Staying at Daisy's (23 page)

‘Pssst,’ hissed Tara, who was down on her knees polishing the legs of a walnut plant stand when Josh appeared in reception the next morning. Outside, the temperature had plummeted to arctic and the grounds were covered in a thick hoarfrost. Josh, dressed for his morning run in three sweatshirts, a grey knitted hat, and black jogging pants, swung round in surprise.

‘Oh, hi. Good night last night?’

‘Did you say anything to Daisy?’

Josh raised his eyebrows beneath the rim of his pulled-down woolly hat. ‘About what?’

‘About who I was
with
.’

‘I don’t know who you were with.’ He did a couple of warm-up exercises, stretching from side to side from the waist. ‘You didn’t introduce us, remember?’

Tara breathed out slowly. Of course she hadn’t, but it was still a relief to know she was safe. Last night she’d dreamt that the cottage had been kitted out with hidden cameras, Big Brother style, all ready to transmit her every hapless move on national TV. Hardly conducive to a restful night’s sleep.

‘Watch yourself out there.’ Tara nodded in the direction of the frosty landscape. ‘The High Street’s like a skating rink. Don’t want to break a leg.’

***

It didn’t take her long to change her mind about this.

‘So. You and Dominic Cross-Calvert. What’s this all about?’ said Daisy with deceptive innocence as she poured the coffee.

Tara’s stomach squirmed. When Daisy had invited her upstairs to the flat she’d expected a bit of gentle teasing about last night’s mystery caller. But not this. Certainly not this. And Daisy wasn’t guessing either. She
knew
.

Ever the coward, Tara prevaricated. ‘What’s what all about?’

‘That’s what I’m asking you. He was there at the cottage last night.’

Feebly, Tara said, ‘Dominic? Who says?’

‘Josh told me.’

Bloody bastard Josh. Tara hoped he slipped on the icy road and broke both legs
and
both arms. Shattering the bones to smithereens, preferably.

‘Josh doesn’t know Dominic.’ By this time clinging to microscopic straws, Tara adopted the mentality of a three-year-old stubbornly refusing to admit she’d broken something expensive. Daisy might, just
might
, be bluffing.

‘He described your visitor. Light-brown hair. Medium height. Medium build. Averagely good-looking.’

‘That describes a million men.’ Privately Tara was outraged—Dominic was
very
good-looking. Lots handsomer than sodding Josh, that was for sure.

Daisy, pouring milk into the coffees and sliding Tara’s cup across the table, said, ‘Oh, and he was wearing a socking great Rolex. On his right wrist.’

Bum.

‘OK.’ Tara held up her hands in defeat. ‘OK, it was Dominic.’

‘I know it was Dominic! How long have you been seeing him?’

‘Three weeks. Please don’t be cross, don’t shout at me,’ Tara begged in desperation.

‘You twit, of course I’m not going to shout.’ Daisy was shaking her head as she tipped sugar into her coffee, but she looked as if she wished she could be cross. ‘But you have to tell me everything. I want to know why.’

No mention of on-the-spot dismissal. Despite everything, Tara was glad Daisy knew. It had been horrible having to keep Dominic a secret from her best friend.

‘He got in touch, begging to see me.’ The words came tumbling out in a long-overdue rush. ‘He said he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me on his honeymoon, that he still loved me, and his marriage was a disaster… and he actually comes to
see
me,’ Tara emphasized again, desperate for Daisy to understand just how much this meant to her. ‘He drives all the way down from Berkshire and he doesn’t
mind
that it’s a hundred-and-twenty-mile round trip, because as far as he’s concerned, I’m worth it!’

Daisy sat back on her chair, understanding only too well. Flattery would get you anywhere and Tara had been through a rough time recently on the man front. Her self-confidence had taken a series of knocks. And now here was Dominic, back in her life again, promising her the world and flattering her for all he was worth.

‘Why is his marriage such a disaster?’

‘Annabel won’t sleep with him,’ Tara explained. ‘She’s frigid. He’s married someone who refuses to have sex with him. Can you
imagine
how that makes him feel?’

Like a big old liar, probably, thought Daisy. What was the betting that Dominic had told Tara his wife didn’t understand him?

‘So he’s having sex with you instead.’

‘No! No, he isn’t.’ Vehemently, Tara shook her head. ‘We just see each other, that’s all. We meet up and talk. No sex, I promise.’

‘Although he’d like there to be.’

‘Well… yes. But I won’t do it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’s married!’

‘But why is he still with Annabel?’ Daisy ruthlessly persisted. ‘If he knows it’s such a total disaster and it’s never going to work out, why doesn’t Dominic leave her?’

Tara rubbed her forehead as if it ached. It felt as if it
should
ache.

‘He feels he has to give the marriage a chance. He can’t give up this quickly. But he knows it’s hopeless really. He’ll leave her sooner or later. It’s more to spare Annabel’s feelings, you see. She’s actually incredibly neurotic. Dominic’s worried about the effect it could have on her… I mean, they’ve only been married a few weeks, she’d feel so humiliated—oh, it’s you.’

The door was flung open and Josh burst into the flat. Both legs disappointingly intact. Out of breath from his run, he rubbed his hands together, grinned, and said, ‘Oops, am I interrupting?’

‘Yes,’ said Daisy, ‘but it’s OK.’

‘Hello, Judas.’ Tara attempted a scowl but it didn’t quite come off.

‘Don’t be bitter. These things are better out in the open. Bloody hell, it’s cold out there.’ Gleefully, he danced up to Tara and pressed his icy hands against the back of her neck, making her squeal. ‘Anyway, if you’re having an affair with a married man, that’s when you need your friends around to pummel some sense into you.’

‘I’m not
having
an affair,’ Tara wailed, squirming off her chair and out of reach. ‘He comes to see me, that’s all. We talk. Swear to God, I’m not sleeping with Dominic.’

‘Blimey. Poor sod.’ Josh looked amused. ‘So what’s in it for him, then?’

‘He loves me!’ Tara couldn’t help it; she experienced a burst of pride. Being loved, unconditionally, was a heady experience. Not to mention a pretty novel one.

Daisy’s heart sank. She checked her watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting. We’ll talk later. But you mustn’t sleep with Dominic—you know that, don’t you? Promise me you won’t.’

‘God, you’re so boring. OK, I promise,’ said Josh with a broad grin.

‘It isn’t funny.’ Ignoring him, Daisy gazed at Tara. ‘He’s married,’ she said steadily. ‘Don’t ever forget that.’

Tara bit back the urge to remind Daisy, crossly, that of course she knew that, hadn’t she just explained that the whole reason she hadn’t slept with Dominic was
because
he was married?

But of course it was an extra-sensitive subject where Daisy was concerned. She’d been married to Steven Standish, who had been unfaithful to her. It couldn’t be much fun being cheated on.

‘I won’t forget,’ Tara dutifully promised.

‘Right, let’s get back to work.’ Reaching across the kitchen table, Daisy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘I can’t stop you seeing Dominic, but I’m telling you now, you deserve better.’

Tara smiled. What a completely ridiculous thing to say. She’d spent the last goodness knows how many years deserving better. Didn’t Daisy realize that Dominic was
it
?

Josh, heading for the shower, was peeling off layers of sweatshirts. ‘Are we still on for five o’clock? Or am I public enemy number one?’ He winked at Tara from the bathroom doorway.

She couldn’t be cross with him. That was the other thing about Daisy, Tara thought; it was OK for her, she had Josh now. They were happy together. She’d forgotten how lonely and horrible it felt to be minus a man. Plus, in a few months, she could be moving to Florida with him.

Anyway, a free driving lesson was a free driving lesson.

Tara gave Josh a look to indicate that she had forgiven him but only just. For good measure she threw in a sigh.

‘I’ll see you at five.’

***

She did see Josh at five o’clock but didn’t get her lesson. By midday the first fat snowflakes had come cartwheeling out of a slate-grey sky. By three o’clock the lawns were iced in a layer of white. By five, the snow was a good couple of inches deep. Now, huge snowflakes were hurtling past the window harder and faster than ever. The roads weren’t undrivable but they were slippy enough to scare the wits out of Tara.

‘If it’s any comfort,’ said Josh, buying her a drink in the hotel bar as a consolation prize, ‘I can’t play golf either.’

‘Hmm.’ Was that meant to cheer her up? If the snow kept up at this rate, she wouldn’t be able to see Dominic for days.

‘Look, I’m sorry about this morning,’ Josh went on, not sounding sorry at all. ‘I didn’t know I’d be letting the cat out of the bag. I just notice watches and which hand they’re being worn on. When you’re a golf pro, you can’t help it.’

‘OK. Don’t keep on about it.’ Tara rolled her eyes. ‘Daisy knows now.’

‘She’s just worried about you. Doesn’t want you making a big twit of yourself and ending up suicidal.’

Josh was clearly the chap to come to if you were in need of sympathy and understanding.

‘Actually,’ said Tara, ‘I wasn’t planning on doing that.’

‘Oh, come on, it’s pretty dodgy. Admit it,’ Josh scoffed, ‘he’s not going to leave his wife for you.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Don’t get in a strop, I’m not saying you’re too ugly for him. We both know you’re not. But let’s face it, financially you can’t compete. He’s married to someone with a lot of cash.’

‘The money doesn’t matter to Dominic. It means nothing to him.’ Tara’s cheeks were flaming but she kept her voice low so that Rocky, behind the bar, wouldn’t overhear.

‘Sweetheart, that’s what he tells you.’

‘Is that why you’re with Daisy? She’s not exactly hard up. Steven married her for her money,’ Tara shot back. ‘Maybe you’re doing the same thing.’ Below the belt, maybe. But he’d started it.

‘Touché.’ Josh acknowledged the jibe with a brief smile. ‘No, that’s not why I came here. But I can’t prove that. You just have to make up your own mind. Or rather, Daisy does.’

Tara didn’t think for one minute that he was after Daisy’s money, but she was damned if she was going to say so.

‘I don’t know you well enough to judge something like that. And you don’t know Dominic. Nor does Daisy. So neither of you has any right to judge him.’

‘We just don’t want to see you get hurt,’ said Josh as she downed her Bacardi in one go.

‘So you keep saying. But I
do
know Dominic. And I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.’ Tara slid down from her bar stool. ‘I have to go.’

‘Oh dear. On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?’

‘Thirty-eight.’

Josh grinned. ‘You deserve better. Married men are nothing but grief.’

Trying to loathe him but failing to manage it, Tara said dryly, ‘Single ones too.’

Next morning, Josh built a snowman on the lawn in front of the hotel. Daisy smuggled Hector’s second-best kilt out of his wardrobe and they fastened it round the snowman’s ample waist. An empty champagne bottle was clasped lovingly to the snowman’s chest and beneath his other arm was tucked a set of bagpipes fashioned from a tartan cushion and the wooden spindles from a broken chair back.

‘I say, who is that fine figure of a man? What a handsome fellow,’ Hector declared when he stepped out of the hotel. Roaring with laughter, he beckoned to Paula. ‘And such a relief to know we’ll be leaving the place in safe hands!’

Paula, smothered in ivory floor-length fake fur, adjusted her dark glasses and checked that the car waiting for them had been fully defrosted.

‘What I want to know,’ said Hector, ‘is what he’s wearing under that kilt.’

‘Mmm.’ Paula thrust her hands into her coat pockets; if the car’s engine had been running for a full ten minutes, it would be warm inside.

‘I just hope nobody’s stuck a carrot under there.’ Hector chuckled. ‘Especially not a small
wizened
carrot.’

‘Who’s it supposed to be?’ said Paula.

‘Ha! Who does it look like?’

‘A snowman.’ She sensed she was missing something here. ‘In a kilt.’

‘It’s me, woman! That’s me in the MacLean tartan! Of course, you couldn’t know,’ Hector instantly excused her. ‘You haven’t seen me let loose with my bagpipes.’

Paula shivered dramatically. Her feet were icy already. According to the weather forecast it was seven below zero, the coldest cold snap for years.

‘Hector, the Cardews are expecting us at midday.’

Josiah Cardew and his wife lived in Cheltenham. Josiah, a theatre director, was hosting a lunch for them and they were staying the night at the Cardew’s Georgian mansion.

‘Let me guess. Josh,’ said Hector as Daisy joined them on the steps.

‘Who else?’ Daisy was quietly marveling at Paula’s ability to shiver in the manner of a Broadway star whilst wearing more clothes than an Eskimo.

‘But you were the one who stole my kilt.’

‘Hector,’ Paula hinted. Heavily.

‘Yes. We must go. Will you be OK?’ He kissed Daisy on the cheek.

‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage. We’ve got the boss keeping an eye on us.’ Daisy nodded at the jaunty, kilted snowman. ‘Just so long as he doesn’t melt.’

***

Maggie bumped into Barney in the village shop. Flushed with success, he told her how the cottage was progressing. It was Sunday morning and thanks to the snow, far fewer bargain hunters than usual had turned out for the swap meet in Castle Combe, enabling him to snap up all manner of brilliant buys.

‘I was there at eight,’ he explained happily, ‘and back by ten. I picked up a toaster for fifty pence, a fantastic sheepskin rug for a pound, a tricycle for Freddie,
and
a set of garden chairs for a fiver.’ Checking his watch he added, ‘I should just have time to finish the skirting boards in the bathroom before starting my shift.’

Barney had come in to buy a bottle of white spirit and a packet of cleaning cloths. Maggie envied him his busyness. Her own empty day stretched interminably ahead as only Sundays could. She was here to pick up a newspaper, a packet of sage and onion stuffing, and, oh God, just
something
to cheer her up.

Wine, maybe. Or a bar of chocolate. Valpolicella versus a giant block of Fruit & Nut.

Sod it, she’d have both.

They left the shop together and made their way up the snowy street. As Maggie reached her front door, she slipped on a patch of ice, felt her legs shoot out from beneath her, and landed with a bump on the pavement.

Luckily, her thick padded parka cushioned her bottom. As landings went, it was more undignified than painful.

‘Shit!’ Maggie wailed as Barney reached down to her.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Bloody bottle’s broken.’ She gazed in dismay at the carrier bag, leaking blood-red Valpolicella into the snow. And she’d managed to drench her
Sunday Times
. Behind her, she heard the sound of a vehicle making its way down the street.

‘Come on,’ said Barney, ‘up you get.’ But the spilled wine only made the snow more slippery, and his first attempt to help Maggie to her feet was unsuccessful. As she tried again, this time going for the ultra elegant all-fours approach, the gleaming black Land Rover Discovery approached them. Hector’s Land Rover Discovery, Maggie realized, unable to stop herself glancing through the green-tinted windscreen at Hector behind the wheel with Paula Penhaligon beside him.

Hector braked and buzzed down the window. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No. I’m fine.’ Grabbing Barney’s outstretched arms with both hands, Maggie hauled herself upright.

‘Is that
blood
?’ Hector was looking alarmed.

‘Red wine. I’m OK.’ As she brushed crimson-stained snow from the seat of her parka, Maggie couldn’t help noticing that Paula was wearing a white fur coat and matching hat like something out of
Dr Zhivago
. And expensive-looking sunglasses like nothing out of
Dr Zhivago
.

‘Darling, we don’t want to be late,’ said Paula.

‘I’m OK. I just slipped in the snow.’ With all her heart Maggie willed him to drive off.

Before the driver’s window slid shut once more, she clearly heard Paula drawl, ‘Good grief, is the woman
drunk
?’

Barney helped her into the cottage, then went out to retrieve her carrier bag.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Maggie protested as he returned with the bag. ‘I’m not an invalid, you know.’

But she was touched by the gesture. Barney really was a sweet boy. As she watched him fish out the stuffing and chocolate, Maggie thought what a shame it was that he already had a girlfriend. He’d be perfect for Tara.

‘I know you aren’t an invalid. But it’s not very nice, falling over in the street.’ Carefully wrapping up the bag containing the sodden newspaper and broken glass, he dropped it into Maggie’s kitchen bin. ‘Still, it was nice of Hector to stop, wasn’t it?’

‘Mm.’ Maggie would far rather he hadn’t. As she peeled off her heavy parka she saw that the wine had soaked into the bit where her bottom had landed. Fabulous, something else really bulky to wash by hand and struggle to dry.

‘He’s great,’ Barney went on with enthusiasm. ‘I mean, he owns the hotel but he still insists I call him Hector. It’s just so brilliant working somewhere like that; it makes all the difference.’

Joining him in the kitchen, Maggie peeled the sodden wrapper off the bar of chocolate and ran it under the tap. She offered Barney a piece.

‘Thanks, I love fruit and nut. And she’s really friendly too,’ Barney added. ‘Paula Penhaligon. She gave me a signed photo yesterday for my mum. I thought that was so nice of her. They make a great couple, don’t they?’

Presumably not Paula and his mum.

Maggie did her best to ignore the stab of pain in her chest. OK, not pain. Jealousy.

‘Oh yes. A great couple.’

‘He’s mad about her, you can tell. Well, they’re mad about each other. Imagine, they might end up getting married, wouldn’t that be
fantastic
?’

By this time fighting the urge to batter Barney over the head with her family-sized bar of chocolate, Maggie smiled blandly and said, ‘Wouldn’t it just?’

Barney left to finish painting his skirting boards and Maggie got on with the task of stuffing Madge. Plucked, Madge had weighed four pounds, which meant that after one hour and forty minutes of lying on her back with her legs in the air on a tray of roasting vegetables, she would be cooked to perfection.

Taking her out of the oven at midday, Maggie realized she’d lost her appetite. Madge looked delicious—glistening and golden and enticingly plump, but Maggie hadn’t the heart to eat her. Tara would have to do the honors later when she came off duty.

Honorable though it would have been to pretend that the reason she couldn’t bring herself to eat Madge was because she knew her—had known her, in fact, since she was a chick—the truth of the matter was she couldn’t stop thinking about the humiliating moment when Hector had driven by while she was scrabbling on all fours on the pavement.

When Hector had driven by with bloody Paula Penhaligon in the passenger seat.

‘You really mustn’t be embarrassed about falling over,’ Barney had said kindly as he was leaving. ‘It’s slippery out there. I fell over in the snow at the car boot sale this morning.’

Yes, but not in front of the person who pays you to have sex with them, Maggie had been sorely tempted to retort. Or at least
had
paid you to have sex with them up until they’d found themself someone who’d do it for free. Someone infinitely superior at that. Even if, according to Tara, Paula Penhaligon had had a face-lift.

Madge sat in the roasting tin, growing cold. Never mind; Tara would demolish a breast and a leg when she came home. Minus an appetite, and with no wine to console her, Maggie ate a couple of chunks of fruit and nut in an unsuccessful attempt to cheer herself up. She flicked through the TV channels, found nothing remotely watchable and washed her bulky parka in the sink that was three times too small for the task and imagined the fun Hector and Paula would be having now. Gorgeous, convivial lunch with friends. Bit too much to drink. You wouldn’t believe what we saw as we were leaving Colworth this morning—one of the villagers, pissed as a parrot, sprawled across the pavement. Darling, can you
believe
it?

The doorbell went as Maggie was struggling to wring out the sodden parka. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she answered the door and found a pink-cheeked, jolly-looking couple stamping their cold feet on the doorstep.

‘Oh hello, we’re staying at the hotel and we saw some of your lovely cushions in the gift shop down the road.’ The girl beamed at Maggie. ‘I know it’s Sunday but the woman in the shop gave us one of your business cards and said she was sure you wouldn’t mind us calling round. You see, we’d just love it if you could make us a cushion.’

‘No problem.’ Their shiny matching wedding rings and the way they were holding hands told Maggie all she needed to know. ‘Come on in.’

Their names were Valerie and Alan and, yes, they were on their honeymoon. Together they had already decided on the design they wanted. Val and Al, Together Forever, in curly lettering, the names entwined within a pink heart on a lilac background with butterflies and smaller hearts bordering the cushion like a Victorian Valentine’s card.

‘Together forever,’ Valerie echoed, her eyes shining with joy as she squeezed her husband’s pudgy hand. ‘That’s going to be us, isn’t it, darling?’

Until you get divorced, thought Maggie.

Alan, nodding vigorously, said, ‘We’ll be able to show this cushion to our grandchildren.’

‘That’s a lovely idea.’ Maggie forced a warm smile. Maybe they
would
be happy. Some marriages did last, didn’t they? In their thick fleeces, matching knitted sweaters, and unromantic hiking boots, they seemed besotted enough with each other to make a go of it.

‘We’re only here for another couple of days,’ Valerie explained. ‘I’d better give you our address so you can post it on to us.’

‘Don’t worry, I can do it straightaway.’ Seeing as she had an evening stretching emptily ahead, Maggie said, ‘Drop by again tomorrow. I’ll have it finished for you by then.’

‘Really? Oh, that’s so
kind
of you!’ Valerie’s eyes lit up and she wriggled on the sofa with delight. ‘We’ll be able to show our families when we get home. This cushion will be our memento of the happiest week of our lives.’

As soon as they’d left, Maggie set to work on the cushion. She felt guilty at having inwardly scoffed at their gullibility. Just because her own life was a miserable mess and she couldn’t imagine ever being like that herself, she mustn’t automatically assume every couple would eventually split up. It wasn’t Val and Al’s fault that she’d fallen for a man completely beyond her reach.

The truth was, she was jealous of them and their impossibly rosy view of the future.

A tear slid down Maggie’s cheek, plopping onto her wrist as she knelt on the carpet cutting out pink silk hearts.

Pathetic. Furious with herself, she brushed the tears away.