This is our grand reconciliation, thought Liza, it’s supposed to be torrid and passionate and ultra ultra romantic.
As it was, things were turning out rather less glorious than she had imagined.
Getting the giggles didn’t help.
‘You’re supposed to be gasping in ecstasy,’ Kit complained.
‘I can’t help it. Dad mowed the lawn this afternoon, I’m covered in grass cuttings.’ She clung to Kit, helpless with laughter. ‘You’ve got leaves in your hair. And I can hear a million insecty things—’
‘Ugh! What was that?’ Kit winced as something weightier than an insect landed with a hideous plop on the back of his hand and leapt off again.
Their eyes had by this time adapted to the darkness.
‘Frog,’ squealed Liza, watching it hop into the bushes. She flinched as the wings of a moth brushed her bare shoulder.
The rasping noise of a grasshopper sounded, inches from Kit’s ear. He gave up.
‘Talk about coitus interruptus.’
‘Insect interruptus,’ said Liza, dancing her fingertips across his taut stomach.
‘Bloody alfresco sex. Remind me never to try this again.’ Liza was feeling around on the grass behind him. ‘I can’t find my bra.’
At that moment the bushes to the left of them began to rustle ominously.
‘Don’t tell me,’ murmured Kit, ‘it’s the Beast of Exmoor.’
‘Sounds big.’ Still hunting in vain for her favourite black bra, Liza managed to locate one of her shoes. ‘Must be a dog.’
They both leapt a mile as the powerful beam of a torch snapped on.
‘Right. Stay where you are! Don’t move a muscle,’ barked a female voice.
‘Oh my God,’ hissed Liza, instinctively ducking behind Kit, ‘it’s Mrs McKnight from next door.
Oh shit shit shit—’
‘Good grief,’ announced the female voice, which was deep, assertive and extremely effective when it came to bossing people about; forty years in teaching had seen to that. ‘Thought you were burglars! What on earth do you think you’re doing in my neighbour’s back garden?’
There was a horrid clammy silence. All Liza could hear was her heart beating frantically against her ribs.
‘We aren’t burglars,’ said Kit. He reached for his white jeans and put them on.
Mrs McKnight’s eyes boggled. ‘You’re trespassing!’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Calmly Kit found the rest of Liza’s clothes and handed them to her. Molly McKnight flicked the torch in the direction of the blackcurrant bushes into which the frog had hopped earlier. Dangling from one of the higher branches was Liza’s bra.
‘Whatever possessed you?’
‘It was a dare,’ Kit said simply.
The lad was as cool as a cucumber. With merciless precision Molly McKnight swung the beam of the torch back to his girlfriend, skulking on the ground behind him, struggling frantically to get into her clothes. With her head bent and all that blonde hair tumbling over her face, it was impossible to see what she looked like.
‘Is your companion going to apologise too?’ The demand was brisk.
‘She’s Romanian.’ Kit shrugged. ‘Doesn’t speak any English.’
‘Hmmph.’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘I should jolly well hope not.’
‘Sorry again,’ said Kit, grinning as he took Liza’s hand and led her towards the back gate.
Shaking her head, half amused by his chutzpah, Molly McKnight watched them go.
‘Young people today, I don’t know,’ she sighed, just loudly enough for them to hear.
The gate clicked shut behind them. Young people.
What utter bliss.
I love that woman,’ murmured Liza.
Chapter 43
Dulcie wondered if she was suffering from empty nest syndrome. Funny, she’d never imagined she’d miss Pru so much, but the house really did seem awfully empty.
It was early on Sunday morning and the rest of the day stretched ahead. Deeply resentful that some inner alarm clock had been insensitive enough to wake her at six — she’d never had an inner alarm clock before — Dulcie poured herself a fourth cup of coffee and tried not to feel sorry for herself. This was her hard-earned day off, after all. She was supposed to be enjoying it.
The trouble was, as Dulcie was belatedly discovering, enjoying yourself was more fun if you weren’t on your own. And now, for the first time in her life, she was.
Patrick was busy being deliriously happy somewhere with Claire Berenger. Liam was doubtless busy being a prize stud somewhere with any number of women. Pru was working, catching up on her backlog of cleaning
