Falling for you

Instantly she was enveloped in an impenetrable cloud of steam.

The next moment she jumped as Dexter loomed through the steam like Swamp Thing, whisking the hot glasses from her hands.

‘You could try telling me what’s wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.’ Leave me alone. Falling for You

‘And I’m Pierce Brosnan.’ Through the haze of condensation she saw Dexter’s eyebrows furrowed in anger. ‘It’s bloody Jake, isn’t it?’

Startled, Kate said, ‘Sorry?’

‘Messing you about again. I told you before, he’s nothing but trouble. You don’t need someone like that, always messing you around and—’

‘Fine, I’ll tell you,’ Kate blurted out.

Dexter shook his head. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘By tonight everyone in Ashcombe will know, so it really doesn’t matter. My father had an affair with Juliet Price. Tiff Price is his son. So you see,’ Kate’s voice began to waver, ‘it isn’t only men like Jake Harvey that women should avoid, it’s ones like my father too. They’re all as bad as each other. And now my mother’s left him. She’s gone off, goodness knows where, my father’s at the hospital and I’m left here like a lemon wondering what the bloody hell’s going to happen next.’

‘Here.’ Grabbing a clean bar towel adorned with the Guinness logo, Dexter handed it to her to wipe her eyes with. Awkwardly, he patted her on the arm. ‘And congratulations, that’s definitely the best excuse for not smiling I’ve heard all day. Little Tiff Price, eh? And he’s your half-brother. Poor kid.’

Bristling, Kate said, ‘Because he’s my half-brother?’

‘Because he’s got meningitis. The bad kind. You’re not that much of a nightmare.’

Kate wasn’t so sure; her feelings were hideously mixed. When she’d been much younger, her father had made no secret of the fact that he’d wanted a son as well. Well, now he had one, which was absolutely typical of Oliver Taylor-Trent, because he’d spent his life making sure he got everything he wanted.

A more recent memory struck Kate: the morning when Tiff Price had spilled chocolate ice cream down her best cream trousers and she had blown her top. And the way Oliver had laughed the incident off, siding not with her, but with his precious, longed-for son.

‘Hey, you’ll be fine.’ Sounding most unlike himself, Dexter pushed a brimming glass of wine into her hand and steered her on to a stool. Mortified, Kate realised she was feeling jealous of a critically ill seven-year-old.

Was it possible to sink any lower than this?

The Intercity from Bath to Paddington was full of business types endlessly announcing into their mobiles that they were on the train, before launching into tedious discussions of sales figures, past and future meetings and projected targets. It would probably have made their week to overhear Estelle’s phone call but she was far too embarrassed to make it from the carriage. Instead, she locked herself in the tiny lavatory cubicle in order to press out the number.

Hanging on to the sink as the train clattered and swayed through the countryside, Estelle held her breath and envisaged the conversation going horribly wrong. What would she do if Will picked up the phone and said, ‘Well, for God’s sake don’t come here, my wife’ll be back from school any minute with the kids.’

‘Hello?’

Will’s voice sent a shudder of joy mingled with fear through her. Was she presuming too much?

‘Hi, it’s me. I’m on the train.’ Taking a deep breath, Estelle said, ‘I’ve left Oliver.’

Silence. Out of the window, fields and trees and Friesian cows hectically zipped past. Why wasn’t he saying anything? ‘Which train?’ said Will at last.

‘Gets into Paddington at three thirty.’

‘I’ll meet you there then.’ Will sounded as if he was smiling. ‘At the gate.’

Chapter 41

Paddington station had never looked more romantic. Magically, all the filth and grime seemed to have melted away. Estelle no longer saw the heaving mass of grim- faced commuters milling like worker ants across the concourse. All that mattered was Will’s arms around her, the wonderfully comforting smell of him and his unstoppable smile.

At the sight of him, she had actually broken into a run. Well, more of a clumsy canter. With her two cases banging against her legs and the music from Brief Encounter swelling in her brain, Estelle had cannoned into Will and known at once that this was truly meant to be; this was where she belonged.

‘I can tell you’re an innocent country girl,’ Will whispered into her ear.

‘Really? How?’ Did she have bits of straw in her hair and smell of pig muck?

‘Look at your cases.’ He shook his head at the sight of them, flung carelessly down onto the platform. ‘Do that around here and they’ll be gone in two seconds flat. You’re in London now.’

‘I’m not safe to be let out on my own,’ said Estelle.

‘I know.’ Having gathered up the cases, Will kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Just as well you’ve got me.’

Will’s flat was in Islington, on the second floor of a three-storey terraced Victorian property opposite a tatty rank of shops. Gazing out of the living-room window at the video store, the launderette, the newsagents and the betting shop, Estelle reflected that she was a long way from Dauncey House.

Will’s flat was exactly like Will himself, scruffy and uncoordinated but welcoming and, against the odds, attractive in its own way. The decor was basic, tidiness clearly wasn’t a priority and the wallpaper out in the hall was, frankly, very George and Mildred, but Estelle didn’t care. She was here with Will and that was all that mattered.

‘Here we go. Should be champagne really.’ Will appeared, carrying two mugs of tea, leaving a trail of drips in his wake.

‘Tea’s fine.’ Taking a sip, Estelle suppressed a shudder; he’d put sugar in.