Their Very Special Marriage (12 page)

‘Growths?' Flora paled. ‘You mean cancer?'

‘That's rare,' Oliver said. ‘No, I mean benign lumps. Not cancer. There's also the possibility that you're coming up to the menopause early. I know you're only thirty, but sometimes in the years before you actually reach the menopause when you stop ovulating the lining in your womb gets a lot thicker before it breaks down.' He paused. ‘Would you mind if I examined you, or would you prefer to come back next week when Rachel's here?'

Flora blushed. ‘It's a bit embarrassing.'

He nodded. ‘Don't worry, I understand. I'll make you an appointment to see Rachel then. She'll check you over—if she sees any sign of fibroids, she might refer you to the hospital for more detailed tests.'

‘Will I have to have surgery?'

‘If they're causing you a problem—if they hurt, or they're causing you to bleed so heavily—then, yes, we can remove them.' He paused. ‘I do need to check a couple of other things with you. Is there any possibility you're pregnant?'

She shook her head. ‘I'm on the Pill. And I'm bleeding so much, I can't be pregnant.'

‘The Pill isn't a hundred per cent effective—there's always a tiny chance,' Oliver said. ‘Sometimes a foetus doesn't travel all the way down to the womb as it should do, and implants in one of your Fallopian tubes instead—that's called an ectopic pregnancy. Eventually it'll rupture the tube, and that's very painful.' As well as being a medical emergency. ‘So can I ask you to do a urine sample for me, please, and give it to Rita before you leave so I can do a test?' He handed her a sample bottle.

‘Well, all right.'

‘If it's positive, I'll ring you and you'll need to go straight to the emergency department,' he warned. ‘Other than that, the most likely cause is fibroids or the run-up to the menopause.'

‘If it's the menopause, do I have to have HRT?'

‘You don't
have
to have anything,' Oliver said. ‘Hormone replacement therapy's one possible treatment to help you with symptoms, but there are other options. We can talk them through together once we've established what's causing your heavy bleeding.'

‘Right. Thank you.' Flora gulped. ‘Well, for being understanding.'

‘Any time.' He smiled at her. ‘Do the sample for me, and I'll book you an appointment with Rachel. You've put up with this for long enough—we'll try and get it sorted for you as quickly as possible.'

* * *

On Friday morning, Rachel drove her mother into Maidstone, saw her off on the train and went home to blitz the house. Knowing Sophie's capacity for turning the house into a complete tip within the space of thirty seconds, she roped her daughter in to help. ‘Let's have a race—see who can
make their window the shiniest! Winner gets some chocolate buttons.'

‘Me, me, me!' Sophie announced, and polished her bit of window for ages.

Oliver didn't comment that evening about how nice the house looked, Rachel noticed. Worse still, he spent the evening in his office. Well, tough. Tomorrow he'd
have
to spend time with her. And she was going to make quite sure that Oliver's mistress saw a united household. The house would be spotless, the food would be perfect, she would look stunning and the children would be utter cherubs—however much it cost her in chocolate buttons, Princess Mouse stories and a new puzzle book for Robin.

* * *

‘Why can't we have tea with you?' Robin asked.

‘Because it's a grown-up tea. But you can read for an extra ten minutes tonight,' Rachel said.

‘You smell nice, Mummy,' he said. ‘And I like your eyes. They're all sparkly.'

Gold eyeshadow, from the posh set Fiona had given her at Christmas as a stocking-filler. Caroline, from all accounts, was stunning. Rachel had no intention of looking dowdy beside her.

‘You've dressed up,' Oliver said in dismay, when she knocked on his office door and reminded him their guest would be there in fifteen minutes, and he needed to save his file, turn the computer off and shower.

‘Well, it's not every day we have people to dinner. Maybe we should have invited someone to partner her.'

‘No, no—no need for that,' Oliver said hastily.

Well, he would say that. Caroline didn't
have
a partner. She just had her eyes on
her
partner. Besides, Rachel and Oliver didn't really know any single men. Except Oliver's elder brother—and Nigel preferred his girlfriends to be in
their early twenties, so he could pretend he wasn't really forty. ‘I'll just check on dinner,' she said.

As the minutes passed, Rachel grew more and more nervous. Adrenalin pumped through her, making her fingers and the back of her neck tingle. Please, please, let this work, she prayed silently. Make Caroline see that Oliver isn't right for her. Make her see that she'll ruin three lives, not just one, if she takes him from us.

When the doorbell rang, Rachel was just testing the potatoes, and the saucepan lid slipped from her hands. ‘Damn, damn, damn!' she muttered, hastily retrieving it and mopping up the water from the floor. Damn. Now Oliver would be answering the door, not her.

As soon as she opened the kitchen door, she heard a small voice ask earnestly, ‘Are you a fairy?'

‘Sadly, no. Though I do have a friend with a magic wand.'

Oh, no. Rachel had forgotten how much Sophie liked answering the door and pretending to be the lady of the house.

‘You must be Sophie and Robin, right?'

‘Right,' Robin said.

‘I'm Caroline.'

‘You're a very important guest,' Sophie said.

‘Mummy's put candles on the table. We
never
put candles on the table,' Robin added.

Never try to hide things when children are about, Rachel thought wryly. ‘Not for you, sweetheart. Unless they're birthday-cake candles. This is a grown-ups' dinner, so that's why we have candles,' she said, urging the children back from the door. ‘Manners, you two. If you're going to answer the door to a guest, you're supposed to let them in! Now, scoot—go and play in the play room.'

There was a chorus of ‘oh' and ‘but, Mummy', but eventually the children headed for the play room. Then Rachel had her first real look at The Enemy.

The type who'd manage to look glamorous in a bin bag.
Ginny had been understating things just a tad, Rachel thought. Caroline was indeed tall, slim and pretty, with long blonde hair styled to frame her face and flatter her to perfection, intensely blue eyes and a charming smile. Her dress was clearly a designer number, beautifully cut in gorgeous fabric. No wonder Sophie had thought her a fairy. She looked absolutely stunning.

Rachel's heart sank. She'd made an effort, really tried, and she needn't have bothered. Next to Caroline Prentiss, she looked positively dowdy. She might just as well have scruffed around in tracksuit bottoms and a baggy T-shirt, scrubbed her face shiny and kept her hair in a scrunchie. ‘Do come in,' she said.

‘Thank you.' Caroline's smile was full-wattage and, even though Rachel wanted to push her off a cliff, she couldn't help responding. ‘It was so kind of you to invite me—and I know it was you who invited me. It wouldn't have occurred to Ol.'

Ol?
Nobody shortened Oliver's name, ever!

But, then, he and Caroline went back a long, long way. Longer than he and Rachel did.

Tough. He'd chosen Rachel. She'd make sure Caroline realised that tonight.

‘Well, it must be difficult, coming back to your old home town. Everyone's changed. Besides, it's a sort of thank you from me as well—for standing in for me this week.' Hopefully Caroline would take the hint: as of next week,
she
would be back at the practice. And she had no intention of moving her job or her home to suit Caroline Prentiss.

‘It was a pleasure. I hope I've left a decent set of notes for you, but if I haven't and you want me to explain anything, just ring me—Ol knows my number.'

I just bet he does, Rachel thought.

‘Would you like a drink?' she enquired sweetly. A cock
tail, perhaps. Arsenic Surprise with a sprinkle of cyanide for good measure.

‘I'd love one.'

‘We've got some white wine in the fridge, or I can open a bottle of red.'

‘White would be lovely, thanks.' Caroline handed her a huge bunch of peonies. ‘I'll admit now, I pinched these from Dad's garden—but as he and Mum went on holiday for a fortnight this afternoon, I'm sure he'd rather someone actually appreciated them. They won't last long with me—I've got brown thumbs,' Caroline added with a grimace. ‘I water the things, I even talk to them, and it doesn't make a bit of difference. Two days, and the whole garden's brown.'

‘Right. Er, thank you. I'll put them in water.'

‘Anything I can do to help?'

Apart from leave my husband alone? Rachel wanted to ask. ‘No, it's fine.'

‘Mind if I tag along?' Caroline followed Rachel into the kitchen. ‘I brought this as a contribution for tonight, too.' She set a bottle on the worktop. ‘Ol, of course, is completely hopeless—didn't give me a clue as to whether you wanted red or white. Men! So I played it safe.'

With an expensive bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Caroline might be a cold-hearted cow, Rachel thought, but she had good taste in wine.

‘I brought the kids something, too, but I thought I'd check with you before I hand over any goodies.' She handed Rachel a carrier bag in exchange for a glass of wine.

‘Do you have children of your own?' Rachel asked.

‘No. I'm afraid I took a bit of a guess, based on friends' children. I've heard that all little girls under four adore anything pink, and boys like things they can build.'

The tiara and feather boa were absolutely Sophie, and Robin would adore the build-your-own-spaceship kit. Was this Caroline's way of buying her way into the children's
affections? Rachel forced herself to be pleasant. ‘Thank you. They'll love them.'

‘Good. I can remember as a child getting presents I
hated
, and I always had to be polite and grateful when I really wanted to ask if I could have a book rather than a doll next time, please.' Caroline smiled. ‘Luckily my friends usually give me a list of suggestions for Christmas and birthday presents for their littlies. I wouldn't have a clue otherwise.'

‘Would you like to give them to them? I'll go and see why Oliver's taking so long upstairs.' Subtext:
my
husband.
My
bathroom.
My
bedroom.

‘Men claim they don't take as long as women in the bathroom—that's only because they take
longer
,' Caroline said with a grin.

Damn. Not only was she glamorous, she was witty as well. In fact, Rachel thought as she hurried upstairs, if it wasn't for the fact that Caroline was trying to steal her husband, she'd actually
like
the woman.

‘Oliver, she's here. Will you hurry up?' she muttered through the
en suite
door.

‘Thirty seconds,' Oliver called back. ‘Promise.'

It was more like five minutes, but at last he appeared, looking handsome, gorgeous—and Rachel definitely had the feeling he'd made the effort for Caroline's sake, not hers.

Well, she wasn't going to make a scene. She was just going to be super-nice. And hopefully Caroline would feel so guilty that she'd leave Oliver alone in future.

‘Right, you two. Bedtime,' she said to the children.

‘But I want to wear my crown!' Sophie protested.

‘And I want to make my spaceship!' Rob said, his bottom lip mutinous.

‘OK, as it's Saturday, you can stay up a bit longer—in your bedrooms. Daddy will be up later to read you a story, Soph—that's
one
story—and turn out the lights,' she warned.

‘Love you, Mummy,' Sophie said, hugging her and kissing her. ‘Love you, Daddy.'

Rob followed suit, then both of them stood looking at Caroline.

‘Goodnight, Princess Fairy. Goodnight, Astronaut Bedingfield,' Caroline said solemnly.

They beamed, and hugged her. Rachel's heart wrenched. She hadn't wanted Caroline to be vile to the children—but she hadn't wanted the children to be a complete pushover either!

Silently, she put the first course on the table. And then suddenly it was just the three of them, and the dining room seemed far too small.

‘This is very nice, Rachel. You've gone to an awful lot of trouble,' Caroline said of the home-made smoked salmon mousse.

‘I like cooking,' Rachel said.

Caroline grinned. ‘I detest it. After years of being forced to bake cakes and cut prissy little sandwiches for vicarage garden parties, I swore I'd never, ever cook again. I'm the Queen of Ready Meals. But don't tell any of the patients, or they'll never listen to me when I bang on about watching the amount of saturated fat they eat and reducing their salt intake.' She winked.

Good. That was one area where she'd score higher than Caroline, then: Oliver liked Rachel's cooking. She made a mental note to pull out all the stops over the next few weeks. Remind him what he'd be giving up.

The second course went down just as well. ‘Don't tell me you grow your own herbs as well,' Caroline said. ‘That's tarragon in the sauce with the chicken, yes?'

Rachel nodded. ‘Though I'll admit I bought the fresh herbs from the supermarket.'

‘Much easier. I would, if I ever cooked.' Caroline gave
a sigh of bliss. ‘Minted Jersey Royals. That's when I always know it's summer.'

Why did Caroline have to be so nice? Why couldn't she have been a horrible, nasty piece of work? Not that Rachel wanted Oliver to spend the rest of his life with someone who made him miserable. She just wanted him to be happy. Preferably with her.