Jill Mansell - Falling for you

Hadn’t he read the papers?

Dry-mouthed, Estelle said, ‘I’m not with Will any more.’ Physically, Oliver didn’t react.

‘No? Where are you staying?’

‘Cheltenham.’ She may as well tell him; dammit, he was going to be the one settling the Amex bill.

‘In a hotel at the moment. But I’ve been looking at flats to rent.’

‘Flats?’

‘Well, just the one.’ Despite doing her best to sound flippant, Estelle heard her voice crack.

Her twenty-eight-year marriage was over, she’d made a complete fool of herself with a younger man and now she was searching for somewhere to live. Waving her arms helplessly, she floundered on, ‘It’s,you know, a chance to re-think my life, make new friends ... I thought I might, um, get a job ...’

‘Or you could stay here,’ said Oliver.

Had he really said that?

Estelle’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What?’

‘OK, maybe stay isn’t the right word, seeing as you’ve already left. But you could come back,’

Oliver said hesitantly, ‘and we could try again. I never wanted to lose you. Maybe I didn’t always show it, and I know I’ve taken you for granted, but I do love you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve learned my lesson. If you come back, I’ll treat you so much better. No more being critical. I’ll cut down on my hours, we can go away more often, spend a lot more time together. You wouldn’t regret it, I—’

‘How many others have there been?’ Estelle said abruptly. ‘Women, mistresses – other ones like Juliet?’

‘None. That’s the truth.’ Oliver shook his head vigorously, then groaned. ‘Oh God, I know what you’re thinking, that that’s just another lie. But I swear there haven’t been any others.’

Estelle paused, then shook her head. ‘It’s no good. We can’t, Oliver. Too much has happened.’

‘We can!’ There was an edge of desperation in his voice. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. I’ll do anything you say!’

‘But—’

‘Do you want me to retire? Give up work completely? I’ll do it.’ Oliver nodded, as if work was already nothing but a distant memory.

‘Oliver. You love your job.’

‘Not as much as I love you.’ His eyes began to glisten and instinctively he half turned away, unaccustomed to revealing this much of himself. Rubbing his face with his hands, he said desperately, ‘Estelle, you mean everything in the world to me.’

‘Oh God.’ She was trembling now; this was Oliver as she’d never heard him before. ‘But how could I come back here? Everyone in Ashcombe knows what’s happened. They’d be laughing at me behind my

—’

‘They wouldn’t.’ Vehemently Oliver shook his head. ‘Everyone loves you, this is where your friends are, but if you don’t want to stay here, fine. We’ll sell this place and move.’

‘Move?’ Heavens, Dauncey House meant the world to Oliver. ‘Move where?’

‘Wherever you like. Anywhere in the world.’

In a daze, Estelle said, ‘You’d do that?’

‘Anything.’

Estelle looked at him. Finally she nodded and said in a voice she barely recognised, ‘OK.’

‘OK what?’

‘I’ll come back. We don’t have to move. We’ll start again.’

Oliver was gazing at her, his expression incredulous. ‘You really want to?’

‘Of course I want to. You’re my husband.’ She managed a watery smile as a great wave of relief swept over her. ‘You made a mistake, I made a mistake. Some people never make mistakes, but we did.

And we’re both sorry. That’s allowed, isn’t it? If I forgive you and you forgive me, we can try again – oh Oliver, I love you too ...’

This time Estelle couldn’t control the tears, because they weren’t only rolling down her own face.

Sobbing and laughing at the same time, she jumped up from her chair and fell into Oliver’s comfortingly familiar arms. He was still wet and muddy from the river, wearing his dark blue towelling robe, and damp-haired. Thanks to the rapidly drying blood, the hair on one side of her own head was a mass of spiky bits and matted chunks. But when you’d been married for twenty-eight years, Estelle joyfully discovered, it really didn’t matter how ridiculous you might look. After twenty-eight years, all that counted was what was going on in your heart.

Chapter 52

‘Right, that’s sorted then,’ Nuala announced. ‘The three of us, tonight, nine o’clock, Trash.’

Nuala had been wittering on for ages. Having tuned out long ago, Maddy came to with a start.

‘Hmm? What was that?’

‘Honestly, you don’t deserve a friend like me.’ With exaggerated patience, Nuala finished pricing the last few bottles of Tuscan olive oil. ‘I’m organising your social life, cheering you up, stopping us all ending up like this.’

‘ What?’ Now Maddy was definitely lost.

‘Extra-virgin.’ Bossily Nuala tapped the label on the rectangular bottle in her hand. ‘I mean, let’s face it, when was the last time any of us saw any action? It’s not natural! We’re young and in our prime! Which is why we should be going out to celebrate and have a bloody good night. It’s also about time you cheered up,’ she told Maddy. ‘The best way to get over a man is to find a better one, and Trash is the place to do it. Just nod and say, Yes, Nuala.’

Oh dear, had she really been that grumpy? Maddy experienced a spasm of guilt. Poor Nuala was doing her best; she was lucky to have her around. At this rate she was in danger of ending up a right Nellie No-Friends.

‘Yes, Nuala.’ Nodding obediently, Maddy wondered if Trash would be as classy as it sounded.

‘We’ll have abloody good night.’ They would, she’d manage it if it killed her. ‘What is it we’re celebrating, again?’

‘Tiff’s better. My shoulder’s better.’ Smugly Nuala waggled her sling-free arm like a ventriloquist who’s forgotten her dummy. ‘Jake and Juliet together at last, and I haven’t even been the tiniest bit jealous. I mean, it’s all fantastic news, isn’t it?’

Of course it was. Ashamed of herself, Maddy smiled. ‘Definitely worth celebrating.’

‘Great. I’ll just go and tell Kate.’

Already planning what she’d wear tonight, Nuala scuttled happily over to the Angel. It was almost three o’clock and the pub would be closing for the afternoon. A group of customers was trailing back to the last remaining car in the car park. By the way they were waddling, Nuala guessed they’d had lunch followed by syrup sponge pudding and custard.

They were American tourists, she discovered, overhearing them as they passed her on the pavement.

‘What a double act, those two in there,’ drawled the taller of the males. ‘Like Lucy and Desi all over again.’

‘I thought she was going to brain the guy with an ashtray,’ said his wife. ‘Did you notice if they’re married?’

Stifling a smile, Nuala reached the entrance to the Angel. Just wait until she told Kate and Dexter what the Americans were saying about them. Pushing open the door, she entered the pub and exclaimed,

‘Hey, you two, you’ll never guess—’

That was as far as she got. The rest of the words died before they even reached Nuala’s mouth.

Behind the bar Dexter and Kate sprang guiltily apart, but there could be no mistaking what had been going on during those brief seconds before her arrival.

Nuala gaped. Kate and Dexter? Dexter and ... and Kate? It was unthinkable, like discovering that Jake had been carrying on a torrid affair with, crikey, Princess Anne. In fact, given Jake’s wicked track record, that was actually less unlikely than the scenario she’d just walked in on.