Miranda's Big Mistake (29 page)

Bye-ee came out as a manic, high-pitched, Joyce Grenfell-ish shriek.

Mortified, Miranda hung up the phone and surveyed her reflection in the gilded mirror above the fireplace.

Oh, well
done
, Miranda. Incredibly smooth there, weren't you?

You know, don't you, that you sounded completely mad.

Heaven only knows what Danny thinks of you now.

I must be mad, thought Bev three days later. Completely barking mad. Out of my mind.

‘Marks out of ten then,' Johnnie said cheerfully. ‘How d'you

think it's going so far?'

‘Oh, fabulous. Sixteen at least. Here we are, speeding down the M4 at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning, and you won't even tell me where we're heading.' Bev spread her manicured hands in despair. ‘I mean, why does it have to be such a secret? Are we going to have lunch at a fabulous country house hotel? Are we visiting friends of yours? Am I being taken to meet your parents? Because if I am, I'd like to know.'

As soon as these last words were out, Bev regretted saying them. Laughing to himself, Johnnie flicked the indicator and moved onto the slip-road leading to the Membury services. He parked the filthy white Mercedes right outside the entrance, switched off the ignition and patted Bev's hand.

‘It's the first hour of our first date. We might fancy each other rotten, but we don't actually know each other terribly well yet. Before you start angling for an invitation to meet my parents, why don't we see how we get on over breakfast? Because I'm warning you now, if you eat with your mouth open and slurp your tea, I'll go off you straight away.
Or
,' he went on calmly, holding up his hand as Bev let out a squeak of protest, ‘when you see the way I mop the tomato ketchup off my plate with my fried bread, you might go off me.'

The restaurant at this ungodly hour was virtually empty. Bev, her mouth sullen and her arms folded, leaned against the counter and listened to Johnnie laugh and joke with the middle-aged woman serving the food. She wondered what she'd done to deserve such a punishment.

‘Just black coffee for me.'

‘Rubbish.' Johnnie was encouraging the woman to pile his plate higher and higher with potatoes, bacon, mushrooms, black pudding—ugh—and beans. ‘Got to keep your strength up. Busy day ahead.' He grinned down at Bev's miserable face. ‘Hey, don't worry! I said I'd buy you breakfast, didn't I? This is on me.'

Bev's stomach, rumbling away like a volcano, was so loud that even the woman serving the food heard it.

‘Double of everything for you too, love?'

‘Yes please,' said Johnnie.

‘But no black pudding!' yelped Bev.

***

It was lucky that the Mercedes was so filthy already, otherwise it would have been too much to bear. As it was, Bev's heart was in her highly polished ankle boots as they bounced along the muddy woodland track. The motorway was far behind them now. This was Devon as only the cows truly knew it. Except, of course, no self-respecting cow would be seen dead in such a gloomy, godforsaken forest; they had far more sense than that. You only found cows in rolling fields, up to their ankles in grass and daisies and buttercups…what were those kind of fields called? Ah yes, meadows, such a pretty word.

Nothing so green and pleasant around here, Bev thought sourly. Not a meadow in sight.

Just millions of trees, dank and dark and dripping with rain, a narrow stony track pitted with puddles the size of paddling pools, and acres and acres of mud.

At last the track reached a clearing in the forest. Practically numb by this stage, Bev gazed ahead at the army-style trucks lined up next to a massive khaki tent. People in camouflage overalls were emerging from the tent carrying guns. Others milled about, smearing their faces with mud, checking their weapons, wrapping camouflage netting around their heads and studying maps.

‘Well?' said Johnnie. ‘What d'you think?'

He was actually looking
pleased
with himself. Bev, who couldn't possibly tell him what she was really thinking, said, ‘You're in the SAS, is that what you're trying to tell me?'

He laughed.

‘It's paintballing. Haven't you ever done it before?'

‘Amazingly, no.' Bev marveled at his gall. ‘And I'm not going to do it now.'

‘Come on, it's fun!'

‘No it isn't. How can it possibly be fun?'

‘But we've come all this way!'

‘Read my lips, Johnnie. Enn oh, spells NO.'

He had friends here. People recognizing the car began to wave. Bev ignored them.

‘Please,' said Johnnie. ‘You'll enjoy it.'

‘I will not.'

He shook his head.

‘Miranda said you were a good sport.'

‘She lied,' said Bev, deeply insulted. ‘I am
not
. I've never been a good sport in my life.'

‘I'm really disappointed.'

‘Ha, you think
you're
disappointed! I got up at four o'clock this morning to have a bath, do my hair and put my make-up on—'

An earsplitting whistle echoed around the clearing, making Bev jump. More people poured out of the tent, ran towards the first truck and leapt—like lemmings on rewind—into the back.

The next moment the man with the whistle materialized beside the passenger door of Johnnie's car. Six foot six of scary-looking sergeant major glared witheringly down at Bev. The door was wrenched open.

‘Don't tell me,' he sneered, ‘a virgin.'

‘It's her first time,' Johnnie agreed.

‘It bloody well isn't,' said Bev, ‘because I'm not doing it.'

She shrank back, clutching at the sides of the leather seat as the man leaned into the car. Without warning, his hand shot past her, whisking the keys from the ignition with awesome dexterity. As Bev let out a squeak of horror, he pulled out the waistband of his camouflage trousers and dropped the keys—with a cheery clink—out of sight.

She blinked. Crikey, what a six-pack.

‘You can't do that!'

‘I can do anything I want.' The terrifying sergeant major gave her a grim smile. ‘I'm in charge here. Now, seeing as you're not going anywhere else, perhaps you'd like to make your way over to the tent and get changed.'

Bev gave him a mutinous look.

‘Or would you prefer me to carry you?'

Her eyes slithered across to Johnnie.

‘I'm never going to forgive you for this. You do know that, don't you?'

‘I'm sorry.' He shrugged. ‘It was Miranda. She said you'd love it.'

‘And I'm never going to speak to bloody Miranda again as long as I live.'

***

I'm having a nightmare, thought Bev, jolting along in the back of the truck as it headed ever deeper into the forest. Changing into army fatigues behind a
Blind Date
-style partition in the communal tent had only been the start. There were no mirrors on the site. The gunk everyone had been so energetically slapping on to their faces wasn't cosmetic mud, it was the real stuff, scooped out of real puddles. What was more, the helmets were unflattering, the lace-up boots diabolical, and when she had tried to clamber into the truck she had slipped and fallen on her backside into a sea of churned-up mud.

Why everyone else seemed to be so damn cheerful, Bev couldn't imagine. It was bizarre—they actually appeared to be having a whale of a time, chattering noisily to each other, catching up on all the gossip and enthusiastically discussing the day ahead.

‘New to this, are you?'

Startled, Bev realized that the girl on her left was talking to her.

‘Just a bit.'

‘You're going to love it.'

‘Actually,' said Bev, ‘I'm not. All this…' she gestured around the lorry, ‘…really isn't me at all.'

The girl, clearly missing the point completely, exclaimed, ‘I know, me neither! Isn't it great?'

Worse was to come. When the lorry finally slithered to a halt and everyone leapt out, the organizer handed out instructions to two burly individuals and announced, ‘Okay, these are your leaders. Now line up and move to one side as soon as you've been chosen.'

Bev shuddered. Years of suppressed humiliation came flooding back as she remembered the games lessons at school, being picked for teams—or rather, standing there like a total lemon while everyone else was picked ahead of you.

And now, ten years later, it was happening all over again. Oh no, this was too much.

‘You!' yelled the leader of the red team, and it wasn't until someone gave her a hefty shove that Bev realized he'd been pointing at her. The reason she hadn't noticed was because her eyes had been swimming with tears, but now she didn't have to cry because—thank you, God, oh
thank you
—she hadn't been picked last of all. She wasn't the booby prize, left till the end. She'd even been chosen before some of the men.

‘You!' the yellow team leader shouted at Johnnie. He grinned at Bev and moved to the other side.

Perfect, thought Bev, adrenaline beginning to pump through her chilly veins. Now I can kill you.

***

‘Aaargh! Help me—they're coming over the hill!'

Hearing the voice, Bev darted through the trees towards it. She threw herself on to her stomach as two members of the enemy team raced past in pursuit of someone else. A frond of wet fern tickled Bev's nose. She waited until the coast was clear, then half slid, half ran down to the river where Stuart—a fellow red—was fishing frantically in the water for his pistol.

‘I dropped it,' he hissed, and Bev plunged into the icy water, feeling around with her feet until she hit something metallic.

‘You're a star,' gasped Stuart, refilling the gun with paintballs from the ammunition belt slung around his waist.

‘Duck!' Bev flung herself on to the muddy bank as a rustling in the undergrowth and a flash of yellow signalled the presence of the enemy.
Splat
, a paintball exploded against a rock, inches from her left ear.

The next moment Stuart had spun round and fired back.

‘Bastard!' howled the enemy as his chest was splattered with red paint.

‘Quick, there's another one!'

Rolling on to her back, Bev flicked away the slug that had attached itself to her sleeve and reached for fresh ammunition.

‘He's heading for the bridge,' gasped Stuart. ‘I'll climb over those rocks, you follow the river. We'll corner him by the—'

WHUMMPPP! went the yellow paintball against Stuart's perspex goggles.

‘Oh, shit, he's got me!'

‘You're dead,' said Bev. ‘See you in the next game.'

‘Do me a favor. Shoot the fucker, okay?'

Bev watched Stuart trudge off through the trees, a dead man, temporarily at least. She flicked her sodden hair out of her eyes and levered herself upright, watching and listening out for the enemy. It was hard to move quietly when you had half a river sloshing around in your boots. Hard to stay upright, too, when the mud was slurping around your ankles, doing its level best to suck you into its murky depths.

Suddenly spotting a flicker of movement through the trees ahead, Bev froze and drew up her gun. Keeping it trained steadily in front of her, she held her breath.

Bugger, it was only a squirrel. She exhaled slowly.

‘Don't move,' whispered a voice behind her, and she felt the barrel of a gun being pressed into her back.

Oh, shit, thought Bev, furious with herself. Now I'm dead too.

‘Close your eyes,' hissed the voice.

Bev closed her eyes and waited for the splat.

‘Turn around slowly.'

She turned, her boots squelching inelegantly in the mud, her breathing fast and shallow.

‘Keep your eyes shut. Don't speak.'

Bev's heart was racing like a train. She felt warm breath on her face, then a mouth tentatively brushing hers. Her whole body tingled in response—as it had never tingled before—and she found herself leaning forwards, desperate for more.

Heavens, so this was what they meant by war being an aphrodisiac…

‘You tart,' said Johnnie, breaking away with a grin. ‘I could have been anybody.'

Bev smiled.

‘I recognized your aftershave.'

‘Can I tell you something?'

‘What?'

‘That's the first time I've seen you smile.'

‘Can I ask you something?' countered Bev.

‘What?'

‘That thing you just did, the thing that vaguely resembled a kiss. Was that it, or is there more?'

‘Oh, there's more,' Johnnie promised. He brushed her wet hair away from her cheeks and thought how beautiful she looked. ‘If you're sure you don't mind fraternizing with the enemy?'

Trembling, Bev put her arms around him and raised her mouth to his.

This time there was nothing tentative about the kiss. Johnnie slid his tongue into her mouth and she responded for all she was worth. Oh God, he was a fabulous kisser, he really was, and the way he was running his hands over her body, well, it was just too good an opportunity to miss—

WHUMMPPP! WHUMMPPP!

‘What the—?' Johnnie gasped, jerking away and twisting round to see the explosions of scarlet paint running down his back. He gazed in disbelief at the pistol in Bev's hand.

‘Bang bang, you're dead,' said Bev.

Ahead of them, at the end of the sweeping gravel drive, the Manor House Hotel loomed out of the mist like a mirage in a desert. Only this was the reverse of a desert mirage. Water they had plenty of on such a damp, grey and increasingly chilly evening. But the sight of warm lights glowing welcomingly in windows, combined with the prospect of lounging in front of a crackling log fire sipping brandy and digesting a fabulous meal was too great to resist.

‘What do you think?' Johnnie kept the engine ticking over. As if she was likely to say no.

‘Yes yes
yes
,' Bev breathed. Warmth, heat, food, drink, all those unimaginable luxuries, in the most gorgeous of surroundings. A horrid thought suddenly struck her. ‘Oh
no
…'

‘What?'

‘Look at the state of us.' She pulled despairingly at her hair and gazed at Johnnie's crumpled rugby shirt and jeans. ‘They're never going to let us in, not in a million years.'

Johnnie thought for a second; this clearly hadn't occurred to him either. A few moments later he switched off the ignition, leaned across the car and took Bev's face carefully between his hands.

Her muddy face, now free of foundation and blusher and powder and God-knows-what-else. Those bright eyes, minus all the layers of shadow and gunky mascara. That soft, oh-so-kissable mouth. And the hair the color of ripe corn, no longer sculpted into one of those don't-touch-me chignon things but falling loosely around her shoulders.

God, he loved hair that just
fell
like that.

‘You look beautiful. You
are
beautiful,' said Johnnie. ‘I knew you would be.'

This was so ridiculous Bev didn't even try to argue. The man was clearly deranged.

‘We're still not going to be allowed into the restaurant,' she said sadly.

‘Maybe not.' Johnnie swung open the driver's door. ‘But they'll let us have a room.'

***

‘Better now?' he said forty minutes later when Bev emerged from the bathroom wrapped in one of the hotel's white velour dressing gowns.

‘Heaven.' Pink, scented and still gently steaming, Bev collapsed on to the sofa and took the glass of wine he held out. Gosh, it was amazing how much more you appreciated a hot bath when you'd actually done something to earn it.

‘My turn now.' Johnnie dropped the menu into her lap. ‘Choose what you want to eat, then ring down and let them know. By the time I'm back out, dinner will be here. Oh—and order another bottle of wine.'

He was lovely. Muddy, but lovely, Bev now realized. How could she ever have thought he was a pig?

By nine thirty, dinner had been cleared away and it was time to start making a move.

‘Two hours to get home,' Bev groaned. ‘Work tomorrow. I bet I'll ache like anything. Honestly, nobody's going to believe it when I tell them what I did today.'

‘You were a star.' Johnnie gave her arm a squeeze.

Uh oh, more physical contact. Bev felt her heart break into a gallop.

‘I still can't believe I actually enjoyed it. You don't mind, then, that I killed you?'

‘I forgive you.' Johnnie was smiling, surveying her as if something was on his mind.

‘What?' said Bev. Thump, thump, thumpety thump.

‘Nothing.' He flapped his hand, embarrassed. ‘If I told you, it would only sound stupid.'

‘We've talked nonstop for the last three hours. Don't clam up on me now!' Bev twisted round, pulling her legs up under her and covering them with her dressing gown.

‘Er…' Johnnie gestured discreetly in the direction of her cleavage.

‘Oh, sorry.' Realizing she was now somewhat agape further up, Bev tugged the lapels together. ‘Anyway, carry on. You were saying?'

‘Well…just that sometimes you meet someone and you know that they're the kind of person you could…you know…'

‘No, I don't know,' breathed Bev, beside herself with frustration. ‘Could what? Could
what
?'

Johnnie closed his eyes, feeling himself start to chicken out. God, he'd waited
years
for this moment and now he was about to lose his nerve. How bloody typical was that?

‘What I mean is, sometimes you meet someone and you can just picture how they'll be in twenty years' time.' This was semi-chickening out. Veering away from what he'd meant to say, without changing the subject altogether. Oh well, that was allowed, wasn't it? Better than starting to talk about the weather.

‘And?' Bev gazed at him eagerly, her lips slightly parted. ‘Can you picture me?'

Johnnie smiled. ‘Oh yes. Bowling along in your Range Rover with a carful of Labradors and strapping, noisy, rugby-playing sons.'

Without warning, Bev burst into tears. How could be possibly have known that? It was her fantasy, four sons had always been her fantasy and she'd never told a living soul.

‘How many?' The tears stopped as suddenly as they had appeared.

‘Three boys. And a baby daughter,' said Johnnie, his smile broadening as he pictured them. ‘They'll spoil her rotten, of course.'

‘I don't believe in any of that psychic stuff,' Bev said warily.

‘It isn't psychic. It's what I've always wanted. Only men aren't meant to daydream about that kind of thing. Getting married and having kids isn't a very macho thing to want.' Johnnie pulled a face. ‘All we're supposed to dream about is going out, getting wrecked, and ripping the knickers off as many different birds as possible.' He paused. ‘Preferably with our teeth.'

I'm not wearing any knickers, thought Bev, so you couldn't rip mine off me.

Then she smiled a bit unsteadily, because this was possibly one of the happiest moments of her entire life.

‘So what are you saying?'

He gave her a long look.

‘You know perfectly well what I'm saying.'

Oh! Goodbye, dusty old shelf! Hello, lifetime of bliss!

‘It's still early days,' Bev felt obliged to remind him. Only one day, in fact. As if she cared a jot.

‘I know that. I'm just letting you know how I feel about you.' Johnnie shrugged. ‘If by any chance you think you might feel the same, please, feel free to let me know. If, on the other hand, you still find me utterly loathsome, well, you can tell me that too.'

Slowly, Bev kissed him.

‘I don't find you utterly loathsome.'

‘Well, good,' said Johnnie. ‘Phew,' he mimed relief, ‘that's a start.'

Bev glanced about her at the opulent oak-paneled bedroom with its beamed ceiling, antique fireplace and velvet-canopied four-poster.

‘Did you say you'd booked this room for the whole night?'

‘Had to. They don't rent them out by the hour,' he explained. ‘It's not that kind of hotel.'

‘Seems a shame not to get our money's worth then.' Bev kissed him again, snuggling closer and allowing her hand to slip between the lapels of his dressing-gown. Shivering with pleasure as the silky dark hairs tangled beneath her fingers, she murmured, ‘I'm really glad you've got a hairy chest.'

Johnnie replied gravely, ‘I'm glad you've got a smooth one.'