The dark-blue velour towel, fetchingly clutched around her in a just-got-out-of-the-bath kind of way, could have been larger but it set off Dulcie’s tan beautifully.

‘Hi.’ Patrick barely glanced at either the towel or the tan. He strode past Dulcie into the hall.

‘Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday. Won’t be a sec; I just need to pick something up.’

He sounded distant and briskly efficient, like a bankmanager. As she closed the door, Dulcie’s suspicions were confirmed. Claire Berenger was sitting in the passenger seat of Patrick’s car.

When she saw Dulcie she smiled and waved.

‘Off to play frisbee in the park?’ Dulcie couldn’t help it. The taunt slipped out as Patrick made his way through to the sitting room. Leaving a trail of wet footprints, she followed him.

‘Liam not around?’ Patrick countered.

‘Oh ha ha,’ said Dulcie bitterly. ‘Please don’t pretend you don’t know.’

He turned.

‘Don’t know what?’

‘Come on, your spies must have told you. It’s over between me and Liam.’

He looked genuinely shocked.

‘I had no idea. The girl from the office downstairs is away on holiday.’

‘Funny, you’d think Liza might have mentioned it.’ Dig dig.

Patrick ignored this. ‘I haven’t seen Liza for weeks. When did it happen?’ His eyes darkened with concern. ‘God, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. How are you coping?’

Pride welled up. Defiantly, Dulcie lifted her chin. ‘Fine. I’ve got myself a job.’

‘But the baby—’

Oh hell, this wasn’t going to plan at all. She’d completely forgotten about the baby.

‘There isn’t one.’ Best to just blurt it out, she decided wearily.

But the look on Patrick’s face was extraordinary. ‘Oh, Dulcie ...’

As he said her name, his voice broke. The next thing Dulcie knew, he had his arms around her.

He was holding her, hugging her. She breathed in the blissfully familiar smell of his skin. It felt wonderful, but she knew she had to get a grip. She had to start telling the truth.

‘I didn’t lose the baby,’ Dulcie muttered, wishing the hug could go on forever. ‘There never was one in the first place.’

‘What?’

‘I thought I was pregnant.’ She kept her face buried against his chest. Oh well, she’d told enough truth for one day. ‘But I wasn’t. It was a mistake.’

The comforting hug was taken away. Uncertain now, Patrick stepped back and pushed his fingers through his dark hair as he always did when faced with a dilemma.

‘Oh. Right. Well, sorry anyway.’

‘No need,’ said Dulcie. ‘Liam’s a jerk. He’s no loss, and who wants a screaming baby anyway?’

There was a huge lump in her throat but she resolutely ignored it. Pulling the dark-blue towel more securely around her she went on in a businesslike manner, ‘What was it you needed? I thought you’d taken all your clothes.’

‘Passport.’ Patrick turned his attention to the old oak dresser, whose top drawers were crammed with a motley collection of old bills, out-of-date MOTs, rolls of Sellotape and a million rubber bands. With any luck, this was also where he’d find his passport.

Dulcie heard her voice go all high and unnatural, as if she’d just taken a furtive gulp of helium.

‘Really? Going away somewhere? Anywhere nice?’

‘Amsterdam.’

She said the first words that came into her head. ‘Watch out; lots of prostitutes in Amsterdam.’

‘I’ll have Claire with me,’ Patrick remarked drily, ‘so maybe she’ll be able to beat them off with a stick.’

He had his back to her as he searched through the drawer’s muddled contents. Suffused with misery and longing, Dulcie watched him for as long as she dared. He was going away on holiday with Claire. This, from the man who regarded interrupting work to grab a sandwich as a waste of time.

‘Hang on, I think I’ve seen it upstairs,’ said Dulcie. She knew exactly where his passport was, filed away along with a stash of expensive half-used make-up in a silver basket on top of her dressing table.

Earlier, in the bath, she had fantasised a dozen different ways of enticing Patrick upstairs to the bedroom they had once shared.

Now, clearly, this idea was no longer on.

The bath towel had been a mistake too.

‘Wait there, I’ll get it,’ said Dulcie.

When she reappeared, she handed Patrick the passport. ‘Thanks.’ He looked at her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Dulcie nodded.

‘Of course I am.’

‘And ...’ he frowned, looking doubtful, ‘sorry, but did you say you had a job?’

Another nod.

‘This I’ve got to see.’ Patrick’s smile was sceptical; it was the one he’d generally used when Dulcie had insisted on reading him his horoscope.

‘It’s nothing special.’ She spoke with a trace of defiance. ‘Just a spot of waitressing. More of a social thing, really.’

‘I’d still like to see it with my own eyes.’

Dulcie, who had her image to think of, definitely didn’t want him to see her sweating away in the café’s cramped kitchen. She pulled open the front door.

‘Mustn’t keep Claire waiting. Enjoy your holiday.’

Evidently still entertained by the idea of Dulcie doing anything and actually getting paid for it, Patrick said, ‘And you enjoy your job. One thing, though, Dulcie.’

‘Yes?’

He grinned. ‘Don’t let them work you too hard.’

It was remarks like that, thought Dulcie as she closed the door, that made you wish you’d chucked your husband’s precious passport down the nearest loo.

As soon as she settled herself back in the bath, the phone shrilled again. One of life’s major irritations, Dulcie was reminded, was the fact that you bought a cordless phone specifically so you could take the thing into the bathroom with you, but you never actually remembered to bloody well do it.

By the time she reached the phone it had stopped ringing. Dripping all over the carpet as she dialled 147I, Dulcie was astounded to be told by the metallic voice that the number of the last person to ring her was Liza’s.

This was frustrating, because if Liza was calling to apologise for the other night, she now thought Dulcie was out.

If I ring her back, thought Dulcie, I might have to apologise first.

Instead she dialled Liza’s number, let it ring twice and hung up.

Now Liza could call 147I.

Less than a minute later, Dulcie’s phone rang again. ‘It’s me,’ said Liza. ‘I’m returning your call.’

‘Oh. hello,’ Dulcie said airily. ‘I was only returning yours.’

‘You rang me.’

‘You rang me first.’

‘Oh what, so you want me to apologise for the other night?’

‘Isn’t that why you phoned?’

Silence. Dulcie heard a brief scuffle at the other end. Then Kit came on the line.

‘Dulcie, Liza’s sorry she had a go at you. I’m sure you’re sorry too, for those cruel and uncalled-for remarks you made.’

Wincing, Dulcie wondered if he knew the remarks had been about him.

She cleared her throat.

‘Well, I—’

‘You are? Good, that’s that sorted out. Now you can be friends again,’ Kit announced cheerfully.

‘Now, what are you doing at the moment?’

‘Trying to have a bath.’

‘Okay, so put the phone down and go and have one. We’ll be round in twenty minutes. And make sure you’re decent when we arrive.’ Kit sounded amused. ‘I’m far too young to cope with the sight of a middle-aged woman naked.’

Chapter 44

‘I’m sorry I was a cow,’ said Dulcie.

Liza gave her a hug.

‘Me too.’

‘And I’m not middle-aged,’ Dulcie told Kit, who was carrying in two bottles of Bollinger.

‘You are to me.’ He grinned. ‘But never mind, I’ll let you off. If you find some glasses you can help us celebrate.’

It wasn’t hard to guess what they were celebrating. Liza was looking radiant and ridiculously happy.

‘You made up. You’re back together.’

‘Back together for good,’ said Kit. ‘All very Mills and Boon. Even her parents like me.’

‘Good grief. How about your father?’ Dulcie asked him. ‘Oh well, no change there. He’s a stubborn old bugger but we’ll work on it. Give him a few years.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve met Liza’s parents.You are honoured,’ Dulcie marvelled. In the past, the rapid turnover of men in Liza’s life had meant she’d never bothered.

‘That’s nothing,’ Kit winked. ‘I met their next-door neighbour too.’

Although Dulcie was glad to see them back together, she refused their offer to take her out to lunch. The sexual chemistry between them was overwhelming. They were having difficulty keeping their hands off each other and Kit was clearly dying to take Liza home to bed.

By the time both bottles had been emptied and all the gossip caught up on, it was almost a relief to stand on the doorstep and wave goodbye.

Depressed and light-headed from drinking on an empty stomach, Dulcie dozed on the sofa. She woke up at four o’clock depressed and heavy-headed instead, and with a raging thirst to boot.

Worst of all, it was still Sunday. Talk about dragging on.

There was nothing on television. To pass a bit of time she meticulously painted her nails a dramatic shade of red. Only when she’d finished the third coat did she remember she couldn’t work in Rufus’s kitchen wearing nail polish. It all had to come off.

This time when the phone rang, it was Rufus.

‘Oh hi,’ said Dulcie listlessly. She was currently trying to decide whether to peel off the kitchen wallpaper just for something to do, or have another bath.

‘I wondered what you were doing,’ said Rufus. ‘Any plans?’

‘No.’ Dulcie made it sound as if she’d had hundreds of offers, of course, but she’d actually wanted to stay in and go out of her mind with loneliness and boredom. ‘Why?’

He said eagerly, ‘I wondered if you’d like to come to the theatre with me. They’re doing a special charity performance of the new Poliakoff with Brian Blessed.’

Dulcie was almost certain Poliakoff wasn’t her cup of tea. And she absolutely knew she hated going to the theatre.

She frowned. ‘Brian Blessed? Is he the one with the beard? I can’t stand beards.’

‘Okay,’ Rufus replied equably, after a moment’s silence. ‘Are you saying you’d prefer a night in?’

‘I’m saying I’d prefer the cinema.’ Brightening, Dulcie said, ‘The new Demi Moore film’s on at the Odeon. It’s supposed to be great.’

‘Demi Moore? Does he have a beard?’

Dulcie hesitated, wondering if Rufus was joking. ‘I’m joking,’ said Rufus.

Dulcie grinned. It wasn’t until they had arranged to meetoutside the cinema and Rufus had hung up that she realised what she’d said.

What was it Patrick used to murmur whenever she made one of her famous faux pas? ‘Dulcie, are you sure you want to be a diplomat when you grow up?’

Dulcie experienced a brief pang of guilt. Rufus, bless him, hadn’t said a word.

‘Oh my God ...’

Any faint hope she might have harboured that the remark had slipped by unnoticed was extinguished when Dulcie spotted him waiting for her on the pavement outside the Odeon.

‘You’ve shaved it off!’

Rufus shrugged and looked embarrassed, as if he hadn’t expected her to notice.

‘I’ve been meaning to for ages. When I woke up this morning I just thought today’s the day.’

‘You look so different.’ Dulcie examined his face from all angles.

Carefully casual, Rufus said, ‘Different better or different worse?’

She was lost for words. The answer was neither, his face looked ... well, naked.

But this was no time to dither. Feeling horribly responsible — because all this stuff about having done the deed this morning was clearly untrue — Dulcie reached up and touched his pink, baby-smooth jaw.

‘Much, much better. It’s brilliant. I love it. Really.’

Rufus flushed with pleasure. Dulcie, congratulating herself on having got away with it, grabbed his hand and dragged him into the plush crimson foyer.

‘Come on, we’ll be late. You don’t want anything to eat, do you?’ This as they sped past the popcorn and bags of sweets. ‘I can’t stand people stuffing their faces in cinemas; they always sound like pigs at a trough.’

Rufus, a secret popcorn addict, was already reaching into his pocket. He promptly let the wallet drop. He was out on a date with Dulcie and that was all that mattered.

‘Nor me.’

‘I just wanted to see this with my own eyes,’ said Liza at eight forty-five the next morning.

‘You and the rest of the world,’ Dulcie muttered, clearing the table and signalling Liza’s order for coffee and a bacon roll to Rufus as he headed back to the kitchen.

‘I thought he had a beard.’

Briefly, Dulcie said, ‘He did.’