Breach of Faith (5 page)

I drank in the aroma encasing me. It got better every time I stepped through the door. There were customers sitting at the tables and two fat women standing at the counter, I ambled over and stood patiently behind them. Frank was nowhere to be seen and I found myself vaguely disappointed.

Dreadlock man was serving the women, laughing and joking as he placed huge blueberry muffins into a paper bag. Turning and waving they disappeared from the shop.

I stepped up to the counter. “I was after one of your gorgeous chocolate fudge cakes.” I examined the contents of the display cabinet.

Dreadlock man grimaced. ‘sorry, love, sold the last one a couple of minutes ago. Got a great custard tart, though.”

“I’ll bet you have,” I sighed again. “But I really needed something with lots and lots of chocolate. What else do you have?”

Dreadlock man gestured towards a number of tasty looking chocolate treats and I studied the cakes. All delicious, delectable; they just weren’t quite right. A movement behind dreadlock man caught the corner of my eye and I gasped as the most glorious looking cake floated into the room. Dark and delicious, full-bodied and sexy, the double choc, double fudge mud cake took my breath away. I pointed firmly at it. “I’ll have that!”

Dreadlock man laughed, a hearty guffaw that made me jump. “Sorry, love,” he spluttered, “don’t reckon he’s for sale.”

Too late, I noticed who was carrying the masterpiece. Of course it’s Frank. I could feel my cheeks heat up, “I didn’t mean … I … the cake. I want that cake.”

Dreadlock man winked conspiratorially, “that’s what they all say, love.”

Frank grinned.

I giggled, the funny side of the situation smacking me in the face. After all the dreams, the confusing thoughts, the
nudity
; I was now being offered the subject of my fantasies on a plate. I
had
seen this man naked after all; even if it was only in my mind. But so what; he had nothing to hide from me.

And I had nothing to fear from him.

I took a long, hard look at Frank, squinting my eyes and putting my head on one side like an inquisitive mouse. “You’d certainly look great, naked on a platter in the middle of my table –”

“Might get a bit cold?” Frank shivered.

“—and I’m sure you’d
taste
awesome with ice cream –”

“Even better with whipped cream.”

A vision popped back into my head. Dark hair, moist mouth, chocolate cake and whipped cream. I pushed it away. So what if Frank has glossy dark hair? It had been Will in subdued lighting, that’s all.

“But,” I finished with a flourish, “you just don’t have enough chocolate fudge icing, I’m afraid.”

Frank looked pointedly at his perfectly iced cake. “You mean like this?” He placed the exquisite sample of chocolate perfection carefully into a box and slid it over the counter.

Salivating, I nodded my thanks, a big smile on my face and put my shopping bags down to find my purse. “Next time I ask for one of these cakes, please say NO. I’ll end up as fat as a pig if I keep eating this. It’s just too good.” I looked despondently at the twenty dollar note I had found to hand over to Frank. “Fat and very, very poor.”

My change consisted of a few mixed coins.

“All you need is a good recipe and you could make one yourself, save a bit of cash. Then again,” he pretended to study my midsection, “it really wouldn’t suit you to be fat. You’re too short.”

“What? I’m not short!”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Frank’s serious face was showing cracks, humour taking over. “There’s nothing wrong with short people, although they do tend to be a little … feisty.”

“Feisty?”

“Desperate to prove something.”

“Prove what?”

“Prove they’re really tall people in disguise.”

“I don’t need to be tall. I don’t have to prove anything!”

“Pretty feisty, though.”

“I’m NOT feisty!” I looked up into Frank’s blue eyes, eyes that were approximately six feet higher than the floor he was standing on, and straightened my shoulders just a little.

“Anyway,” Frank continued, “a recipe, that’s all you need.”

“Recipe?”

“For chocolate mud cake.”

“You’ve got to be kidding, recipes don’t like me. It doesn’t matter what I do, they never turn out looking like the picture. Even those packet cake mixes … they fall apart.”

“Do you sift the flour?”

“What?”

“Sift the flour? Get rid of lumps?”

“No.”

“Use butter or margarine?”

“Margarine.”

Frank thought for a moment, “it’s not the recipes that don’t like you. It’s you that doesn’t like recipes.”

“Butter’s not good for you.”

“Nor’s chocolate cake. Do you know what you need?”

I was hopeful. “Someone to cook for me?”

Frank was shocked, “no! You need advice. I’m going to an open-day tomorrow, a demonstration of cookery and baking over in Hughenport. They promise to give away a few trade secrets.” He chuckled. “Probably some other dirty secrets as well.”

I smiled. Was he offering to share a few cooking secrets with me? Definitely could be useful, especially with my baking skills.

“The information is always handy,” Frank continued, waving his arms in exasperation. “But these things are so damned boring. I didn’t fancy going alone and since you’re in desperate need of some serious help, I thought you’d like to join me?”

I can’t lie; I was shocked.

“It’s just for a few hours and you’d be saving my life.”

You can’t go
, the little voice in my head was scandalised. It was also starting to sound suspiciously like Martha.
You have to say no
.

“Why?” I asked the voice, belligerent again; why did Martha always tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.

“People can die from boredom, you know,” Frank shrugged.

“What?”

“Boredom.” Frank frowned. ‘save me from boring people. A fate worse than death.”

You’re falling for him
, Martha’s voice insisted,
can you honestly tell me that you’re not?

“So, would you like to come?” asked Frank.

“Yes, I can,” I announced loudly to Martha, looking wildly around. Where
is
she hiding?

Frank took a small step backwards, “oh … um … good,” he said brightly. “Shall I pick you up around nine?”

Frank and Katy sitting in a tree
, sang Martha’s voice. I shook my head in exasperation,
kay, eye, ess, ess, eye, en, gee. Kissing!

“No!” Frustrated, I turned up the volume to drown out my annoying friend.

Frank took another step back, dreadlock man was watching curiously from where he was restocking the doughnuts. “Oh … um … good,” he repeated, “maybe we should meet here, then?”

I blinked rapidly a few times. Martha had gone, for now. I stared at Frank instead; he looked a bit distressed. Plastering an award winning smile on my face, I grabbed the cardboard box holding my cake, picked up my other shopping bags and took a deep breath.

“I will meet you here,” I stated. “I will meet you here at nine o’clock.” And with that I swung gracefully out the door.

*

It wasn’t until later, snuggled up with Will in bed, that I had the chance to think further about the events of that day. Everything had worked perfectly, just as Martha had said it would. The baked fish had been divine, the wine splendid. Will’s eyes had lit up like a little boy at Christmas, when he had seen the cake.

“Madam,” he’d demanded sternly, “are you attempting to seduce me?”

Smiling provocatively, I had allowed my dress to slide slowly off one shoulder, revealing an eye-full of red silk and lace. Oh yes, it had all worked to perfection.

Lying here now, with Will’s seed drying between my legs, I could relax at last. Couldn’t I?

The sex had been, well, the best ever. But was it proof?

Homosexual men had been known to have sex with women, it happened all the time. And even if he wasn’t gay, he must be bisexual. I frowned, all this speculation was pointless if it turned out he was having an affair. Whether his lover was male or female didn’t matter.

The trust would be gone.

I shifted position in frustration, sighing deeply, and Will’s arm tightened across my shoulders. I felt a small pressure on the top of my head as Will’s lips connected briefly with my hair.

“Have any plans for tomorrow?” Will’s sleepy voice mumbled in the dark.

“Oh, err, yes,” I thought quickly, “I’m going to a … a writer’s workshop down the coast.”

“Oh? You haven’t mentioned it before.”

Bloody hell, why hadn’t I just told him the truth? I had nothing to hide.

Don’t you?
the inner voice queried.

“Who are you going with?” Will’s voice was still sleepy, politely interested, non-threatening, and I relaxed a fraction. Surely he was just making conversation.

“No-one important,” I answered quickly, “just one of the other mums from school.”

Will grunted and fell quiet. I listened as his breathing deepened and became regular.

Two questions
, the inner voice was demanding to be heard;
firstly, why lie? Secondly, why are you going to a cooking demonstration with Frank?

I thought for a moment. Well, the way to a man’s heart is through his belly? So, if I want to win Will’s heart back I need to learn to bake. Simple. I smiled smugly and settled my cheek against Will’s shoulder. The little voice stayed silent but as I fell into a deep and satisfied sleep, I knew I was ignoring the real issue; the major concern of the whole mess.

Why on earth had I lied?

25 September

I stumbled out of Frank’s car, rubbing my back. “I have never ridden in anything more uncomfortable in my whole life.”

Frank grinned and patted his car fondly on the dented roof. “This little beauty’ll probably outlive me.” He caressed his door closed then strode to my side holding out his arm, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Shall we?”

We strolled across the gravel towards the magnificent country hotel. “It’s gorgeous,” I exclaimed.

Frank nodded wryly, “very exclusive and very expensive. A bit out of the price range of a lowly baker.”

Passing through the grand entrance, surrounded by gold plate and sweeping staircases; reminiscent of eras past, I commiserated. “You’re not the only one.”

Following prominent signs (“they don’t want us to get lost and annoy the rich guests,” Frank grinned), we drifted down a plush corridor. “I feel like I shouldn’t touch anything,” whispered Frank, his breath warm on my ear, “I’m having bizarre flash-backs of school and I’ve just been sent to the principal’s office.”

I snorted, “but we can’t stop because the fearsome monster is chasing us.”

Frank pressed my arm closer to his body, his eyes wide. “That fearsome monster … it’s not my old Maths teacher, is it? Now you’re scaring me.”

Giggling, I peeped over my shoulder. “Your old Maths teacher … would she have shaggy red hair and a very pretty smile?”

Frank frowned. “No, but …” He stopped and turned, and since I was still firmly attached to his arm, I stumbled around too. “I thought that monster sounded familiar.”

“Frank Jones!” The woman’s smile grew even prettier. “Who are you calling a monster you cheeky young imp?”

Dropping me, Frank embraced the newcomer and I grudgingly melted back out of the way. Ex-lover? Ex-wife, maybe? Obviously very close to him. I looked away as the woman planted a large pink kiss on Frank’s cheek. It was funny but I was feeling just a little possessive over that cheek and that woman was clinging to Frank like a leech.

Just a friend? Who are you trying to kid?

Releasing the woman, Frank grabbed me, a big smile splitting his face. He slid his arm across my shoulders, pulling me close. “Paula, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Kate. She saved my life at the last minute and agreed to come with me today.”

Paula beamed and held out her hand. “I don’t know what he said to convince you to come today, but either he lied or you must love him very much. Did he mention the mind-numbing boredom? He complains heartily about it every year but still comes back for more twelve months later.”

I started to refute the assumed love-connection between Frank and me, but before I could, Paula started waving furiously to an older man strolling down the corridor towards us.

“Here comes the slow-coach,” she exclaimed. “I left him parking the car. He never did learn how to parallel park, the dear old thing.” She spun back to Frank, “and
you.
” She waggled her finger at him, “ why did you keep this beautiful young woman a secret? It’s about time we saw that stunning smile on your face again, and it’s well past time you got a life.” Paula turned back to me, ignoring my dazed look, obviously. “Don’t you let this man slip through your fingers, my dear. Although,” her voice dropped to a stage whisper, “if he asks you about his googly, humour him. He thinks his bowling is good.”