‘I just wanted—’
‘I don’t care what you want,’ said Leo Berenger. ‘First you tried to destroy my family. Now you’ve destroyed my son. Isn’t that enough?’
Horrified, Liza watched the tears streaming down his face. ‘But—’
‘You killed him as surely as if you’d pulled the trigger yourself.’ Leo Berenger’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘So just go.’
That night, as Claire wept in his arms, Patrick tried to imagine how he would feel if she were to die. To be literally here one moment and gone the next.
She was good and kind, humorous and intelligent, hardworking and successful. She was liked by everyone because there was nothing about Claire Berenger for anyone to dislike. If she were to disappear from his life he would miss her, of course he would.
Feeling horribly disloyal, Patrick stroked her shining hair and tried to imagine how he would feel if Dulcie died.
Frivolous Dulcie, who was wilful and tactless, scatty and impetuous, not in the least hardworking and an incurable meddler to boot. Plenty of people, in their time, had raised their eyebrows in amazement at the antics of Dulcie Ross.
But...
But she was also generous, wildly loyal to her friends, beautiful and wickedly funny. Dulcie may have been bored by him but he had never, ever been bored by her. Nor, for so much as a single moment, had he stopped loving her.
As he bent to kiss Claire’s hair, Patrick knew which of the two of them he would miss the most.
Chapter 50
‘Over here, gorgeous! Five tequila and blackcurrants, five bottles of Pils and a packet of pork scratchings when you’re ready.’
Talk about the height of sophistication. And this was two thirty on a Wednesday afternoon.
It was only the first week in December but in the Cat and Mouse, Christmas was being celebrated early.
‘Oh, and one other thing,’ said the lad with the bleached blond hair. He pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his blue Armani jacket.
Dulcie was busy flipping the lids off the bottles of Pils. ‘What?’
‘A date with you.’
She glanced up.
‘On your bike.’
‘No, I’m serious. Tomorrow night, anywhere you like.’ The boy grinned at her. Flicking his fringe out of his eyes he waved his wallet. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of this. We could have a wild time.’
He was twenty if he was a day.
‘Don’t you have to be in bed by nine?’
Too late, Dulcie realised her mistake. His grin broadened. ‘My mother always told me if I’m not in bed by midnight, to give up and come home.’
‘Oh ha ha.’
‘Go on,’ he urged, ‘you’re just my type.’
‘I’m too old for you.’
‘That’s all right, I go for older women.’
‘I meant mentally,’ said Dulcie, pouring the last tequila. ‘That’ll be sixteen pounds seventy.’
‘Last chance,’ offered the boy, waving a twenty-pound note under her nose in what was presumably a beguiling manner, a hint of things to come. He wheedled, ‘You can keep the change.’
‘No thanks.’
His lips curled in disgust. ‘Huh, didn’t want to go out with you anyway. I only said it for a bet.’
Wondering for the millionth time why she was working in this dump with these idiots – and knowing the answer – Dulcie dropped the change into his sweaty hand and glanced past him.
‘Next please.’
‘I’m next ... oh!’
Until that moment all Dulcie had been able to see was a perma-tanned arm poking out from behind pork scratchings, clutching a termer. Then she caught a waft of Obsession and Imelda’s head popped into view.
‘What can I get you?’ said Dulcie, wiping her hands on her jeans and realising she didn’t even have the energy any more to be bitchy to Imelda.
‘You’re working here now?’ Evidently taken aback, Imelda forgot to be bitchy too. Well, almost.
‘What is it with this urge, all of a sudden, to get a job? Did you lose a ton of money with Lloyd’s or something?’
Fifty people were going frantic, waiting to be served. Since Imelda always drank G and T, Dulcie stuck a glass under the Gordon’s optic.
‘No, I just decided there was more to life than the country club. It was time to move on.’
‘To this place?’ Imelda raised immaculately plucked eyebrows and glanced around the Cat and Mouse, clearly
