Not even mildly curious, her new landlord shrugged and headed for the stairs.
‘Suit yourself.’
Suit myself, thought Pru when he had gone. Did he really think that was what she was doing?
She had to move into this dismal room and she had to move in today.
Because between Phil, the bailiffs and the building society, she didn’t really have much choice.
Chapter 10
I’m single, thought Dulcie. Weird.
Technically, of course, she was still married, but separated. Morally, as far as Dulcie was concerned, that meant she was single again. And free to do as she liked.
It was exactly five weeks since Patrick’s party. Yesterday he had moved out of the house and into a flat above his office in the centre of Bath. The flat was tiny but the commuting time was four seconds. It would be two if he installed a fireman’s pole.
Dulcie still felt guilty about this. She had wanted out of the marriage and he was the one who’d had to find somewhere else to live. But Patrick had insisted.
‘Your parents gave us the deposit for this house,’ he had reminded her. ‘It’s more yours than mine. Anyway, you need the wardrobe space.’
He had been so damn reasonable Dulcie had wanted to hit him. If she had been expecting him to argue, to fight to save their marriage, she would have been bitterly disappointed.
Except she knew Patrick too well.
He never would.
So, it was done. She was on the market again, the sun was shining and the sky was blue.
Bring on the dancing boys. Dulcie stuck her Reeboked feet up on the chair opposite and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and waiting for Liza to finish her game of squash. The conservatory at Brunton Manor adjoined the bar. It was where people relaxed over Perriers —with ice if they were being decadent — after knackering themselves on the tennis courts. It was where Dulcie — in a fetching white tracksuit — relaxed over gin and tonics and a constant supply of salt and vinegar crisps.
Liza appeared looking hot and tousled but pleased with herself.
‘Hammered the bitch, six one. That’ll teach her to say I’ve put on weight. Another drink?’
Dulcie nodded. ‘And more crisps. Anyway, talking of bitches,’ she waved the Herald on Sunday’s colour supplement at Liza, ‘what happened to you? In a bit of a pooey mood, were we, when we wrote this?’
Liza cringed. The edition featuring her review of the Songbird had come out last week. Every time she read it, it sounded nastier. Her editor had been thrilled — ‘This is more like it, sweetheart! This is what gets people talking’ — but Liza was awash with guilt. The food hadn’t been perfect, but it wasn’t that bad, not as terrible as she had made out.
‘That was New Year’s Day, the place where I saw Phil and Blanche.’
‘Oh, I get it now.’ Dulcie grinned. ‘It’s the restaurant’s fault for letting them eat there. This is your revenge.’
‘Of course it isn’t. It was my editor’s bright idea.’ Liza, looking defiant, edged towards the bar.
‘He wanted me to be controversial, that’s all.’
Eddie Hammond, bumping into Dulcie earlier, had checked that Liza was meeting up with her for lunch. Someone had phoned, he explained, wanting to know when she would be around.
‘One of Liza’s besotted boyfriends,’ Dulcie guessed, but Eddie had frowned. ‘I don’t know about that. He didn’t sound besotted to me.’
Dulcie watched Liza flirting with the bar manager. He was gay, but she still flirted with him.
Even more weirdly, he was flirting back.
She hoped the phone call Eddie had taken wasn’t from a hit man, hired by the furious owners of the Songbird. It’s all right for Liza’s editor, urging her to be controversial, thought Dulcie; his kneecaps aren’t the ones at risk.
Liza made it back to their table by the window overlooking the entrance to the club. Since she could hardly put a PS in next week’s column saying ‘Oh by the way, that stuff I wrote about the Songbird was a bit mean, it wasn’t that bad really’, she chucked the magazine on to a spare chair and changed the subject.
‘So how do you feel, now Patrick’s gone?’
Dulcie ripped open her crisps and started crunching.
‘He was never there anyway. It’ll take me a year to notice the difference.’
Bravado. Liza said, ‘Are you looking for someone else?’
‘No way.’ Dulcie’s silver and tiger’s-eye earrings – not very sporty – rattled from side to side as she shook her head. ‘Play the field, that’s all I want to do. This is the start of my new life. I want to celebrate by being wild and irresponsible! I’m going to have more fun – with more men – than you could shake a stick at. Please, another relationship’s the last thing I need.’
More bravado. Actually, Liza amended, more like bullshit. Until Patrick, Dulcie had spent her life crashing from one wildly unsuitable man to the next. She craved excitement but she needed security.
She wasn’t nearly as independent as she liked to make out.
But this wasn’t the kind of thing people liked to hear about themselves. Diplomatically Liza changed the subject yet again.
