‘Trying out the seat recliner,’ mumbled Pru apologetically. ‘Well, it works.’
‘I know. Sorry.’
The woman, who was clutching a folded-up newspaper in her free hand, peered past her into the car.
‘What’s that, any good?’ Beadily she eyed the lurid paperback lying on the passenger seat.
The thought of this precisely spoken, autocratic old lady reading Dulcie’s bonkbuster was even more blushmaking than being caught playing with the seat recliners like a three-year-old.
‘No, actually, it’s awful,’ Pru said hurriedly. ‘You wouldn’t like it at all.’
‘How do you know I wouldn’t? I might.’ The old woman’s expression was challenging. ‘I can see from the cover it isn’t a Barbara Cartland,’ she went on, almost irritably, ‘which makes a change in this place, I can tell you. Wall- to-wall Barbarabloody-Cartlands in here. Just because you’re eighty they seem to think that’s all you want to read.’
‘This definitely isn’t a Barbara Cartland.’ Pru was as firm as she dared.
‘Good. Well, if it’s awful, you won’t be wanting it. So can I have it instead?’
Pru was taken aback by the bluntness of the request. You expected to be stopped in the street by beggars and asked for spare change but you didn’t expect to be faced with imperious OAPs demanding pornographic paperbacks.
As if sensing her dilemma the woman said briskly, ‘I promise not to have a heart attack, if it’s the sex you’re worried about.’
Then, when Pru still hesitated, she held out her paper. ‘Go on, you can have this instead. I’ve done the crossword but at least you’ll have something to read.’
Pru’s eyes began to boggle as she saw the photograph on the front page. She grabbed Dulcie’s paperback and thrust it through the open window.
‘Thanks.’ The old lady looked immensely pleased with her swap. ‘Just one other thing.’
‘What?’
‘All that whizzing up and down in your seat’s played havoc with your hair, child. Better do something with it; your ears are sticking out.’
‘Liza, it’s me. Help, you know I hate these machines ...’
Hearing Pru’s voice, Liza picked up the phone. Pru was about the only person on the planet she could bear to speak to just now, she realised. Nobody was more au fait with public humiliation than Pru.
‘I’m here. I know, you’ve seen the Evening Post. Oh Pru, I think he did it to teach me a lesson.
He kissed me in front of all those people and I practically melted on the spot. He promised to phone me and I was so sure he would,’ Liza admitted brokenly, ‘but he bloody hasn’t.’
There was no need to pretend with Pru. Unlike everyone else, she wouldn’t make sympathetic noises and all the time be madly smirking and thinking ha ha, welcome to the real world and about time too.
Pru wasn’t like that. Her sympathy would be genuine. Desperate to unburden herself, Liza told her everything.
Sometimes a very old and completely trustworthy friend – which rather ruled out Dulcie – was the only person you could tell this kind of stuff to.
‘I mean, you know me,’ Liza rattled on. Having started, she now found she couldn’t stop. ‘I’m not promiscuous – well, not that promiscuous – but all I wanted to do was go to bed with him!
Dammit, how could he make such a fool of me? He’s nine years younger than I am, for God’s sake! And every time I think of him my knees still turn to jelly – why am I echoing?’
As Liza’s voice had risen, the echo had become more apparent.
‘Um ... I’m in the car.’
But Liza could hear someone else snorting with laughter in the background. Someone male.
‘What’s going on? It doesn’t usually echo like that.’ Her blood ran cold.
‘Sorry, darling, my fault.’ It was Eddie Hammond, chuckling unashamedly. ‘Couldn’t resist it. I switched you on to hands-free.’
Cold wasn’t the word for Liza’s blood now.
‘You eavesdropper,’ she hissed, mortified.
‘Come on,’ he protested, still laughing. ‘Pru showed me the picture in the paper. I was curious too.’
When Liza had slammed the phone down it occurred to her that although he wasn’t married, Eddie Hammond had never flirted with her.
First Eddie, now Kit Berenger, thought Liza gloomily. I must really be losing my touch.
Chapter 24
Dulcie hadn’t wanted to ring Liam at the club, it seemed a bit keen, but he’d forgotten to give her his home number so she didn’t have much choice.
Or much time to lose, Dulcie thought twitchily as she waited for him to come to the phone. She could just imagine what Imelda had been like over the last four days, throwing herself at Liam and making the most of Dulcie’s unexpected absence. The girl was shameless and desperate.
You could almost feel sorry for her.
Almost, but not quite.
Cheered by a mental image of Imelda in one of those Velcro suits you got at fairgrounds, hurling herself at a vast Velcro wall with Liam perched like Humpty Dumpty — only better-looking, of course — on top, Dulcie forgot to be nervous when he at last came to the phone.
