What She Wants (51 page)

had in Dublin at the Concert Hall, when we stayed in the Westbury and had supper after the show?’

Kevin did remember, and soon the three old friends were laughing over the grand time they’d all had.

Virginia felt her fixed smile waver. How terribly, terribly rude.

She hoped that if her friends ever got to meet Kevin, they wouldn’t stoop so low as to spend the entire time remembering Bill and all the lovely times they’d had when he was alive.

Rude and insensitive didn’t even come close. Glenys was doing it on purpose too, because she clearly disapproved of Virginia. But why? What was she protecting Kevin from? Did she imagine that Virginia was some sort of evil hussy who’d left a trail of abandoned men behind her? Or was Virginia cast as the black widow, who mated, then killed? Whatever it was, Richard and Glenys Smart clearly believed there was some nasty intent in her friendship with Kevin.

After the recital, the four of them walked to the small pub nearby. Virginia let Glenys march alongside Kevin, one arm protectively through his, leaving Virginia and Richard to walk behind. Glenys kept up the train of babble about Ursula throughout.

During a five minute walk, they got through Ursula’s love of classical music, her ability to recognize any piece from the first four bars and how she’d always wanted to learn to play the violin.

‘Don’t you think she’d have been wonderful at the violin?’ Glenys said mistily to Kevin. ‘She was so talented, wasn’t she?’

Virginia, who’d previously felt that Ursula Burton was the sort of woman she’d have liked a lot, began to dislike her no end. How could any sane woman have been friends, no, ‘best friends’ with the likes of the nauseating Glenys?

In the pub, Virginia took matters into her own hands by choosing a banquette with room for two and inviting Kevin to sit beside her. Glenys and Richard were forced to sit on

two single chairs opposite from where Glenys glowered like Grumpy with migraine. For badness sake, Virginia put a hand on Kevin’s arm. He started nervily and got to his feet. ‘Drinks?’ he said, obviously anxious to be away from his date. ‘I’ll get them.’ When he returned, he sat beside Virginia but kept as far away from her as was possible given the constraints of sharing a seat, and let Glenys carry on with the Ursula tribute concert. When Kevin did speak to Virginia, he was as formal as an archbishop, as if he didn’t want to give his old friends the wrong idea. Virginia’s bullshit tolerance level bottomed out quite quickly. She finished her white wine quietly and then asked Kevin if he’d mind driving her home. ‘You must come to dinner soon,’ Glenys gushed to Kevin as they left. Virginia knew that she most definitely wasn’t included in the invitation. The drive home was silent with the car radio the only distraction. Virginia didn’t see the point of talking to Kevin. If he was ashamed of his friendship with her, then she didn’t want to see him again: it was that simple. Miss Murphy of the church flower arranging group could get her hopes up again. At Kilnagoshell, she said a polite thank you for the recital and began to get out of the car. ‘It was a pleasure,’ Kevin said, sounding like his old self for the first time all evening. ‘I’ll phone you about golf?’ It was a question rather than a statement. Virginia gave him the benefit of her cool, clear gaze. ‘Why?’ she said. He lowered his eyes first. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know that was awful for you. Glenys and Ursula were such friends and Glenys can’t cope with the idea of anyone replacing her.’ ‘You should have told Glenys that I have no intention of replacing Ursula,’ Virginia said crisply. ‘I went out with you

tonight as a friend, nothing more. Friends do not sit idly by and let other friends be insulted.’ She got out, slammed the car door shut and walked to the house, leaving Kevin with no option but to drive off.

‘How was your evening?’ asked Mary-Kate the next day, when they met by chance outside the post office. Virginia had discovered that it was impossible to go into Redlion without meeting someone you knew. In her current bad mood, she was grateful that it was Mary-Kate she’d bumped into and not Lucille from the fashion shop who spent many futile hours trying to get Virginia into the boutique to buy a little something.

Virginia filled her friend in on the grisly details.

‘I don’t know the Smarts but she sounds like a nightmare. Probably has fantasies about comforting the grieving widower herself,’ Mary-Kate said prosaically. ‘Having a handsome, unattached man around can do wonders for a marriage and Mrs Smart may have thought how nice it would be to have a spare man for her parties. You’ve ruined all that, you hussy.’

Virginia shrugged. ‘I know, I’m just a heartbreaker, wilfully being nice to lonely men. There should be a law against it.’

‘Don’t give up, Virginia. Just because she’s jealous of you, doesn’t mean you can’t see Kevin.’

Virginia looked down at the letters she intended to post. ‘That’s the thing, Mary-Kate,’ she admitted, ‘he did behave differently to me in her presence. I think he’s already crippled with guilt for seeing me at all.’

‘Guilt? But why? His wife’s dead, she’s been dead several years, he’s not hurting her memory by seeing you.’

Virginia shrugged. ‘Dead but most definitely not forgotten. It’s obvious he feels disloyal for meeting me for the odd game of golf.’

Mary-Kate looked at her sadly.

‘I think about Bill all the time, you know,’ Virginia said

softly. ‘I loved him so much that there’ll never be anybody for me but him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the company of a man like Kevin. The very idea of having someone to go out for a meal with makes life sort of normal again. When Bill died, I didn’t think there could ever be any normality in my life. But simple things, like buying a new dress or making new friends, help. They make me feel like I’m still alive, that I’m not just marking time until I die and join Bill.’ Her beautiful, fine-boned face was earnest as she spoke and Mary-Kate thought that Kevin Burton was a fool if he walked away from lovely, gentle Virginia Connell because he and his so-called friends wouldn’t let go of his dead wife.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Mary-Kate? I can’t give up on life, that would be wrong. I might as well take a razorblade into the bath and be done with it, if I do that. I’ve got to try to actually live for the rest of my life, rather than just exist. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. You’re absolutely right. You shouldn’t stop living just because there are people out there who feel threatened by a woman who doesn’t throw herself on her husband’s funeral pyre.’ Mary-Kate was firm. ‘Give Kevin a second chance, won’t you?’

‘Well, I might as well. I’ve been here a year now and he’s the only handsome single man I’ve noticed, unless I try and wrench Richard Smart out of Glenys’s tight little hands.’

They both grinned at the thought.

‘Go on,’ teased Mary-Kate, ‘I dare you.’

Virginia shuddered. ‘Even double daring wouldn’t work. She’s welcome to him. In fact, they deserve each other.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘Mummy, phone!’ said Millie indignantly the next morning, climbing onto her mother’s bed and bouncing. ‘Wake up, Mummy, it’s Daddy on the phone.’

Mummy, head throbbing from a terrible night’s sleep, dragged herself into a sitting position. Why hadn’t they ever got a phone connection in the bedroom?

She stumbled downstairs and picked up the receiver, her voice croaky and tired.

‘Hi darling, you sound as if you’ve just woken up,’ said Matt cheerily.

Hope thanked God that video phones were an innovation yet to hit the Parker family. She was sure that Matt would be able to tell she’d been up to no good purely by looking at her guilty face.

‘N… no,’ she stammered. ‘Just tired. I had a bad night.’

‘You poor thing,’ Matt answered. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got something to talk to you about.’

Hope’s eyes widened. How could he have heard? Who’d have phoned him? Nobody in the village had a clue where he was staying and it had only been the day before and surely nobody would be so cruel as to break up a marriage over a piece of vicious gossip …

‘Things are so busy here, I’ll be back as planned in about ten days but I’ll have to go back to Bath for a couple of weeks, maybe longer,’ Matt said. ‘The office is so busy right now and Adam isn’t back to full strength. The heart attack has had a huge effect on him, he’s changed, I must say. And

since that new restaurant campaign’s been nominated for the industry awards, Judds are the hottest agency around and everybody wants us working for them. The phones are hopping and Adam is loath to turn any work down, particularly since some of the people ringing are companies whose business we’ve been touting for for years.’ Hope sank onto an armchair with relief. He didn’t know anything about her or Christy after all. Relief made her forgiving. ‘It’s all right, Matt,’ she said warmly, ‘there’s nothing you can do. I understand.’ ‘That’s great, love,’ he replied. ‘I was afraid you’d go ballistic. I know it’s been tough for you coping with the kids on your own. I promise that when I get back, we’ll ask Finula to babysit and we’ll take ourselves off for a romantic weekend away somewhere, okay?’ The thought of a romantic weekend where she’d have to steel herself not to tell Matt what had happened made Hope’s blood run cold. Every part of her longed to blurt it all out. She’d kissed Christy De Lacy but honestly, it had been a mistake and she’d never meant to … ‘What do you think, Hope? Would that be a good idea?’ ‘Lovely,’ she said automatically. ‘A weekend away would be lovely, but let’s take the kids.’ With Millie and Toby along, there’d be no time for either introspection or long talks about marriage. Matt began discussing venues for the weekend away but Hope wasn’t listening: she was crucifying herself. Except Matt got the wrong idea about her silence. ‘Don’t go all quiet on me,’ he begged. ‘I’m sorry I’m not going to be home this weekend. I know you think the kids will have forgotten me and you’ll have got yourself a toyboy with the boredom of it all.’ He laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Hope joined in nervously. ‘Funny, very funny,’ she said.

She hadn’t meant to dress up the next time she went to work at the hotel. She really hadn’t. The night before, she’d chosen a boringly plain white cotton shirt to go with her tailored black trousers, an outfit that would probably make her a dead ringer for a waitress and which would kill any lust stone dead. She’d even practised what she’d say should she bump into Christy.

She’d spent forty-eight hours practising this; endlessly going over the whole prospective conversation in her head.

I’m married, Christy. I love my husband. It was a mistake and I’d had too much to drink. I apologize for giving you the wrong impression. I am a happily married woman.

She tried several variations on this theme, her skin burning with shame at the thought of having to actually say it to Christy. He’d probably be shocked to think that she hadn’t meant it when she’d let him kiss her. Perhaps he’d thought she was some sort of wild, whorish woman who had affairs left, right and centre and trifled with men’s affections. Oh no, please don’t let him have thought that. In all her years married to Matt, she’d never even looked at another man, apart from the odd long-range crush on the likes of Mel Gibson, which was so far into the realms of fantasy, it didn’t matter, did it?

What she really hoped was that Christy never came near her again, and that she could forget the whole sordid thing had ever happened. A sort of see-no-evil type of scenario where Christy was deaf, blind and dumb to the entire event.

In the end, it was Millie who made Hope change out of her waitress garb by getting strawberry jam all over both herself and her mother.

‘Millie, careful!’ said Hope, as Millie stuck a spoon deep into the jam pot, more for naughtiness than through any desire for jam.

But it was too late. Millie, and therefore, everyone around her, was instantly covered in jam. Small jammy fingerprints on Hope’s sleeve rendered the severe white blouse unwearable. She rushed upstairs to change Millie’s jamsplodged

sweatshirt, before rushing into her room to find something for herself. The only other white blouse was squashed at the back of the wardrobe and she dragged it on at high speed, forgetting why she rarely wore it. Silky and outwardly demure, the blouse was a slave to static electricity and unless a tumble dryer freshening sheet was rubbed vigorously over it, the fabric stuck to the skin like a wet t-shirt. Hope remembered this as she removed her coat in the accounts office, to find the blouse stuck to her body as firmly as if she’d rolled in superglue before getting dressed. ‘Oooh static,’ said Una sympathetically, staring at Hope, who was doing her best to pull the blouse away from her skin. ‘I have a silky skirt just like that. If I don’t put enough fabric conditioner in the wash, it sticks to me like mud. And with my legs, it’s not a pretty sight.’ ‘This looks awful, doesn’t it?’ wailed Hope, looking down at her chest where the outline of her lacy white bra was as clear as daylight. ‘I just need one of those tumble dryer sheets and it’ll get rid of the static’ ‘I’ll ring laundry and ask them to send one up,’ said Una cheerfully. Janet was off that day, so it was just the two of them, working along to the sound of the radio, with occasional interruptions from reception. Each time the door opened, Hope jumped guiltily, hoping it wasn’t Christy because she was far too embarrassed to see him, particularly since she looked like a wet T-shirt contestant. But the morning passed without any sign of the handsome hotel manager. He must be away, Hope reassured herself. There was no sign of anyone from laundry with the promised tumble dryer sheet either, but Hope began to stop worrying about her cling-on blouse. With luck, she thought, she’d be out the door long before Christy appeared and she wouldn’t have to face him at all. She’d forget her impassioned apology, too, and hope that they next time they met, they could both be utterly professional and pretend it hadn’t happened.

Like actors and actresses having lust-driven flings when they were on location making films. DCOL was the name of the game there, Hope had read: Doesn’t Count On Location. All involved pretended afterwards that the affair hadn’t happened, going chastely back to their partners as if they hadn’t sinned at all. The hotel world must be the same, she decided. At five to one, Hope turned off her computer and grabbed her coat. ‘I know it’s a teeny bit early,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got to rush.’ Christy had always appeared after one in the afternoon. If only she could leave early, she’d miss him. ‘No problem,’ Una said. ‘Could you just drop this out to reception on your way?’ She held out a document. Hope took it and peered out at reception. The coast was clear: no sign of Christy. Thrilled, she handed Una’s document to the receptionist and literally ran out the front door, her coat over her arm because she didn’t have time to put it on. She rounded the topiary hedge and peered round a mossy statue of an Irish wolfhound to see if she could spot Christy in the car park. There was no sign of him. Walking as quickly as she could in her high heeled boots, she hurried to the staff car park but she’d only reached the gravelled entrance when Christy appeared in front of her. Dressed in his beautifully tailored suit with his dark hair falling over those glinting, dangerous eyes, he looked incredible and disturbing. Much more disturbing even than when he had been naked and turned on in Hope’s dreams, ravaging her furiously, telling her how much he wanted her in that deep, velvety voice. ‘Hello,’ he said warmly now, eyeing up her outfit. ‘You’re always rushing off somewhere, Mrs Parker.’ Hope was incapable of speech. Despite working out her spiel many times, she couldn’t manage to deliver it now that Christy was standing beside her, making her heart beat double time. ‘I have to pick up the children,’ she said, then cursed