MILLIE'S FLING (40 page)

He needed to be occupied, but he was happy too. And when he was happy he liked to cook.

Nat knew that if he were being completely honest with himself, there had been a moment back there when he’d been sorely tempted to land a punch on Lucas Kemp's big, handsome nose. But it had, literally, only lasted a moment. Lucas had been so upfront, so completely matter-of-fact about the Hester situation that almost before his hands had had the chance to curl themselves into fists, Nat had come to see the sense in what he was saying.

Furthermore, the truth had turned out to be a lot easier to bear than the endless awful scenarios his fevered imagination had been busily conjuring up. This had been dealable with, the best possible solution all round.

To his amazement, Nat found he didn’t hold even a vestige of a grudge.

In a funny way, he would always be grateful to Lucas for what he had done.

‘I got the job,’ he told Hester when she arrived home from work.

‘You did?’ Encouraged by the glorious cooking smells emanating from the kitchen—good news, surely?—Hester's face lit up. ‘Oh,
that's fantastic
, that's so—’

‘And Lucas told me everything.’

Hester's rib cage contracted with terror. How, how could Lucas have done this to her? It simply wasn’t fair.

‘Wh-what did he tell you?’

‘That you slept with him. Once.’ Nat shrugged slightly and turned down the heat on the pan of furiously bubbling linguini. ‘That it didn’t mean anything and that it's never going to happen again.’

The color drained from Hester's face. This was it, Nat was bound to finish with her now.

‘It's true.’ As she nodded, a tear slid down one cheek. To her shame, Hester realized she’d been busy mentally piling all the blame on to Lucas, which wasn’t fair at all. Hastily brushing the tear away— because whatever happened now was entirely her own fault—she said, ‘It's all true, especially the last bit. As long as I live, I’ll never be tempted to sleep with Lucas again. Not that it makes much difference to you.’ Nodding her head jerkily in the direction of the food already laid out on the kitchen table, Hester added, ‘What's this, the last supper?’

Forgiving a girlfriend who had been unfaithful wasn’t something Nat had ever imagined himself capable of doing. But in the past few months, he had grown up a lot. Furthermore, he may have managed to resist the charms of Anastasia in Glasgow, but only by the skin of his teeth. It had so very nearly happened, that final night in her flat.

Oh yes, thought Nat, it could have been me. It really could have been me.

‘Out of interest, what was Lucas like?’ asked Nat, already knowing perfectly well.

‘Diabolical. Awful. Pathetic.’

‘Really? So is that why you wouldn’t bother again?’ Nat raised an eyebrow. ‘How about if he’d been fantastic?’

It was over now; she could say whatever she liked. In despair, Hester retaliated, ‘Don’t you get it? It wouldn’t have made a blind
bit of difference, because he still wouldn’t have been you! Oh, this is ridiculous, why are we even having this conversation?’ In a rush to get out before Nat could see that she was crying again, she made a furious dash for the door.

‘It's okay, it's okay.’ Swiftly Nat intercepted her, grabbing her by the elbows. ‘I can handle it. We’re going to put this behind us. Okay, so maybe we can’t forget it ever happened, but it's in the past now. We don’t have to let it spoil everything.’

‘T-truly?’ stammered Hester, her knees almost giving way.

‘That's why Lucas told me. So that we can realize how unimportant some things are and get on with the rest of our lives.’ A glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of Nat's mouth. ‘Seems a shame not to, now that he's given me the chance to prove myself in this restaurant of his.’

‘Are you sure?’ Nat had always been so straight, so proud. Hester needed to be convinced.

‘Sure I’m sure. So long as you never do anything like it again. Not with anyone,’ warned Nat. ‘Because I’m telling you now, I’m only human. Once is enough.’

Hester flung her arms around his broad shoulders, so deliriously happy she could have burst into tears all over again.

‘Believe me,’ she said with feeling, ‘once was more than enough.’

‘OOF! GOD, SORRY, ALL my fault… oh Hugh, it's
you
!’

It was absolutely typical of Orla, Hugh thought, that the reason she had cannoned into him was because she was too busy waving over her shoulder and chattering away to watch where she was going as she made her way out of the shop.

‘How lovely to bump into you again!’ Still clutching her Fogarty & Phelps carriers, Orla kissed him with enthusiasm on both cheeks. ‘And you’re looking so
well
. Actually, Millie and I saw you the other week doing a spot of surfing, but you didn’t notice us. I must say, we were most impressed—I had no idea you were so skilled with a board!’

As she spoke, Orla's green eyes sparkled with laughter and spirals of red-gold hair bounced like springs around her bare shoulders. She was wearing a long silver and white squiggly-patterned dress with a purple felt-pen mark just below her left breast.

The trouble was, Hugh decided, you could disapprove of the unscrupulous way Orla went about her work, but it didn’t stop you actually liking her as a person. Her information-gathering techniques might be underhanded, but she was such a warm, impulsive character you couldn’t
not
like her.

‘Oh yes, hugely skilled.’ He nodded seriously. ‘In fact, I’m odds-on favorite to win the title this year at the world surfing championships.’

‘Nooo!’ Orla let out a shriek of delight.

‘No,’ agreed Hugh, his mouth twitching. ‘So how's your computer? Behaving itself?’

‘Absolutely. Unlike my pig of a husband. Did you hear about Giles moving out?’

‘I read about it in the papers. I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Orla rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘I’m not. God, listen to me, I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but it's true! I did my level best to make our marriage work, but it wasn’t enough for Giles. In the end, I just snapped and thought sod it, he's treated me like a bit of old rubbish and I really don’t deserve it. Not that it's all been plain sailing since he left, of course. I’ve had my miserable moments.’

Orla was glossing over the gloom and doom, Hugh realized, putting on a brave face for his sake. But there was an air of genuine optimism about her all the same.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, and meant it.

‘I know. And that's half the battle, isn’t it?’ Her smile was determinedly bright. ‘My friend Millie keeps telling me I deserve better. Actually, I don’t know how I’d have managed without her. She's been fantastic.’

Hugh wondered if this was a dig, a pointed reminder that he’d not been in touch with Millie for weeks. This too was absolutely typical of Orla; even in the middle of telling him about the break-up of her marriage she was unable to pass up the opportunity to drop a hint.

He had spent the last couple of weeks doing his best not to think about Millie. And failing utterly.

‘Lord, is that my stomach?’ Orla placed her hand apologetically over her stomach and laughed. ‘Rumbling away like an old tractor! I’ve been working since six o’clock this morning—I only popped down here because I’d run out of coffee. Of course, as soon as I walked into the shop I went completely mad.’ Holding up the bulging carriers she
said impulsively, ‘I’ve got tons of stuff, enough to feed an army. Are you terribly busy or can I persuade you to come back with me and let me give you lunch?’

Hugh hesitated. He’d only called into the delicatessen on his way home to pick up a couple of sandwiches. He had no other pressing engagements this afternoon. Then again, was Orla only inviting him because she was desperate to pump him for information about his one-night stand with Millie? Because she needed to hear his side of things in order to include it in her book?

‘Oh please,’ Orla cried, suddenly aghast. ‘I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking!’

Exercising caution—because somebody had to—Hugh said, ‘What's that?’

‘You don’t know if you dare risk coming back to the house, because I’m single and lonely and a desperate old bat, and you’re terrified I might make an embarrassing pass at you!’ Silver bracelets dangling, Orla clutched her throat in horror. ‘I won’t, I promise!’

‘Right.’ Hugh nodded slowly, his expression deadpan. ‘The thing is, what
if I wanted
you to make an embarrassing pass at me?’

‘This time,’ Orla was triumphant, ‘I know you’re joking. Can’t catch me out twice. So, how about lunch?’

Hugh broke into a grin. ‘Okay. I’ll risk it.’

‘You’ll be safe.’ Orla winked at him. ‘Besides, I don’t steal men who belong to someone else. And you’re already taken.’

The World According to Orla, Hugh mused. Did she seriously think she could orchestrate people's entire lives? Did writing it all down and deciding what should happen to each character mean it actually
had
to happen?

You couldn’t help admiring her nerve, he thought wryly as he followed Orla out into the street.

Over lunch in the conservatory they talked mainly about Giles.

‘There are good points,’ Orla confided, twiddling a slice of wafer-thin Parma ham on to her fork. ‘Not having to miss the programs I want to watch on the telly because he's glued to Sky Sports. And I don’t have to listen to him going on and on and on about bloody golf. I don’t have to pretend to be interested anymore, when he tells me how he decided to use his eight iron on the seventeenth hole, instead of a six iron like Dougie Plumley-Pemberton. And there's nobody to tell me off if I eat crisps in bed, or leave the top off the shampoo bottle, or accidentally get marmalade on the
Sunday Times
—’ Abruptly, Orla stopped herself. Reaching across the table to clasp Hugh's hand, she shook her head, mortified. ‘God, you must want to slap me. Talk about insensitive. I’m
so
sorry.’

Smiling, Hugh moved the bowl of tarragon mayonnaise to a place of safety, before Orla's elbow ended up in it.

‘Don’t be daft. You’re just saying what we’ve all said at some time. It used to drive Louisa demented, always having to clear a pile of CDs off the passenger seat before she could climb into my car. And the way she used to leave mascara splattered all over the bathroom mirror drove
me
mad.’ He spread his hands in amazement. ‘I’m serious. Every single day! I’d clean it off the mirror, and the next morning it’d be back again. I mean, how can that happen?’

‘Oh, easy, you just kind of flick the end of the brush. Putting your mascara on with a flourish makes your eyelashes feel longer. It's a girl thing,’ Orla consoled him.

‘Either that or Louisa was doing it on purpose because she knew it would wind me up.’

‘Maybe it did at the time,’ said Orla. ‘But I bet you’d give anything for the chance to wipe that mascara off the mirror again now.’

There were sympathetic tears in her eyes.

‘Actually, no.’ Hugh smiled. ‘You love someone despite their faults. But I can’t honestly say I miss cleaning our bathroom mirror.’

Orla topped up their glasses of wine.

‘Anyway, I want to hear what you’ve been up to.’

I’ll bet you do, thought Hugh.

‘You know how nosy I am,’ Orla went on.

I certainly know that.

‘So how
are
things?’

‘Well, you know, improving.’ To tease her, Hugh said, ‘Making a start, at least.’

‘Well I know that, of course! And I couldn’t be happier for you.’ Orla nodded encouragingly. ‘I must say, I did wonder if she was quite your type, but then again, what does it matter? You’re just having a practice run, getting back into the swing of things for heaven's sake. Having a bit of fun!’

Hugh hid his surprise. This wasn’t the kind of reaction he’d been expecting. Then again, maybe Orla was the mistress of the double-bluff.

‘Exactly.’ He shrugged and helped himself to more prosciutto.

‘Oh phew, for a moment there I thought I’d put my foot in it again.’ Orla fanned herself with relief. ‘But you’re doing the right thing. I mean, it's not as if she's the kind of girl you’d be remotely interested in settling down with!’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘The only thing that worries me slightly is, does
she
realize that?’

Carefully, Hugh tore off a chunk of baguette. Wasn’t Orla being a bit unkind here, singing Millie's praises one minute and criticizing her the next?

Feeling incensed on Millie's behalf—and heaven only knew why, after the way she had used him—he shrugged. ‘Never say never. You can’t plan these things. By this time next year we could be married with… well, anything could have happened.’

‘Married with a
baby
?’ Pouncing like a panther on the unspoken words, Orla's eyebrows shot up. ‘That's what you were about to say, isn’t it?!’

Hugh shrugged. Honestly, it was a wonder she didn’t have a tape recorder whirring on the table between them to make sure no detail was lost.

‘I’m just saying anything can happen.’ He kept a straight face; no doubt this entire conversation would be relayed back to Millie before nightfall.