Bruno sighed good-naturedly, ‘Spare me the moral lecture. It was just a suggestion, after all. Some girls would take it as a compliment.’
‘My God, you’re amoral!’
‘And you’re some kind of saint?’ Bruno was grinning once more. ‘Come on now, there’s no need to make this much of a fuss. All you had to do was say no.’
‘I don’t care about me,’ Maxine said icily. ‘I care about Janey. You’re going to hurt her.’
‘I’m rehabilitating her,’ he protested. ‘Where’s the harm in that? I haven’t made any false promises.’
‘You’re just incredible.’ She shot him a look of disdain. ‘When I tell Janey what you’ve said to me tonight ...’
‘Now that really would hurt her,’ said Bruno reasonably.
Maxine, who had already worked that out for herself, glared at him. She knew she couldn’t tell Janey but she still didn’t see why Bruno should escape scot-free.
‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said again, patting the seat beside him. ‘No hard feelings. Now you’ve got that little outburst out of your system, I’ll drive you home.’
Maxine, however, hoisted the strap of her evening bag over her shoulder and shook her head. ‘I’d rather walk.’
‘Why?’
Because I’ve just dropped an opened bottle of traffic-light-red nail polish on to the passenger seat, thought Maxine, still gazing at him through the wound-down window. And I don’t want to get it all over my nice white skirt. Explain that one away to your girlfriend tomorrow morning, sweetheart.
‘I’d just rather walk,’ she said, straightening up and stepping away from the car. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be safe.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ murmured Bruno, realizing that he had well and truly blown it and switching on the ignition once more. Well and truly, he mused as he reversed out of the muddy gateway. And what on earth was that peculiar smell ... ?
Chapter 20
Oliver enjoyed watching Thea at work in her studio. Never having considered himself a suitable candidate for retirement, taking it easy for the first time in forty years had come as a pleasant surprise. Now, with the sun streaming through the windows and nothing to do but relax, he found it extraordinarily soothing simply to sit and admire her skill.
And Thea was such good company, too. She didn’t indulge in idle gossip. If she had something worth saying, she said it. If she didn’t, she kept quiet. As far as Oliver was concerned, the companionable silences, together with her down-to-earth attitudes and innate sensuality, made her about as perfect as any woman could be. Now that he had found her, he had absolutely no intention of letting her go.
‘I wish you’d marry me,’ he said, but all Thea did was smile and reach into the bucket beside her to rinse her hands.
‘I thought you might have learned your lesson by now’ Each of his three ex-wives had squealed with delight when he had proposed, the pound signs glowing practically neon in their eyes as they accepted. Thea, however, calmly continued to fashion a jawline from clay, studying it intently as a cloud passed over the sun, altering the shadows on the semi-constructed face.
Moving over to where she sat, Oliver stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘They were the wrong women. You’re the right one. Thea, you know how I feel about you.’
She knew, she knew. And if she had been young and foolish she would have married him in a flash, as recklessly as she’d once married Patrick. But independence was sweet, and learning both to achieve and enjoy it had taken half a lifetime. Thea was superstitious enough to believe that if she married Oliver their relationship would be spoiled. Furthermore, like snakes and ladders, she would then be forced to start all over again .. .
‘I do know how you feel about me,’ she said, tilting her head and smiling up at him. ‘And I love you, darling. But we’re allowed to feel this way. We don’t need a vicar to give us permission.’
‘I want us to be together,’ he protested. ‘Properly together.’
‘And you think a silly scrap of paper would do the trick?’ She leaned back, sounding amused. ‘I’m not going to say yes, Oliver. I’ll be your mistress but I won’t be your wife. Just think, people might call me Mrs Kennedy the fourth. I’d end up feeling like the consolation prize in a raffle.’
She was always doing that, getting his name wrong. ‘Cassidy,’ he corrected her with mock severity.
‘Of course.’ Thea grinned, then looked puzzled. ‘Why is that name so familiar?’
‘It belongs to the man who wants to marry you. If you weren’t so bloody obstinate, it could be your name!’ Faintly exasperated, he added, ‘Then you’d have to remember it.’
But her expression had cleared. ‘Of course. Guy Cassidy, the photographer. That’s the chap my younger daughter works for. You’ve probably heard of him, darling ... I believe he’s rather famous.’
‘Ah.’ Oliver, who had been waiting for some time for her to make the connection, realized he may as well get it over with. Clasping Thea’s hand in his, he took a deep breath. ‘As a matter of fact, I have heard of him ...’
‘One question,’ said Thea, when he had finished. Was I part of this plan? Did you know I was Maxine’s mother when you came into the studio that day?’
No.’ Oliver shook his head. ‘You definitely weren’t part of the plan. Just a glorious, unexpected bonus.’
Thea smiled, satisfied he was speaking the truth. ‘That’s all right then, and I suppose you’d rather I didn’t mention any of this to Maxine?’
‘It might be best.’ He kissed her teasingly on the forehead. ‘Not until the wedding, at least.’
‘How have the children been?’ asked Guy, sitting down at the kitchen table and watching Maxine wash up. Serena had left for a fashion shoot in Barcelona and he’d spent the day in London after seeing her off at Heathrow.
‘Wonderful.’ Maxine, immeasurably cheered by Serena’s departure, grinned at him. ‘I took them to the supermarket this morning. When we got back here I found a packet of Jellytots in Ella’s pocket. I felt like Fagin.’ Guy frowned. ‘I hope you told her off.’
