Love And Devotion Part 31

'Sorry, he said more firmly, edging away. 'I can't. I'm taking Harriet out for dinner.'

His words slapped her hard. Of course! His latest girlfriend. The latest groin itch. It was only then that she registered he was better dressed than usual. In place of the regulation faded denim was a properly ironed shirt, black and white striped, open-necked, and worn casually over smart black jeans. He smelled good as well. Why hadn't she noticed that before? Not knowing who was the bigger fool, Will for deluding himself that he could still behave like a twenty-year-old, or the fool of a girl he was bonking, she said, 'Well, then, don't let me keep you.'

When he'd shut the door behind him, she realised it was she who was the biggest fool of all. How could she have even thought of coming on to him like that?

She blamed it on the gin. Steve was right; she really ought to cut down.

Chapter Forty-Seven.

Will drove out of Maywood in a near state of shock. He didn't know what was scarier: a furious Maxine venting her spleen, or a tipsy Maxine coming on to him. What had got into her? Okay, she'd obviously had a bit to drink and was in a degree of pain, but to try that old number on him ... why? What had she thought he would do? Climb into bed with her for old times' sake? No offence, but he'd sooner chew his leg off! One thing was for sure, he didn't fancy being around when she sobered up and realised what she'd done.

To his surprise, though, he felt sorry for her. Was she lonely? Was that it? Was marriage to PC Plod turning out to be a disappointment? Or had she just been playing with him? Seeing if he'd be tempted, only then to humiliate him if he did react.

But whatever had got into Maxine, it wasn't his business. What was his business this evening was Harriet. He'd finally pinned her down - quite literally while in bed - and got her to agree to him taking her out for dinner. 'Most women would be cross if they didn't get taken out,' he'd said.

'Nice try, but I'm not most women,' she'd replied.

'Funnily enough, I sussed that the first time I met you.'

'Yeah right, that was when you thought I was a boy.'

'Crikey! You mean you're not?'

'If it makes you feel better I do have a reputation for being an honorary bloke.'

He'd placed a hand on her breast and ribcage and once more marvelled at the fragility of her body: there seemed so little of it. It was only without her clothes on that he appreciated just how insubstantial she was. Except Harriet was one of the most substantial women he knew.

'You don't eat enough,' he'd said that same night in bed, taking hold of one of her slender wrists and easily wrapping his fingers around it.

'I'll have you know I eat four times my own bodyweight every day. I just burn it off faster than anyone else.'

'That's because you're usually vibrating at the speed of light.'

'I find it difficult to relax, that's all.'

'That's not good.'

'It's just my make-up; my metabolism.'

'It's still not good.'

'Well, you can't talk. You're hardly beefcake material.' She'd prodded his stomach, which even the middle-aged bloke in the mirror had to admit was in pretty good shape. No love handles for him!

'Hey, are you calling me weedy?'

Laughing, she'd said, 'You can dish it out but you can't take it yourself, can you?'

Comparing Harriet's elfin proportions to those of the previous women he'd been attracted to, Will wondered whether he'd undergone some kind of conversion. Perhaps he had, without knowing it, grown out of the stereotyped Hollywood version of glorified womanhood - the woman who didn't exist, in other words.

Did it also mean that he was looking for a relationship that was more real and more lasting than anything he had previously experienced?

But with Harriet? Surely not. How could that ever work?

Joel hovered anxiously outside Harriet's bedroom door, peering in at her as she got ready to go out. Everyone was going out. Except for him. Oh, and Granddad, he was staying in. Grandma was going out with her friend Dora, Harriet was going out with Will, and Carrie had already gone to Emily's. Last night Carrie had told him to be good while she was away, and not to have any bad dreams. 'You mustn't spoil it for everyone,' she'd said. She made it sound like he did it deliberately. He didn't. And anyway, he hadn't had any nightmares for ages. But maybe tonight he would. He wished Harriet wasn't going out. He always felt better in bed knowing she was downstairs watching the telly or in her bedroom working on her computer. She was different from Mummy, but reminded him of her. If he couldn't find his reading book to take into school, or his PE bag, she always seemed to know where to look. That's what Mummy had been like.

Carrie said that she thought Harriet and Will would get married. But then she'd said that about Harriet and Miles. It was difficult to keep up with Carrie; she was always changing her mind. Now she thought school was great and that they would stay there for ever, even when they moved to their new house. He liked the idea of living in that nice little cottage, but what he wasn't sure about was what would happen after school. Carrie and Harriet had explained it to him, but he'd forgotten. Would Grandma and Granddad come for them and take them to their new home, or would they bring them back here? Where would they have their tea? And something else he wasn't sure about, all those boxes he'd have to put his things into when they moved - what if he forgot something? What if the boxes got lost? What if - 'Joel, is that you?'

Hearing Harriet's voice, he nudged open the door and went inside. He'd ask her about the boxes. She'd know if his toys and books would be safe.

'What were you doing out there, Joel? Were you spying on me?'

She was smiling as she said this, but feeling silly, he blushed and looked down at his slippers - they were too small for him and his toes were pushing through the ends. He needed new ones, but Carrie had told him he shouldn't make a fuss about them, because Harriet would need all her money to buy their new house. 'Are we very poor?' he'd asked Carrie.

'Yes,' she'd said. 'Orphans are always poor.'

He went and sat on Harriet's bed and watched her as she brushed her hair. She had nice hair. Long and straight like Mummy's. He wondered if she would let him touch it.

'You're very quiet, Joel. You okay?'

She was staring at him in the reflection of the mirror above her desk. He nodded, kicked off his slippers and wriggled his toes. 'Harriet?'

'Yes?'

'You know when we move?'

'Yes?'

'Do you think everything will be safe?'

She turned round to look at him. 'Safe from what exactly?'

'From being lost.'

She put the brush down and came and knelt on the floor in front of him. 'Joel, I promise you, nothing will get lost in the move. I'll mark all the packing boxes with what's inside and you can watch every single one of them being loaded onto the van. Then at the other end, you can help me put them into your bedroom. How does that sound?'

He instantly felt better. He put his arms around her neck and hugged her tight. She smelled lovely. Sort of clean and like a big bunch of flowers. Once more he was reminded of his mother. When he let go of her, he plucked up the courage to ask if he could brush her hair.

For a moment she looked as if she didn't understand him, and he felt silly again. But then she smiled. 'What a strange thing to ask,' she said. 'But if you really want to, go ahead.'

He bounced off the bed and fetched the brush. 'I used to do this for Mummy.'

'Really?'

'Yes. She wouldn't let anyone else do it. Only me. Not Daddy. Not Carrie. Only me. Sometimes when she was upset, she asked me to brush her hair because it made her feel happy.'

'Was she often upset?'

'Just sometimes. Am I doing it right?'

'You're doing it brilliantly.'

Harriet opened the door to Will with mixed feelings. His calling for her made the evening seem too much like a date. When she saw how smartly dressed he was, the feeling was reinforced. 'Don't leave the poor man hanging about on the doorstep,' her mother said, coming down the stairs in a calf-length dress and high heels, a tiny evening bag swinging from her wrist. Since Harriet had arrived home from work, her mother's behaviour had struck her as being nothing short of frisky girlishness. But there again, it was a long time since Eileen had enjoyed a night out - especially a dinner dance - so maybe that explained the excitement. Apparently there had been a cancellation on Dora's carefully arranged table of guests and she'd asked Eileen to make up the numbers. Harriet hoped her mother wouldn't overdo it.

Will said, 'Wow, Eileen! Where are you off to, looking like a million dollars?'

Harriet bit back a smile as Eileen blushed and laughed, clearly enjoying the flattery. 'Just out with Dora. You don't think this dress is pushing the bounds of credibility? I treated myself to something new, and now I'm beginning to regret the colour.'

'It suits you perfectly. You look terrific.'

Harriet listened to the pair of them in amus.e.m.e.nt. Was this really her mother talking to a man, other than Dad, about her appearance? Mind you, when was the last time Dad paid Mum such a generous compliment? Half listening to Eileen asking how Marty was - he was now at home resting - she looked round the door of the sitting room and saw her father slumped morosely in front of the television, a corny Christmas advert playing. Perhaps Will was right and Dad was depressed. If so, he needed help. But it was difficult at times to feel like helping him, or to feel sympathetic when he didn't seem to want to help himself. Occasionally he'd look at Harriet with such an expression of indifference that it was all she could do not to shout at him to b.l.o.o.d.y well pull himself together.

Joel, on the other hand, had all Harriet's sympathy. Whereas Carrie had turned a corner, was making friends at school and bringing home a daily update on her expanding social horizons, Joel seemed ever more isolated and anxious. He was permanently digging around looking for something new to worry about. Harriet wished she could do more to put his mind at rest. There was so much going on inside that young head of his. Worryingly, she suspected that the anxieties he actually expressed represented only the tip of the iceberg. Often she found herself wanting to scoop him up and make everything better for him. She'd known right from the start that he would be the one to get to her but what she hadn't bargained on was the extent of his vulnerability and the ferocious protective streak it brought out in her; a protectiveness she didn't know she was capable of feeling.

His earlier remarks about his mother had been an encouraging sign that he was now prepared to talk more openly about his parents, and Harriet had been pleased by this step in the right direction, but at the same time she'd been saddened by his account of brushing his mother's hair. As a consequence, Harriet now had a disturbing mental picture of Felicity looking in the mirror and holding back the tears while her precious son tried to make her feel better. Was this before or during the affair with Miles?

It was some time since Harriet had seen Miles. The last occasion was when he'd come for lunch and they'd gone for a walk afterwards and she'd been scared he might own up about Felicity. With hindsight it might have been better to have encouraged him to tell her, because at least then it would be over and done with. As it was, the unspoken confession was forcing them apart. Was that what Felicity would have wanted? She didn't think so.

Harriet had insisted she would drive, and after she'd dispensed with Will's attempts to argue with her and was driving away from Maple Drive, he leaned over to kiss her. 'By the way, did I mention you're looking gorgeous?'

'No, you didn't. You were too busy schmoozing my mother. But thank you anyway. You've scrubbed up well yourself.'

He patted the front of his shirt. 'Like your mother's dress, it's new.' He rested a hand on her thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. 'I had hoped you might wear a skirt. Didn't you know that it's the law when a chap takes his girl out for dinner that she has to show her legs. It's a s.e.xist thing.'

'Yes, and it's the kind of thing that will get you a b.l.o.o.d.y nose.' Her words were spoken with humour, yet she felt a tightening of anxiety in her stomach. What did Will mean by when a chap takes his girl out?

But she knew exactly what he meant and that was what frightened her. Without realising it, she had become hooked on this man. He was generous, amusing and endlessly diverting - he gave her something to think about other than how daunting the future looked when she and the children moved into their new house. And, of course, there was always the s.e.x. The intensity of it was mind-blowing. Not just the act itself, but the antic.i.p.ation of it - the bittersweet pleasure of waiting for him to get in touch, the constant longing - they were all part of the attraction. Being with him invoked in her a heady desire to lose control. The moment she stepped over his threshold and he took her in his arms, she became another person. A happier and more alive person. She was both appalled and delighted that he could arouse in her such all-consuming pa.s.sion. As a consequence she had made a frightening discovery; just how powerfully transformative s.e.x could be.

Ironically, she now knew what had driven Felicity to become obsessed with Miles. She was just as obsessed with Will, always thinking of the next time they could be together in bed.

But common sense hadn't abandoned her completely. She knew she wasn't playing fair with Will and that the decent thing to do was to end it. If he was beginning to see her as his girl - something she hadn't planned on - she had to act sooner rather than later. He was too nice to use for her own selfish needs. She was extremely fond of him and felt horribly guilty. He was the first man she had truly opened herself to, and yet logic told her they weren't right together. The basis of their relationship was skewed. For a start there was the age gap, but more importantly she despised her motives for wanting to sleep with him in the first place.

Chapter Forty-Eight.

All during dinner Harriet kept looking across the table at Will and thinking how much she was going to miss him. He was quite the best thing to have happened to her in a long while, but she mustn't weaken. She couldn't go on using him. She may well have proved Dominic wrong, and metaphorically stuck her fingers up at Spencer, but knowing that she had achieved it at the expense of another person upset her. Each time she resolved to say something, she just couldn't do it. As if to torture herself, she kept recalling some aspect of their lovemaking - the way Will taught her to relax and take things more slowly, to feel the delicious intensity of what they were doing; or the way he could keep her on the edge of climaxing for what felt like an eternity.

She knew also that he was concerned about his friend Marty. What he hadn't told Eileen earlier, probably in deference to her good mood, was that the tumour that had been removed had turned out to be cancerous and Marty was now set on a course of radiotherapy. Could Harriet really add to his problems? Or perhaps she was being arrogant and a.s.suming too much of his feelings for her.

'h.e.l.lo, anyone at home on planet earth?'

She roused herself from her thoughts. 'I'm sorry; I'm being boring, aren't I?'

He put down his gla.s.s of wine and reached across the table, the palm of his hand face up. She looked at the scar that she knew caused him pain every so often and placed her own hand on top of his. His fingers wrapped around hers. 'You okay?' he asked. 'You seem quiet tonight.'

Very slowly she withdrew her hand. It was time for her reason to rule over her heart. Meeting his concerned gaze, she said: 'Will, I think we need to talk.'

She knew that he was smart enough to recognise that contained within those few words was an unequivocal message. In the hubbub of the busy restaurant he stared back at her, and she saw that he understood.

He surprised her by saying, 'Give me your hand.'

She did as he said and he raised it to his lips and kissed it softly. It was such a tender gesture. 'Please don't say anything else,' he said. 'I was always on borrowed time with you, so let's not have any grim words or grim faces.'

'But Will - '

He pressed her hand to his lips again. 'It's okay. I pride myself on knowing when to bow out gracefully. I guess it was the age difference, wasn't it?'

She nodded. It wasn't the whole truth, but it was kinder to let him think it was.

Shortly after, when he'd paid their bill and they were outside in the car park, he put his arm round her. 'Don't look so glum, Harriet. I had it coming. I should never have tried my luck with such a cla.s.s act.'

For an aching moment she wished she could turn back the clock. 'I'm not a cla.s.s act,' she said miserably. 'I'm shallow and - '

He stopped walking abruptly and made her face him by placing his hands on her shoulders. 'Hey,' he said, 'you're about as shallow as the Atlantic. And if I catch you beating yourself up again, I'll have to take steps to put a stop to it.' He then kissed her lightly on the mouth. It was a poignant farewell kiss that made her heart feel heavy. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. I must be mad, she thought wretchedly as her body instantly responded to his. How can I give him up?

When they drew apart, she made a play of fishing around in her bag for her keys so that he wouldn't see how upset she was. She had just found them when the sound of a mobile rang out in the cold night air. It was Will's.

'Oh, hi, Mum,' he said, shrugging apologetically at Harriet. She opened the car so they could get in. 'I hear you've got the girls with you this evening. I hope they're behaving themselves and not ... What...' There was a long silence while Will didn't speak, just listened. His eyes grew wide and Harriet became concerned. 'I'll be right there,' he said. 'No, second thoughts, I'll go straight to the hospital.'

'What's happened?' Harriet whispered, going round to his side of the car, where he was leaning against the door.

He ignored her and carried on talking to his mother. 'Look, you've done the right thing. Have you tried ringing Maxine? Okay, don't worry about it. I'll try in a minute ... you just keep everyone as calm as you can. And thanks, Mum you're a star.'

He hung up and let out his breath. 'It's Suzie. She's collapsed. It doesn't sound good.'

'Is it the baby? Is it on its way?'

'I don't know; it's not due until the middle of next month. They've called an ambulance. Any chance you can rush me home so that I can get my car and go to the hospital?'

Opening the car door and pushing him inside, Harriet said, 'No way. You're over the limit. I'll drive you there instead.'

In between trying to reach Maxine - she wasn't responding to her mobile and the answering machine was switched on - and cursing every driver who got in front of them, Will kept replaying what his mother had told him: 'We were just tidying away the supper things when she bent to pick up a fork I'd dropped,' Ruby had said. 'She crumpled, Will. Just like that. She fell to the floor, gave us all a real fright. When she came round, she was obviously in pain. She says she feels like she's been hit on the head with a metal bar. She keeps moaning and clutching her head and she says she can't move. She's been sick, too. Gemma's called an ambulance. I think you'd better get here, Will. I don't like the look of this.'

Will didn't like the sound of it either, but he hadn't said that to his mother. He needed her to be calm to take care of his daughter.

'She must have hit her head when she fainted,' Harriet said when he explained what Ruby had told him. 'It sounds like concussion.'

'But what made her faint in the first place?'