‘Because he left you.’ Fervently, Rufus’s eyes searched her stricken face. ‘But Dulcie, I wouldn’t leave you. I’d never do anything to hurt you.’
This was awful. Dulcie, who couldn’t tell him the real reason she had snapped, wiped her wet hands on her jeans and tried again.
‘I don’t want to hurt you either,’ she said gently, ‘but Rufus, it wouldn’t work. I’m sorry.’
‘Why? Why wouldn’t it work?’ Having finally plucked up the courage to declare himself, Rufus found the prospect of rejection unbearable. ‘We could be so good together. A great team.
Dammit, Dulcie, I’ll make it work!’
Dulcie wondered what was going on beyond the kitchen door. Fifteen astonished customers had been left out there to fend for themselves for the last ten minutes.
‘Table two are still waiting for their vegeburgers.’
‘Sod table two,’ Rufus declared frantically. ‘And bugger the vegeburgers. Tell me why you think it wouldn’t work.’
She knew he wouldn’t understand if she tried to tell him he was just too nice. Unhappily Dulcie cast around for another reason, one he couldn’t argue with.
‘Okay.’ Keeping her head down, she gazed at the frayed holes in her jeans. ‘If you must know, I’m in love with my husband.’
‘But your marriage is over.’ Rufus looked bemused. ‘You told me he’s found someone else.’
Dulcie nodded.
‘Oh, he has. And it’s all my own fault, I know that. But I can’t help the way I feel. I still love him.’
As she said it, she realised with a sickening jolt that it was the truth.
Chapter 47
The morning of Pru and Eddie’s wedding dawned grey and cold. By midday, thunder was rattling around a charcoal sky. When the storm finally broke, halfway through the register office ceremony, the sound of rain on the windows was like gunfire, almost drowning out the solemn words of the registrar as he conducted the ceremony.
But nothing could dim the joyousness of the occasion. It was the happiest day of Pru’s life, and it showed.
‘Look at her,’ Liza murmured. ‘Can you believe this is the same girl who last New Year’s Eve was so desperate to stay married to Phil?’
Dulcie smiled and nodded, because if anyone deserved happiness it was Pru, but inwardly she winced at the memory of that night. Was she the same girl who had so blithely announced that all she wanted was a divorce?
‘Don’t forget your resolution.’ She nudged Liza. ‘You’re next.’
‘Next to what?’ said Kit when the service was over and they were splashing their way across the car park. ‘What were you two whispering about in there?’
‘Don’t say Liza hasn’t told you.’ Dulcie grinned, ignoring the jab in her back from Liza’s umbrella. ‘Her New Year’s resolution was to get married. Once a spinster reaches a certain age, you see, she starts to panic and get a bit desperate.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ said Liza.
‘And since it’s October now,’ Dulcie pulled a face, ‘I’d watch out if I were you. If you’re not careful you could end up being It.’
* * *
Dulcie was putting on a brave face but the wedding reception – at Brunton Manor, where else? –
was something of a trial. When Pru, making up her guest list the other week, had said longingly,
‘It’s a shame, I would like to have invited Patrick,’ Dulcie had felt obliged to do the decent thing.
Acting as though the outburst with Liza had never happened, as if it really couldn’t matter less, she’d replied, ‘Don’t be daft, if you want him, you invite him. And Claire too.’ Her intestines were frantically tying themselves into reef knots but she gave Pru a bright smile. ‘It’s fine with me.’
Delighted, Pru had added Patrick and Claire to her list. She sucked her pen for a bit then added tentatively, ‘How about Liam?’
Dulcie gave her a meaningful look.
‘Don’t push it.’
When Dulcie left the reception in full flow and pushed open the door to the ladies’ loo, she came face to face with Imelda.
‘Oh great,’ Imelda drawled, ‘it’s the madwoman.’
Dulcie took comfort from the fact that at least this time she was wearing a short navy-blue silk dress and full going-to-awedding make-up. She had also had her hair cut. Imelda, on the other hand, had clearly just come off the squash court and was looking decidedly sweaty and dishevelled.
‘Don’t get mad, get even. That’s my motto.’
‘Ah, but who won in the end?’ Imelda looked triumphant. ‘I’ve got Liam.’
Witch.
Dulcie had been determined to maintain an air of dignified calm, but her nerves were terribly on edge. Before she knew it she heard herself saying silkily, ‘I know, aren’t you lucky? Tell me, when he’s screwing you, does he still count the number of press-ups under his breath?’
