Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

There was no need to pretend with Pru. Unlike everyone else, she wouldn’t make sympathetic noises and all the time be madly smirking and thinking ha ha, welcome to the real world and about time too.

Pru wasn’t like that. Her sympathy would be genuine. Desperate to unburden herself, Liza told her everything.

Sometimes a very old and completely trustworthy friend – which rather ruled out Dulcie – was the only person you could tell this kind of stuff to.

‘I mean, you know me,’ Liza rattled on. Having started, she now found she couldn’t stop. ‘I’m not promiscuous – well, not that promiscuous – but all I wanted to do was go to bed with him!

Dammit, how could he make such a fool of me? He’s nine years younger than I am, for God’s sake! And every time I think of him my knees still turn to jelly – why am I echoing?’

As Liza’s voice had risen, the echo had become more apparent.

‘Um ... I’m in the car.’

But Liza could hear someone else snorting with laughter in the background. Someone male.

‘What’s going on? It doesn’t usually echo like that.’ Her blood ran cold.

‘Sorry, darling, my fault.’ It was Eddie Hammond, chuckling unashamedly. ‘Couldn’t resist it. I switched you on to hands-free.’

Cold wasn’t the word for Liza’s blood now.

‘You eavesdropper,’ she hissed, mortified.

‘Come on,’ he protested, still laughing. ‘Pru showed me the picture in the paper. I was curious too.’

When Liza had slammed the phone down it occurred to her that although he wasn’t married, Eddie Hammond had never flirted with her.

First Eddie, now Kit Berenger, thought Liza gloomily. I must really be losing my touch.

Chapter 24

Dulcie hadn’t wanted to ring Liam at the club, it seemed a bit keen, but he’d forgotten to give her his home number so she didn’t have much choice.

Or much time to lose, Dulcie thought twitchily as she waited for him to come to the phone. She could just imagine what Imelda had been like over the last four days, throwing herself at Liam and making the most of Dulcie’s unexpected absence. The girl was shameless and desperate.

You could almost feel sorry for her.

Almost, but not quite.

Cheered by a mental image of Imelda in one of those Velcro suits you got at fairgrounds, hurling herself at a vast Velcro wall with Liam perched like Humpty Dumpty — only better-looking, of course — on top, Dulcie forgot to be nervous when he at last came to the phone.

‘Hi,’ she said brightly, ‘I’m better! How about me cooking you dinner tonight at my place, to celebrate?’

‘No more flu?’ She heard the smile in his voice. He was clearly pleased to hear from her.

‘No more flu,’ Dulcie said with pride. ‘So is that a yes?’

At Brunton Manor, Liam leaned against the receptionist’s desk and grinned at the prettier of the two receptionists. She promptly went pink and smiled back. Playfully he tapped the little emerald ring on her engagement finger and pulled a mock-sorrowful face.

‘Liam, are you still there?’

‘Dinner sounds great.’ It really did, he decided cheerfully. And he liked Dulcie a lot, she was sparky and fun. If she was as good in the kitchen as she was in bed, he was in for a treat. ‘Look, I promised to meet someone else for a quick drink at eight. Just a business thing, but I wouldn’t want to let them down. Is nine-ish okay with you?’

Almost bursting with happiness — ha! Imelda hadn’t got him yet — Dulcie replied triumphantly,

‘Nine-ish is fine.’

Not one of life’s Delia Smiths, Dulcie had nevertheless been forced during the course of her marriage to conjure up the odd decent meal or two. She even knew how to cook a proper dinner-party dinner, which might have impressed Liam if it hadn’t been mushrooms fried in garlic butter followed by chicken à la crème and chocolate mousse.

The prospect of cooking something healthy was fairly daunting but Dulcie refused to be intimidated. As she had told Liza — quite often, actually — Liam was worth it. Nothing was too much trouble. If all Liam ate was roast alligator, she would happily race to the nearest swamp, catch an alligator and roast it.

Anyway, he didn’t. All she had to do was grill a couple of fillet steaks, chuck a few baking potatoes in the oven and microwave a bowl of frozen peas.

It sounded simple enough but still somehow managed to take ages to do. Dulcie didn’t mind, she was in love with a glorious, glamorous vision of a man and you had to suffer for someone as heavenly as Liam, that was only fair. She even did a bit of salad to go with it, and cut the tomatoes painstakingly into zigzag halves so they looked like lilies — albeit slightly wonky lilies

— floating on an artistic lettuce and onion pond.

Dulcie wasn’t asleep when the hail of gravel rattled against her bedroom window but she was buggered if she was going to get up straight away.

She heard Liam scrunching across the drive, scooping up and flinging another handful of gravel at another window further along because he didn’t know which was hers. Torn between passionate relief that he hadn’t stood her up after all and indignation, because – let’s face it –

there’s late and there is late, Dulcie lay in bed for a few seconds more.

It was a retaliation, of sorts.

When she heard a shower of stones hit the bathroom window and a pane of glass go CRACK, she got up.

‘There you are,’ Liam exclaimed, peering up at Dulcie’s spiky-haired silhouette.

‘Sshh,’ Dulcie hissed.

He looked alarmed. ‘Why? Is your husband up there?’

‘Of course he isn’t.’ Men, honestly. ‘I was thinking of the neighbours. Anyway, what’s wrong with using the doorbell?’ He looked shocked.

‘It’s too late to ring doorbells.’ This was a hangover from Liam’s rowdy teenage years. His father had gone ballistic whenever he’d forgotten his front door key. Now, standing beneath Dulcie’s window, he checked his watch and offered up his wrist as proof. ‘See? One o’clock.’

‘You don’t say.’ Dulcie hadn’t forgotten she was supposed to be miffed. ‘Funny, I could have sworn you said you’d be here by nine. Or were you talking about breakfast?’

‘I’m late,’ said Liam. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’ He gazed up at her, utterly repentant in the moonlight.

‘But I’m here now. I came all this way. Angel, you have to let me in.’

‘I bloody do not,’ Dulcie retorted briskly, not meaning it for a second.

‘Okay, I’ll climb up.’ Grinning, he moved towards the drainpipe next to the porch. He stood on one of the flower-filled stone tubs and began testing the strength of the drainpipe.

‘All of a sudden he’s Milk Tray Man,’ mocked Dulcie, but her own mouth was beginning to twitch. In all honesty, how could she resist him? Before he managed to yank the drainpipe off the wall she said, ‘Okay, you win. Get down before you break a leg. I’ll open the front door.’

When she did, she was naked. Liam solemnly eyed each ofher small breasts in turn, bowed his head politely and murmured in his soft Irish drawl, ‘So pleased to meet you both, you’re looking wonderful—’

‘Berk,’ said Dulcie.

When he’d finished kissing her, Liam led her by the hand into the kitchen.

‘I’m starving. What’s for dinner?’

‘Is that a joke?’ She gave him an indignant prod in the ribs. ‘I fed your dinner to the foxes hours ago. You didn’t seriously expect me to save it?’

Seeing the expression on his face, Dulcie realised he had. She marvelled at the kind of life Liam must have led, the star tennis player so used to getting what he wanted, it didn’t occur to him that turning up four hours late might be considered a bit offish.