Jill Mansell - Falling for you

‘Had a bit of an accident, have we?’ Dexter Nevin, emerging from the pub, eyed Kate’s trousers with ill-concealed amusement.

‘They’re Galliano.’ Kate spat the words through gritted teeth. ‘I bought them in Bloomingdale’s.’

‘Ah well.’ Dexter shrugged easily. ‘I’m more of a Next man myself.’

‘They cost a fortune.’

‘ I said s-sorry.’ Tiff turned fearfully to Dexter. ‘It was an accident, I promise.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ Before he had a chance to burst into fully-fledged sobs, Kate shoved the pound coins into the boy’s hand. ‘Just be more careful next time, OK?’

‘I thought you were going to kick him,’ said Dexter when Tiff had disappeared in a cloud of dust.

‘Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.’ Kate grimaced. ‘But you’d only have called the NSPCC.’

‘If you come inside, I’ll lend you a cloth.’

‘Oh yes, that’ll do the trick.’ Kate sighed. ‘A nice greasy dishcloth, that’ll really work. OK, stop it, it’s all gone now,’ she told Norris, who was greedily Hoovering up the last remnants of ice cream with a slurp and a flourish.

‘You never know, we might be able to rustle up a clean dishcloth,’ Dexter said mildly. ‘You can bring him in with you, you know. We’re a dog-friendly pub.’

‘You don’t say. I didn’t think you were anything-friendly.’

He laughed at the truculent look on Kate’s face. ‘Animals are fine. It’s humans I have a problem with. So are you coming in or aren’t you?’

Kate hesitated for a moment, then shook her head.

‘I’ll get home. These’ll have to go to the dry cleaners in Bath.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Dexter called after her as she headed towards Gypsy Lane.

Turning, Kate shielded her eyes from the sun and scowled. ‘What?’

‘ Sorry.’ Dexter was standing there with his hands on his narrow hips, smirking at her. ‘I thought I heard you say thanks.’

Chapter 20

At Dauncey House, Kate found her parents out in the garden around the pool. Estelle, wearing a black tankini that cruelly emphasised her bulging midriff, was valiantly attempting to read last year’s Booker prizewinner. Since Danielle Steel was more her line of country, this was an exercise doomed to failure, on a par with expecting a stroppy teenager to enjoy sheep’s eyeballs in aspic.

Looking up, only too glad to be distracted from her book, Estelle cried, ‘Oh, darling, whatever happened?’

‘They’re bloody ruined, that’s what happened.’ As Kate showed her mother the damage to her trousers, Oliver swung round and she realised he was on the phone.

‘Yes, yes, that’s Kate you just heard.’ He paused, then smiled at Kate and said, Will says hi.’

In no mood to exchange pointless pleasantries, Kate said, ‘It’s chocolate ice cream, it’s never going to come out and they’re my best trousers.’

‘Oh darling, you don’t know that, maybe we can soak them in Ariel,’ suggested Estelle. ‘How did it get there?’

‘That bloody kid from the deli ran straight into me. I could have strangled him.’

‘Tiff Price?’ said Estelle. ‘Juliet’s little lad? Oh, he’s a poppet, I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it.’

Oh well, that was all right then.

‘My trousers are ruined.’ Kate’s voice rose in exasperation. ‘They cost me six hundred dollars!’

‘Kate,’ Oliver chided, ‘you’re overreacting. He bumped into you, it was an accident. Dear me, anyone would think you’d been stabbed.’

Eyes narrowed, Kate watched her father return to his phone conversation, laughing off the incident as if it was nothing at all. She vividly recalled once, as a child, spilling Coca-Cola over some business documents and Oliver yelling furiously at her until she’d burst into tears. Yet here he was now, acting all ultra-reasonable and telling her not to make such a fuss, purely because Will was listening on the other end of the phone and Oliver was determined to create a good impression and demonstrate that he truly was an all-round great guy.

Nuala, snuggled up in bed, thought happily that, contrary to what other people might think, life with Dexter wasn’t all bad.

It was four o’clock on Friday afternoon and they’d been making the most of their precious free time in the nicest possible way. The pub had closed at two thirty and would reopen at six. Having reacquainted themselves with each other’s bodies, a little doze was now in order, then maybe

‘Nu, fancy a cup of tea?’

See? He was all right really. Smiling to herself, Nuala wriggled and said, ‘Mmm, lovely.’

‘Great. Make, me one while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, not fair.’ Nuala groaned, tugging the tartan cotton duvet more tightly around her and nudging Dexter’s legs with her feet. ‘I’m sleepy.’

Dexter nudged her in the ribs. ‘Me too. Come on, it’s your turn.’

This was true; he had brought her a cup of tea in bed this morning. OK, so it had been way too strong and he’d forgotten to put any sugar in, but it had, technically, been a cup of tea.

‘OK, we’ll just have a little sleep first,’ Nuala bargained, ‘then I’ll make it.’

Whisking the duvet off her and rolling her efficiently out of bed, Dexter said, ‘No, now.’

‘ You’re so mean.’ Grumbling, Nuala covered her nakedness with her oversized white towelling dressing gown.

‘I’m not, I’m just helping you use up a few more calories.’ Lying back against the pillows with his hands resting behind his head, he winked at her.

Nuala weakened; when Dexter was happy, she was happy. He might not be the most perfect specimen physically – his rumpled brown hair was starting to recede and he was developing a paunch –

but there was still that indefinable something about him that got to her every time. And let’s face it, if he were drop-dead gorgeous he would never have been interested in her in the first place.

As she reached the door, Nuala warned, ‘Don’t fall asleep before I get back.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Dexter turned onto his side. ‘Zzzzz ...’

The dressing gown, miles too big for her, had been appropriated from a hotel by Dexter during a precious weekend away together last year. When he’d presented it to her, she’d been guiltily delighted.

A week later, the hotel had written to Dexter billing him for the stolen dressing gown. Laughing, he’d chucked the letter in the bin. Nuala, mortified, had fished it out and secretly settled the account herself.

The really annoying thing was that if she’d known she’d be paying seventy quid for a dressing gown, she would have at least bought one that was the right size.

Anyway, tea, thought Nuala as she made her way downstairs, and maybe a spot of pâté on toast then, who knows, perhaps they might even go for a repeat- Aaarrgh.

Oh God .. .

‘Ow!’ screamed Nuala, crashing down the stairs like a skittle. ‘Ow, ow, ouch.’

Twenty seconds later Dexter appeared at the top of the staircase.

‘What’s all the racket? Bloody hell, Nu, what are you doing on the floor?’

‘Fell down.’ Nuala managed to get the words out through teeth gritted with pain. ‘Tripped over the hem of my dressing gown. Oh fuck, it hurts. Dexter, it really hurts!’

Naked, he made his way down the stairs and helped Nuala into a sitting position. Supporting her with his strong arms, he studied her face.

‘Bit of a shiner there. Teeth feel OK?’

Tentatively checking with her tongue, Nuala nodded.

‘Well, that’s good. You’re going to look like a boxer with that eye. And you’ve got a bump on your forehead, but no blood. You’ll live,’ he reassured her.