An Autumn Affair (17 page)

In an instant, Josie threw her arms around Miranda’s neck. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘For everything.’ Before scuttling off to inform her friends of developments.

‘She looks happy,’ said Doug, turning to his wife.

‘She is,’ agreed Miranda.

‘And you look fabulous,’ he continued. ‘I love the new hair.’

Miranda felt colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, feeling awkward under his scrutinising gaze. ‘Would you, um, like something to eat or …?’

‘I think I’ll grab a shower and some fresh clothes first. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be back down,’ said Doug. Then, lowering his voice, ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to join me.’

He slid an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Miranda tried not to shudder. Not that she usually resisted Doug’s advances. For all their separate lives, the physical side of their relationship had always been incredible. This time, though, things were different. Very different.

‘I, um, can’t really leave,’ she replied, twisting her features into what she hoped was a rueful expression.

‘I know,’ said Doug, burying his face in her hair. ‘I’m only joking. There’ll be plenty of time for us later.’

And with those parting words, he spun around and strode out of the room.

He entered it again some fifteen minutes later, showered and changed into a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a pale blue shirt which he’d left untucked. During the time it’d taken him to carry out his ablutions, Miranda hadn’t moved from the spot where he’d left her. Her head reeling with how to handle the bedroom situation later, her legs seemed to have filled with cement. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice her immobility, and from her inadvertent vantage point, she observed Doug as, with his usual easy charm, he worked the room, chatting to all the guests – old and young. He really was very good-looking. So good-looking, Miranda couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had affairs during their marriage. He certainly wouldn’t have been short of offers.

She watched as Lydia made a beeline for him, pushing out her breasts against the sliver of silver fabric holding them in place. Invading Doug’s personal space, she shook back her mane of hair and placed a hand on his chest before whispering something in his ear and breaking out into cackling laughter. Miranda was too far away to overhear what she’d said but Doug’s expression remained steely. In a flash, he was back at Miranda’s side.

‘God, that woman is a complete nightmare,’ he exclaimed, slipping a hand around her waist.

This time Miranda didn’t flinch from his touch. This time she leaned into him, savouring the solidness of his warm, muscular body.

‘You okay?’ he asked, stroking her hair.

At his tender gesture, and the concern in his voice, tears welled in Miranda’s eyes. But she couldn’t cry here. She really couldn’t. Because once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. Sucking in a deep breath, she blinked away the tears and, making a valiant bid to change the subject, said:

‘I’m fine. Just a bit tired after all the preparation, I guess.’

‘I’m not surprised. The place looks fantastic. Whose idea was the tennis theme?’

‘Mine,’ muttered Miranda. Not that she expected Doug to believe her. Like Josie, he probably had such a low opinion of her that he didn’t think her capable of anything other than painting her nails.

To her amazement, though, he didn’t appear at all fazed by this revelation.

‘You really should make more of that creative streak of yours,’ he said encouragingly. ‘I know people who would pay a fortune for a party like this.’

Chapter Eleven

Stomping around the kitchen at Primrose Cottage did nothing to improve Julia’s foul mood. The place was a tip. But why did she appear to be the only one who could see that? Or, more precisely the only one prepared to do something about it? Not that she expected help from any of the cottage’s other residents. Certainly not Faye. And certainly not today, after the state the girl had arrived home in last night. Or, to be more specific, had been dumped on the doorstep in, like a sack of rubbish, by someone who’d rung the doorbell, then immediately bolted. And that wasn’t the half of it. The outfit she’d – almost – been wearing had caused Julia and Paul to have synchronised coronaries. The girl had resembled a prostitute; nothing like the innocent teenager who’d left the house earlier that evening in a pretty dress.

Recalling the pathetic scene, Julia’s blood began bubbling again. She hadn’t yet met Faye’s new friend, Josie, but she’d recognise the girl’s mother. She’d noticed her zipping about the village in a sporty black BMW, always dolled up to the nines. Julia had been all for storming up to the house last night, demanding to know what the woman was playing at, allowing underage drinking in her house. Paul, though, had managed to calm her down. Wait until Faye sobers up tomorrow and hear her side of the story first, he’d insisted, before confronting Josie’s mother with all guns blazing. So, here she was, waiting for her seventeen-year-old daughter to wake up with what Julia hoped would be the hangover from hell.

Fury swirling around her, Julia snatched up a box of cornflakes and yanked open one of the cupboard doors to put it away. A bag of mini Mars bars fell out. Followed by another. Did no one ever think to tidy out these cupboards, she fumed, stuffing both packets back in. But no. Of course they didn’t. Why should they when they had a mug like her to clear up after them?

For what must have been the millionth time since she’d last seen him at the pub, Julia’s thoughts switched to Max. Gorgeous, charming, caring, funny Max, who claimed he still loved her after all these years. And, as much as she tried to deny it, who she still loved. Who she would always love.

A sudden thought struck her. With such force, she grabbed hold of the kitchen bench to steady her legs. Max might be a fantasy, but why couldn’t he be her fantasy? Natalia, after all, had to be Paul’s. And the two of them were quite happily discussing ‘budgets’ over dinner in exclusive restaurants. Ugh. The very notion of being in that same restaurant with Paul, possibly even at the same table over which he and Natalia had huddled, caused bile to rise in her throat. Needless to say, immediately following that revelation in the cake shop, she’d cancelled the reservation. She didn’t want to spend an evening there with Paul. She didn’t want to spend any time with Paul. Anywhere. Nor did she want this life any more. She wanted to be with someone who appreciated her. Who thought of her as more than an unpaid skivvy. She wanted to feel special, cosseted, worshipped. Max had worshipped her once. Maybe he could do again.

Not caring that her daughter was upstairs, Julia could hold out no longer. She whipped up her mobile and dialled Max’s number.

*****

Faye stared at her mother aghast. ‘Please tell me you didn’t.’

Her mother stared back. And the unimpressed look on her face told Faye she was still furious. ‘And why would I tell you that, when I did?’

Prostate in her bed, Faye yanked a pillow over her face. God! Was this really her life? Her life that was now ruined. Completely, utterly and totally.

‘And I also told her that you are no longer allowed to visit Buttersley Hall.’

Faye whipped away the pillow and jack-knifed upright. ‘What?’

‘You heard. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Ever again.’

Faye slumped back against the bedhead. As if her mother kicking off at Miranda about the party wasn’t bad enough, now she couldn’t even go up to the Hall and apologise. Not that she’d have the first idea where to begin. She’d really thought, when Miranda saw her in her new outfit, that she would have soared in the woman’s estimation; that Miranda would think of her as more of an equal than a gawky kid. No hope of that now, though – thanks to her bloody mother.

‘Oh. And by the way. You’re grounded for the next month,’ announced Julia, before spinning around and strutting out of the room.

Faye heaved an almighty sigh as the door slammed shut. Fair enough, she had perhaps had a bit too much to drink, and the only thing she could remember about getting home was Miguel’s strong arms around her. But at least she hadn’t been so inebriated that she’d forgotten where she lived. And at least she’d arrived home with her clothes still intact. Even if they weren’t the ones she’d originally left the house in. Honestly. Things could have been two hundred times worse, but her mother was acting like some kind of national disaster had occurred. Why did she have to make such a big deal out of everything? Why couldn’t she be cool, like Miranda? Who’d arranged the most awesome party ever. A proper party – for grown-ups. With no sign of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, or pass-the-stupid-parcel, both of which would undoubtedly have been included in any party at Primrose Cottage. Ugh. When was her mother going to realise that she wasn’t a kid any more?

Miguel hadn’t treated her like a kid. He’d treated her like the mature woman she really was. Of course he’d had wandering hands – what boy didn’t? – but thankfully Faye hadn’t been so sloshed she couldn’t bat them away. When he’d kissed her, though. My God. She’d thought her knees were going to cave. It’d been nothing like kissing Luke Molloy. In fact, in comparison, that had been like rubbing her lips over a slug. No, kissing Miguel had taken the exchange of bodily fluids to a whole new level. A level Faye wouldn’t mind exploring further. Much further. No chance of that now she was grounded, though.

Or was there …?

*****

The last thing Paul needed at the moment was Faye going off the rails. She’d never been the easiest child in the world to deal with, but she’d never done anything as drastic as going to a party half-dressed and getting out of her tree. Still, there were a million worse things she could be getting up to. And wasn’t that all part of growing up? All part of a teenager’s job description? Everyone had done something like that at some point in their youth. Even Julia. Although the way she was reacting, you’d think she was Mother Theresa. ‘Blowing her top’ was an understatement. The woman had done an impressive job of impersonating Mount Vesuvius, overflowing with threats of what she intended doing to this Josie’s mother up at Buttersley Hall. All of which would undoubtedly have led to a visit from the boys in blue, and another heap of drama.

Given that Paul’s life contained more drama than five years’ worth of Britain’s best-known soap at the moment, he’d fortunately managed to calm his wife down. At least until she heard Faye’s side of the story. After that, who knew what direction she might whizz off in.

And then there was Natalia. Another firecracker. And another handful. But
what
a handful.

Following more snogging last week after a training session they’d attended, Paul had made a momentous decision. They were scheduled to go to Madrid for a meeting next week. And would be staying overnight.

And this time Paul knew exactly what he wanted to do.

*****

Julia had no idea if an affair was the answer to her problems or not. But, having considered the matter, she’d concluded she didn’t care. She wanted – and needed – something to kick-start her life. Something to make her feel alive again. And time with Max would, she had no doubt, do all of that. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d gone out and picked up some random guy in a bar. She knew Max. And Max knew her. Better than anyone else ever had – or would. Not that that justified her actions, of course. But justification did not rank highly on Julia’s priority list at the moment. Unlike Paul, brazenly flaunting his and Natalia’s ‘budget meetings’ to all and sundry, Julia intended keeping her liaison discreet. Which was why – with a brazenness all of her own – she’d declined Max’s invitation to go out to dinner, and suggested, instead, that they meet at his flat in Leeds.

As Julia parked the Punto outside Max’s apartment block, her heart pounded so hard she thought it might escape the confines of her ribcage. At the time she’d called him – in the safety of her own kitchen, furious with Faye for her exploits at the party; furious with Paul for having dinner with Natalia; and furious with herself for being … well, herself – this had seemed a brilliant idea. Now, though, the brilliance had dimmed somewhat. But she’d come this far – both literally and metaphorically. And if she didn’t go in, she’d always be wondering ‘what if?’. So, sucking in a fortifying breath, she slid out of the Punto and, on unaccustomedly high heels, staggered over to the door of the apartment block.

She stood for a moment gazing at Max’s name on the intercom system: Max Burrell – Penthouse.

Seeing it there in black and white made the situation even more surreal. She could scarcely believe Max was back in her life again, never mind that the two of them might possibly … well … she couldn’t even think about that at the moment. Being both terrifying and thrilling – in equal measure – the mere thought resulted in goosebumps.

Her heart continuing its furious hammering, she pressed the intercom button, and cleared her throat, preparing to sound cool and sophisticated, not the quivering wreck she really was. Thankfully, no words were required as a buzzer sounded and the door clicked open. With shaking legs she made her way over to the lift, the doors of which stood open, as if waiting to swallow her up. Don’t be ridiculous, she reasoned. The whole point of this evening was to enjoy herself; let her hair down a bit; relax. If she was going to stress about the whole thing, then she should turn around and go home right now.

She walked into the lift and pressed the button for the penthouse.

*****

‘Faye, I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ grumbled Josie, as the two of them descended the bus at Leeds Bradford airport. ‘Don’t you think you’re in enough trouble as it is after the party?’

‘Who cares?’ said Faye, shrugging her rucksack onto her shoulder. ‘I’m sick of being treated like a kid. And I’m sick of living here. It’s boring. At least in Marbella there’ll be lots of gorgeous, glamorous people, and loads of exciting stuff to do.’

Josie pursed her lips. ‘But what are
we
going to do?’

Faye tossed back her long dark hair. ‘Well, I don’t know
exactly
, do I? Not until we’ve spoken to Miguel. But he said that whenever I wanted to come out, he’d be able to find me work.’