Love And Devotion Part 30

'Good, so behave yourself and let me take you somewhere romantic for dinner.'

With a movement that caught him off guard, she pushed him onto his back. 'I'll think about it. But not Friday night. I have to work late.' Then pulling the duvet up over their heads, she slowly slid down his body and the last thing on his mind was going out for dinner.

One of the things he liked most about her was that she had no inclination to change him. She wasn't interested in reorganising his kitchen or tidying up the bathroom like so many women had tried before. A woman he'd gone out with last year had kept on at him to resume his former life as a lawyer. When he'd told Harriet this, she'd said, 'People should learn to mind their own business. We are who we are.' She was refreshingly pragmatic, but at the same time very private. However, he was getting better at reading her, especially when they were in bed. He loved the way he could so easily penetrate that tough exterior of hers. 'Aha, the formidable woman melts in my hands,' he'd teased her one night. She'd given him her scariest wrath-and-brimstone look and refused to accept that she was formidable. To his surprise, she had seemed genuinely hurt by his comment and he took care never to say anything like it again.

An elderly couple walked towards him, the man's arm resting protectively on the woman's shoulder, and Will stepped back to let them pa.s.s. Long after they'd disappeared around the corner he was still standing in the same spot, lost in thought. He was thinking the inconceivable - how he wanted to be an all-out couple with Harriet. Since they'd got it together the only time they'd gone anywhere was to the Jools Holland concert in Manchester and to take another look at her house. Other than that, all they'd done was have s.e.x. He had absolutely no complaints on that score - what man would? - but he wanted to do the whole going-out thing with her. He wanted her to meet his mother. Marty too. He wanted her fully in his life.

And that, he suspected, would be his downfall.

Marty was wheeled back to his room a short while later, still groggy from the anaesthetic, but sufficiently awake to say to Will, 'What, no flowers?'

'Don't you dare go all Barbra Streisand on me.'

Will was advised by the doctor to stay for no more than a few minutes, and after learning that there would be no instant diagnosis, he left Marty to sleep.

He tried ringing Harriet again in the car on the way back to the shop, and this time she answered. 'Sorry I missed you,' she said. 'I was in a meeting. How's Marty?'

'Sleeping soundly.'

'Any news?'

'No. It'll be a few days before they get the results.'

'How frustrating.'

'Don't suppose you'd like to come over and cheer me up tonight?'

'I think I could manage that. How does eight-thirty sound?'

'Like music to my ears.'

Carrie listened to Harriet moving about in her bedroom. She was getting ready to go out. And Carrie knew where. She was going to see Will. She saw him nearly every night. Carrie knew because she'd watched her aunt through the gap in the curtains. One night, when it was very late and she'd got up to go to the toilet, she'd actually seen Will kiss Harriet when she was leaving his house. But the funny thing was Harriet was acting as if it was a big secret. Carrie had asked her if Will was her boyfriend and Harriet had told her not to be so silly, that he was only a friend.

'Like Miles?' Carrie had asked.

'I suppose so.'

But Carrie knew her aunt was lying. Friends didn't kiss the way she'd seen Will kissing her. He'd done it the way she'd seen people doing it on the telly; arms and bodies pushed together.

Carrie had given up wanting Harriet to marry Miles. She didn't mind because Will was just as nice and maybe Harriet would marry him. Maybe when they moved into the new house, Will would move in with them. He'd be able to help with all those jobs Harriet wouldn't have time to do and Granddad was too old and grumpy to help with. Like putting up shelves and making wardrobes. She could remember a day, a long time ago, when Mum and Dad argued about a wardrobe they had bought and were trying to make. In the end, Dad had thrown a load of screws on the floor and shouted at Mum that seeing as she was so good at s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things, she could do it herself. He'd sworn as well and had gone outside to sit in the garden, even though it was raining.

Grown-ups were peculiar, Carrie decided. They were always telling children to tell the truth and not to use bad language, but they did it all the time. At school, Emily and Rebecca said their parents were the same. They also said they didn't like their parents, and sometimes wished they were dead. Emily had then said she was sorry for saying that, that she didn't really mean it. 'What's it like not having your parents around any more?' she'd asked. 'And did they really die in a car crash?'

It was the first time she'd talked to anyone at school about Mum and Dad. Afterwards she felt upset. But also just a little bit happy. It was good talking about them because they felt real again, not just a sad memory.

During lunchbreak Emily had asked if she'd like to go to her house after school on Friday. 'Rebecca's coming too,' Emily had said. 'You could stay the night if you're allowed. Mum said we'll get the Christmas tree down from the loft at the weekend so you could stay and help put the decorations on it. It would be so cool if you could be there too.' Emily and Rebecca were always saying things were cool or mega brill.

Carrie hadn't decided yet whether she wanted to go. If she did, it would be the first night she'd spent away from Harriet and Grandma and Granddad. She didn't know why, but the thought scared her. And what if Joel forgot she wasn't there and crept into her room and found her bed empty? Would he scream the place down like he did that time Harriet was away?

She was still wide awake when she heard Harriet go downstairs and tell Grandma and Granddad that she was going out. Carrie heard her say something about Will having problems with his computer. At the sound of the front door closing, she sat up and knelt at the window beside her bed, parted the curtains just the tiniest bit and watched her aunt through the gap. Across the road, Will's door opened and Harriet went inside. She thought how lucky Will was that Harriet was around. Harriet knew everything about computers. If anyone could sort out a computer it was her.

Chapter Forty-Six.

Maxine's day was going from bad to worse. Bad enough that the police had come to the saleroom with allegations of stolen goods pa.s.sing through it, but now she was stuck in traffic with the prospect of being subjected to one of Will's self-righteousness sessions when she finally got home.

He'd phoned her during the day to ask if he could call round after work. She'd agreed, albeit reluctantly, without asking him what he wanted to discuss. She didn't need to. It would be about Suzie. And probably Gemma and her crazy plan to spend Christmas in Paris. She had absolutely no desire to see Will this evening, or any other evening for that matter. She was sickened by his behaviour. What kind of example did he set for Suzie and Gemma with all his carryings on? Why couldn't he just remarry and have done with it? Why all the women, one after another? And now this latest itch to his groin, a girl not much older than his own daughters, according to Gemma. What was he trying to prove, other than draw attention to what a pathetic, middle-aged laughing stock he'd become?

The house was empty when she let herself in - Steve was down in London attending some conference or other, and the girls had gone to see Nana Ruby. Dumping her bag and briefcase on the Victorian church pew in the hall, she went straight to the kitchen and made herself a gin and tonic. She gulped half of it down straight off, then added more gin and a token splash of tonic. At least with Steve away there was no one to mutter about how much she was drinking. His pious comments were beginning to get on her nerves. Sure she enjoyed a drink; who didn't after a hard day's work? She took the gla.s.s upstairs to the bedroom, switched on the lamps, kicked off her shoes and sat down on the bed, not caring that she was crumpling her suit. She was knackered. How good it would be to flop back against the pillows and sleep for the next two hours. She took another gulp of her drink and pushed herself to her feet. A shower was what she needed. She checked her watch. Will wouldn't be here for another thirty-minutes. She just had time.

She stripped off her clothes, for once not caring whether she hung them up or folded them carefully to put away later, and took the remains of her drink with her to the en-suite bathroom. While she waited for the hot water to come through the shower, she looked at herself in the mirror. Nana Ruby was right; she did look tired. Though perhaps wrecked was a more apt description. She sighed, and raising the gla.s.s to her reflection, she knocked back the remains of the gin and tonic.

Tying her hair up so it wouldn't get wet - drying and restyling it would be too much bother - she stepped into the shower and stood beneath the scalding jets. Ruby was always telling her she worked too hard and for the first time in her life, Maxine was prepared to admit that this might indeed be true. 'Hard work never killed anyone,' her father used to say. 'It's idleness that finishes people off.' It was this work ethic that had kept him working for as long as he did, and as if to prove his theory, exactly two years after retiring he dropped down dead of a heart attack while reading the newpaper at his golf club. At the rate she was going, Maxine reckoned she'd go the same way, probably before she retired. She consoled herself with the thought that it would be better to go quickly than suffer the humiliation of a gradual decline into incontinence and senility.

Her father's death had been a terrible blow. It had affected her much more deeply than her mother's death eighteen months earlier. Christopher Stone had been a formidable and powerful presence in her life, a force that she admired and respected. He represented everything she thought a man should be: intelligent, ambitious, highly motivated and above all, hardworking. Will used to say that no man could ever live up to the image she had of her father. 'He has c.h.i.n.ks in his armour the same as everyone else,' he once said. If he had, Maxine had never seen them. And that was the point. He'd been strong enough to cope with whatever problems he'd encountered. Unlike Will, who had almost gone out of his way to tell the world he couldn't cope. Weakness wasn't a trait she could tolerate in a person and she saw no reason to apologise or justify herself for thinking this.

She poured a dollop of the expensive shower gel Steve had bought for her onto the palms of her hands and ma.s.saged it into her shoulders. It was a shame he wasn't here to do it for her, she thought. But then when was the last time he'd taken a shower with her? Weeks ago? Or months? Probably as long as it was since they'd had s.e.x. She was neglecting him, she knew, but it was only while she was getting the new saleroom knocked into shape and fully under the umbrella of Stone's. Once that was done, she would make amends. She would clear a s.p.a.ce in her diary so they could go away. With a newborn baby in the house, they would certainly need to make some time and s.p.a.ce for themselves. Steve was being remarkably good about the forthcoming upheaval to the household and their lives. He'd even joked in bed one night that it wasn't too late for them to have a baby of their own. At least, she certainly hoped he'd been joking!

Out of the shower she wrapped a towel around her and looked again at her reflection in the mirror. She pulled at the skin beneath her eyes, imagining a fresher, perkier face. She'd considered cosmetic surgery before, in a desultory, off-hand way over a drink with friends, but now she was beginning to view it as an inevitable necessity rather than an extravagant indulgence. What wouldn't she give to be young like Suzie and Gemma? And how little they appreciated what they had. Not just their youth, but everything she'd ever given them. She'd worked d.a.m.ned hard to give them the kind of lifestyle they had and what thanks did she get? b.u.g.g.e.r all! She slapped her hand down sharply on the surface, but cursed aloud when she saw her empty gin and tonic tumbler go flying. It slipped off the surface and dropped to the tiled marble floor with a crash, scattering gla.s.s. Instinctively she stepped back but it was the wrong thing to do. She let out a yelp of pain and bent down to see a piece of gla.s.s protruding from the heel of her foot. Her stomach turned at the grizzly sight and, steeling herself, she pulled out the shard of gla.s.s just as the doorbell rang.

Will. d.a.m.n him for being early. This was not how she wanted him to see her.

Grabbing some toilet paper, she wrapped it around her foot, but by the time she'd limped downstairs, the blood had seeped through and the pain had started.

'Don't even think about making a wisecrack,' she told him when she opened the door. 'Do that and I'll grind up the gla.s.s that I broke and feed it to you.'

'Anything I can do?'

'Yes. You can make me another gin and tonic while I get dressed.'

He looked at her foot doubtfully. 'You shouldn't be doing anything until we've put a proper dressing on that. Here, lean on me. Let's go into the kitchen so I can take a good look at it. From the amount of blood there, I reckon you might need st.i.tches.'

'Rubbish.' Even so, she allowed him to help her into the kitchen. She sat in the nearest chair and watched him take off his leather jacket then kneel at her feet and inspect the damage: blood immediately began to drip onto the floor. She knew he'd never had a strong stomach, and said 'You're not going to be a wimp and faint on me, are you?'

'I wouldn't dare. Where do you keep the first-aid box?'

'Upstairs in the airing cupboard. Third door on the left on the landing.'

He was back within seconds. The pain had started to build now and she winced when he took her foot in his hands and mopped up the blood with a wad of cotton wool. 'I really think you need st.i.tches,' he said, reaching for another wad.

'Since when did you become a doctor?'

He looked up. 'Maxine, I'm trying to help. Okay? Where's Steve? Do you want me to ring him so that he can take you to the hospital?'

She shook her head. 'He's down in London.'

'And the girls?'

'At your mother's.'

'So all you've got is me. What's it to be? Are you going to let me help you? Or would you rather bleed to death?'

'Couldn't we just bandage it up and see how it goes?'

He sighed. 'You always did get your own way, didn't you?'

Relieved he wasn't going to make her sit for hours in an overcrowded casualty department, she smiled and said, 'My father's daughter, you used to say.'

He didn't say anything else until he'd put a dressing on the wound and had bandaged it carefully, his hands gentle yet sure. 'How does that feel?' he asked.

'You've made a good job of it, Will. Quite the craftsman. I'll go and get some clothes on while you make me that drink.'

'Are you sure you can manage the stairs?'

Holding the towel firmly around her body, she stood up to prove she was capable of climbing Everest, never mind the stairs, but flinched when she put just the slightest amount of weight on the bandaged foot.

'Why don't I find you something to wear and you change down here?' he said.

She gave in. 'My bathrobe's hanging on the back of the bedroom door. First on the right at the top of the landing.'

Once she was wrapped in her bathrobe and Will had made her a drink, she allowed him to help her through to the sitting room. While she made herself comfortable on the sofa, he drew the curtains and switched on the lamps. She felt both annoyed and grateful that he was here, and knew she should make more of thanking him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something about him rankled more than usual. The confident ease with which he was moving about her home irritated her, as did his appearance. He looked too d.a.m.ned well. Younger too. There didn't seem to be an ounce of tiredness in his body, which was just as slim as it had always been. It pained her to admit it, but he looked good. b.l.o.o.d.y good, in fact. Was that what s.e.x with a young girl did to a man? Rejuvenated him? There again, he didn't have the kind of responsibilities she had. Bitterness darkened her mood. Will had only ever played at life, opting out of anything that got too challenging.

He sat in the chair nearest her and she raised her gla.s.s to him. 'Sure you won't join me?' she asked.

'Better not. I'm driving. How's the foot doing?'

'It'll be fine. Why don't we get on with why you're here? I'm surprised you can spare the time,' she added tartly.

'Meaning?'

She shrugged. 'Meaning I don't want to keep you unnecessarily.'

'Don't start, Maxine. You know perfectly well I've always got time when it comes to the girls.'

She sn.i.g.g.e.red. 'That's what I hear. It used to be women, but apparently now it's young girls you're chasing.'

He pushed a hand through his hair and leaned forward. She could see he was angry; could see it in his mouth, the way it hardened. She suddenly remembered how it used to feel to be kissed by him, and looked away.

'My private life is exactly that,' he said coolly. 'Private.'

'Then perhaps you shouldn't flaunt your young girlfriend so blatantly in front of our children.'

'I resent that. I have never flaunted any relationship I've had in front of Gemma and Suzie.'

'Well, you did this time! Have you any idea how much enjoyment Gemma gets out of rubbing my nose in it?'

'She can only do that if it's something you're bothered about. Who I go out with should have nothing to do with you. Do I need to remind you that you're married to Steve, not me?'

'Oh, please, I couldn't give a d.a.m.n who you're sleeping with, but what I am bothered about is Gemma's need to ram it down my throat.'

He took a moment before saying, 'I'm sorry, but that's between you and Gemma. Have you tried talking to her about it?'

Maxine took a long swallow of gin, annoyed at the way her words had come out. She hadn't meant for that to happen. She didn't want Will to know that she resented growing older, or that she hated the evidence before her eyes that Will was clearly still on top of his game, while she was sliding rapidly into middle age. Pulling herself back to his question, she said, 'What do you think? She only ever speaks to me when she wants something. As with this proposed trip to Paris. Presumably she's wrapped you round her little finger and you've said she can go.'

'Wrong. I told her you and I would have to discuss it, which is why I'm here. What do you really think about her going?'

'She's not going,' Maxine said with finality. 'For the simple reason I'm not having another daughter coming home pregnant.'

Will let out his breath and shook his head. 'You don't think that's being too simplistic? It's not a just-add-water-and-stir situation. She could be here in Maywood and get pregnant just as easily.'

'Not under my roof, she won't.'

'She's eighteen next year; you can't treat her as a child. Or as a prisoner.'

'Don't you dare lecture me, Will. I know exactly how old my children are and what's best for them.'

'Our children, Maxine. They're our combined responsibility. And for the record, I'm not happy about her going either. It'll be the first Christmas without both of the children around and it feels like a milestone too far and too soon. Mum would be disappointed not to see her, too. Why don't we compromise and say she can go for New Year?' Smiling, he added, 'We could even give her a joint pep talk about the birds and bees, especially those French ones. Just for the fun of making her squirm, of course.'

Maxine drained her gla.s.s and looked at Will. How did he do it? How did he always manage to make her feel so s.h.i.tty? 'Maybe,' she demurred. 'But she'd better get her act together meanwhile. She has mock exams in January.'

'She's on the ball with everything as far as I can see. A bit of fun will be just what she needs.' He relaxed into his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. 'So how are things between you and Suzie?'

Determined not to lose any more ground to him, Maxine said, 'We're getting there. I'm organising for a decorator to turn the spare room into a nursery. I haven't told her yet.'

Will smiled. 'That's great. She'll be delighted, and if she's not too tired, she could help with some of it. I remember you being a whirlwind of activity in the last month of pregnancy. Do you remember when you were expecting Gemma and I woke up in the middle of the night and found you downstairs stripping the wood-chip off the walls in the hall?'

Maxine cast her mind back and recalled her heavily pregnant self with a sc.r.a.per in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other. 'I'd forgotten about that,' she said faintly. 'How do you remember so much?'

'You used to say I had a typical nitpicking lawyer's brain. That I absorbed and stored away every useless detail I came across.'

She swallowed the last mouthful of gin and stared into the bottom of the gla.s.s as though searching it for more memories from the past. I'm drunk, she thought. When she looked up, Will was on his feet. He was going. She suddenly didn't want to be alone. Even through the haze of alcohol, she could feel the pain throbbing in her foot. She was also hungry. She had missed lunch because she'd had to talk to those two wretched police officers. She thought how convenient it would be if Will was to stay and make her something to eat. But the thought of asking him for help was out of the question. However, in her experience there was a sure-fire way to get a man to do what you wanted: you just tapped into their basic urges and they were putty in your hands. She loosened the belt on her bathrobe and reached forward to put her empty gla.s.s on the table, knowing that the action would reveal her shoulder and a generous amount of cleavage. Will had always liked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She used to like it when he'd come up behind her and gently take them in his hands while kissing the nape of her neck. Her head swam at the memory, remembering how explosive they'd been in bed together. By comparison, Steve was good ... but only good.

'It's okay,' she heard Will saying. 'You stay there, I'll see myself out.'

'Do you have to go so soon?' she asked, sinking back into the cushions and smiling up at him; the bathrobe had parted yet more. She caught his glance skating over her body and congratulated herself on not having lost her old seductive powers. How pathetically simple men were! She could see the hesitancy in him. Another push and she'd have him just where she wanted.

'I'm ... I'm afraid I can't stay,' he said.

'Really? Are you sure I can't tempt you?'

'Err ... no, I'm ... I'm meeting someone.'

'Can't you ring and put them off? I thought we could have something to eat. Or maybe we could...' She lowered her gaze coyly, letting the suggestion hang in the air.