Up Close and Personal (17 page)

‘Stand well back, ladies,’ the GP declared as he picked up the hammer. ‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

‘It looks as if your husband’s quite a hit – in more ways than one,’ Yasmin remarked as she looked around at the sea of adoring female faces turned towards Connor.

‘He’s a bloody show-off, I know that much,’ Nicole muttered.

The next moment, Connor brought the hammer down, sending the puck flying all the way up to the bell.

‘Yessss!’ he shouted, dropping the hammer and punching the air with his fist triumphantly. He turned to face the applauding crowd and took a bow. ‘Thank you, ladies and gents, you’re too kind.’ Just then he saw Nicole. The smile seemed to freeze on his face. ‘Darling!’ he cried, breaking through the crowd and gripping his wife in a
bear hug. ‘There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

‘Really?’ Nicole said, raising a disbelieving brow. ‘In that case you can’t have looked very hard.’ She nodded towards the rapidly dispersing crowd. ‘That was quite a show you put on.’

Connor looked annoyed. ‘It wasn’t intentional,’ he said. ‘The guy running the stall is one of my patients. I happened to be walking past and he begged me to have a go. The next thing I knew there were loads of people watching me.’ Seeing Yasmin hovering in the background, he raised a hand in greeting. ‘Hi, Yasmin, how are you?’

‘Not bad, thanks. Did you get all your work done?’

Connor frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your work … at the surgery. Isn’t that where you’ve been all morning?’

‘Oh, that … yes, of course,’ Connor said quickly. ‘I managed to get through most of it.’

Yasmin pointed at his torso. ‘Get dressed in a hurry this morning, did you?’

Glancing at his shirt, Connor saw that several of the buttons were done up the wrong way. ‘It certainly looks that way,’ he said, smiling genially.

Nicole tapped her watch. ‘Yasmin and I have arranged to meet Juliet in the tea tent in five minutes. Will you look after Tilly?’

Connor made a face. ‘Can’t you take her with you?’

‘No, I can’t,’ Nicole said, her irritation evident. ‘I’ve had her all morning. I think it’s about time you did your share.’

‘Fine,’ Connor said, wresting the handle of the buggy from her grasp.

‘I’ll meet you on the terrace at three thirty for the Best Dressed Pet competition.’

Connor gave a mock salute as he began walking away. ‘Yes,
sir
!’

Nicole’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

Inside the tea tent – a gleaming, open-fronted pavilion overlooking Ashwicke’s splendid Italianate fountain – Juliet was waiting. As the others approached, she stood up and smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, girls, this was the last table and as you can see there are only two chairs. We’ll have to find another one from somewhere.’

Nicole scanned the packed tent and saw that every seat was taken. ‘I guess we’ll just have to wait for someone to leave.’

‘Oh no we won’t,’ said Yasmin. She marched over to a table a few feet away, where two elderly ladies were guzzling scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream. Both were somewhat overdressed for the occasion – one resplendent in a mother-of-the-bride peach crêpe de Chine two-piece, the other sporting a tweedy suit and green felt hat, complete with quivering pheasant quill. Beside them, on a third chair, sat a Yorkshire terrier with a blue bow on its head.

Yasmin drummed her fingers on the back of the terrier’s chair. ‘Is
he
having afternoon tea?’ she demanded.

The woman in the hat bristled at the interruption. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said,’ Yasmin repeated, speaking so loudly that several inquisitive heads turned in her direction, ‘is
he
having afternoon tea?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the woman snapped. ‘He’s a dog.
Of course he isn’t.’ As if to indicate that Yasmin was now dismissed, she picked up a half-eaten scone and crammed it into her mouth.

‘Good. In that case, he won’t be needing this.’ Without warning, Yasmin grabbed the back of the chair and tipped it forward, so the terrier went tumbling to the ground, his claws skittering across the chair’s painted wooden seat as he tried in vain to get a purchase on it.

The dog owner’s eyes glittered. ‘How dare you!’ she cried through a mouthful of scone.

Yasmin eyed the Yorkshire terrier, who was now trembling in shock. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not hygienic to have an animal at the table?’ Without another word, she picked up the chair and started carrying it away. She’d only gone a few paces when she turned back over her shoulder. ‘Oh, and in case you didn’t know, it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.’

When she arrived at her own table, Juliet and Nicole were gawping at her with a mixture of shock and admiration.

‘Blimey, Yasmin, you’re scary when you’re angry,’ Nicole said, moving her own chair closer to Juliet’s to make room for her friend.

‘That bloody mongrel shouldn’t even be in here.’ Yasmin waved at a passing waitress. ‘Afternoon tea for three, please.’ As she turned back to the others, she caught sight of a familiar face on the other side of the pavilion.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘What’s
he
doing at the fête?’

Juliet followed Yasmin’s gaze. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Rob Pritchard. He doesn’t even live around here.’

Nicole shrugged. ‘Maybe his girlfriend does.’

Yasmin’s stomach lurched. ‘What girlfriend?’

‘That woman sitting with him,’ Nicole said. ‘They look pretty close.’

When Yasmin craned her neck, she saw that Rob was indeed accompanied by a pretty – no,
stunning
– girl, red hair tumbling down her back pre-Raphaelite style, her heart-shaped face pale and ethereal. She was talking animatedly, using her hands for emphasis, and Rob was listening to her, rapt. He looked happy and relaxed, quite different from the brooding face he usually presented at work. ‘I’m surprised anyone would have him,’ she muttered, turning back to the others. ‘So,’ she said, resting her elbows on the table, ‘what’s new?’

‘Bear took me badger-watching on Thursday night,’ Nicole offered.

Yasmin frowned. ‘I thought you said you were going to the theatre.’

‘Connor couldn’t make it because of a work thing; I gave the tickets to my cleaner.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Juliet said. ‘Did the badgers make up for it?’

‘Actually, we didn’t see any, but …’ Nicole broke into a grin. ‘We did inadvertently stumble across a bunch of people in animal costumes shagging each other in the woods.’

Juliet’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Ewww! Why would anyone want to do that?’

‘It’s called furring,’ Yasmin said, shaking out her napkin as she saw their waitress approaching with a heavily laden tray. ‘We did a story in the
Post
a while back. Apparently it’s the hottest trend in outdoor sex since dogging. I can’t say
the idea of being rogered by a man dressed as a giant wombat makes me go weak at the knees, but each to their own, eh?’ She nodded in the waitress’s direction. ‘Look out, girls, we’ve got company.’

The tea tent was run by members of the Loxwood branch of the Women’s Institute – an organization which, besides its sterling work for charity, was the town’s chief conduit for rumour, gossip and hearsay. Nicole and co. were fully aware that any tasty morsel their waitress happened to overhear in the course of her duties would be gobbled up, partially digested and then regurgitated at the earliest available opportunity. And so, by unspoken agreement, they fell silent.

‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ the waitress trilled as she rested her tray on the edge of the table. ‘Are you enjoying yourselves this afternoon?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ the women chorused.

The waitress began unloading her tray. A fat teapot was followed by three china cups and saucers, matching side plates, milk jug, sugar bowl and tongs and finally, the pièce de résistance, a three-tier stand of assorted cakes and fancies.

‘Do let me know if you need more cakes,’ the waitress said with a syrupy smile. ‘I’d be happy to top you up. Our members have really done themselves proud this year. We’ve got éclairs, flapjacks, double chocolate brownies, date and walnut slices, Viennese whirls …’

‘Super!’ Juliet interrupted. ‘We’ll let you know.’

Still the waitress lingered. ‘Would you like me to pour the tea?’

‘I think we can manage,’ said Yasmin in the sort of brisk
tone that was meant to discourage further chitchat. The waitress took the hint, pursing her lips before beetling off, tray in hand.

‘Now, where were we?’ said Yasmin, as she selected a fat vanilla slice, oozing with custard. ‘Ah yes, the furring. Do tell us more.’

Juliet fluttered her eyelashes like a maiden aunt forced to watch
Deep Throat
. ‘Please, spare us the sordid details. I think we get the picture.’

‘There isn’t much more to tell,’ said Nicole. ‘Bear and I had only been there for a couple of minutes when a man in a fox suit spotted us and we had to do a runner.’ She frowned and rubbed her chin. ‘It’s funny, but there was something familiar about that fox. I can’t for the life of me think why.’ She picked up the teapot. ‘I’ll be mother, shall I?’

‘Lovely,’ said Juliet, pushing her cup forward. ‘And Connor didn’t mind you spending the evening with Bear?’

Nicole shifted guiltily in her seat. ‘Erm, I haven’t mentioned it to him.’

Yasmin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is there something you’re not telling us, Nic?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Nicole said, rubbing an imaginary stain on the Cath Kidston oilcloth.

Juliet leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I think what she means is, do you want to shag the arse off Bear?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sakes!’ Nicole cried shrilly. ‘We’re friends, that’s all.’

‘You’re not fooling anyone,’ Yasmin said, grinning. ‘You’d just better hope Connor doesn’t find out.’

Nicole’s lower lip quivered. ‘I shouldn’t think he’d care less.’
The next moment she was pushing her chair away from the table. ‘Will you excuse me? I need to use the Ladies.’

As she scooped up her handbag and headed towards the Portaloos at the rear of the pavilion, Yasmin turned to Juliet. ‘Do you think she’s all right?’

‘She looked as if she was about to burst into tears just then.’ Juliet tossed down her napkin. ‘I’d better go after her.’

‘Great,’ Yasmin muttered as Juliet walked away. ‘Leave me all on my own, why don’t you?’ She picked up the teapot and refilled her cup. ‘And here was I thinking the fête was going to be such a laugh.’ Suddenly, a mischievous look flashed across her face. ‘I know what’ll cheer everyone up,’ she said as she reached for her shopping bag.

Gleefully, she unwrapped the package of brownies and began arranging them on the cake stand’s heavily depleted bottom tier. Afterwards, she stuffed the incriminating clingfilm in her bag and sat back in her chair, pleased with her handiwork.

‘Look at this,’ she said when Juliet and Nicole returned a few minutes later. ‘The waitress has just replenished our stock of cakes.’ She pointed to the stand. ‘These brownies were fresh baked this morning.’

Juliet leaned forward. ‘They look a bit amateurish to me.’

‘I think you mean
rustic
.’

Nicole patted her stomach. ‘I really shouldn’t eat any more. I’m supposed to be watching my weight.’

‘Come on, Nicole, today’s a special day,’ Yasmin urged. ‘You can start the diet tomorrow.’

As Nicole vacillated, Juliet helped herself to one of the cakes. ‘Well, I’m going to have one.’ She broke off a corner
of brownie and popped it into her mouth. ‘Mmm … they taste better than they look,’ she said, chewing meditatively.

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Nicole reached for a brownie. ‘I’m going to regret this in the morning,’ she said as she took a bite. ‘Ooh, yes, you’re right, Juliet, they
are
nice.’ She chewed some more. ‘They’ve got some interesting chewy bits in too.’

Yasmin bit her lip as a smirk threatened to erupt across her face. ‘I think I’ll have one too,’ she said, picking up a brownie. ‘Cheers, ladies.’

Half an hour later, the women emerged from the pavilion into the bright afternoon sunshine. Outside, Ashwicke’s front lawn stretched before them like a brilliant green carpet, an affront to the implacable summer sun.

‘What time is it?’ Nicole asked.

Yasmin pointed to her friend’s wrist. ‘Why don’t you look at your watch?’

Nicole started giggling. ‘Silly me, I forgot I was wearing one.’ She stroked the back of her hand across her brow. ‘My head feels all muzzy; it must be the heat.’ Looking down at her watch she saw that it was twenty past three. ‘I’d better find Connor and Tilly,’ she said. ‘The Best Dressed Pet competition starts in ten minutes. Are you two coming?’

‘You bet,’ Yasmin said. ‘A little bird told me Lydia Ormerod hired a top London costumier to make her outfit this year. Apparently it cost the best part of a thousand pounds.’

Juliet shuddered. ‘That woman’s so vulgar. It’s only supposed to be a bit of fun.’ Suddenly, she pointed over Nicole’s shoulder. ‘Look, there’s Bear.’

Nicole turned round. Bear was standing on the other
side of the garden, perusing the secondhand-book stall as he munched on an ice cream cornet. In his T-shirt and black jeans, he made all the other men at the fête, dressed in their baggy shorts and leather sandals, look somehow effete and immature. She raised her hand above her head and started waving wildly. ‘Bear! Bear! Over here!’

He looked up, smiling when he saw Nicole.

‘God, he’s gorgeous,’ Nicole whispered as he started walking towards her.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ Juliet asked.

‘Nothing.’ Nicole licked her dry lips. Her tongue felt like cotton wool in her mouth and her heart was beating so hard she felt sure the others could see it jumping beneath her thin cotton blouse. ‘Hi, Bear,’ she called out when he was a few feet away.

‘Hi, there,’ he replied. ‘I wondered if I might bump into you today.’

‘Me too,’ Nicole said breathily. Now that he was within touching distance, she found her gaze drawn to the neck of his T-shirt. Above it a cloud of tawny curls sprouted tantalizingly. For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Nicole couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.