She muttered something else under her breath as she disappeared through the doorway.

‘What?’ Pru called after her retreating back. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said not enough sex.’ In an oddly regal fashion, the old woman waved her walking stick briefly at Pru. Then she snorted with laughter. ‘Rather like you and your chap.’

Pru didn’t mention this exchange to Eddie when he returned to the car. Instead she asked him when his three-month ban was up.

Eddie gazed out of the side window at the spectacular Clifton suspension bridge, stretched across the Avon gorge.

‘Did I tell you three months? That wasn’t quite true,’ he said, sounding awkward and still not looking at Pru. ‘Actually it was ... um ... six.’

Chapter 26

Dulcie surveyed herself carefully from all angles in the wardrobe mirror but she still didn’t look any different.

This was most annoying, because when you’d put in as much hard work as she had during the last month you expected to end up looking like an international Gladiator at least.

Still, she had to be fitter on the inside. The sweating was disgusting, the grunting and straining horribly reminiscent of childbirth and the sheer pain involved was unimaginable but if this was what it took to persuade Liam she was his kind of girl ... well, then it was worth every grunt and strain.

Following the flu fiasco, Dulcie had realised drastic measures were now called for. Some things you could bluff your way through, others you couldn’t, and attempting to pass yourself off as Bath’s answer to Steffi Graf when in reality you were Bath’s answer to a cross between Jo Brand and a walking Mars bar clearly wasn’t on.

As a result of this, Dulcie had joined another, less sumptuous sports club on the other side of the city and had booked daily lessons with the far less desirable middle-aged tennis coach there.

Biting the bullet, she had also enrolled herself in the beginners’ aerobics class. If she could still walk after this, she stumbled along to the gym and pumped iron for an hour.

It had been far and away the most hideous month of Dulcie’s life. The only consolation was that she was doing it where no one recognised her; she was working out at a club so un-smart she was unlikely ever to bump into anyone she knew.

But if hanging on to Liam McPherson involved keeping fit, Dulcie was prepared to suffer.

And now she had suffered, for a whole month. It was just such a bugger that it didn’t show.

Maybe she could squeeze Liam half to death with her thighs. Then he’d be impressed.

Having finished her inspection in front of the mirror, Dulcie wriggled her way into a new dress, a tiny clinging thing the colour of sherbet lemons. With it, she wore flat silver sandals and understated silver jewellery. She was meeting up with Liam at Poppers, the new wine bar on Pulteney Bridge, and she wanted to look good. Poppers was definitely the kind of place people went to be seen.

‘Dulcie? Are you here on your own?’

Turning, Dulcie came face to face with her estranged husband. Honestly, trust Patrick to make her sound like a prostitute.

‘No need to panic! I promise not to flash my knickers at any strange men. Anyway,’ she gave him a teasing smile, ‘this is a wine bar, not a street corner. I’m allowed to be here; it’s all quite legal.’

Actually, it was really nice to see him ... until the next moment when Dulcie realised the girl doing her best to look as if she wasn’t in any way connected with Patrick was connected with him after all.

‘Ah, sorry. Claire, this is Dulcie. My... er, wife. Dulcie, Claire.’

A bit of advance warning wouldn’t have gone amiss, Dulcie felt. She smiled as casually as she could at Claire and was surprised how hard it was to do. What a shame people didn’t wear beepers, like little personal radars, so you always had a few minutes’ notice that you were about to bump into them. That was all you’d need really, Dulcie thought, just a couple of minutes to gear yourself up, mentally prepare yourself for those awkward chance meetings. If Patrick was so clever with acomputer, maybe he should give it a whirl. There had to be a market for a beeper to let you know you were about to cross paths with your husband and his new bird.

‘It’s really nice to meet you,’ said Claire, reaching out and shaking Dulcie’s unsuspecting hand.

‘Look, if you two ‘d like to talk, I could leave you in peace for a few minutes ...’

‘No need for that.’ Patrick acknowledged the diplomatic offer with a brief smile and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.

Dulcie’s eyes almost fell out. Public displays of affection weren’t Patrick’s style at all. For heaven’s sake, it had taken her about four years to persuade him to put his arm around her waist.

‘Anyway,’ he went on, as if Dulcie had deliberately tried to change the subject, ‘why are you here on your own?’

‘I’m not on my own. I’m meeting Liam.’

‘Oh? Where is he?’

‘I got here early,’ Dulcie fibbed.

Patrick shot her a look of disbelief.

‘You’re never anywhere early.’

That was the trouble with husbands; they knew you too well. Dulcie cursed Patrick for knowing her. She began elongating the fib.

‘Well, I didn’t mean to be early but I was over at Liza’s and she had to go out so she gave me a lift. And Liam warned me he might be held up ... someone’s offered him a Lamborghini and if it looks good he’ll take it for a test drive ...’

This bit was actually true. The reason Dulcie was fibbing was to cover up the fact that Liam was over an hour late already. She just knew Patrick would disapprove.

Irritatingly, Patrick wasn’t as impressed as he could have been by her casual mention of the Lamborghini. Knowing him as well as he knew her, Dulcie sensed the lip curl, the slight air of amusement. He was wondering what she thought she was doing, getting herself involved with the kind of man who drove that kind of car.

Cringing inwardly, Dulcie remembered what Steve Ellis, the leering pro from Brunton Golf Club, had called them when Liam had mentioned he was thinking of getting one. ‘Hey, major babe-magnet!’

And Liam, grinning, had replied, ‘I’ve already got one of those.’

‘He probably won’t buy it,’ Dulcie told Patrick and Claire. ‘Not that he couldn’t afford to. It’s just not really his style, you know. Bit naff.’

‘My father had one. He sold it last year,’ said Claire. Realising her gaffe, she covered her mouth and let out a peal of laughter. Then she clutched Dulcie’s arm and, still giggling, whispered conspiratorially, ‘Please don’t be embarrassed. You’re right, of course. Too naff for words. He looked an absolute sight.’

Dulcie was trapped. By nine o’clock there was still no sign of Liam and Patrick was clearly determined to keep her talking until he turned up. Since she knew no one else there, Dulcie didn’t have much choice.

She thought men were supposed to go for a particular type of woman and stick with them, but Patrick certainly hadn’t; he’d managed to find someone the complete opposite of her.

Furthermore – it was irritating but she couldn’t help it; feeling miffed was a natural response –

he definitely seemed happy with Claire.

Maybe that’s all he ever wanted, the type he should have gone for in the first place, Dulcie realised. A sensible, cheerful, gosh-where-did-I-put-my-hockey-stick kind of girl. Intelligent, friendly towards everyone and with heaps of common sense. The type of person, Dulcie thought darkly, who held up her hand and said, ‘No thanks, really, one chocolate’s enough for me.’

She even had a real career, dammit, so Patrick’s ridiculous working hours wouldn’t bother her in the least. The chances were she wouldn’t even notice he was never home because she wouldn’t be there either, she’d still be working too.

They could be Executive Couple, thought Dulcie, and themost annoying part of all is they wouldn’t even think they were missing out on any fun, because when you’re that career-minded, work is fun.

Willing it to be Liam every time the door was pushed open hadn’t worked. By nine thirty Dulcie was growing desperate ... and trying even more desperately to hide it.

‘Looks like he’s stood you up,’ said Patrick, not sounding in the least sympathetic. ‘Come on, we’ll give you a lift home.’

How sad could you get? Dulcie suppressed a shudder – God, the humiliation – and gaily emptied her glass.

‘Don’t fuss! He’ll be here any minute now,’ she exclaimed. ‘Anyway, this party we’re going to doesn’t start until midnight ... it’s at the home of one of his rock star friends, did I mention that?

They live in this fantastic mansion outside Calne. Oh for heaven’s sake, Patrick! Stop looking at your watch. What difference does it make if someone’s a tiny bit late? Look, let me get you both another drink—’

‘We’ve got a table booked at the Blue Bowl.’ Patrick’s tone was curt; he wasn’t amused.

‘If you’d like to, you’d be more than welcome to join us,’ Claire said eagerly, her clear grey eyes reflecting genuine concern. She nodded as she spoke, so rhythmically that Dulcie wondered if someone behind her was tugging on her glossy brown plait, practising a spot of bell ringing on the nearest available rope.

Bloody, bloody Liam...

And bloody Claire, come to that, for being so caring, so jolly, jolly nice. Where had Patrick found her, anyway? Graduating with honours from the Jane Asher School of Charm and Utter Loveliness?

This reminded Dulcie that he hadn’t told her yet how things had gone the night his mother had fixed him up.

To divert Patrick’s attention from Liam’s lateness, Dulcie said brightly, ‘I forgot to ask, how was your awful blind date the other week, the one you were dreading so much? Total nightmare or what?’

Patrick looked at Claire. Ha, thought Dulcie, delighted. That’s caught you out! Been two-timing her already .. .

Claire, in turn, looked at Dulcie. There were dimples in her cheeks.

‘I don’t think it went too badly, considering,’ she said with a playful smile.

‘But—’

‘Oh, Dulcie, the awful blind date was me.’

‘Where have you been?’ hissed Dulcie when Liam finally appeared. ‘For God’s sake, you’re two hours late!’

Liam cupped a hand over one ear and shook his head. ‘Damn, I hate it when that happens.’

‘Hate what?’

‘That terrible noise in my ear. That nagging noise.’

‘I’m not nagging,’ Dulcie said crossly, ‘I’m just telling you, that’s all. You should have been here at nine.’

‘Why, what happened?’

The blonde standing with her back to Liam suddenly giggled and swivelled round to look at him.

Liam, happy to have his wit appreciated, grinned back.

‘My husband and his new girlfriend were here, that’s what happened,’ Dulcie wailed. ‘They insisted on waiting here with me until you turned up.’

Liam looked around.

‘So where are they?’

‘They left two minutes ago!’ She almost stamped her foot. ‘Phew, great timing.’

The blonde giggled again. Liam tried without much success to keep a straight face. Dulcie could have kicked the pair of them.

‘It isn’t funny. Dammit, they felt sorry for me.’

‘Am I going to get this earache all night?’ protested Liam.

There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice, as if he were on the verge of losing his patience. Suddenly overcome by a rush of fear – what if Liam turned round, grabbed the giggling blonde and disappeared with her out of the door? – Dulcie forced herself to calm down. Liam wasn’t the type to sit alone and mope. She held a privileged position. And if she didn’t want it there were plenty of other women queueing up to take her place.

‘I’m sorry. It was pretty embarrassing, that’s all. Forget it.’

His good humour instantly restored, Liam slid his arm around Dulcie’s hips and pulled her playfully towards him.

‘You mean I don’t get detention from teacher?’ he murmured in her ear. ‘I don’t have to write out a hundred lines: I must not be a naughty boy and upset Dulcie?’

She quivered helplessly. Oh, that soft, purring Irish drawl! It really should come with a government health warning .. .

‘I’ll let you off, this once,’ she said faintly as Liam began kissing the tips of her fingers. Damn, why couldn’t Patrick and Claire be here to witness this now?

‘In that case,’ his blue eyes crinkled at the corners, ‘I’ll let you have a ride in my new car.’

‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I don’t accept lifts from strange men,’ said Dulcie.

‘It’s a Lamborghini.’

‘What colour?’

‘Red of course.’

‘Oh, all right then.’

Chapter 27