Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

‘Signed up?’ Eddie frowned. ‘For what?’

‘One of Diana’s aerobics classes.’ She winked. ‘I can’t wait to see you in a leotard.’

Amused, Eddie said, ‘There’s about as much chance of that as of seeing you in one.’

As he spoke, Diana and the next scheduled class spilled out of the changing room, heading down the corridor towards the studio. Dulcie, who lived in terror of waking up and finding out she’d got drunk the night before and signed up for one of Diana’s classes, said, ‘Help, Cruella’s coming. I’ll see you later.’ She waggled her fingers at Eddie. ‘And cheer up, okay? Everything’s fine. It’s going to be a night to remember.’

Chapter 7

The great advantage of surprise parties, Pru discovered with some relief, was the way they got everyone there on time. Instead of having to endure that awkward first couple of hours of guests trickling in, all leaving it as late as possible because nobody wanted to be the first, everyone had piled in through the doors dead on five to eight.

Everyone except Phil.

Ducking out to reception at five past, Pru tried ringing home again. No reply. Ditto his mobile.

But she didn’t have time to start worrying. Dulcie and Patrick had arrived.

‘What’s going on?’ Patrick was looking suitably confused. ‘I thought the table at Langharn’s was booked for eight fifteen ... Hello, Pru, what are you doing here? Did Dulcie tell you it was my birthday? Come and give me a big kiss.’

‘Right, that’s enough,’ barked Dulcie moments later. She seized his arm. ‘No time for snogging.

As soon as I’ve booked a sunbed for tomorrow, we’re off. Pru, where’s Anna?’

Pru pointed obediently in the direction of the banqueting hall.

‘Through there.’

‘Do I deserve you?’ Patrick murmured, wrapping his arms around his wife as they danced to something slow and slushy. Dulcie was looking amazing in a skin-tight little black dress and the kind of seriously high heels he liked. Her black hair was slicked back Valentino style. The diamond studs he had given her for Christmas glittered in her ears. Dulcie had the figure, the looks and the legs; what’s more, she knew how to flaunt them.

And she had gone to the trouble of organising a surprise party for him, even to the extent of doing all the food. Well, with a little help from Pru.

Patrick was touched.

Dulcie stuck her tongue out at him.

‘Deserve me? Of course you don’t.’ His dark-brown eyes narrowed with amusement.

‘I do love you.’

Patrick didn’t say it often, he wasn’t that kind of man. But Dulcie knew he did.

It was just a shame he loved work more.

‘I should bloody well think so.’ Reaching up, she flicked his ear lobe with her tongue. It had been so long, she’d quite forgotten how nice Patrick was to dance with. If she wasn’t so excited about James and Bibi’s imminent arrival she might have put the pleasurable churning sensation in her stomach down to the effect of her husband’s body pressed against hers.

‘Come on then.’ Patrick gave her waist a pinch. ‘Your turn. Only fair.’

It was a long-standing joke between them. When she said it, Patrick didn’t. When he said it, she didn’t.

But this was the last birthday they would celebrate together. On impulse, Dulcie gave it one final try.

love you too.’

Patrick looked startled.

She went on, ‘But I’d love you more if you worked less.’

‘Dulcie—’

He had that look on his face, the look she had come to know oh so well during the course of the last couple of years. The one, Dulcie thought bitterly, that was about to end their marriage.

‘Not a lot less,’ she urged, ‘just a bit.’

‘Sweetheart, don’t you think I would if I could?’ Sherecognised the note of exasperation in his voice as well. They had had this argument too often in the past. The novelty had worn off. ‘I’m building up a business. It’s tough.’

Damn right it’s tough, thought Dulcie.

‘But I’m doing it for us,’ Patrick went on. This was how he always justified himself; she could have recited the words by heart. Dulcie hated this bit. She hated the way he always managed to make her feel like a spoilt child. She wasn’t selfish. Well, not very. She just wanted a husband she could see occasionally, and talk to. She wanted a normal married life.

‘Okay, I know the rest,’ said Dulcie before he could launch into the next phase of his defence.

‘Let’s not argue. This is your party. And we can’t stay here smooching, either.’

Patrick, as keen to change the subject as she was, looked affronted.

‘Why not? It’s my birthday.’

‘You’re supposed to spread yourself around. Smooch with other women.’ Dulcie detached herself from his grasp and peered around. ‘Go on, there’s Pru. That bastard husband of hers still hasn’t turned up.’

Pru was glad she was dancing with Patrick when Phil eventually appeared. Well, she’d rather not have been there at all, but dancing with Patrick was at least better than standing on her own propping up a wall.

Not a lot better, considering it was the most horrendous moment of her life, but a bit.

Pru felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Phil was drunk. Seriously drunk.

And ... oh God ... Blanche was at his side.

‘Shit, shit,’ breathed Liza, startling the banker she had been introduced to only moments before.

She watched in horror as Phil shambled on to the dance floor.

Blanche was wearing the infamous rubber skirt and spike heels higher than Dulcie’s. Her emerald-green halter-neck top was studded with rhinestones. Despite the stilettos, she was doing a good job of keeping Phil upright.

‘Pru, sorry he’s late. I bumped into him in the Forester’s Arms. He kept saying he was supposed to be here so I put him in my car. You won’t be cross with him, will you? He’s had a few, but no real harm done.’

Pm, who had never been cross with Phil in her life, stared at him. Across the room, dimly, she heard Dulcie say, ‘Oh Christ.’

Blanche’s ex-husband had drunk for England. She had had plenty of practice with piss-heads; compared with her ex, Phil was only tiddly. Planting him expertly upright, she turned to leave.

‘Okay, Pru? I’ll be off then.’

Phil took one look at the frozen expression on Pru’s face and swung round like a cartoon drunk, grabbing her back again. ‘No you won’t. Don’t go. Stay and dance.’

‘Really, I can’t.’ Blanche shook him off.

‘Come back!’ roared Phil. He gestured recklessly in Pru’s direction. ‘Look at her, Miss Prim-and-bloody-proper .. . Blanche, I want you to stay. I don’t love her, I love you. I don’t want her any more ... I WANT YOU ..

Patrick couldn’t do anything – he was holding on to Pru. Instead Dulcie launched herself like a rocket across the dance floor and punched Phil Kasteliz so hard he toppled over.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ muttered Blanche, not looking at Dulcie. Evidently as strong as an ox, she hauled Phil to his feet and all but carried him out of the room. By the door, she encountered Liza.

‘I shouldn’t have brought him. This wasn’t meant to happen. I was only trying to help.’

Liza’s voice dripped with derision.

‘Oh well, that’s all right then. Give yourself a pat on the back, you’ve done your good deed for the night.’

Pru wasn’t crying. She sat on a chair in the loo, eerily composed.

Except she wasn’t composed, Liza realised as she handed her a massive brandy. How could she be? She must be in a state of shock.

‘You’re in a state of shock,’ she told Pru.

‘Am I?’ Pru stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the hand dryer. All in white like a jilted bride, she shrugged. ‘Probably.’