Kit said, ‘Abby, this is my Aunt Elizabeth.’

As Liza dealt with the bill, Abby rushed up again.

‘Hey, you two! Listen, Oliver has to get back to his office, but I’m free. How about catching up on old times over a drink? We could go to the Pyramid bar, it’s just round the corner.’

As the maître d’ had managed to exclude Kit earlier, so Liza found herself being ignored now.

She willed him to say no.

But Kit, clearly tempted, gave Liza a ‘shall we?’ look in return.

‘Come on, let’s go for it!’ This time Abby touched Liza’s arm. ‘They do brilliant cocktails.’

Laughing, she added, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after you, won’t we, Kit? We won’t let you get squiffy!’

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Kit, ‘a couple of cocktails and Aunt Elizabeth’s a different person.’

He winked at Liza in her awful wig. ‘Quite a changed woman, in fact. Once she lets her hair down.’

Liza had forgotten about the photographers camped outside. As they emerged from the restaurant she found herself being elbowed out of the way. Since they were both young and strikingly attractive, Abby and Kit were the couple they focused their attentions on. Abby they recognised as an up-and-coming children’s TV presenter. Kit — well, okay, maybe they didn’t recognise him yet, but with those looks and that smile it could only be a matter of time.

‘You two go ahead,’ said Liza, when they caught up with her further down the road. ‘Really, I don’t feel like a drink. I’d rather just go back to the hotel.’

Kit looked at her. Abby, still clinging to his arm, pretended to be disappointed.

‘Oh no! Are you sure?’

Liza nodded at Kit, signalling that she was fine, she wasn’t jealous and of course he should go for a drink with Abby. ‘I’m sure. I’ll see you later.’

‘Okay.’ Brightly Abby waggled her fingers at her, just as she waved to the millions of adoring young fans who watched her Saturday-morning TV show. "Bye, Aunt Elizabeth. You take care.

See ya!’

Chapter 39

‘That girl’s as daft as a brush. Three years ago I told her they made rum from fermented coconuts and she still believes it. How she ever landed that job of hers is beyond me, although I suppose I can hazard a guess. Anyway,’ said Kit, abruptly changing the subject, ‘are you all right?’

Liza had washed her blonde hair — the wig always flattened it — and re-done her make-up. She had also changed into a black scoop-necked T-shirt, a clinging red velvet skirt and high heels.

She looked luscious and desirable again, Kit realised, and every man in the hotel lobby was visibly lusting after her. He kissed her on the mouth and sat down next to her.

‘Of course I’m all right.’

‘Not peed off because of ... you know?’

‘What?’

‘The old maître d’ guy at Beaujolais, not making a move. Admit it,’ Kit nudged her, ‘you thought you’d pulled. You were gutted when he didn’t ask for your phone number.’

Liza had to smile.

‘When you book a table at Beaujolais, they automatically take your number. Anyway, speaking of pulling ... is Abby an old girlfriend of yours?’

Kit shrugged.

‘I went out with her for about two minutes. Got bored. She’s a nice enough girl, but ...’

Another shrug.

I’m not bored with you yet, thought Liza, watching him carefully, looking for signs. Are you bored with me?

.. like I said, thick as two planks,’ Kit concluded with a yawn.

‘I’m going down to Devon this weekend. It’s my mother’s birthday.’

This made him sit up.

‘When did you decide this?’

‘An hour ago. I rang her.’ Liza nodded at the pay phone just beyond the bar. ‘She was really pleased. I haven’t been to see them for ages.’

‘Something’s wrong,’ said Kit.

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘Okay. I’m free this weekend. I’ll come too.’

‘No you won’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘You just can’t,’ Liza said flatly.

He raked his fingers through his dark hair.

‘But I have to meet them at some stage.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Who says you do?’

Exasperated, Kit almost shouted, ‘Liza, it has to happen sooner or later. Why not now?’

‘Okay.’ Liza held up one hand. She began steadily counting off on her fingers. ‘We’ll make a list. One, the chances are this relationship of ours won’t last, so there isn’t much point in meeting them. Two, they’re just ordinary parents. They aren’t rich or famous, or remotely glamorous.

They aren’t brilliantly witty and they don’t tell jokes.’

‘Meaning?’ said Kit, stunned.

‘Meaning you’d probably be bored witless.’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you’re serious.’

‘Three,’ Liza went on, still counting fingers, ‘my mother is seventy years old, my father’s seventy-two. They have traditional ideas. They want me to settle down and get married and have children. Knocking around with a twenty-three-year-old boy isn’t something they’d understand

—’

‘Come on,’ chided Kit, finally figuring out what it was she was doing. ‘These aren’t reasons, these are excuses. Shouldn’t you give your parents the benefit of the doubt? Introduce me to them and let them make up their own minds.’

‘I know them. Trust me. If I rolled up with you in tow,’ Liza said bleakly, ‘they’d just be embarrassed.’

‘I see. So they’d be embarrassed and I’d be bored.’

‘Right.’

‘And all this has nothing – nothing whatsoever to do with today.’

Liza wanted to cry. Of course it did; it had everything to do with today. She was accustomed to being in control of her life. She definitely wasn’t used to feeling insecure. Lack of confidence was Pru’s speciality, not hers.

And the stupid thing is, Liza realised frustratedly, nobody’s making me feel like this. I’m doing it all by myself.

‘I’ve just had enough,’ she told Kit, her fingernail tracing obsessive spirals on the topaz velvet-upholstered arm of her chair. ‘It’s too difficult. Relationships shouldn’t be difficult.’

‘You’re ashamed of me,’ said Kit. ‘Is that it? I’m an embarrassment to you?’

His yellow eyes narrowed, regarding her with mock amusement. Liza felt sick; he thought he was going to be able to coax her out of this and he couldn’t. It was too late. She’d started and now she couldn’t stop.

‘Yes, I’m ashamed,’ she said quickly, and saw that she had startled him. ‘I’m embarrassed to be seen with you, okay? So it’s over. I’m a grown woman, Kit. Time I found myself a grown man.’

‘You missed a brilliant fight this afternoon,’ Susie the receptionist said gleefully when she handed over to Bella at the end of her shift.

Bella looked interested.

‘What, a punch-up?’

‘Better than that. The couple booked into 201 had the most amazing slanging match, right here in the lobby in front of everyone. We were all riveted! Anyway, the woman was hell bent on finishing with him ‘

‘Hang on, room 201? I checked them in yesterday. He was gorgeous!’

Susie gave her a there-you-go look.

‘That’s it then, isn’t it? Bet you he’s been playing away and she’s only just found out.’

‘So how did it end? Did they make up?’

‘Did Tom make up with Jerry?’ Susie mimed slitting her throat. ‘I’m telling you, it’s over. He did his best, but there was no stopping her. She ended up yelling that she never wanted to see him again. Then she stalked out.’

‘Leaving him here all on his own, you mean?’ Ever hopeful, Bella’s eyes lit up. ‘Shall I ring his room and make sure he’s okay?’ She beamed. ‘I bet I could cheer him up.’

The train journey back to Bath was a nightmare. Huddled in a corner seat behind dark glasses, Liza wondered if it was possible to feel more miserable than this. But it had needed to be done and she had done it. Now all I have to do, she thought unhappily, is get used to being on my own again. Pretend I never met Kit Berenger in the first place.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, dear?’ said the nosy middle-aged woman in the next seat.

Tears were sliding out from under Liza’s dark glasses. She wiped them angrily away with her sleeve.

‘Fine, thanks.’

She turned and gazed out of the window but the woman began tapping her, woodpecker-style, on the arm.

‘If you want to talk about it, dear, I don’t mind. I’d be happy to listen.’ Avidly she studied Liza’s averted profile.

‘All my friends tell me how sympathetic I am— Hang on, don’t I recognise you? Aren’t you that girl who writes about food?’

The train was crowded. Liza ended up three carriages along, squashed against a huge man in an anorak reeking of wet labrador. The smell was awful but at least he didn’t interrogate her.

She couldn’t cry properly until she reached home. It was over, it was all over.

There were half a dozen messages on her answering machine.

None of them was from Kit.

‘Dulcie, where on earth have you been? It’s eight o’clock!’ wailed Pru, standing in the front doorway like an indignant wife. ‘I thought you were only popping out for a pair of tights.’

Dulcie, struggling to keep a straight face, collapsed on to one of the kitchen chairs.

‘I went to see Rufus, to thank him for yesterday.’

Pru recognised that smirk. Dulcie was looking ridiculously pleased with herself.

‘Don’t tell me, you seduced him. You’ve spent the entire day in bed with Mr Nice-Guy-with-a-beard.’

‘Actually,’ Dulcie adopted a not very convincing casual air, ‘I’ve been working.’

‘At getting the poor chap into bed, you mean.’

‘I mean working in the café. Running it singlehanded, in fact.’

‘Are you hallucinating,’ said Pru, ‘or am I?’

Dulcie could no longer contain herself. She jumped up and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge.

‘I did, I really did,’ she cried ecstatically. ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me – I can hardly believe it myself – but I was brilliant! I didn’t make any mistakes. Oh, Pru, you should have seen me, I did everything. What’s more,’ Dulcie’s green eyes glittered as she sloshed wine into the glasses,

‘I loved every minute!’

This was hard to believe, but as Dulcie continued to sing her own praises, it became apparent that she meant every word. It wasn’t an elaborate set-up, or an April Fool. Quite by chance, Pru realised, and rather later in life than most people, Dulcie had discovered that work needn’t be awful after all.

‘I don’t know where the day went,’ she gabbled on, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Seriously, the hours just galloped by. One minute Rufus was helping Maris into his car, and the next thing I knew, it was seven o’clock, time to close up! No thanks, better not.’

Here was another first: Dulcie holding her hand over her glass. Startled, Pru said, ‘Sure?’

‘The café opens at seven, for breakfast. I promised Rufus I’d be there by six.’

‘Six?’ squeaked Pru.

‘Mans has broken her arm. She’s going to be out of action for weeks,’ Dulcie explained serenely.

‘I offered to help out.’

‘You mean ... every day?’

‘Only six days a week. They’re shut on Sundays.’

It was a struggle taking it in. Pru couldn’t help wondering if she’d somehow got hold of the wrong end of the stick. ‘Dulcie, are you sure about this?’

Dulcie didn’t reply. Instead, she studied the rim of her almost empty glass for several seconds.

When she finally spoke, the jokiness, the glittering façade, was gone.

‘It’s what I want right now. It’s what I need. Something to stop me thinking about the godawful mess I’ve made of my life.’

Pru experienced a twinge of alarm. This wasn’t like Dulcie at all.

‘Oh no, you haven’t—’

‘Come on, Pru. What else am I going to do with myself? If I go to Brunton I’ll see Liam. If I stay here I’ll only think about him.’ Dulcie’s eyes were sad. This wasn’t the whole truth; she would mainly be thinking about Patrick. Oh, she’d been such an idiot...

‘You know what you need,’ said Pru.

Me too, thought Dulcie. A kick up the bum for being a prize wally.

Aloud, she said, ‘What?’

Pru grinned.

‘An alarm clock.’

Chapter 40

Having the stitches out didn’t hurt a bit.

‘There,’ said the doctor soothingly. Finished at last, he dropped the scissors into a stainless-steel kidney bowl and reached for a mirror. ‘Have a look. Tell me what you think.’

Pru looked at her wild-haired, bandageless reflection in the mirror and promptly burst into tears.

‘I know, I know.’ The doctor patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ve done a good job, if I say so myself.’

‘Can I go home and wash my hair no*?’ sniffed Pru. It had been the longest two weeks of her life.