ellison sounded as if he hated her. ‘Naturally. As a gesture of goodwill from Carver’s.’

‘Well, thanks. That’s very sweet of you,’ lied Maggie.

When she’d hung up the phone she looked at Dino, then punched the air in most un-Maggie-like fashion and said, ‘Yesss!’

***

The van duly arrived at ten to eleven. A roar of approval went up from the assembled crowd as the top-of-the-range machine was ceremoniously unloaded and carried into the cottage. Gilbert Ellison had turned up too, clearly determined to prove to the press that Carver’s were good sports really. Posing for the cameras, he flashed an oily smile and presented Maggie with a bottle of cheap champagne. Addressing the journalists, he explained how much Carver’s valued their customers and how sorry he was that on this occasion, despite their
very
best efforts, Maggie had been let down.

By eleven thirty the new machine had been installed by Dino and was whirling happily away, washing the first of many grubby loads.

Gilbert maintained a perma-grin for the benefit of the assembled press but spoke through gritted teeth.

‘You’ve caused us so much trouble,’ he hissed at Maggie. ‘We could still sue, you know. Or have you arrested and charged with false imprisonment.’

‘Except Dino wasn’t held here against his will.’ Maggie smiled blandly at him.

‘I enjoyed every minute,’ Dino put in cheerfully.

Maggie hoped he wouldn’t find himself sacked by midday.

‘Never try anything like this again,’ Gilbert muttered as he swept past her out of the cottage. ‘Right, let’s get out of here. Back to civilization.’

The girl from Radio Bristol touched Maggie’s arm. ‘Are you ready?’

A car was waiting to whisk her away to the BBC studios for the first in a series of live link-ups.

‘Just a second.’ Maggie paused, then turned and gave Dino a hug. ‘Thanks for everything.’

His eyes crinkling, he murmured, ‘Thanks for
almost
everything. Maybe I’ll bump into you again some time.’

‘Who knows?’ Maggie smiled and wiped a streak of sticky pink from his cheek. She’d never get used to wearing lipstick.

‘I install dishwashers as well,’ said Dino.

‘Now that’s a coincidence,’ Maggie said gravely, ‘because I was thinking of getting myself one of those.’

***

Brenda, Daisy’s secretary, brought a pile of correspondence into the office for signing.

‘I’ve just been talking to Pam, out on reception.’ She frowned as she put the letters on Daisy’s desk. ‘And she said the oddest thing.’

‘Hmm?’ Daisy had just remembered she hadn’t yet told Hector about the Clarissa-kicking incident. Absently, she looked up. As far as she was aware, Pam quite often said odd things.

‘I bumped into Mr Tyzack this morning,’ Brenda explained. ‘And I asked him how the decorators were getting on with his house. He said they’d nearly finished and that they were doing a great job.’

‘And?’ Daisy was yet to be enthralled.

‘Well, my daughter’s looking for a decorator to do her dining room, so I asked Mr Tyzack which company he was using, and he didn’t know! I mean, he said he couldn’t remember the name offhand, but don’t you think that’s a bit strange?’ Brenda looked perplexed. ‘A man like him, you’d think he’d know who was decorating his house.’

Daisy nodded cautiously, wondering where this was heading. ‘So then what?’

‘Well, his phone rang and he had to rush off. But when I mentioned it just now to Pam, she came up with this strange idea. She said maybe Mr Tyzack couldn’t think of the name of the decorators because there
are
no decorators!’

Daisy rubbed her forehead; she had spent the last three hours embroiled in paperwork. ‘I don’t get it. You mean Dev’s doing up the house himself?’

Brenda shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no, goodness me no!’ Clearly this was a preposterous suggestion. ‘
Pam
reckons there isn’t anything needing to be done to the house because it was never flooded in the first place. She thinks he just used that as an excuse to move in here for a few weeks. D’you think that could really be true?’

Daisy thought it was the maddest idea she’d ever heard. Having read far too many spy thrillers under the reception desk, Pam evidently now fancied herself as Miss Moneypenny.

Aloud she said, ‘Why would he want to do that?’

‘Well,
Pam
thinks it’s because he’s after something. Or someone. And I bet you could find out, if you asked him nicely.’ Brenda gave her a significant look, the kind that was practically a nudge and a wink and a dig in the ribs. ‘Pam and I’ve both noticed.’

‘Noticed what?’ Daisy’s throat was suddenly dry.

‘Dev Tyzack,’ Brenda twinkled. ‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed. He’s definitely got a soft spot for you.’

***

Lust, great foaming waves of the stuff, had Tara in its grip. Her hormones were being driven wild. It was all very well boldly declaring that no, you
weren’t
going to have sex with someone, but not so easy to follow through when you found yourself subjected to this degree of provocation.

Two hours of hill starts, reversing round corners, and adrenaline-pumping emergency stops had resulted in something of a biological emergency of her own. It was entirely Josh’s fault—she’d never realized before now that being given a driving lesson could be so erotic. The husky way he said ‘Easy on the throttle now’ had become an incredible turn-on. The rip in the knee of his jeans was provoking her too; blonde hairs were poking outrageously through the frayed gap and his leg was only inches from her left hand. Oh God, she so badly wanted to tear off those jeans and—

‘Hey, look who’s on the radio!’ Josh, who had been fiddling with the dial, stopped as he recognized Maggie’s voice.

‘…all I can say is, it worked for me!’

‘And I have to tell our listeners, you’re looking wonderful for it,’ Maggie’s interviewer said warmly. ‘This is Penny Macey, on Radio Bristol, and we have Maggie Donovan, positively glowing with triumph, here in our studios.’

‘Next right,’ ordered Josh as they approached a junction. ‘We’ll head into Chippenham. Why’s Maggie sounding so posh all of a sudden?’

‘It’s her telephone voice. She always does that when she’s nervous.’

‘She doesn’t sound nervous—hey, I said
right
.’

‘I know you did.’ Smiling to herself, Tara turned left.

***

The High Street was noticeably quieter now than when they’d left it.

‘Everyone’s gone,’ Tara observed as she drove slowly past her home. Leaving Josh’s car in the hotel car park, they walked back down to the cottage.

In the kitchen, the new washing machine had ended its cycle.

‘I don’t know why we’re here,’ said Josh. ‘We could have got an extra couple of hours’ practice in.’

‘I’ve done enough driving.’ Tara was feeling deliciously wanton and subversive. ‘I want to practice something else now.’

‘Like what? Golf?’

‘Something much more fun than golf.’ Her eyes danced as she moved towards him.

‘Wash your mouth out. There aren’t many things more fun than golf. In fact,’ Josh hesitated, pretending to concentrate, ‘I can only think of one.’

‘What a coincidence. That’s the very same one I’m thinking of.’

‘Skiing?’ Josh raised his eyebrows. ‘I say, excuse me, what
do
you think you’re doing?’

‘It’s a complicated technical maneuver. Called unbuttoning your jeans.’

‘But—’

‘We’re all alone,’ said Tara. ‘Maggie’s out of the way, broadcasting live from Radio Bristol.’ She paused. ‘And we’re going upstairs.’

‘Now steady on. I thought you were meant to be proving to me that you weren’t a trollopy, knicker-dropping tart.’

As he spoke, Josh was lightly outlining the white star on the front of her pink top. Tara quivered with longing; who was seducing who here?

Or was it
whom
?

‘Let’s face it, we both know I’m a big trollopy tart. I’ve told you all about my dodgy past and it hasn’t put you off me. So basically, I think we’ve waited long enough.’

‘Phew, hooray for that.’ With a wicked grin, Josh hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of her white jeans and pulled her against him. ‘I think I like this idea a lot.’

Tara gave a little wiggle against his hips. ‘Guess what? I can tell.’

‘I’m very much looking forward to seeing your room.’

‘I can’t wait to show it to you.’

Josh exhaled slowly. ‘How long, d’you think, before Maggie gets back?’

As she kissed him, Tara skillfully unfastened the final button on his jeans—oh yes, there were definite advantages to being a trollop.

‘Don’t worry about Maggie. She’ll be gone for hours.’