Up Close and Personal (20 page)

‘Isn’t Piers with you?’ Juliet asked.

‘No, he had one of his migraines this morning, so he stayed at home.’ Eleanor gave a theatrical swallow. ‘I’m dreadfully thirsty, dear. A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss. Earl Grey, if you’ve got it.’

‘Of course,’ Juliet said. She flashed a quick look at Dante. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘And don’t forget the lemon,’ Eleanor called out after her.

Now that he was alone with Eleanor, a spider of anxiety crawled up the back of Dante’s neck. ‘Please … take a seat,’ he said, jangling the coins in his trouser pocket.

‘How kind of you,’ she replied. ‘But, really, I don’t need an invitation to sit down in my own son’s home.’

Dante bristled. ‘I guess not.’

She walked over to him, filling the air with her asphyxiating perfume. ‘Did
you
enjoy the fête?’ she said.

‘Uh, yeah, it was nice, thanks.’

She stared at him, her eyes the cold blue of Venetian glass. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Only my good friend Lydia Ormerod called me not half an hour ago. According to her, you were involved in a rather ugly scene at the Best Dressed Pet competition.’

Dante knew in that moment that Eleanor’s request for a cup of tea had simply been a ruse to get Juliet out of the way. ‘The outfits were an accident,’ he said, meeting her gaze head-on.

‘How dare you,’ she hissed as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘How dare you desecrate my son’s memory?’

‘I told you, it was an accident,’ Dante repeated. ‘Juliet knows that.’

Eleanor’s lip curled. ‘You might have pulled the wool over Juliet’s eyes, young man, but unfortunately for you I’m not quite so gullible. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you listen to me and you listen hard. I loved my son and I feel his loss every minute of every day – and I have no doubt Juliet feels the same.’ She spoke in a strange, staccato manner, enunciating every syllable, as though she were talking to a slightly dense child. ‘You can try as hard as you like, but you’ll never take Gus’s place, never. He was a bigger man than you will ever be.’

Dante felt his blood come to a rising boil. ‘Now hang on –’ he began.

Eleanor raised a hand to silence him. ‘I have no idea why Juliet married you – I can only assume she suffered some momentary, catastrophic lapse of judgement – but I don’t suppose it really matters. Judging by what I just heard, you won’t be around for much longer.’ The next moment, Eleanor’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘Cakes too … you’re spoiling me!’ she cried, clapping her hands together.

Dante turned round. Juliet was walking towards them bearing tea and some slightly squishy chocolate éclairs, left over from the tea tent. He began backing away towards the
door. If he didn’t get out of there, he was liable to do something he might regret. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two ladies to it,’ he said.

Juliet looked disappointed. ‘Aren’t you going to at least stay for a cup of tea?’

‘Oh, let him go,’ Eleanor said, picking up a teacup. ‘I’m sure he’s got better things to do than listen to our chitter-chatter.’

As Dante escaped down the corridor, head bowed and cheeks blazing, he almost cannoned into a young couple walking in the opposite direction. They’d checked in a couple of days earlier and were celebrating their first wedding anniversary. The man smiled at him. ‘We’re heading out to dinner,’ he said. ‘Do you happen to know if Gaston’s is open yet?’

‘No idea, sorry,’ Dante said. As he continued towards the entrance hall, he thought of Juliet and how horrified she would’ve been by his unhelpful response. Sighing, he stopped and turned over his shoulder. ‘Hey, why don’t I call the restaurant and find out?’ he said. ‘And if they’re not open, I’ll find you some place that is.’

The woman smiled shyly. ‘If you’re sure it’s no trouble …’

‘No trouble at all,’ Dante said. ‘If you’d like to follow me to reception …’

A few minutes later, a reservation at Gaston’s secured, the couple was walking through the front door and Dante was finally alone. In the absence of anything better to do, he sank into the high-backed chair behind the reception desk and covered his eyes with his hands. A few moments later, Jess came padding down the corridor. It was the first
time Dante had seen her since fleeing the Best Dressed Pet competition.

‘Hello, girl,’ he said, reaching down to rub her back. He smiled as she sprawled at his feet, pressing her snout against his ankles. ‘At least I’ve got one buddy in England.’ As he spoke, Dante’s thoughts turned to home. He’d left behind so much: his job, his friends, his freedom. It hadn’t seemed like such a big sacrifice at the time – but now he wasn’t so sure. He looked at the grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs: seven thirty British time, twelve thirty in Montana. He hadn’t spoken to his family in weeks. On impulse, he picked up the phone and punched out a number. A few seconds later, tears sprang to his eyes as his mother’s voice came on the line.

‘Hi, Mom, it’s me,’ he said, his voice nearly cracking as he spoke the words.

‘Dante!’ she cried in delight. ‘How are you, hon?’

‘I’m fine, Mom,’ he replied. ‘Just fine.’

‘You don’t sound fine,’ she said. ‘Has something happened?’

Dante hadn’t meant to dump all his shit on her, but he found that once he started he couldn’t stop. He told her everything that had happened since his arrival in England: his shock at Ashwicke’s size and grandeur, his continuing loneliness, his fear that Juliet regarded him as a poor substitute for Gus and, finally, the humiliating turn of events at the fête. Every now and then his mother would offer a sympathetic comment, but mostly she just listened.

‘Oh, honey,’ she said when he was through. ‘I wish I was there now so I could give you a big hug.’

Dante produced a buckled smile. ‘Me too.’

‘It’s only natural you’re finding things tough,’ she said. ‘But you hang on in there, okay? The Fishers aren’t quitters; I know you and Juliet can make this work.’

‘I hope so, Mom,’ he said. ‘I really hope so.’

By the time Dante put the phone down he felt a lot better. His mom was right: he wasn’t a quitter. More importantly, he loved Juliet with a passion he wouldn’t have believed possible. She’d have to do something really awful to make him leave her. He glanced down at Jess. Although she was asleep, her tail was twitching and her paws were making scrabbling motions as if she were chasing rabbits. Dante would have left her to her dream, but then the thought struck him that, rather than chasing something, perhaps she herself was being chased, and that the whimpers she was making were the sounds of fear rather than delight, so he sank down beside her and stroked her head until she was soothed.

14

Juliet held on to the pelmet with one hand and reached the other towards Dante. ‘Pass me a couple more curtain hooks, would you, darling?’

‘I wish you’d come down from there and let me do that,’ Dante said as he fumbled in a cellophane bag.

Juliet looked down at him from her precarious position on the windowsill and found herself thinking how absurdly handsome he was – a curious mixture of delicacy and strength, with his long eyelashes and sinewy skier’s physique. ‘You’re so protective,’ she said.

Dante smiled. ‘That’s my job.’

It was a week since Dante’s humiliating experience at the Best Dressed Pet competition. Although he’d been subdued for a few days afterwards, Juliet was surprised to see how quickly he’d bounced back. She’d found their row in the conservatory quite upsetting and since then she’d been making a concerted effort to make him feel more at home – discreetly donating some of Gus’s belongings to charity, taking time out from the hotel to make sure she and Dante always ate lunch together, even passing on the contact details of a friend of a friend who managed a bar in town and might have some work going. Hopefully now they could shake off the ghosts of the past and get on with their lives together.

‘How much did those curtains cost?’ Dante asked, as he handed her the hooks.

‘Only a few pounds. I got them from a charity shop on the high street.’ Juliet smoothed a hand over the thick, chintzy fabric. ‘I know they’re a bit unfashionable, but new ones would’ve cost a fortune.’

‘They look just fine,’ Dante said. ‘And with any luck they’ll do what they’re supposed to.’

The previous day, the room’s occupant, a ruddy-faced specimen with dandruffy shoulders, had complained about the sunlight coming through the – admittedly rather threadbare – curtains first thing in the morning. Eager to please, Juliet had wasted no time replacing them.

‘And now that they’re up,’ Dante continued, ‘will you please get down from that windowsill before you break your neck?’

‘Just a sec.’ Juliet was staring out of the window. Something – or rather,
someone
– in the distance had caught her eye. ‘You know, I’m sure that’s Nicole,’ she said.

Dante peered through the glass. ‘Where?’

‘Over there, at the end of the drive.’

‘Were you expecting her?’

Juliet shook her head. She tracked Nicole’s progress down the drive, smiling as her friend suddenly dived behind a row of conifers. ‘Ah, so it isn’t me she’s come to see. It’s Bear.’

‘That journo guy in the caravan?’ Dante said. ‘Are they friends?’

‘Sort of. Nic’s been helping Bear with an article he’s writing. She won’t admit it, but she’s developed a bit of a soft spot for him.’

‘I don’t reckon Connor’s going to be too happy about that.’

Turning away from the window, Juliet lowered herself into Dante’s arms. ‘Frankly, he’s only got himself to blame.’

Nicole was impressed when she saw Bear’s caravan. She’d been expecting a bog-standard model – the sort of dull white box she and her parents had toured Scotland with, the summer before their divorce. Instead, she found herself gazing at a vintage aluminium Airstream, glittering like a bullet in the afternoon sunshine. She should’ve known better, she chided herself: Bear was an extraordinary man and it was only natural that he should have an extraordinary home.

Nicole hadn’t seen him since the fête and now, as she walked up to the Airstream, she tried to ignore the butterflies beating against her ribcage. She told herself she was simply being neighbourly, dropping by with homemade cake – and, if Bear wasn’t home, no big deal. She would simply leave the cake on his doorstep with a note. She smoothed her hair with a hand and rapped on the door of the caravan. A few moments later, the top half of the door swung open and Bear appeared. He was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. Nicole found herself admiring his torso, which was deeply tanned with well-defined pectorals.

‘Nicole!’ Bear exclaimed. ‘This is a nice surprise.’ He clapped a hand to his naked chest. ‘Sorry about my state of undress; I wasn’t expecting company.’

‘I haven’t called at a bad time, have I?’ Nicole asked. ‘I can always come back later.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Bear said, unbolting the door’s bottom
section. ‘I was just doing some writing, but it can wait. Come on in.’

If the outside of Bear’s home had taken Nicole by surprise, then the inside was even more of a revelation. There was a compact kitchen area, with a retro fridge in pastel blue and a row of mismatching enamelware hanging from butcher’s hooks. Beyond it lay a comfortable living space, boasting a built-in shelf unit crammed with books, two red leather banquettes and a tubular steel table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a fifties’ diner.

Nicole looked around her in amazement. Everywhere she turned, another stylish detail caught her eye: a Mark Rothko print, a squat piece of Troika, an old Bakelite radio.

‘This place is stunning,’ she said. ‘When you said you lived in a caravan, I didn’t imagine anything like this.’

‘She’s not bad for a fifty-year-old, is she?’ Bear said. ‘I refurbished her myself – plumbing, electrics, the works.’ He opened a door to reveal a fully tiled wet room. ‘I built this too.’

‘I had no idea you were so talented,’ said Nicole, noting the bottle of cologne on the shelf under the mirror, and the stack of neatly folded towels.

‘Oh, it wasn’t so difficult; it just took a bit of time and patience.’ Bear closed the bathroom door and pointed to one of the banquettes. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll make us some tea?’ He went to a chest of drawers and pulled out a faded blue T-shirt. ‘But first let me put some clothes on.’

The words
Must you?
threatened to erupt from Nicole’s lips. ‘I won’t stay long,’ she said, as she produced a Tupperware box from the carrier bag she was holding and placed
it on the table. ‘I didn’t come round for anything in particular. I just wanted to drop this off.’

‘What is it?’ asked Bear, as he pulled the T-shirt over his head.

‘Banana cake – I made it myself.’

Bear looked disproportionately pleased. ‘How very kind,’ he said, scooping up the Tupperware in one of his giant hands. ‘We can have some with our tea.’

‘Think of it as an apology,’ Nicole added.

‘Whatever for?’

‘My behaviour at the fête.’

A hint of a smile played about Bear’s lips as he lit the gas under the kettle. ‘What was wrong with your behaviour?’

Nicole sighed. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to be polite. I know I made a complete tit of myself.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Bear said magnanimously. ‘In any case, you had sunstroke, didn’t you?’

‘Erm, no, actually. I was stoned.’

Bear gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I didn’t know you indulged.’

‘I don’t. Somebody served me a hash brownie in the tea tent.’

Bear’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Blimey, has the Women’s Institute got a secret sideline?’

‘It wasn’t the WI; it was Yasmin,’ Nicole replied. ‘I think she wanted to liven things up a bit.’

‘And did it have the desired effect?’

‘Let’s just say we were all in pretty high spirits by the time we left the fête.’ Nicole gave a rueful smile. ‘My husband wasn’t very impressed, though.’

‘Ah yes … Connor, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. As a doctor, he takes a dim view of recreational
drug taking.’ Nicole pursed her lips. ‘In fact, he seems to take a dim view of quite a lot of things these days.’

Bear opened the Tupperware box and lifted out the banana cake. ‘This looks amazing,’ he said, as he cut two thick slices. ‘Is Connor looking after Tilly, then?’