Nothing to Lose (32 page)

Oh, please, don’t let him spoil it by asking for a Long Slow Comfortable Screw . . .

‘That was my original intention. Do you do beer?’

‘Christ, no. You have to go downstairs to Ye Olde Bull and Bush Coaching Inn – it’s alongside the Tote – for anything like that. I can do you a Pernod and black, though.’

‘I don’t drink that any more.’ Noah looked a bit shifty. ‘Not good for the image. Haven’t you got any decent burgundy?’

‘If it can’t be shaken, stirred, covered in fruit and sparklers, we don’t serve it. How about champagne?’ April knew she was gabbling and tried to stop. It simply made matters worse. ‘I mean, I suppose you’re used to champagne now – being a superstar and everything. Oh, and with living in France. It must be just like drinking Vimto. So is that a glass of Moet – or maybe two? I presume you’re not alone?’

‘I’m quite alone – and I’m sorry I didn’t ring you after the exhibition.’

What?’ April’s hand rattled on the champagne bottle. Noah always managed to wrong-foot her. ‘Oh, I never expected you to. I mean, if you hadn’t been in Bixford tonight for Martina’s birthday thing I’d never have seen you again, would I?’

‘I’m not here for the Gillespies – although it tied in nicely. I’m here for you. I came back to Bixford to find you. I was intending to call in at the flat in the morning.’ Noah leaned across the bar and stroked her cheek. ‘And no, I won’t have the champagne now. I’m having supper with Oliver and Martina as arranged, because they’ve paid handsomely for one of my paintings and they have some let’s say – extremely influential friends. I’ll make my excuses and leave as soon as possible. Just don’t bolt the door tonight, honey – I’m coming home.’

‘You’re bloody insane!’ Jix scowled at her through the silky fall of his hair. ‘Mad!’

‘No, I’m not,’ April insisted as they hurried through the sodium-lit darkness of Bixford’s back streets. It was a cold night and she huddled inside her coat. ‘It’s all part of the dream, Jix. He’s Bee’s dad, and he’s got rights. So has she.’

Jix muttered something from the depths of his leather jacket. Then he shook his head. ‘He didn’t bother to contact you after Swaffield, did he? And now he just turns up, out of the blue, and says he’s come to find you? Bollocks. He was over here to feather his nest via Oliver and Martina, walked into the bar, saw you, and took the opportunist route. For God’s sake, April, he’s lied to you before – and he’s doing it again now.’

‘No he isn’t! What would you know? You weren’t there!’

‘I wish I had been. Sometimes, for someone who’s so tough, you’re bloody gullible. He could have phoned you at any time, turned up at the flat at any time – it was his place too, remember – he didn’t exactly have to search too hard to track you down, did he? He didn’t come to the flat tonight, though, did he? Even though he was in Bixford? He met you by accident, not design. The man’s a complete bastard.’

‘You never said any of this when I was going to see him at the gallery, did you? You were all in favour then.’

‘No I wasn’t.’ Jix hunched his shoulders. ‘I thought then that he might hurt you, but it’s always been your dream-the happy-families thing – and I wasn’t going to pour cold water on it. But he didn’t want you then, so why should he want you now?’

‘Shut up!’ They’d turned into the High Street now, and a sharp wind rattled the debris in the gutters and stung April’s face. ‘This is my life. And Bee’s. Just butt out.’

‘With pleasure.’ Jix jabbed his key into the lock of number 51. ‘Only this time when he’s shredded you to pieces don’t come looking for sympathy. I won’t be there with shoulders to cry on, OK?’

‘Suits me.’

April stormed into her flat. Daff glanced up smiling, then, seeing the angry faces, looked concerned and gathered her word-puzzle books together without speaking. Cair Paravel, stretched out on the rug in front of the television, raised his head and growled cheerfully at Daff’s ankles, then thumped his tail towards Jix and April.

Jix bent down and stroked him. ‘Rip the bastard’s throat out, there’s a good boy.’

April continued glaring until Jix and Daff had left, then checked on Beatrice-Eugenie, fed Cair Paravel, and turned into a small whirlwind. Cushions were plumped, newspapers shoved out of sight, dust removed, all but the dimmest lamps extinguished. Satisfied that Noah wouldn’t think she’d allowed the flat to fall into a complete schlep tip in his absence, April ripped off her French maid’s outfit and headed for the shower.

Wondering whether being naked beneath her dressing gown would look a little too obvious, and deciding it would, she dressed again in a pair of jeans and a fraying rainbow sweater that had once belonged to Jix. Clean and casual, she thought, just as she’d been when Noah had first fallen in love with her. No make-up then, and her hair all fluffed out and tumbled . . . She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes glittered and the glow of her cheeks owed nothing to Max Factor. He’d be here soon – back in the flat where they’d laughed and loved. Back where he belonged. And surely, once he’d found out about Bee, and April had told him about the Ampney Crucis paradise she had planned for them, he’d never leave her again, would he?

Lighting her last cigarette, she poured a large glass of wine, curled on the sofa, and waited.

April couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to fall asleep, but somehow she supposed she must have done. The room was cold and silent and for a split second she couldn’t work out quite why she was there. Then she remembered. Her mouth tasted foul and her neck was stiff where it had become lodged against a cushion. She stretched and shivered, then squinted at the clock. Half-past three. With a sudden pang she realised that Noah wasn’t coming.

Levering herself to her feet, close to tears of anger and disappointment, she knew she’d have to shoot the bolts on the door, slide the chain in place and shut Noah out of her life for ever. Cair Paravel rolled on to his back in his sleep, his belly grey and pink and mottled, and she stepped over him. At that moment she heard the key in the outside door of number 51. Cair Paravel, still prone, pricked his ears. April held her breath. It could be Joel and Rusty returning home after a night out. It probably was. She mustn’t, mustn’t, build up her hopes . . .

Cair Paravel rolled over and sat expectantly on his haunches as the key now slid into the flat door. Mesmerised, April watched as it swung open, and Noah stood on the threshold just as he always had. As he had for so many months in her frenzied fantasies.

‘I knew there was a good reason for hanging on to my keys. Come here, honey, and give me a kiss.’

With a little cry she flew across the room and launched herself into his arms.

‘Hey, that’s some welcome.’ He smoothed her hair away from her face. ‘Sorry I’m so late, but Martina’s worse at interrogation than old Paxo. Oh, this is wonderful . . . It’s still the same . . . And you’ve kept the paintings!’ He gazed round the flat. ‘Christ, you’ll never know how much I’ve missed all this. Nothing’s changed – oh, except that . . .’

Cair Paravel had shrunk back on to his stomach, his muzzle laid between his paws, his ears folded flat. A low warning growl rumbled from his throat.

Noah frowned. ‘I thought we weren’t allowed to keep animals in here.’

‘We’re not. It’s a long story. Oh God, you didn’t tell Martina about me – about you and me – did you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a word. It’s something best kept secret. I mean, if I’m going to be staying here, the fewer people who know the better.’

The words filtered through. April caught her breath again. ‘Staying? You’re going to be staying?’

‘Too right I am.’ He let his lips slide down her neck, nuzzling his mouth into the hollow above her shoulder blade.

April melted. Oh, it was so long since she’d felt like this . . . ‘Have you left Anoushka, then?’

‘She’s still in France, honey. There’ll be plenty of time to finalise things in the morning. First things first . . .’ He continued the nuzzling. ‘Mind you, it’s a shame you’ve taken off the French maid thing. What a turn-on. I don’t suppose you’d like to slip into it again, would you?’

About as much as she’d like to slip into a vat of maggots, April thought, but if Noah wanted her to . . .

Cair Paravel growled again and Noah raised his head. ‘Can’t he sleep outside?’

‘He’ll be fine once he gets used to you. Honestly.’ She pulled Noah’s mouth back to her neck, not wanting anything to spoil the moment. ‘Oh God, I’ve missed you so much.’

‘Me too, honey,’ Noah lifted her off her feet and swung her round. ‘And we’ve got an awful lot of catching up to do . . .’

Carrying her, heading for the bedroom, he side-stepped Cair Paravel’s half-hearted attempt to nip his knees. ‘The dog’s a damn liability. Is he business or pleasure?’

‘A bit of both,’ April said dreamily, loving the feeling of Noah’s arms around her and his strength emphasising her fragility. Oh, the bliss of being frail for once, and seduced, and not having to think or worry. ‘He’s won a race.’

Noah kicked open the bedroom door with all the panache of Rhett Butler. April, relaxed in his arms, thought it was exactly like he’d never been gone. He’d always come over all masterful, especially when they’d had a row.

‘Fucking hell!’ Noah stood inside the bedroom door, dropping April unceremoniously on to the bed. ‘What the hell is that?’

Beatrice-Eugenie, her hair static from the pillow, sat bolt upright in the truckle bed, scrubbing at her sleepy eyes with bunched fists.

April, overwhelmed with love for both of them, beamed up from the duvet. ‘She’s your daughter, Noah. Bee, darling, say hello to your daddy . . .’

The honeymoon period was just entering its third week. April had to admit that, delirious as she still was to have Noah back, it wasn’t all roses and Mantovani.

The flat, which had seemed so intimately right for just the two of them, was now hopelessly overcrowded. Bee’s toys seemed to delight in sneaking into dark corners where Noah could stub his toe on some particularly immovable lump of plastic, and Cair Paravel, by sheer dint of his size, seemed to sprawl across all of the available floor space at the most inconvenient times.

Sadly, Cair Paravel hadn’t changed his opinion of Noah since the first night and was even more hostile towards him than Daff. Unlike Daff, Noah loathed Cair Paravel in return, and insisted on him being banished to the walled yard for long spells during the day, or locked in the kitchen if it was raining. April kept sneaking him back into the living room, desperately sorry for the bewildered dog and petrified that someone would discover his existence because he howled so much.

She and Noah had had some fairly heated arguments over Cair Paravel, but she’d stood firm, saying that Cairey had as much illegal right to be at number 51 as anyone, and then Noah would stomp off to the bedroom and sulk.

And it wasn’t just Cair Paravel either: Beatrice-Eugenie, usually sunny and adaptable, squirmed with shyness or burst into tears or both whenever Noah opened his mouth.

‘Don’t be so loud,’ April implored. ‘She’s not used to raised voices – nor is Cairey. Just keep the volume down a bit.’

And Noah insisted on having sex all the time. Everywhere. Trying to keep Bee and Cair Paravel from poking curious eyes and damp noses in where they shouldn’t be was becoming a huge problem. Consequently, April couldn’t relax, and began to dread every snatched rough and tumble. As she’d refused to make love with Noah in the bedroom with Beatrice-Eugenie sleeping so close in the truckle bed, amorous encounters now took place rather awkwardly on the sofa. April was sure that she had uncut moquette permanently embedded in every part of her body.

Then there’d been the hoo-ha over the
Oceanic
painting. Noah had practically had a rolling-on-the-floor heel-drumming tantrum when she’d told him that she’d sold it. She didn’t tell him why she’d sold it, or what she’d done with the money, but pointed out angrily that as she had never expected to see him again, it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d need to seek his permission over its disposal. Then he’d turned petulant and said that his early works were much sought after and he could have negotiated a higher price, and that she mustn’t, under any circumstances, sell the others. And April had shrugged and said they were Beatrice-Eugenie’s inheritance, weren’t they? And Noah had looked a bit doubtful, but had smiled and nuzzled her neck, and they’d ended up on the sofa . . .

‘So, what’s his lordship up to today?’ Sofia asked as April untied her Pasta Place pinny at the end of the lunchtime shift. ‘Taking his daughter out?’

April pulled a face. Sofia knew exactly what Noah thought of fatherhood. It ranked in popularity somewhere around being first in the queue at the vasectomy clinic.

‘Doubtful. He’s probably just watching telly.’

‘Doesn’t he ever go out then?’ Tonio handed April a mammoth cappuccino. ‘Has he caught Daff’s aggorryphobie thing?’

April sipped gratefully at the froth. ‘He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s staying here. He says he gets hounded by the press wherever he goes, and that this is his bolt hole. He just needs a break from all the publicity.’

If it hadn’t been so sad, April thought, she would have found it funny. Now she had a child, a dog, and a man, all living at number 51 – none of whom were supposed to be there.

‘God alive!’ Sofia snorted. ‘Some man he is, then! Letting you keep him! Watching you do three jobs a day while he sprawls in front of the box!’

Antonio raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s got a point, April,
cara.
Isn’t he doing any of his paintings or anything?’

‘All his stuff is still in France. He says the flat’s too small for him to work in now. He says he’s used to proper studios with the right light . . .’ April sighed. Noah, for all his new wealth, hadn’t yet contributed anything to the living expenses. She’d have her tongue ripped out by wailing banshees before she’d admit it to anyone.

The dream, harboured for so long, was turning very sour. Even in their cosy moments, late at night when she’d returned from the Copacabana and after Noah had insisted on having hasty sex before she removed the French maid’s outfit, there was something vital missing. She’d told him about Ampney Crucis but he hadn’t seemed particularly interested. He’d scoffed at the thought of Cair Paravel ever becoming anything other than a four-legged liability, and Bee just seemed to irritate him.