Maddy gave herself a mental slap. This was ridiculous; whether Kerr lived two miles away here or five miles away in Bath, what difference did it make? She had to get a grip, act like a mature and sensible adult. Whatever happened between them, Kerr was entitled to live wherever he liked. And this was a beautiful house.
Now, why was he looking at her like that? Oh yes, waiting for her to say something.
Brightly, Maddy said, ‘Great.’
‘Come on, finish your coffee. I’ll show you around.’
‘You said that before, and we didn’t get too far.’
‘I know, sorry about that. My motives were pure, I promise you.’ Kerr’s eyes glittered with wickedness. ‘I was pretending to be a sex-crazed seducer, to put you off me. I just hope it worked.’
Maddy thought about it. ‘Good tactics. But this time I’m actually going to see the rest of the house?’
‘Not making any promises,’ Kerr murmured into her still-damp hair. ‘I may have to seduce you in a few more rooms en route. But we’ll give it a go.’
‘Marcella told me. She’s not thrilled.’
‘Didn’t expect her to be,’ Maddy retaliated with a careless shrug. Fresh from the bath, she was in the kitchen making herself cheese on toast. She had no intention of being intimidated and lectured to by, of all people, Jake.
Watching her, Jake said evenly, ‘So, who is he?’ Had he suspected, earlier, that it could be Kerr?
‘No one you know, no one you’ve heard of, and I’m not telling you his name because there’s no point. Now, do you want some cheese on toast or not?’
Jake leaned against the door, his hands folded.
‘Marcella wants you to finish with him.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, of course she wants me to finish with him!’ Shaking her head in defiance, Maddy prodded the bubbling slices of cheese on toast under the grill with her knife. ‘But it’s not as easy as that. Which is why you’ve been dragged in to put the pressure on, presumably.’ She raised her eyebrows at Jake. ‘Although why I should take a blind bit of notice of anything you say, I’ve no idea. You sleep with married women, why can’t I do it too?’
‘There’s a difference,’ said Jake. ‘OK, I may have slept with a few married women in my time, but it was never serious. Just a bit of fun, to cheer them up and tide them over while their husbands weren’t doing their share. I don’t get emotionally involved and I certainly don’t put their marriages at risk.’
‘What a hero,’ Maddy said crossly. ‘Your trouble is, you never get emotionally involved with anyone, married or not. But Sophie’s seven now, doesn’t it ever occur to you that maybe you should give it a go? I mean, you can’t spend the rest of your life just shagging your way round Bath for the hell of it. Don’t you think it’s about time you found yourself someone nice and settled down? You never know, if you carried on seeing a girl for longer than three days, you might find out you actually liked her.’
‘Here comes Sophie,’ said Jake as the back door banged and Sophie and Bean raced in. ‘Tell you what, you don’t lecture me and I won’t lecture you.’ Strolling over and turning off the smoking grill he added, ‘Even though I know exactly what I’m doing and you haven’t a clue. These are wrecked, by the way. I’ll have the one on the left.’
‘Bugger off.’ Maddy pushed him out of the way. ‘You can have the one on the right. Unless Sophie wants some.’ Turning, she said, ‘Soph? Fancy some cheese on toast?’
Sophie, who adored rude words and was swinging from the door jamb, said happily, ‘Bugger off, I want one that isn’t burned.’
Chapter 18
It was probably PMT, but that didn’t make all the little irritations of the day any less irritating.
Estelle, having stacked the dishwasher and discovered that the only things she actively disliked washing wouldn’t fit into it anyway, was at the kitchen sink scrubbing futilely at a roasting pan that was determined not to relinquish its welded-on bits of caramelised parsnip.
This wasn’t turning out to be one of her better days. Kate had been so snappish all morning that when she had taken Norris out for a walk after lunch, it had been a relief. Oliver had, in the space of the last couple of hours, managed to criticise Estelle’s roast potatoes, her dress sense and her less than intellectual taste in novels, leaving her with an ego like a deflated condom and the urge to punch him on the nose. Now Oliver had left as well, departed for London for the day, and as far as she was concerned London was jolly well welcome to him.
‘Oh fuck it.’ Estelle leapt back from the sink as her vigorous scrubbing caused a wave of washing-up water to sloosh down the front of her turquoise linen shirt. Not lovely clean, bubbly washing-up water, of course, but brackish greasy water complete with floaty burned bits. Just what you needed to accessorise a linen shirt.
‘Shit, shit,’ whispered Estelle, snatching up the tea towel and pressing it to her front — for all the good it would do.
‘Are you OK? Did you cut yourself?’ Will’s voice behind her made her jump; she hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen.
Turning round, shaking her head helplessly, Estelle showed him her sopping wet front. ‘Just making a mess of this, like I’ve made a mess of everything else today.’
‘Well, I’m glad it’s only water. Can’t stand the sight of blood.’ Will’s eyes crinkled reassuringly at her behind his glasses, and he was holding something wrapped in a plastic carrier bag that looked as if it might be a large bone for Norris. ‘Go and change into something dry,’ he went on gently.
‘And don’t be silly, you haven’t messed up anything else. That was a fantastic lunch.’
Upstairs, Estelle stripped off her shirt and as an act of rebellion changed into a pale pink sweatshirt — the one that, according to Oliver, made her look like a giant marshmallow. And not in a good way. Sod Oliver, Estelle told herself resentfully, thinking she really should run a comb through her hair and deciding she couldn’t be bothered. He wasn’t even here, and she liked this sweatshirt.
At least Will, with his non-existent clothes sense, wasn’t likely to criticise it.
He was leaving too, heading back up to London this afternoon with the first few hours of recorded videotape under his belt. As she made her way downstairs, Estelle realised how sorry she’d be to see Will go; he was such a genuinely nice, easygoing character, which certainly made a change from Oliver’s air of preoccupation and picky, often pedantic, manner.
‘Oh!’ Estelle stopped short in the kitchen, overwhelmed by the sight of the roasting tin, now scrubbed sparkling clean, propped up on the drainer. ‘Oh Will, you didn’t have to do that!’
‘Hey, it’s only a roasting tin. It’s not as if I built a conservatory.’ Waving aside her protestations, he reached for the carrier bag on top of the fridge. ‘Anyway, this is for you. A little thank you present for making me so welcome. It’s not much, but ...’ As he handed it over, Estelle saw that his flapping shirtcuffs were now damp where he’d neglected to roll up his sleeves before setting to with the Brillo pad. Taking the carrier bag and opening it, she saw that it didn’t contain a ham bone for Norris but an assortment of bath products. Tears sprang into her eyes as she saw that Will had bought her a bottle of lavender oil, several cellophane-wrapped bars of fruit-scented soaps, a tube of geranium foaming shower gel and a loofah.