Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

‘Look,’ said Liza, ‘I’m a journalist. My job is to write the truth as I see it. The people who already live in that village would never have moved there in the first place if they’d known it was going to be turned into Milton-bloody-Keynes.’

Kit Berenger stared hard at Liza. Finally he said, ‘If you’re talking about West Titherton, thirty-six houses and a mini-roundabout hardly add up to Milton Keynes. Anyway, that isn’t why I’m here.’

Glancing across at the chair Dulcie was resting her feet on, he reached for the colour supplement Liza had thrown down earlier. Dulcie shivered with pleasure as his tanned arm – he was wearing a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up – brushed against her bare ankle.

Liza wished her glass wasn’t empty. Now she desperately wished he was only here to harangue her about that stupid letter to the local paper.

She didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

‘This,’ said Kit Berenger, ‘is why I’m here.’

Chapter 11

Liza’s jaw tightened in self-defence. Perspiration was breaking out on her upper lip. She didn’t take kindly to being sneered at by a mere boy.

‘Like I said, I write the truth as I see it.’

‘And does it give you a kick,’ Kit Berenger snapped back, ‘to write this kind of vindictive crap?

Do you have any idea how hurtful it can be, or is that all part of the fun?’

‘I don’t—’ began Liza.

‘No, shut up, just listen to me. What you wrote was complete bollocks anyway. I’ve eaten there dozens of times and there’s never been anything wrong with the food. The Songbird’s a great little restaurant struggling to make a name for itself, and your review was totally out of order.’

Liza already knew that, but she was damned if she was going to admit as much now. How dare this arrogant bastard give her such a public ticking-off?

‘Who runs that restaurant, your girlfriend?’ she demanded furiously. ‘Okay, you’re on her side because I gave the place a poor review and hurt her feelings. But I’m on the other side, the customer’s side. When a man scrimps and saves for a month to be able to afford to park the kids with a baby-sitter and take his wife out for a meal, he doesn’t want the food to be crap, does he?’

‘But the—’

‘No, your turn to listen to me.’ Liza pointed an accusing finger at him. ‘Don’t you see? That’s what my job’s about. I try out these places and give my honest opinion of them. If a place is good, I say it’s good. But I’m telling you, I ate at the Songbird on New Year’s Day. And if that married couple had spent their hard-earned cash on the meal I ordered, they’d have had their big night out ruined.’

Dulcie was still ogling away quietly in the background, admiring Kit Berenger’s long legs in white Levis and Timberlands. She liked his aftershave too. The wristwatch was a bit of a let-down but he was young, she could forgive him for that. Anyway, there was definitely something cool about a man driving a Bentley and wearing a purple Swatch.

Disappointing news about the girlfriend, Dulcie thought bravely, although to be honest you’d wonder if he didn’t have one. And it was sweet that he cared enough about her hurt feelings to come storming over here on her behalf.

Dulcie couldn’t help noticing that Liza, not at all used to being spoken to in such a manner, was looking more and more like an outraged cat whose tail has got caught in a cat-flap.

‘She isn’t my girlfriend,’ said Kit Berenger. ‘She’s my cousin.’

Dulcie cheered up at once.

‘And she’s worked bloody hard to get that restaurant on its feet. If you had any idea of the hours she’s put in—’

Liza’s lips were pressed together. ‘It’s a tough business.’

‘I know, I know. Restaurants go under all the time.’ His amber eyes bored into hers. ‘But humour me, okay? Just tell me when this review came out. How long since it hit the news stands?’

Liza didn’t speak.

‘I’ll tell you. Five days,’ said Kit Berenger. ‘Right, next question. Bit more tricky this time. In those five days, how many people do you suppose have phoned up and cancelled their bookings at the Songbird? Hmm?’

Dulcie began to feel sorry for Liza.

Liza shook her head.

‘Come on, make a wild guess,’ he coaxed silkily. ‘No? Give up? Okay, I’ll tell you. Eighty-two covers. Eighty-two fucking covers in five days.’

Dulcie swallowed. She didn’t know what a cover was, but all the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing to attention. Kit Berenger was awesome when he was angry. He was positively lethal .. .

‘So give yourself a pat on the back, Miss Lawson. As you say, it’s a tough business. And now, thanks to your hatchet job, it looks as if you’ve singlehandedly closed my cousin’s restaurant down.’

Dulcie was beginning to get seriously on Liza’s nerves. If she didn’t shut up soon she was going to get a squash racket jammed down her throat.

‘Cruel mouths, I just love cruel mouths.’ Dulcie swooned, ticking off each dubious asset on her fingers. ‘Calvin Klein aftershave, that’s my favourite too. Did you recognise that was what he was wearing?’

Liza was too busy smarting furiously and thinking up brilliant ripostes. It was too late now, of course, he’d gone, but there was always the horrible possibility she might one day bump into Kit Berenger again. It didn’t do any harm to keep a few ripostes up your sleeve anyway. Just in case.

‘... and he’s the exact opposite of Patrick, you know. I mean, talk about gallant. Look at the way he leapt to his cousin’s defence. Patrick never leapt to my defence ... in fact he leapt as far as possible in the other direction, that’s how bloody loyal and gallant he was.’

‘It’s the family thing. You upset Patrick’s mother. He was being loyal to her.’

‘Yes, but I’m his wife!’ Dulcie tore open another packet of crisps. ‘Well, I was. Well, still am, I suppose ...’

Liza wondered which would be worse if you were kidnapped and held hostage in a damp cellar for five years. Solitary confinement or being made to share with Dulcie.

‘... anyway, you have to admit he’s gorgeous. Imagine the fantastic-looking children you’d have.

God, I could definitely marry someone like him ...’

Solitary confinement, no question.

‘Whatever happened to being wild and irresponsible and changing your men as often as you change your nightie?’ Liza observed drily. ‘What happened to celebrating a whole new life?’

‘Yeah, but what a way to celebrate,’ sighed Dulcie, well ensconced on Fantasy Island now. ‘And who’d need a nightie?’

Pru had a whole new life and she didn’t much feel like celebrating. In the space of five weeks she had exchanged a perfect home, a loving, faithful husband (ha ha), no money worries and an N-reg Golf Cabriolet for a hideous bedsit, no husband and enough money worries to float the Titanic.

Ironically, she would still have forgiven Phil and stood by him. Together they could have battled their way out of debt. But in the end Pru hadn’t been given that option. You could only stand by a husband who wanted you there at his side, she had belatedly discovered. If he couldn’t bear the sight of you, regarded you with undisguised loathing and contempt and was only interested in the new woman in his life ... well, there didn’t seem much point.

Since a car was a necessity if she was going to find work, Pru had answered a newspaper ad and bought an ancient mini for a hundred pounds. Taxing and insuring it used up the rest of her modest savings. At least they were her savings to use up, Pru reminded herself. When they had bought the house, she had been inwardly hurt by Phil’s insistence that only his name went on the mortgage. Now, thanks to his greed, his debts were his alone.