Falling for You (26 page)

The good weather had broken at last and Kate was glad. Torrential rain suited her current mood far better than unrelenting sunshine. As she trudged along Main Street, soaked to the skin, Norris veered abruptly off to the left, in the direction of the workshops.

“Come
back
.” Kate groaned, but Norris, with his selective hearing, chose to ignore her.

“Blimey, you look rough,” said Kate. She leaned against the doorway of Jake's workshop, shoulders hunched, hands tucked up inside the sleeves of her gray jersey. Currently drenched with rain, it weighed a ton.

“Pot, kettle.” Jake raised an eyebrow and stopped planing the edges of a casket lid. “At least I don't look as if I've just crawled out of the River Ash.”

“I don't have stubble on my chin,” countered Kate, because she hadn't been exaggerating, Jake really was looking dreadful. As well as the three-day growth on his face, there were shadows under his eyes. Basically, what with one thing or another, nobody in Ashcombe was currently looking that great.

Apart from Bean and Norris, of course, who fancied each other rotten and each thought the other one was gorgeous.

“Any news about Tiff?” said Kate, and Jake shook his head.

“No change.”

“Have you been up to the hospital?”

Another shake. “It's not my place to interfere,” said Jake. “Juliet's there with Ol—your father.” He rubbed his jaw with a dusty hand. “How about you? Tiff's your half brother.”

“If he opened his eyes and saw me, he'd be scared out of his wits.” Kate pulled a face. “I'm the one who yelled at him, remember, for getting ice cream on my trousers.”

“How about your mother? Any word yet?”

Kate nodded bleakly. It had been Estelle's phone call this morning that had propelled her out into the rain.

“She rang half an hour ago. No idea where from. Not Will's place, obviously. God, can you
believe
it?” Kate blurted out as rain dripped from her bangs and slid down her face. “My mother and Will Gifford. What was she thinking? It's just…gross.”

“It's not,” said Jake.

“Of course it's gross. She's my mother!”

“She's forty-five,” Jake pointed out. “You're still allowed to have a sex life, you know. Estelle's an attractive woman,” he went on. “If I were twenty years older, I'd sleep with her.”

“You'd sleep with anyone,” retorted Kate. “I'm amazed you haven't given Theresa Birch a go.”

For the first time, Jake smiled. “What makes you think I haven't?”

* * *

Two hours later when Kate walked into the Angel to start her shift, she found Dexter bawling into the cordless phone.

“…and I never want to see you in this pub again,” he stormed, “because you're all
barred
.” Then he attempted to hang up with the equivalent of slamming down the receiver, which basically meant pressing the minuscule Off button
really
hard
.

“The bloody nerve of these people,” Dexter raged, swinging around and glaring at her.

“Oh, grow up,” Kate retaliated, not in the mood for his rantings. “Listen to yourself. Why can't you be nice to people just for once in your life?”

“Why the bloody hell should I be? It's midday.” Dexter shook back his hair and jabbed a finger at the clock on the wall. “We had a table of eight booked for twelve thirty. They've just phoned to cancel. This is how much notice they give me. Let me tell you, I'll shout at whoever I like.”

“Except me,” Kate retorted frostily. “You're shouting at me now and I won't stand for it.”

“Ha, this isn't shouting. Trust me, you'd
know
if I was shouting at you. What are you so touchy for anyway?” Dexter's tone was accusing.

“You mean apart from all the other crap that's going on in my life? You really want me to tell you?” For a second Kate was actually tempted to blurt out the truth, that just as she'd been on the verge of getting her confidence back, Jake had gone and spoiled it all by informing her that, in effect, he fancied her mother.

Thankfully, pride kicked in. When Dexter said, “You can tell me if you want to,” Kate swallowed hard and shook her head. Some secrets were too embarrassing to share.

* * *

It was the quietest lunchtime session Dexter had ever known. By one thirty he'd sent the kitchen staff home. Both the restaurant and the bar area were deserted. He could have sent Kate home as well but sensed she had neither reason nor incentive to go. Dauncey House was empty too.

Outside, the weather had deteriorated dramatically. The sky was charcoal-gray and a full-blown thunderstorm was raging, flinging rain almost horizontally past the windows and bending the trees like springs.

Kate was at the bar, perched on a high stool, lost in the pages of a glossy magazine. As Dexter watched her, thunder crashed directly overhead, causing her to jump. He gave up pretending to clean the already clean pumps and moved over to where Kate was sitting. She was wearing a coffee-colored cotton shirt and a narrow, darker brown skirt. Breathing in the familiar scent of Clinique's Aromatics, Dexter said, “What are you reading?”

Serve him right if it was an article about thrush. Bit of a conversation stopper if ever there was one.

But Kate merely flipped her dark hair back from her face and sighed. “Nothing really. Just being masochistic.”

At least she wasn't shouting at him, informing him he was an ignorant pig. Sliding the open magazine around to face him, Dexter saw that it was something about a trendy New York nightclub. Glossy, superior-looking
Sex
and
the
City
types were sipping drinks, posing and studiously ignoring the camera. None of the women could possibly weigh more than ninety pounds. The designer clothes they were wearing were all lovingly described in the accompanying text. Evidently you were nothing if you weren't teetering on Manolo Blahnik heels.

“None of them are enjoying themselves. Not one person in that photograph is having fun,” Dexter said bluntly and knew at once that he'd said the wrong thing. Maybe it could have been wronger if he'd been an antifur campaigner on a visit to the silver fox factory. Then again, maybe not.

“I used to go there,” said Kate. “To that very club, in Manhattan. That used to be me. That was my life.”

Biting back the urge to retort “God help you, then,” Dexter said instead, “D'you miss it?”

From the look Kate gave him, he gathered that this was the kind of question only a particularly simple man would ask.

“My old life? Of course I miss it.”

Genuinely bemused, Dexter said, “Why?” and earned himself another look.

“Because I didn't have these then, did I?” Kate indicated her scars. “I still had my old face.”

“OK, that's fair enough. What else?” As he spoke, Dexter reached up for two brandy glasses.

“Because I had a great time. I loved my job. I used to be invited to glamorous parties.”

“Thrown by nice people?”

Kate's jaw tightened. “Of course they were nice people. They were my
friends
.”

“Right.” Nodding, Dexter uncapped a bottle of cognac and poured them both a hefty measure. “So they'd have been a huge support while you were in the hospital.”

Instead of replying, Kate picked up her balloon glass and took a gulp of cognac.

“And afterward, of course,” he persisted. “When you were recuperating at home. I bet it was like a permanent party at your place, wasn't it? Well, that's what friends are for.”

“Look, I just liked New York, OK? I liked looking normal.
Better
than normal,” Kate corrected herself. “When I walked into a room, people would go
wow
!” She paused then added bitterly, “Now they go
waaa
h
!”

The next moment, Dracula-style, lightning flashed overhead and the lights flickered spookily in the pub.

“Or that happens,” deadpanned Kate.

“Nobody goes waaah,” said Dexter, “and you know it. You're just feeling sorry for yourself.”

“And that's not allowed, after the week I've had?” Draining the rest of her drink, Kate held out her glass for more. “It's all right for you: you've been ugly your whole life.”

Dexter smiled. He'd always been the rudest person he knew, but since Kate's arrival in Ashcombe he'd had serious competition.

“Thanks. Although I'll have you know that my eyes aren't ugly. I've been told several times in the past that I have sexy eyes. And I only gave you a drink in the first place because I thought it might cheer you up. This stuff isn't cheap,” Dexter warned. “If you're going to carry on being grumpy, you can pay for your own.”

Kate flashed him a sunnily insincere smile and kept it in place until he'd refilled her glass. Then she began flipping through the pages of the magazine once more. Dexter watched her sitting with her legs crossed, agitatedly jiggling her left foot. Any minute now her shoe would fall off.

“Tuh.” Kate snorted. Leaning across, he just had time to catch the headline “Older women, younger men” before the page was turned over with a
slap
.

“Now that's more like it.” Dexter nodded approvingly at the double-page spread now facing them. Turquoise sky, glittering emerald-green sea, a great swath of white-blond sand. Outside the pub, as if to emphasize the contrast, the rain was hammering down even harder than before.

“Maybe that's what I should do.” Kate ran an index finger longingly over the sweeping curve of beach. “Just get out of here, go live somewhere completely out of the way. Why not?” she asked accusingly, spotting Dexter's raised eyebrows. “A tropical beach would suit me fine, on a little island in the middle of nowhere. I could run a beach bar.”

“I've heard Weston-Super-Mare's nice,” said Dexter.

“The Seychelles. I'm serious,” Kate insisted. “I was thinking about it last night. The only reason I came back here was because this was where my family lived. Well, that's a complete shambles now. They're both off doing their own thing. So basically what's left to keep me here? Who'd miss me?”

Having spent the last weeks biting his tongue, Dexter said, “Me.”

There, he'd done it. The sensation of a tightly coiled spring letting go and abruptly bouncing undone ricocheted through Dexter's chest.

Kate, who hadn't been paying attention, said distractedly, “What?”

“I would. I'd miss you. I wouldn't want you to go.” It was such a relief to be able to say it at last. Now that he'd started, Dexter found he couldn't stop.

Kate shot him a pitying look. “It's only barmaiding, for heaven's sake. Anyone can do it. If you weren't so stroppy, you'd find it a lot easier to keep staff.”

“I'm not talking about a replacement barmaid. That isn't why I don't want you to go,” said Dexter.

Kate frowned. “I'm not with you.”

Suddenly wishing he was better looking—and a stone slimmer—Dexter said brusquely, “Do I have to spell it out? I like you. A lot. OK, I really fancy you.”

Kate stared at him in disbelief. Belatedly it occurred to Dexter that he may just have terrified her into handing in her notice, grabbing her passport, and jumping onto the nearest plane. This could, in fact, be a fine example of shooting yourself in both feet simultaneously.

“What is this?” Kate demanded at last. “Some kind of consolation prize? Jake Harvey wasn't interested in me, but never mind, you're prepared to step into the breach?”

Another flash of lightning crackled across the sky, followed almost at once by an earsplitting crash of thunder. The storm was directly overhead now.

“I thought Jake was interested,” said Dexter.

“Oh, he was. For one night only. As soon as he got what he wanted”—Kate was defensive—“the novelty wore off.”

“Good,” Dexter said bluntly. “I'm glad. His loss.”

“Look, you really don't have to say all this stuff. I'm not a child.”

“I'm doubly glad to hear that. Can I tell you something?”

“Could I stop you?” Kate retaliated, and although her tone was brisk, Dexter saw that her hands were trembling. Whether that was a good or a bad sign was anybody's guess.

“It was you who made me realize Nuala and I had no future.” Dexter came straight to the point. “We were a disaster together. We brought out the worst in each other. But you're the complete opposite of Nuala. The first time I saw you, I thought you were fantastic. Unique. I remember wishing Nuala could be more like you, except of course she can't, because she just
isn't
. But I knew I'd never felt like this about anyone before. That's why I let Nuala finish with me.” Dexter paused and raked his fingers through his hair. “So there you are. Now you know.”

OK. Here came the downright scary bit.

“I don't believe you.” Kate was staring at him as if he'd just grown an extra head. “You're making it up.”

Dexter rubbed the faint growth of dark stubble on his chin. “Trust me, I don't have the imagination to make up something like this.”

Her tone accusing, Kate said, “If it was true, you'd have said something before now. I mean, why wouldn't you?”

“You weren't ready to hear it. Plus, I'm a man,” Dexter amended. “We don't just go around blurting this stuff out, you know. It's not the easiest thing to do. We have to be pretty desperate.”

Rain was rattling the windows. It sounded as though shovel-loads of gravel were being hurled dementedly at the glass.

“But…but you're so
rude
to me,” stammered Kate.

“So? You're rude to me too. But I don't say the kind of things I used to say to Nuala.” Dexter shook his head to emphasize his point. “I wouldn't dream of it. Not with you.”

Kate was gazing anxiously into her empty brandy glass. “I could do with another refill.”

“Forget it. You'd only fall off your stool. Anyway,” said Dexter, “if I can get through this sober, so can you.”

Kate's foot was jiggling away again. She didn't speak.

“Look,” Dexter plowed on, “I'm never going to be Mr. Sweetness and Light. That's just not the way I am. Who's that Irish fellow on breakfast TV, the cheery, chubby one all the housewives love?”

“Eamonn,” said Kate.

“That's the one. Makes me want to chuck a brick through the TV.”

“Probably because he has more hair than you.”

“I'm just saying, we're not alike. Jokey and jovial is not who I am. If I think someone's an idiot, I'll let them know. But that's life, isn't it? We all have our own characters. We're drawn to different people. I was drawn to you that first night you came into this pub with your mother,” said Dexter. “There you were, scowling, snarling, and glowering like the wicked witch in a pantomime, refusing to so much as look at anyone. The next thing I knew, you'd had a showdown with Maddy in the ladies' bathroom, hurled a couple of insults at Nuala, and stormed out. Everyone else in the pub was stunned.” He reminisced with a crooked smile. “I just thought, ‘Wow, that's the girl for me.'”

This was too much for Kate. Sliding jerkily off her stool, she made her way to the other side of the bar, where Dexter was standing. Reaching past him, she grabbed the cognac bottle by the neck, headed back to her stool, and sat down again.

“So you've really been thinking that?” Carefully she double-checked. “All this time?”

“I have.” Dexter nodded.

Talk about a surreal situation. Kate's hand went up to the damaged side of her face. Defensively she said, “What about this?”

“I love your scars. They're my favorite part of you. I'm a pretty selfish person,” said Dexter. “From my point of view, I'm glad you've got them. Let's be brutally honest here,” he went on. “If you didn't have them, you wouldn't look at me twice. I wouldn't stand a chance.”

Kate felt as if she'd been slapped. Outraged, she retorted, “What makes you think you stand a chance now?”

“Oh, come on. I'm not completely stupid. I've seen the way you look at me.” Dexter was on the brink of smiling now. “You can't tell me there isn't a spark of interest.”

Kate's eyes widened. Indignantly she said, “A
spark
?”

“OK, not a spark. Maybe spark's too strong a word. We'll call it a flicker,” said Dexter. “There's definitely been a flicker.”

The cheek of it. Well, maybe he did have sexy eyes, but she'd never shared this thought with another living soul.

“You're mad.” Kate hadn't realized her foot was jiggling again, but seeing as her shoe had just flown over the bar, it seemed likely that it had been. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You've wondered what it would be like to kiss me,” said Dexter.

“I have not!”

“Yes, you have. You know you have. I've been completely honest with you,” he chided. “The least you can do is be honest with me.”

“You've been a bit too honest.” Touching the left side of her face again, Kate said, “You're glad I've got these scars because now that I look like this, nobody else would want me? That's sick.”

“It isn't. I'm not looking at it that way. Before your accident, what kind of men did you go out with? Good-looking ones, am I right? You wouldn't have considered anything less,” Dexter said seriously. “But less attractive men can have just as good personalities as film-star-handsome ones. Better personalities, in fact, because they have to make more of an effort. That's all I'm saying,” he concluded. “Thanks to your accident, you have the opportunity to find that out for yourself. And you never know—in the long run, you may be glad you did.”

Kate wondered if he was deluded.

“But you
don't
make more of an effort. You make no effort at all! And you
certainly
don't have a great personality!”

There was a hint of a glint in Dexter's eyes. “No? You still want to know what it'd be like to kiss me, though. Actually, that's another part of me that's not too bad. If I say so myself, I have quite a nice mouth.”

Kate looked at him. For several seconds she couldn't move, couldn't speak. Then she climbed down from her stool, made her way to Dexter's side of the bar, and retrieved her flung-off shoe. Finally, having gathered together her blue jacket and handbag, she said stiffly, “I'm going home.”

Dexter hung his head. “OK.”

Wrenching open the front door, Kate stepped outside the pub and shuddered as the full force of the storm almost knocked her off her feet. The wind was so strong she had to lean into it, cartoon-style, in order not to be sent cartwheeling backward like tumbleweed.

She crossed Main Street, headed past the workshops, and made her way up Gypsy Lane, grimly ignoring the rain pelting every inch of her body, soaking through her clothes all the way to her underwear, and
undoubtedly
power-blasting the carefully applied makeup from her face.

Oh well, what did that matter now?

Reaching the entrance to Dauncey House, Kate paused and took the front door key from her waterlogged bag. She looked at it, sighed, then dropped the key back into the bag and turned around.

“Oh, bloody hell, not you again,” said Dexter.

But not in a bad way.

“You don't scare me.” Kate moved across the flagstoned floor, trailing a small river in her wake. Blinking rain from her eyelashes, she came to stand directly in front of him.

“Don't I? You scare the bejesus out of me,” said Dexter.

“Just one kiss,” Kate told him. “To see what it's like.”

Dexter nodded seriously. “Absolutely. That's it. Just one kiss.”