Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

That was the difference between him and Patrick, Dulcie realised. Liam was interested in her as a person. He actually cared.

‘Almost divorced,’ she fibbed. ‘And no, no children.’

He nodded and put his arm out, shielding her back from a carelessly held cigarette. Dulcie felt absurdly protected. ‘Career girl, is that it? What line of work are you in?’

‘No line of work,’ she said with a playful smile. ‘Just ..

you know, idle rich.’

‘Not too idle, by the look of things.’ Liam cast a professional eye over her slender body. He ran the flat of his hand over Dulcie’s bare shoulder, nodding approval. ‘Taking care of yourself, that’s good ... although those deltoids could do with a bit of working on. What’s your regime?’

Dulcie said, ‘Sorry?’

‘Your keep-fit regime.’ Liam tilted his head, studying her through narrowed eyes. Dulcie felt like a racehorse being given the once-over. ‘Eddie said you spend a lot of time here. Are you lifting weights?’

Dulcie returned his speculative gaze. Her keep-fit regime went something like: Get out of bed ...

eat cake . .. lie in bath ... eat chocolate Hob Nobs.

After that she generally got dressed and went out to lunch. But something told her Liam wouldn’t be too impressed. ‘Not every day,’ she said truthfully. ‘I don’t actually have a ... a regime, as such. Just a few sit-ups here, a bit of .. um ... jogging there.’

‘Exercise,’ announced Liam. ‘Exercise is the key. A healthy body is a happy body, am I right?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Dulcie nodded, unable to tear her eyes from his muscular brown arms.

‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand,’ Liam confided, ‘it’s a woman who lets herself go.’

Dulcie, who would never let herself go – she would rather die than step outside her front door minus mascara – nodded more confidently this time.

‘People who don’t take care of themselves make me sick,’ Liam went on. ‘I mean, what is wrong with them? They stuff themselves with the wrong food, can’t be bothered to exercise and then have the nerve to complain when their arteries clog up.’

Dulcie looked suitably outraged. Inwardly, she was experiencing mild stirrings of panic. Gosh, he was serious.

Liam’s smile was rueful. ‘I’m sorry, it just bugs me. I don’t understand people who aren’t interested in looking after themselves. I mean, if they can’t be bothered to respect their own bodies, why the hell should I respect them?’

This was ominous stuff. Worse still, the harder Dulcie tried not to think about salt and vinegar crisps, the more she craved some. Hastily she changed the subject.

‘Tell me about you. Tell me all about the tennis circuit. I bet it was brilliant fun ...’

Luckily it worked. Liam finished his pint of orange juice, ordered another and began regaling Dulcie with stories. A natural raconteur with a wonderful line in self-deprecating humour, this was much better. It must be the Irish blood in him, Dulcie decided dreamily. Liam really did have it all: looks, wit and charm by the bucket load. She could gaze into those dark-blue eyes, admire that amazing body and listen to that melting Dublin-accented voice of his all night.

* * *

Leo Berenger was okay. He was polite, he was presentable and he was certainly prosperous, but it didn’t take Bibi long to realise he wasn’t the man for her. When there was no spark, no chemistry, it didn’t matter how loaded the man was, you couldn’t make it happen.

This was a shame because Leo was sixty-one, a perfectly suitable age for the suitor of a sixty-year-old widow. As they danced, Bibi forced herself to make witty conversation and to concentrate on Leo’s replies, but it was hopeless. While her mouth did the talking and her ears listened, her rebellious brain was conjuring up depressing pictures of Leo Berenger, sixty-one years old and stark naked. Then it compared them with pictures of James, her darling James, so much younger and more attractive, all tanned and gorgeous and infinitely beddable.

Bibi carried on dancing, averting her gaze from Leo’s and determinedly blinking back tears. She hadn’t seen James for almost three months. It was no good moping; life went on.

Sadly though, not with Leo Berenger.

‘Look at those two,’ he said with some pride. Turning, he allowed Bibi to see Patrick and Claire at the far end of the dance floor. ‘Reckon we might have started something there. They seem to be enjoying themselves, anyway.’

Every cloud ... thought Bibi.

Patrick had been so certain the evening would he a nightmare, he couldn’t get over how easy to talk to Claire Berenger had turned out to be.

Having expected the worst, he had been pleasantly surprised.

When, at midnight, the band struck up the first notes of ‘We’ll Meet Again’ – it was that kind of band – Claire said, ‘Well, we made it. You’ve done your duty. And if my father slips my phone number into your pocket don’t worry. Feel free to chuck it in the bin; you don’t have to see me again.’

Much to his amazement Patrick heard himself say, ‘But I’d like to see you again.’

For a second Claire looked equally astonished. Then, endearingly, she blushed.

‘You would?’

Patrick nodded. ‘I would.’

‘Gosh.’

He smiled briefly. ‘Bit of a shock for me as well. I wasn’t expecting the evening to turn out like this. I’m horribly out of practice too,’ he apologised. ‘The last time I asked a girl out I wore flares and drove a two-tone Cortina.’

Coincidentally, it occurred to Dulcie much later that night that the last time she’d jumped into bed with a man she didn’t actually know terribly well, he’d worn flares and driven a blue and white Cortina.

That had been Patrick, of course, and she had carried on happily jumping into bed with him for years ... until his work had taken over and she’d grown used to going to bed alone while Patrick murmured ‘just-finish-this’ to his beloved computer and only came upstairs hours later when she was asleep.

Tonight, though, she wasn’t alone. She was with Liam McPherson. Dulcie lay back, closed her eyes and deliberately didn’t think of Patrick.

And after a briefly rocky start, Liam was living up to all her expectations. Her old feelings for him were as strong as ever. Better still — because even Dulcie had to confess it, it had been a bit of a one-sided relationship in the past — the attraction was now mutual.

It was so powerful you couldn’t fight it even if you wanted to ... which she certainly didn’t.

It was sheer chemistry.

This is more like it, thought Dulcie rapturously. This is what I need, a glorious Greek god of a man, all blond hair and rocksolid muscles, and not just some brainless hunk, either. A glamorous tennis pro, a star.

Liam had been modest, but as far as Dulcie was concerned, if the Duchess of Kent once watched from the royal box while you played on Wimbledon’s Centre Court, that definitely made you a star.

‘All this time and I never knew you were famous,’ Dulcie murmured dreamily, lying wrapped in Liam’s arms. She had never watched much tennis on television. ‘I wish I could’ve seen you in that quarter-final.’

‘Really?’ Liam sounded amused. ‘I’ve got the video around here somewhere. Want to watch it?’

Startled, Dulcie’s eyes snapped open.

‘What, now?’

But his hand was already travelling lazily up her warm thigh. As he began nuzzling her neck again, Liam murmured, ‘Maybe later.’

Phew.

Dulcie kissed him back, glanced at her watch — 4 a.m. -and shifted herself happily into a more accommodating position. Now this was the kind of exercise regime she liked.

And goodness, what a difference it made, being with someone who, in turn, actually enjoyed being with you.