Some emergency.
‘And?’ said Dulcie, unfastening Patrick’s trousers and deftly pulling the belt out through the loops.
‘You’ll never believe this ... it’s your ex-husband!’ Dulcie and Patrick looked at each other.
Dulcie said, ‘What?’
‘I know, isn’t it a scream! Talk about great minds think alike! But listen, it’s all over between you two — ‘I mean, that’s ancient history now — so you wouldn’t mind if ‘I have a crack at him, would you?’
Dulcie tried not to smile.
Patrick pulled her towards him, unfastened her wet bra and lobbed it in the general direction of his shirt.
‘I don’t know,’ Dulcie called out. ‘You might not be his type.’ Patrick’s trousers joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
‘Ha! Bet I am.’ Imelda sounded smug.
Tiring of the interruption, Patrick glared through the swirling steam at the door.
‘Go away,’ he told Imelda bluntly, ‘you’re not.’
‘You should be nicer to her,’ murmured Dulcie when Imelda had stalked off.
‘Why?’
‘She’s got my dress.’
In the dim distance, a clock struck twelve. They heard people cheering, hooters hooting and a lot of party poppers going off like fireworks.
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Patrick, tracing the outline of his beautiful wife’s mouth with one finger.
Dulcie’s eyes were closed. She couldn’t imagine a happier Christmas than this. And the weird thing was, maybe they really had needed this year apart, because how else could they have discovered that the grass wasn’t necessarily greener on the other side?
I’ve changed, thought Dulcie, I’ve grown up.
And Patrick? Well, he’s changed too. He’s realised that working too long and too hard isn’t always the most important thing in life, and that sweet, kind, saintly, perfect women aren’t necessarily the kind you want to share your life with, that sometimes a slightly imperfect one is more fun . . .
By this time there were no more clothes left to take off. With a bewitching smile, Dulcie pushed Patrick gently down on to the floor and slid, naked, on top of him.
‘Now give me my present,’ she said.
* * *
‘It’s no good,’ sighed Pru.
Eddie reached across the bed to her. She was wearing the indigo satin bra and knickers, the topaz-and-emerald bracelet and the kingfisher-green shirt he had given her, and the bedroom was strewn with presents, glossy wrapping paper and ribbons. It was eleven o’clock on Christmas morning, the sun was streaming in through the windows, and Pru was looking worried.
‘Look, ‘I won’t be offended.’ Eddie rushed to reassure her. ‘If you don’t like anything you can take it back to the shop. Which one’s no good anyway? Is it the bracelet?’
Pru smiled at him.
‘I told you, the bracelet’s perfect. ‘I love all my presents. It’s Dulcie I’m worried about. She just vanished last night ... How do I know she’s all right?’
Eddie stroked the back of her neck. The skin was like warm silk but the muscles beneath it were knotted with tension. He had been looking forward, more than anything, to spending the day alone with Pru, but if she wasn’t happy, he wasn’t happy.
He shifted Arthur out of the way, leaned over and picked up the phone.
‘What’s her number?’
‘You’re going to ring Dulcie?’
‘If you invite her over, she’ll only say she doesn’t want to be a gooseberry,’ Eddie explained. ‘If
‘I do it, she’ll know we both want her here.’
Love and gratitude shone in Pru’s grey eyes.
‘You are brilliant.’
She watched Eddie dial and listen. Less than a minute later he replaced the receiver.
‘What?’ said Pru, more agitated than ever. ‘No reply? Oh God, what if she’s done something stupid?’
‘Message on the machine.’ Eddie cleared his throat and attempted an impression of Dulcie: ‘
'Hi! Happy Christmas – I’m afraid I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m having totally fantastic sex with my husband, but if you’d care to leave a message I’ll get back to you.
Don’t hold your breath, though – we shall definitely be busy for some time.' ‘ Pru stared at Eddie.
‘I don’t understand. Dulcie’s having totally fantastic sex with her husband? With Patrick?’
‘Well.’ Eddie shrugged. ‘That’s what it says.’
