Dream a Little Dream (23 page)

Liza had never been in a radio studio and it was much more laid-back than she’d imagined. A smiley, calm broadcast assistant, Beth, escorted them from reception through a succession of doors opened via passes, introduced them to Harriet, the golden-skinned producer, and showed them into Studio 1 where Rebeccah Stillwater beamed from behind a bank of monitors, keyboards, and panels of fader controls, amber hair pushed behind black earphones. Behind her, a green
on air
sign was illuminated but a red
mic live
was dim. At the guests’ side of the desk a colourful array of microphones sprouted, yellow, blue, green, red. The walls were red and one enormous window gave a view into the next studio, where a squat older guy could be seen apparently talking to himself, and another to where Harriet and Beth were seated, in the main office.

‘Hi!’ Rebeccah beamed, pulling her earphones away from one ear. ‘Thanks for coming in. If you can take the blue, green and yellow mikes …?’ They sat in a silent row facing her, Liza in front of the blue microphone, Dominic on her right. ‘Great. Is this your first time on radio? Nothing to worry about – hang on.’ Rebbecah brought up the music that had been playing in the background, voice mellow as she moved closer to the large black mike that hung before her face and the red
mic live
light lit. ‘Isn’t that a fantastic song? One of my favourites. So, let’s see what the traffic’s doing today. With the travel news, here’s Callum.’

‘Thank you, Rebeccah. The A14 seems to be OK, but I’m afraid those of you heading for Cambridge city centre from the A10 might be in a queue—’ The unseen traffic announcer’s voice faded as Rebeccah moved a control, paid attention to her monitors and clicked her mouse.

Rebeccah took over again from Callum. ‘And my guests in the studio today are going to be Liza, Dominic and Kenny, who’re here to tell us about their exciting new venture, right here in Cambridgeshire.’ Apprehension shivered suddenly up Liza’s spine. She often listened to BBC Radio Cambridgeshire and it was weird to think she would be the one speaking in other people’s cars and kitchens. She swallowed a need to cough, assailed by a sudden panicky conviction that her voice would roll itself into a ball of dust in her throat. Rebeccah moved sliders, clicked her mouse and watched her monitors. ‘After this …’ Then the music swelled, sank to background again,
mic live
dimmed, and Rebeccah dropped her earphones around her neck and became a normal person, instead of a radio presenter. ‘Great to have you in the studio, your venture sounds wonderful.’ She spent the next few minutes getting them to relax, making sure she was putting the right name to the right person, asking about The Stables and sounding really, really interested.

Dominic, on the green microphone, seemed comfortable. Liza let her butterflies be tranquilised by his steady body language and the way he talked to Rebeccah as if the mike wasn’t there. Maybe all those years of talking to unseen pilots over the airwaves made this a familiar environment for him. She swallowed some of the water that Beth had provided and found that she could answer naturally when Rebeccah asked her off air about the treatment centre. Now she just had to do the same thing when
mic live
applied to the blue microphone.

In fact, once on air, Liza began to enjoy herself. Some of the questions that had been asked off air were asked again, giving her a comfortable feeling of familiarity, but Rebeccah bowled the interview along with fresh material, too, drawing Kenny, on the yellow mike, into the conversation, ‘So, Kenny, you’re the guy who’ll be showing folks how to paddle their own canoes?’

But giving the lead to Dominic, who remained chatty and chilled. ‘We’re going to be a great venue for team builders, weekend adventurers, and even stags and hens. That was Liza’s idea.’

‘You’re going to be doing all the holistic stuff, Liza – for the hens?’

‘For everybody,’ she answered, firmly. ‘My team will do everything from single or series treatments to pamper evenings or even pamper weekends.’ Then they paused for Rebeccah to feed in the weather report and play another record. A buzz of fresh questions, and then Liza was shocked to realise that almost twenty-five minutes had passed and Rebeccah was winding up their segment.

‘So that’s The Stables, at Port-le-bain, in the grounds of Port Manor Hotel. From December, if you feel like having an adventure or a treatment, a hen night, stag party or birthday treat, The Stables will be the place to go!’ Rebeccah moved on to her next segment, waving goodbye, as Beth waited to show them out past Harriet, through the office, through the door to reception, and into the car park outside.

Suddenly, they were grouped in the winter sunshine, grinning at each other. ‘Well, that seemed to go OK,’ observed Dominic, zipping up his jacket.

‘It was easy,’ Liza agreed, almost sorry that the fizz of being live on air had to be left behind. ‘I can’t believe how well it went. I woke up this morning petrified that I would dry up.’

‘Me, too.’ Kenny wiped his forehead. ‘You were the star, Doc, as always. The man who gets everything he wants.’ His eyes flickered to Liza. She flushed, and, for the first time, wondered whether the friendly rivalry between Dominic and Kenny was completely friendly.

Well, there was no room now for that macho-pride bloody nonsense! The three of them had bound their immediate futures together and the only way it was going to work was if sexual tension and egos were set aside. Wasn’t that why she and Dominic were busy forgetting ‘that night’?

‘Shall we stop for lunch?’ she suggested. They needed to establish trust, Cleo would say, whisk away vestiges of wanting or jealousy from the dark corners of everybody’s minds and overlay them with cordial co-worker relations.

And, perhaps because Dominic was enthusiastic about the ideas and expertise that Kenny brought to the business, there was no clashing of horns during their pub lunch and celebratory glass of wine, though Kenny’s brow did darken when he declared, ‘But we do need that fan descender, Doc,’ and Dominic just grinned and said, ‘Sorry, Kenny. Not right away, anyway.’ Which emphasised Dominic’s role as the man with the money, who made the decisions. Liza could see from Kenny’s eyes that he still had to get used to that. She might even have a few similar moments herself. Working with people could be—

She jerked up, checking her watch. ‘Whoops. We’ve announced to the whole of Cambridgeshire that things are going to change at The Stables, but I’ve just realised that I haven’t told Imogen and Fenella.’

Dominic cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you worried about how they’ll react?’

She shrugged. ‘Neither of them were interested in sharing the management of The Stables, so I hope they’ll react well, but I don’t want them miffed because everyone else knows before them.’

‘OK, let’s head to The Stables. I’ll give Nicolas a nudge about our meeting.’

‘I might just tilt my chauffeur’s hat over my eyes and wait outside. Leave the business stuff to the business people,’ Kenny said, idly, his gaze following the curvy young waitress who had just brought their bill.

For a moment, Liza thought it was a barbed comment. But Dominic only nodded, and she remembered what he’d told her about Kenny’s strengths being in action. And Kenny seemed perfectly at ease on the half-hour journey back, chatting to Liza in the front of the big black missile of a car, as Dominic headed for the back seat and almost instantly became silent.

Kenny peered into the rear view mirror and shook his head. ‘It’s weird to see him like this,’ he whispered. ‘Going off to sleep everywhere.’

Liza spoke at normal volume. ‘It’s just a medical need.’

Kenny agreed too quickly. ‘’Course. He always enjoyed his sleep, did Doc. But all kids get drowsy sometimes and all teenagers don’t want to get up in the morning, students would rather sleep than work. We’ve all been through it. I just don’t know how he let this thing get a grip.’

She laughed, to cover up a lancing irritation. ‘It’s not an addiction, Kenny, a craving for alcohol or drugs that he’s let get the better of him! It’s just that his hypothalamus has stopped producing enough orexin to regulate his sleep. If he’d stopped producing insulin and become diabetic it wouldn’t be weird, would it?’ And she changed the subject, asking Kenny about his time in the States, until Dominic’s phone alert went off and, after a couple of minutes, he joined in the conversation.

When Kenny parked the car in the yard beside a red VW at The Stables, the day was fading to grey. Liza opened the passenger door and hopped out as Dominic climbed from the back. ‘I suddenly feel nervous,’ she confessed. ‘I hope they’re OK about it.’

‘They should be, you’re going to help them get more clients.’ Dominic gave a reassuring smile, then halted, brows clanging down into a straight line over his eyes. ‘Oh crap, here’s—’

‘Hello, Liza,’ said a soft voice.

Liza’s heart lurched as she swung around to stare at a gangly figure that had materialised from beside the red car in the winter afternoon gloom. ‘Adam!’ Never more than wiry, now Adam was thin. Gaunt, even. His eyes looked too big and heavy for their sockets and his coat, a long dark grey one that Liza remembered shopping for, hung off his shoulders. Even his teeth seemed too big for his mouth. ‘I was driving out of Bettsbrough when you came on the radio. It was so good to hear your voice. I thought I’d stop in and say hi.’

Dumbstruck, she swallowed. She’d chosen not to tell him where she was living or working, then … Mentally, she smote her forehead. She’d gaily let Rebeccah Stillwater broadcast the location of The Stables to the entire county.

‘So, what I was just thinking—’ He cleared his throat. ‘I could take you out to dinner or something? So we can catch up? Just for old times’ sake,’ he added, swiftly, while Liza felt the old guilt rising as she saw in Adam’s eyes the soul-crushing grief she’d put there. He managed another smile. ‘I feel as if—’

He glanced at Dominic. Kenny was no longer in the car but had turned his back, as if to give Adam privacy. Dominic stood his ground, as if not to. Adam stooped closer. ‘There’s so much stuff we didn’t say, Lize. That I didn’t say, anyway. I need to talk things out.’

She hesitated, wondering, wretchedly, whether he was right. Everything in her protested against the idea of cosying up to Adam over the dinner table. But was that a selfish wish to avoid confronting sadness at close quarters? Or did she owe it to him, to give him a chance to draw a line under ‘them’ and move on? Closure, it was called. She’d attained it in that awful moment on stage when her instinctive reaction to Adam’s proposal had been revulsion and the relationship, for her, had crashed and burned. But Adam, he’d never understood why his fabulous gesture had gone horribly wrong.

‘Well …’

Instantly, Adam added, ‘At least one more time.’

She felt the tug of Adam trying to make her a thread in his life tapestry, fastening her in with family gatherings, work parties, shared friends. The intensity of his love. And his need. Meeting him might be a sop to her conscience, but his expectations would be raised. Look how he’d subtly repositioned his request when she’d uttered just one
Well
 
…
instead of an instant refusal.

She took a step away. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Adam, I’m so sorry.’ Then she whirled blindly for the door to the treatment centre, aware of Dominic falling in beside her and working the door handle for her when she fumbled it. And of nothing else but the crashing of her panicked heart, making her dizzy, hot, unable to get her breath, air hitting an obstruction in her chest, hurting, suffocating, frightening.

Indoors, she homed in on her treatment room and its carefully cultivated serenity. But when she tried to snap the door shut behind her, she found Dominic in the way.

‘I need—’

‘I know.’ He smiled, crookedly. ‘You need to be left alone. But I need to be happy that you’re not going to faint or hyperventilate. Sit down and I’ll go to the kitchen and make you some of that calming jasmine stuff, and if you’re breathing normally by the time I get back, that’s when I’ll go.’

Slowly, she lowered herself into her chair, willing her heart steady, forcing her breathing to come from her abdomen, resenting Dominic’s refusal to be shut out but also glad of it. Breathe. Breathe. Let the abdomen rise. Fall. By the time he returned and she took the steaming mug, she was thinking normally. ‘Thanks. But it’s camomile tea that’s calming, not jasmine.’

He quirked a brow. ‘If you’ve recovered enough to be ungracious, I’ll leave you to whatever the hell jasmine tea is meant to do for you while I try and grab Nicolas. Will you be OK?’

‘Fine,’ she muttered. She watched him leave as steam rose over her face. Her eyes burned. It was probably the tea.

Dominic knocked on Nicolas’s half-open door and stuck in his head, aware of the slight body odour that hung around wherever Nicolas did. ‘Sorry to wander in unannounced, but do you think we could arrange this meeting?’

Nicolas was leaning over his desk, pen in hand. His face shone. It was impossible to tell whether it was fresh sweat caused by Dominic’s unscheduled appearance, or a constant coating resulting from keeping his office like a sauna. ‘Sorry. I don’t know when I’ll have time.’

Dominic remained in the doorway, itching to reach around and throw open the window. ‘How about we arrange it now?’

Nicolas glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry.’ He put the top on his pen and laid it on the desk. ‘I have plans.’

Dominic chose not to take the hint. ‘It would only take a moment. Or don’t you want to sell the lease any more?’

‘I do.’ Nicolas at least sounded positive about that. A long pause. ‘But you want me to drop my price and I need to think about that. Ring me in a couple of days.’

Reluctantly, Dominic accepted that there was a point past which there was nothing to be gained by pressing. He let himself back into Liza’s treatment room, trying not to feel uneasy at Nicolas’s froideur. ‘Come on. We’ll drop you off.’

She was sitting exactly where he’d left her, frowning at her cup, now empty. She didn’t look up. ‘Is that an order? Give a man an inch and he turns into a ruler.’