There were drops of rain on Kit’s eyelashes. He looked ridiculously handsome and very serious.
‘Marry you.’
‘Oh God, no! It was only supposed to be a joke.’ Liza pulled a face. ‘Don’t take any notice of them ... we don’t have to get married!’
‘Actually, we do. And not because your friends think we should.’ He paused and lifted a strand of Liza’s wet blonde hair out of her eyes. ‘Because I do.’
‘But – but we could just live together!’
‘Why?’ said Kit. ‘Don’t you want to marry me?’
Liza stared at him. What a question. Lowering her gaze, she studied the lapels of his dark suit instead. This was easier, since they didn’t stare unnervingly back.
The look on her face told Kit everything he needed to know. He smiled; she hadn’t kicked up nearly as much of a fuss as he’d thought she would.
‘So that’s it. All settled,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘December all right with you?’
Dulcie had been chatting to Terry Lambert for several minutes before she realised who he was.
‘I’ve got it now. You’re the one who persuaded Pru to have her ears done.’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking.’ Terry looked amused. ‘I wouldn’t like to claim sole responsibility. We in the legal profession prefer to avoid that if we can.’
Of course, he was a solicitor, remembered Dulcie. He had handled Pru’s divorce.
‘Isn’t dealing with endless marriage break-ups depressing?’ she asked.
‘Not necessarily. It isn’t all slanging matches and squabbling over who gets the Monopoly set.
Some couples manage to stay on good terms, which always helps.’ He smiled. ‘A bit of civility goes a long way.’
As she gazed across the room at Patrick and Claire, Dulcie realised it was time to prove she could be civil too. As civil as Patrick was to me when I told him our marriage was over, she thought sadly. Patrick hadn’t argued or punched her or started shouting about money; he had simply moved out.
Dulcie wondered if it had been easy for him to stay civil because he hadn’t felt that much for her anyway.
Imagining that this was true made her want to cry. Hastily she pulled herself together.
Either way, it’s my turn to do the decent thing, Dulcie realised. Patrick hasn’t put the pressure on, but that’s just the way he is. And he’s with Claire now. Of course it’s what he wants.
As Terry offered to refill her glass, she tried not to look at his nose. He seemed charming, and he had organised Pru’s divorce from Phil with admirable speed and minimum fuss.
‘Maybe I could come and see you at your office,’ Dulcie said casually.
Terry didn’t seem surprised, he just reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. His brief smile as he passed her one of his business cards was sympathetic.
‘You want a divorce as well?’
No, but my husband does, thought Dulcie with an ache in her chest like homesickness. And under the circumstances it seems the least I can do.
Chapter 48
The next morning Liza had to be up early. She had an appointment with her publishing editor in London at ten and a restaurant in Windsor to review at one thirty. To save time, she was wearing her frump gear and wig.
‘You remind me of someone I got chatted up by yesterday,’ said Kit, taking a bite out of Liza’s toast as he squeezed past her in the kitchen. ‘Old dear with a walking stick, kept nicking stuff from the buffet.’
‘Marjorie.’ Liza nodded and shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth; she was already running late. ‘She told me if she was fifty years younger she’d give me a run for my money. You wouldn’t believe the comments she made about your bum.’
‘That’s me,’ said Kit with a broad grin. ‘Irresistible to older women.’ He grabbed Liza around the waist as she tried to rush past him. ‘Hang on, I haven’t had a kiss yet from my future wife.’
Liza, who was on her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth, kept her lips clamped together.
‘Was that it?’ Kit looked appalled. ‘If that’s how you kiss future husbands, forget it.’
He leaned against the door frame and watched her brushing her teeth.
‘I want to see a dramatic improvement in kissing technique by this evening,’ he warned.
‘Who would you like me to practise on, my gay editor?’ Liza spoke through a mouthful of toothpaste.
Kit grinned.
‘Practise on the back of your hand. Dulcie told me yesterday it’s what you used to do when you were eleven.’
‘We all did!’ Liza looked indignant. ‘Why, what did you practise on?’
The grin broadened.
‘Girls.’
From the radio in the kitchen came the sound of the eight o’clock pips. Liza groaned and brushed faster.
‘God, I love the way your bottom wriggles when you do that.’
