The One You Really Want (7 page)

‘D'you know, I haven't the faintest idea.' Nancy was touched by his concern; he was a virtual stranger, after all. Even if the fact that her marriage had broken up this afternoon was pretty much entirely down to him.

‘You're in shock,' Rennie told her. ‘Hey, but you did the right thing.'

They were in the restaurant of the Kincaid in Edinburgh; Rennie had insisted on booking them into the hotel and treating them to dinner, as arranged. Following their departure from the Talbot Arms, the four of them had returned to Nancy and Jonathan's house and helped Nancy to pack.

‘You don't need to leave,' Carmen had reminded her. ‘Why should you have to be the one to go?'

‘I'd rather.' Nancy hadn't needed to think about it, her mind was already made up. The house had always felt more like Jonathan's than hers. He paid the mortgage, the property was in his name, he'd invariably had the final say when it came to decorating or buying furniture. Well, he was welcome to it. Right now she didn't care if she never saw Kilnachranan again.

Nodding at the waiter who was wondering if they'd like their glasses refilled, Rennie speared a scallop and said, ‘What if he wants you back?'

From across the table, Rose put down her own fork and said, ‘She'll tell him to take a running jump. Don't worry, I'll make sure of that.'

Nancy smiled, she couldn't help it. ‘Honestly, it's like having a whole new mum. You've never been like this before.'

‘I know. I'm making up for lost time. Could you be an angel and bring me some more butter?' Touching the young waiter's arm, Rose confided, ‘I've had two bread rolls already, but they're so gorgeous I'm going to have a third. Don't worry, pet, I'll pay the extra.'

Rose was loving every minute of her evening. Watching her sitting there at the table, a tiny grey-haired figure in a pale blue shirt and her favourite dusty-pink knitted twinset, Nancy marvelled at the change in her.

‘You don't have to pay extra. Mum, why didn't you ever tell me how you felt about Jonathan?'

‘Och, Nancy. Surely you know the answer to that. Remember Darren,' Rose chided gently.

Nancy suppressed a shudder. Oh yes, she remembered Darren. Her first love. Darren had been two years older than her - eighteen, gosh,
so
grown-up - and every mother's nightmare. He drove like a lunatic, drank like a . . . well, lunatic, had regularly stood her up in order to go clubbing with his mates instead and had generally made her life a misery.

When Rose had pointed this out to her, at the same time making clear her own views on Darren, their relationship had been stretched to the limit. The last thing Nancy had needed was her mother making her miserable too. She had a clear memory of herself, over-hormonal and consumed by the unfairness of it all, yelling, ‘You don't understand, I LOVE HIM! And he loves me!' before stomping up to her room and slamming the bedroom door so hard that her Spandau Ballet poster had fallen off the wall.

After that she'd felt morally obliged, as only a sixteen-year-old can, to carry on seeing Darren for another eight and a half humiliating months.

What a dickhead he'd been. How masochistic she'd been. When it came to spiting her face, it was a wonder she'd had any nose left.

‘Well,' Rose said now, across the table, ‘I wasn't going to run the risk of
that
happening again. And to be fair, Jonathan did seem all right to begin with. It was a while before I decided I really didn't like him. But you were about to be married and you wouldn't have thanked me for telling you, so what else could I do? You might have cut me out of your life.'

‘Oh God, I wouldn't—'

‘Well, I wasn't going to take that risk.' Rose shrugged and calmly buttered her roll. ‘Far simpler to pretend to adore him. Anyway, it's over now, and that's the best Christmas present I could have asked for. You have the whole of your life ahead of you. You're young and beautiful and you can do anything you want.'

Nancy prayed she wasn't about to start crying. The suddenness of it all had knocked her for six. ‘I don't know what I want to do. I don't know what I
can
do.' A mental image of herself in a hideously jaunty baseball cap serving behind the counter of Burger King sprang to mind. Hastily she pushed it away.

‘Hey, you don't have to worry about that. Give yourself time to think about it,' said Rennie.

Feeling panicky and helpless, Nancy said, ‘But I don't have anywhere to live.'

Opening her mouth, Rose began to say, ‘Darling, you—'

‘Now you're being daft,' Rennie said forcefully. ‘You can come and stay with us.'

‘Of course you can,' Carmen joined in. ‘Get away from here for a while, take a little holiday. It'd be great to have you in London.' Turning her attention to Rennie, she raised her eyebrows and added pointedly,
‘Us?'

He looked mystified. ‘What?'

‘You just said
us
.'

Rennie shrugged. ‘The rest of the tour's been cancelled. I'm free for the next couple of months.'

‘So that's settled, is it?' Carmen sounded rattled. ‘Last night you asked if you could stay for a few
days
.'

Nancy, watching her reaction, wondered what this was all about.

‘And since then I've decided you could use the company.' Unperturbed, evidently treating Carmen's reaction as a challenge rather than an insult, Rennie said, ‘I did promise Spike that if anything happened to him, I'd keep an eye on you.'

‘You liar! That is bullsh—rubbish,' Carmen blurted out with an apologetic glance at Rose. ‘He didn't ask you anything of the sort.'

‘OK, maybe he didn't. But it was one of those unspoken things.'

‘That you'd keep an eye on me? I haven't seen you for months!'

‘And now I'm making up for lost time.' Tapping his fork against his plate, Rennie said, ‘This prosciutto is fantastic.'

‘What, twenty-four-hour surveillance? I don't need keeping an eye on.' Carmen was defensive. ‘I'm fine.'

Turning his attention to Rose, Rennie said easily, ‘Any Christmas decorations in your home?'

‘In my flat, you mean?' Startled, Rose said, ‘Well, of course there are. I didn't go overboard, what with it just being me on my own and not even there over Christmas itself, but I put a tree up, and lights in the window - and a lovely wreath with fir cones sprayed gold.' She looked anxiously at Rennie. ‘Is that the kind of thing you mean?'

Carmen was watching him too, as mutinous as any teenager.

‘When I turned up at Carmen's place yesterday, there was nothing,' said Rennie, his tone conversational. ‘Not a fairy, not a strip of tinsel in sight.'

Rose looked at Carmen, as shocked as if Rennie had just announced that she was the star attraction in a lap-dancing club.

‘Oh, pet. Not even a tree?'

‘This is ridiculous,' Carmen blurted out. ‘There's more to Christmas than decorations, you know! Just because I was too busy to put any up doesn't make me some kind of basket case—'

‘Actually, don't worry about me,' Nancy said hurriedly. ‘I think I'll just stay here in Edinburgh.'

‘You will not,' declared Carmen, her eyes flashing. ‘You're staying with me. And that way I won't need a . . . a childminder to keep an eye on me, because I won't
be
on my own, will I?'

‘Oh, sweetheart,' Rose flapped her hands consolingly, ‘he didn't mean it like that.'

‘Yes I did, that's exactly what I meant,' said Rennie. ‘And how's Nancy supposed to cheer you up when she's just getting over her own marriage break-up? The two of you would make a fine pair, living like a couple of hermits, each as gloomy as the other. What you both need is some fun. Hey, don't look at me like that,' he told Carmen more gently. ‘I'm trying to help here. You need cheering up and I can do that, it's what I'm good at.'

‘Should have been a Bluecoat,' muttered Carmen.

‘He has a point,' Rose said hesitantly.

‘Thank you, Rose.' Rennie nodded with satisfaction, beckoning the waiter over. ‘We'd like a bottle of Veuve Cliquot please.'

‘And it's only for a couple of months,' Rose added. ‘It's not as if he'd be there forever.'

Gravely, Rennie said, ‘Thank you, Rose. I'm sure you meant that in a flattering way.'

‘I hate being cheered up,' Carmen grumbled. ‘Insane people, whooping and clapping like orang-utans, bellowing at you to join in and have fun.'

‘OK. No whooping and clapping, I promise.'

Wearily, Carmen said, ‘You aren't going to let this drop, are you?'

‘No,' said Rennie. ‘Nancy? Would you mind an extra house guest? Just for a few weeks,' he reminded her. ‘It's not as if I'd be there forever.'

‘Oh, you.' Playfully Rose smacked his wrist. ‘You know I didn't mean like that.'

‘Of course I wouldn't mind.' Nancy didn't feel it was her place to object; it was Carmen's house, after all. ‘But—'

‘No buts. You know it makes sense. Carmen, if I promise not to behave like an orang-utan, will you let me stay?' He had hold of her hand now and was looking soulful.

Carmen, struggling not to laugh, said, ‘You are
such
a worm. Just don't expect to be waited on hand and foot, OK? Because I know what you're like.'

Dark green eyes glittering, Rennie blew her a kiss across the table. ‘No problem, we'll have Nancy there to do all that.'

‘Sir, your champagne.' The waiter arrived, holding a bottle that was cloudy with condensation and wrapped in a white napkin.

‘Perfect timing.' Rennie grinned up at him. ‘We've got something to celebrate.'

‘And no singing in the middle of the night,' Carmen warned. ‘I hate it when you do that.' To Nancy she added, ‘He's not remotely house-trained, you know.'

Nancy began to wonder what she might have let herself in for.

‘She's making me sound as if I don't know how to use a litter tray,' Rennie complained to Rose.

‘I'm sure you're not that bad.' Rose's tone was consoling.

‘He's spent so long living in hotels,' Carmen complained, ‘that he's completely institutionalised. He'll be putting his shoes outside the bedroom door and demanding round-the-clock room service.'

‘I can't help it. I need the love of a good woman,' said Rennie.

‘Tuh,' Carmen snorted. ‘From what I hear, you've had the love of a thousand good women. What you need is a slave.'

Connor O'Shea may have moved over from Dublin eleven years ago, making his home in London, but his Irish accent was as strong as ever. He fully intended to keep it with him for life. It suited him, went with his personality and had the desired effect when it came to the opposite sex. In all fairness, what more could you ask of an accent than that?

Sadly, the person currently on the other end of the phone was male and far more interested in moaning on about staffing problems and holiday rotas. Stretching and yawning, Connor let him have his say.

‘. . . and Savannah's complaining that the staff T-shirts are too tight. She wants me to order some in size eighteen. I told her it was her fault for being such a whale.'

OK, now he really did have to interrupt. ‘Neville, order the T-shirts and stop giving Savannah grief.' From the living-room window, Connor idly watched a taxi pull up outside.

‘But she's so fat! It's just . . . ugh.' You didn't need to be able to see Neville to know that he was shuddering with revulsion. Neville was as fastidious as he was fit, and as fit as he was gay. Luckily Connor knew that Savannah was more than capable of standing up for herself and, if need be, squashing Neville flat.

‘Now you know as well as I do that people go to fitness clubs for different reasons. Some of them are like you. They have bodies like yours and they enjoy keeping themselves in peak physical condition.' Connor wondered why he was even bothering to say this when Neville was already perfectly well aware of it. ‘And then there are the other clients, the kind who just want to be a bit fitter than they are. If you couldn't swim, Neville, and you were going along to the pool for the first time, would you rather be put in with the beginners' class or the British Olympic squad?'

‘OK, OK,' grumbled Neville.

‘You wouldn't want to be intimidated,' Connor persisted. ‘Made to feel stupid. Women carrying a bit of extra weight know perfectly well that they're never going to look like most of our instructors, but it boosts their confidence no end when they see someone like Savannah taking a class, because she might be a big girl but she's fit as well. And bloody attractive. They enjoy her classes because they can aspire to be like her. Half of them wouldn't attend a class run by a seven-stone stick insect. So just go ahead and order the T-shirts, will you?'

‘Fine.' Neville was offended. ‘Shall I tell you about the holiday rotas now, or wouldn't you be interested?'

‘I'd love to hear all about them,' Connor lied, ‘but I'm pushed for time. In fact, here's my taxi now. Better fax them through to me instead.'

God, for a super-fit male, Neville was such an old woman. Pressing the off button on the phone, Connor wondered why on earth he'd ever asked him to manage the Islington branch of the Lazy B. Because he'd been drunk, probably. The ethos of the entire chain of Lazy Bs was that everyone wasn't perfect and that there was more to life than physical perfection.

Anyway, who was that, climbing out of the taxi? Ha, the Invisible Woman. Smiling to himself, Connor watched her pay the driver - thanks to her brother-in-law he now knew that her name was Carmen - and waited to see if she would glance up at his window as she made her way into the house next door. Well, there was a first time for everything. If she did, he would wave and mouth hello, and - probably - scare the living daylights out of her.