Falling for You (30 page)

Astounded, Oliver said, “
Estelle?
”

The taxi driver looked pretty taken aback too. Squinting up at Estelle through the gloom, he said, “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Pulling her shirt collar to one side, Estelle saw that while she'd been squashed away in the wardrobe, a fair amount of blood had trickled down her neck and soaked into the shoulder of her white shirt. No wonder the taxi driver sounded so horrified—she must look like something out of a horror film.

Unable to bring herself to look at Oliver, Estelle said, “I fell and hit my head. It's really not that bad. Look, if you could come up and give me a hand with my stuff, that'd be great. As soon as everything's loaded into the taxi, we can be off.”

“Did
he
do that to you?” demanded the taxi driver.

“Of course I didn't bloody do it to her.” Oliver spoke through clenched teeth. “I didn't even know she was here. You
heard
me calling her name—”

“Shhh,” said Estelle, because Oliver was raising his voice. “He didn't do it, I promise,” she told the taxi driver. “Now, can we get my things into the cab?”

“No,” said Oliver.

“Please, I just want to go.” Estelle wondered why she couldn't get anything right, not even leaving her husband.

“We need to talk,” Oliver told her.

“She doesn't want to talk, mate.” The taxi driver wasn't taking his eyes off Oliver for a second. He was on his guard, should Oliver suddenly produce a machete from the pocket of his robe.

“Talk about what?” Estelle's eyes filled with tears, something she'd dreaded happening. “What a complete and utter idiot I've been? Thanks, but I already know that.”

Oliver shook his head. “Please. We need to do this properly, without an audience. Just tell him to leave, will you?”

Estelle hesitated at the top of the stairs.

“Go on,” said Oliver.

“Look, love, shouldn't you be getting that head of yours seen to? Needs a few stitches, if you ask me.”

Checking her scalp again, Estelle encountered a fair amount of stickiness but scarcely any fresh blood. The last thing she felt like doing was spending the next six hours in casualty waiting for some overworked, sleep-deprived doctor to sew her up.

“It's OK,” she told the taxi driver. “You can go.”

He looked up at Estelle. “Sure?”

Estelle nodded. “Sure.”

“OK.” With a shrug, the taxi driver said, “That'll be sixty-five quid, then.”

When Oliver had paid him and the cab had disappeared from view, Estelle ventured down the stairs.

“I'll make a cup of tea, if that's all right.” Finding it hard to meet Oliver's gaze, she headed for the kitchen.

“Here. Sit down.” While the kettle was coming to the boil, Oliver pulled out one of the carver chairs. “Let me take a look at that cut.”

Reluctantly Estelle did as she was told. She felt Oliver gently exploring her scalp with his fingers and wanted to cry.

“How much does it hurt?” asked Oliver.

You mean compared with finding out my husband has another child? Hardly at all
, thought Estelle. She shrugged and said, “I'm OK.”

“It's not deep. No need for stitches. So where were you hiding?”

“In the wardrobe, in the spare room.” She'd probably smeared blood all over the taffeta ball gown and Oliver's old overcoat. It had been a tight fit in there. “You've got mud on your leg.”

“Fell in the river,” said Oliver, “trying to rescue Norris. I could picture the headlines,” he went on. “Dog drowns, negligent businessman responsible.”

“He jumped in and started splashing and yelping,” Estelle guessed. “The reeds tickle his tummy. He loves it.” She paused, watching steam billow from the kettle. “How's Tiff?”

The kettle clicked off and Oliver dropped tea bags into the pot. Carefully he said, “Doing well. Making a fantastic recovery.”

Estelle nodded, relieved. “I thought you'd be at the hospital.”

“No. They don't need me there.” He paused. “How's Will?”

Tit for tat
, thought Estelle.

“Sorry!” Oliver blurted out. “I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that. None of my business. I'm just sorry about…everything. The whole lot,” he said tiredly. “God, what a mess.”

Estelle was speechless. She'd never heard him sound so defeated. Finally she said in a small voice, “Yes.”

He massaged the back of his neck. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Didn't you?” What the hell, thought Estelle, the worst had already happened. Feeling suddenly reckless she said, “Sure about that?”

“You were never supposed to find out. There's nothing going on between Juliet and myself.” Oliver shook his head. “I just wanted to see my son growing up.”

Estelle swallowed as the old ache of longing came back. She and Oliver had tried so hard for another child of their own, but it had never happened. Anyway, that was irrelevant now.

“I'm not talking about Tiff.” Her eyes were bright, her tone accusatory. “I'm talking about the way you endlessly criticize me, tell me my clothes don't suit me, sneer at the novels I read, complain that my roast potatoes aren't crispy enough. Those are the things that hurt, Oliver. Being treated like a second-class citizen is what
hurts
.”

This outburst was greeted with a stunned silence. She was able to see Oliver mentally checking off each item on the list.

“Do I?” he said at last, clearly shaken. “Is that what I do? My God, I've never even thought about it before. I suppose I have done all those things.”

“Trust me. You have.”

“And Will was the one who pointed it out to you,” said Oliver.

“I suppose.” Estelle was reluctant to give Will Gifford credit for anything. “But we were in a rut long before he came along. He just brought it all out into the open.”

“And that's why you ran to him.”

Oh God, she
had
run, practically the length of platform four at Paddington station. Wincing at the memory of having thrown herself ecstatically into Will's arms, Estelle swallowed hard and forced herself to nod.

“At least we aren't in a rut now. This is the opposite of a rut,” Oliver said wearily. “I don't blame you for getting out. Maybe Will's what you need.”

Hadn't he read the papers?

Dry-mouthed, Estelle said, “I'm not with Will anymore.”

Physically, Oliver didn't react.

“No? Where are you staying?”

“Cheltenham.” She may as well tell him; damn it, he was going to be the one settling the Amex bill. “In a hotel at the moment. But I've been looking at apartments to rent.”

“Apartments?”

“Well, just the one.” Despite doing her best to sound flippant, Estelle heard her voice crack. Her twenty-seven-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 rethink 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 recognized, “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 toweling robe, and damp haired. Thanks to the rapidly drying blood, the hair on one side of her head was a mass of spiky bits and matted chunks. But when you'd been married for twenty-seven years, Estelle joyfully discovered, it really didn't matter how ridiculous you might look. After twenty-seven years, all that counted was what was going on in your heart.

“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 organizing 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 a bloody 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 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 parking lot. 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, hell, Princess Anne. In fact, given Jake's wicked track record, that was actually
less
unlikely than the scenario she'd just walked in on.

Kate gasped. “God, sorry, Nuala. I meant to—”

“Lock the door?” Nuala tilted her head inquiringly.

“No. Well, yes… I mean…” Kate stammered, her face the picture of guilt.

“Hopeless.” Dexter rolled his eyes. “Can you believe it? This is the girl who isn't scared of anyone or anything, and look at her now.”

But incredibly, he was saying it in a good-natured rather than an irritated way.

Unable to resist it, Nuala said, “You jumped away from Kate pretty quickly.”

He nodded, acknowledging the dig with a wry smile. “OK, but it's something you needed to know. Kate was the one who didn't want to upset you.”

“Upset me?” Nuala echoed in disbelief. “
Upset
me? Damn right I'm upset!”

Kate was looking even more distraught. Dexter put a protective arm around her. “Now you're being unfair,” he told Nuala. “It's nothing to do with—”

“Good grief, I'm not upset about
you
.” Nuala pulled a face. “I'm upset because I've just arranged a girls' night out for me, Maddy, and Kate so we can go out and meet loads of men, but I don't suppose Kate will want to come along now.”

“On a manhunt? Poor guys,” said Dexter. “Anyhow, Kate doesn't need to anymore. She's got me.”

They actually looked like a proper couple. It took a bit of getting used to, but the more Nuala thought it through, the more sense it made.

“I'm really sorry,” Kate apologized again. “It happened a couple of days ago, took us both completely by surprise, talk about a bolt from the blue…”

“It's fine,” said Nuala. “Honestly. You don't have to worry about me.”

Kate looked unconvinced. “But you seemed a bit put out right now.”

“That's because I thought the three of us could go out tonight and have a great time, then if Maddy got a bit, you know, mopey”—Nuala pulled a Maddy-type face to demonstrate—“we could gang up on her and
force
her to cheer up. It's OK. I can still manage it on my own,” she said bravely. “It's just going to take that bit more effort.”

“Like climbing Everest with a motorbike strapped to your back,” Dexter observed.

“Thanks. That's a great help.” As she looked at him, Nuala realized she was well and truly cured. In all honesty, she and Dexter had always been hopelessly mismatched.

“I'll come with you,” Kate said unexpectedly.

“You will?” Not that Maddy was that much of a liability—not really—but Nuala's heart lifted as if it had been pumped full of helium.

“If it'll help.” Kate was clearly eager to make up for having gotten together with the ex-boyfriend Nuala was more than happy to be rid of.

“I'd rather you stayed here,” Dexter complained. “You might get chatted up.”

Kate gave his cheek a consoling pat.

“Don't get stroppy. You don't just drop your friends when you bag a man. Anyway, it's my night off. I can go where I like.”

By the sound of it, Nuala was delighted to discover, Dexter had finally met his match.

“You.” He pointed a warning finger at Nuala. “Make sure she doesn't get up to anything.”

Grinning, discovering that he no longer had the power to scare her, Nuala said chirpily, “You'd have to pay me loads of money to do that.”

* * *

Mustn't be a killjoy
, thought Maddy as they piled out of the taxi and headed across the road to Trash.
Mustn't,
mustn't
be
a
killjoy. Going to have masses of fun, drink loads, chat up heaps of men, and not even
think
about
Ke—thingy, the one I'm not even going to think about.

Easier said than done, maybe, but she owed it to Nuala and Kate. And to herself. So she couldn't have the man she wanted. So what? Compared with war and famine it was a pretty unimportant reason to go around with a face like, well, the face she'd been going around with for the last fortnight.

Trash was a new club in the center of Bath, hugely popular and a bit trendier than Maddy was truly comfortable with, but Nuala had been longing to come here for ages, ever since reading in a magazine that it was where the city's movers and shakers went. Nuala, Maddy suspected, was under the impression that this meant everyone would be leaping around, dancing with abandon to Las Ketchup.

Oh well, if she had to join in, she would.

“Cheers,” said Kate, clanking glasses, blissfully unself-conscious of her scars. “I still can't believe everything that's happened. This morning I was the tragic victim of a hopelessly broken home. Now Mum's back, and she and my father are giving it another go. When I left the house, they were being so lovey-dovey together, it'd make you sick.”

“Cheers.” Maddy, who could clank with the best of them, said, “Good for your mum and dad.”

“It may be good for them, canoodling away like teenagers, but what about me? They're my parents.” Kate grimaced. “It's embarrassing. They're too
old
for all that.”

Too old. Taking a sip of wine, Maddy envisaged herself in fifty years' time. Marcella, aged ninetysomething and feisty to the last, had just died in a tragic Rollerblading accident. Finally,
finally
, she and Kerr had a chance to be together. Except she was seventy-seven herself and Kerr was eighty. Gazing dreamily into the distance, Maddy pictured the two of them on their walkers, inching their way across the shabby linoleum floor of the nursing home, dribbling a bit with the effort, peering shortsightedly at each other before she croaked, “Kerr? It's me, Maddy. I'm free! We can be together at last…”

And Kerr, typical man, would pause, bemused, and say, “Eh? What are you on about, woman? Do I know you?”

Bastard
, thought Maddy, outraged.

“Excuse me?”

Oops, maybe she hadn't just thought it. Perhaps she'd accidentally said it aloud.

“Sorry.” Turning, Maddy addressed the man behind her. “Just thinking about someone.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “Ex-boyfriend?”

“You could say that. Anyway, we're here to have fun.” If she said it often enough, it might come true.

“That's a coincidence. It's why we're here too.” The man beamed down at her. He wasn't what you'd call drop-dead gorgeous, but he had a friendly, chipmunky face and a decent enough body. “My name's Dave. Hi.”

Oh well, look where being fussy had gotten her in the past. “Maddy,” said Maddy, resolving not to mind about his teeth. He had friends with him as well. Keen to get started on the moving and shaking, Nuala was already eyeing them up.

“Who wants to dance?” she asked loudly.

Gosh, they were big, thought Maddy. His teeth, not his friends.

An hour later, on the dance floor with Dave, Maddy spotted a face in the crowd that stopped her dead in her tracks. Dave, boogying on regardless, landed on her right foot and leaped off again yelling, “Sorry!”

Maddy didn't even notice. She was too busy gazing across at the brunette whose features were indelibly imprinted on her mind.

The last time she'd seen her, the girl had been having lunch with Kerr. If they were seeing each other, did that mean he was here too? Bobbing up and down on her toes, Maddy did her best to see over the heads of the clubbers thronging the dance floor, but it was no good. She couldn't see him. Although actually, surely that was good…

“Hey!” Abandoned midbop, Dave shouted out, “Where are you off to?”

“Um, just to the bathroom.”

The brunette was wearing a pale-green, strappy silk dress with gorgeous lilac high heels and a matching lilac clutch. It was hard to hate someone, Maddy discovered, whose accessories you coveted. Anyway, she might not need to hate her. There was no sign of Kerr. The girl appeared to be with her plumper, blonder friend—ooh, and now she appeared to be on her way to the ladies'.
Fantastic.

By the time the brunette emerged from her stall, Maddy had installed herself in front of the sinks and was brushing blusher onto her cheeks. She smiled at the brunette in a friendly fashion, via the mirror in front of them both, and the brunette politely smiled back.

See? That was all it took to show other people you were a nice person.

“Busy tonight,” said Maddy, by way of getting the conversational ball rolling.

“Um, yes.” The brunette squirted liquid soap onto her hands and began washing them.

“Quite hot too. I'm baking!” Maddy beamed and energetically fanned herself. “Good music, though.”

“Absolutely.” Having finished at the sink, the girl gave her hands a good shake and moved over to the hand dryer.

Hmm, not exactly a chatterbox.
In desperation, Maddy said, “I just love your shoes. They're incredible!”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Where did you get them?”

The brunette frowned. “Gosh, I can't remember. Faith, I think.”

“Well, they're
brilliant
.” This was definitely the way to go about it. Since marching up to complete strangers and asking really quite personal questions was generally regarded as impertinent—unless you were Graham Norton—Maddy had decided to go the more subtle route and become the brunette's friend. Then with a bit of luck, once they were chatting away as if they'd known each other for years, the subject would just naturally crop up. OK, maybe with a bit of a nudge in the right direction, but still. “I bought a great pair of boots in Faith last year,” Maddy said brightly. “Gray denim, with silver studs up the sides. Remember them?”

The brunette frowned. “Remember them? I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“Oh no, I just meant do you remember seeing them in the shop?” Seizing the opportunity, Maddy put down the lipstick she was currently applying and held out her hand. “How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name's Maddy.”

“Right!” After a moment's hesitation, the brunette shook hands. “Um, Annalise.”

Annalise. Nice name. Maddy pictured Kerr saying it and had to force herself to smile. Was there a way she could ask yet about boyfriend-type stuff without sounding pushy? How about if—

“Well, bye.” Having hastily gathered up her lilac bag, Annalise made a dash for the door and disappeared.