Never Too Late (68 page)

the table back and put a white geranium on it instead,

gathering up her little pigs, seals, rabbits and elephants and

putting them safely in a box with tissue paper.

Now she was grimly tugging dandelions out of the

right-hand border to the accompanying barks of next

door’s bored Jack Russell, who could bounce up and down

and appear startlingly over the fence when he was in an

energetic mood.

‘Boris, shut up!’ howled Rosie, throwing her apple core

over the fence. ‘We’re trying to have a conversation here.’

Boris took no notice.

Eventually, Rosie got up, leaned over the fence, picked

up the squirming little dog and put him down in their

garden, where he ran around delightedly, peeing all over

the weeds Evie was about to pull up. Peeing finished, he ran back to Rosie and licked her face with adoration for having released him.

Are you hungry, little baby?’ she crooned, tickling his

velvety toffee-coloured ears. ‘Want a biccie?’

‘Don’t feed him biscuits,’ Evie warned. ‘Sophie has

warned us not to. The vet has him on a diet.’

As if he knew he was being talked about, Boris immediately

ran over to her and wriggled up against her adoringly,

demanding attention, hopeful she’d relent on the biscuit

front. She pulled off her gardening gloves and petted him.

He squirmed happily under her touch and rolled obligingly

on to his back, showing off his soft beige belly.

‘Boris,’ said Evie affectionately, tickling his belly and

wishing she could have a dog, ‘how am I going to get any

work done with you here?’

After five minutes of unadulterated love from Evie,

Boris scrabbled to his feet and trotted off to make an

inventory of plants that required his own particular brand

of watering. Evie went back to weeding and Rosie went

back to describing just how incredible film-making was.

‘It’s got to be so boring for the actors,’ she said. ‘We’re always doing something - the crew, I mean,’ she added proudly. ‘But they have to hang around in their trailers the

whole time. One of them knits. Maisie … she plays the

housekeeper to this family it’s about … she’s making a

lovely jumper for her daughter. And some of the guys play

poker in Nicky Reilly’s trailer.’

‘Isn’t he the guy who was in that detective series, Rozzers?’ Evie asked, resorting to her trowel for one weed that seemed to have millions of roots going off in every

direction.

‘That’s him. He plays the son of the Butler family, the one who was at Oxford and comes back just before the First World War with a new bride, who’s played by the

horrible Mia.’

Evie stopped digging. ‘You mean Mia Koen’s in it?’ she

asked in an unnaturally high voice.

Rosie made a gagging noise. ‘She’s an absolute cow.

Everybody hates her.’

Evie smiled.

‘Well,’ Rosie said grudgingly, ‘not everybody. The director

thinks the sun shines out of her every orifice but none

of the crew can stand her. She whines about everything. The catering van doesn’t do the right salad dressing, her caravan’s too small, the heating doesn’t work and the

weather’s too cold. I mean, you don’t come to Ireland for

the weather, do you?’

No, you come for the men, Evie thought, glowering.

‘She’s only been there two days and already we hate

her,’ Rosie continued. ‘Max’ll soon sort her out when he

gets back from London,’ she added gleefully. ‘Remember

how he said he dealt with that mad woman who wanted

crates of bourbon and smoked salmon for her dog! He

won’t stand for Miss Bossy Boots.’

I wouldn’t bank on it, Evie thought wearily as she

started on another bed. He’d probably run to Mia’s caravan

and solve her heating problem immediately, mainly by

jumping into her arms and … She couldn’t bear to think

of the ‘… and’.

‘The Butlers go ballistic to find that their son and heir

has married this Frenchwoman - Mia,’ Rosie continued

with her plot revelations, ‘and they say they won’t accept

her. But she’s got such a hold over the son that he’ll do

anything for her.’

That figured. Evie wrenched a petunia out of the hard

soil by mistake.

‘He goes off to war and gets killed and she has an

illegitimate son with his brother, but everyone thinks it’s

her dead husband’s. Then they find out and throw her out

of the house.’

Evie was beginning to like the sound of the Butler

family.

‘And she goes to America where her son becomes a

politician, so she starts an American political dynasty.’

‘Is this based on anything real?’

‘No. It’s a book by this American writer. It’s a DWS/American production. The rest of it is set in Boston in the twenties. I’d love to go on location with them there,’ Rosie

said wistfully.

‘I know.’ Evie pulled off her gloves again. ‘But you’ll be

at college by then, won’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ Rosie plucked at the lawn resentfully.

Evie held out her hand to her daughter. ‘Come on, I’m

going to get cleaned up and then let’s go off shopping. We

haven’t done that in ages. Now that you’re a working

woman, you need new clothes.’

Ace!’ said Rosie, leaping up. ‘I saw this amazing shirt in

French Connection. Could we go into town?’

Unlike her elder sister, Cara practically ran into work, she

was so keen to get there. Ewan hadn’t answered his phone

when she’d rung the night before, so she was eager to see

him in the flesh and tell him about her Damascene

conversion. Not that she could explain that playing tonsil

hockey with some sexy Greek bloke had been the reason

she’d suddenly, blindingly, realised she loved him and that

she was as mad as a bicycle not to have realised it

properly before.

She wanted to tell him so much it almost hurt. She’d

been practising all night and all morning, beaming happily

even though she got up too late for breakfast, the bus was

delayed for ages by roadworks on Portobello Bridge and

she didn’t even have time to grab a takeaway cappuccino on

her way to Yoshi Advertising.

Darling, darling Ewan - I’m sorry! It’s my fault, you’re

right. I shouldn’t have hidden our relationship, it wasn’t

fair to you. I’ve been a bit mixed up for a long time but

I’m going to sort myself out and please, please can we go

out again. Dinner, my treat?

So when she raced upstairs into the elegantly grey

copywriting department and found his chair empty and his

desk suspiciously clear, she got a shock. He couldn’t have

left the company? she thought, stunned. He’d talked about

it but would he have gone without discussing it with her?

Of course he would. You don’t discuss career decisions

with your ex-girlfriend, do you? Deflated, she leaned

against his desk miserably.

‘Looking for Ewan?’ his boss, Ken asked, poking his head

out of his office.

‘Oh, er …’ Cara stuttered. How did he know she was

looking for Ewan? She never came into copywriting.

‘Didn’t he tell you? He took a few days off Ken came

out of his office, Dunhills and lighter in hand to slope

outside for a quick cigarette. ‘I thought he meant he was

going away with you, actually, but you know Ewan. If ever

there was a man for heading off when the mood takes him,

it’s Ewan.’

Cara was speechless. Not because Ewan was known as

an impulsive creature: she knew that. But because Ken was

so convinced she and Ewan were an item. How did he

know? She’d never told anyone except Zoe. And Ewan

wasn’t given to discussing his personal life in great detail.

‘Well, er … thanks, Ken,’ she muttered, heading for the

door. As she took the stairs up to her office two at a time,

Cara thought about something Ewan had said at the end of

their relationship, something cynical about how the

gimlet-eyed staff in Yoshi could almost tell when he was

wearing boxer shorts instead of underpants. ‘They notice everything,’ he’d emphasised, ‘so don’t kid yourself that there’s anything private in your life. They know but they

just aren’t talking.’

He must have been right. Perhaps everybody already

knew she and Ewan were dating but hadn’t said anything.

And in attempting to keep it quiet, she’d managed doubly

to insult him. The whole office knew, but could see that

Cara Fraser refused openly to acknowledge the relationship,

which meant she was ashamed of going out with

Ewan Walshe.

She winced. Nothing could be further from the truth,

but her behaviour had made everybody think so.

‘Good morning, Cara,’ squeaked Penny, Zoe’s replacement,

in her high Cork-accented voice.

‘What’s good about it?’ growled Cara, and immediately

regretted sounding so brusque. It wasn’t Penny’s fault that

Ewan was away and she couldn’t make it all up to him.

‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘Post-holiday blues.’

Penny’s broad, plain face curved back into a smile.

Nobody could be further from the air-headed bimbo Cara

had expected to have to train thanks to Bernard’s fondness

for nepotism. Penny was eager, clever, and if Cara

didn’t already know she was the daughter of one of

Bernard’s best friends, she’d never have discovered the

fact from Penny, who was determined to learn everything

the hard way.

And, as her computer literacy was non-existent, it really

was the hard way. A marvellous artist, she fell apart when

faced with a blank screen, a wacom tablet and the Adobe

illustrator package.

This morning, she seemed thrilled to have Cara back.

‘It’s been difficult dealing with Bernard,’ she said diplomatically.

‘He’s been in twice already this morning looking

for you about a project he said he wanted done before you

went on holiday.’

‘It’s only five past nine,’ said Cara in exasperation.

‘I know,’ Penny said uncomfortably. ‘! told him it wasn’t

due until this Friday but he insisted you’d got the date

wrong …’

Cara, already deeply pissed off with the way the day

was progressing, felt her hackles rise another inch. So

Bernard wanted to play silly buggers, did he? Well, he

could think again. Cara Fraser had spent too much of her

life kowtowing to manipulative bastards who used her

own neuroses to control her. She was starting again from

scratch and Bernard Redmond was going to get the full

blast of her rage.

The phone rang. Cara snatched it up. ‘Yes?’ she hissed,

sounding as laid-back as a prison warden during a cellblock

riot.

‘Cara, welcome back.’ Bernard’s voice was oily with

charm. ‘I believe there’s a misunderstanding between us

about when an assignment was to have been finished.

Penny says it’s my mistake, so it must be. All the same,

even though it’s my error, I’d be so grateful if you could

have it for me by, let’s say, Wednesday evening.’

The wind taken out of her sails by his admission of guilt,

Cara could only gape at the phone. ‘Er … yes, sure,’ she

said eventually. Then she stopped. Because of his mistake,

she’d have to work late all week.

Actually, Bernard, it’s not OK,’ she announced suddenly.

She rooted around on her desk as she spoke for the hastily

scrawled memo he had given her about the job. The date

he wanted it by was the forthcoming Friday.

‘I’ve got the original memo in my hand,’ she said, voice

steady. ‘It was to be ready by this Friday, not the previous

one. And it doesn’t say much for our relationship if you

chose to believe my assistant and not me.’

Bernard, for once, was almost speechless.

‘I can’t imagine I’d have made such a mistake …’ he

began.

‘You did,’ she interrupted. ‘Luckily for you, Bernard, I

can manage to get it done for you on time, but we’re really

going to have to discuss my future with this company if

you persist in treating me like some sort of idiot savant.

Penny is doing great work but I don’t imagine she’d he able

to cope with this entire department if I left and, quite

frankly, I’m thinking of it.’

Bernard began to bluster. ‘There’s no need for that sort

of talk, Cara. You’re a great addition to this firm …’

‘Maybe you could start treating me like one, then,’ she

said pleasantly. ‘I’ll be down later in the week for a

discussion on my package. ‘Bye.’

She put the phone down slowly and looked at Penny.

‘We’re going to have to rush to get it done after all,

Pens,’ she said. ‘Bernard admitted it was his mistake but

we’re going to have to work late.’

Delighted that Cara’s outburst was over, Penny nodded

enthusiastically. ‘I bought Danishes for us,’ she added. ‘In

case you needed a sugar boost.’

Cara relaxed. ‘You’re a mind reader, Pens. What if I nip

down to the kitchen and get us coffee and you get

breakfast ready?’

Ricky had just sneaked a large measure of Cara’s litre of

previously unopened Spanish gin when she burst into the

kitchen that night at half-eight, exhausted after overtime on

bloody Bernard’s project and desperate for something to eat.