Rumor Has It (18 page)

    'I know.' Jack glanced at it again, smiled briefly. 'She's laugh ing there because her grandmother's just come out carrying a tray of mugs. We'd asked for coffee, no sugar. We got tea, six sugars. With grapes floating on top.' He paused. 'Does that sound cruel? We weren't laughing
at
her, just making the best of a situation that had its funny side. Rose loved her to bits. We both did.'

    'Was she still alive when… the accident happened?' For some reason Tilly had thought Rose's granny-with-Alzheimer's had died many years ago.

    'Oh yes.' Jack exhaled slowly. 'At the funeral she kept asking who'd died. Then every ten minutes during the service she'd look round the church and say, "Where's Rose, then? Why isn't she here yet? Honestly, that girl would be late for her own funeral." Which I have to say was less funny. And every time someone told her who'd died, it was as if she was hearing it for the first time. Which was pretty hard to bear.' He stopped, shook his head. 'I can't believe I'm telling you all this. I don't usually.'

    If he hadn't just relayed such a heartbreaking story, Tilly might have been tempted to retort that it was probably because he was
usually
far too busy doing other things.

    But she obviously couldn't say that now. In fact, seeing as there was a lump in her throat the size of a tennis ball, she wasn't sure she was up to saying anything much at all.

    'Actually, that's not true,' Jack amended. 'I think I do know why.' Another pause, then he shook his head. 'Shall we change the subject?'

    Tilly nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. All of a sudden, like some kind of weird but unstoppable chemical reaction, her whole body was reacting to his. There was his leg and here was hers, right next to it. Could Jack feel what was happening, could he tell that every nerve ending in her body was jangling and buzzing with an urgency completely beyond her control? She wanted to touch him, hold him, lessen the terrible pain and make him feel better… Oh God, this must be the infamous tragic-widower effect, the lethally effective means by which Jack persuaded women to abandon their principles, their free will, their dignity…

    'Go on then.' He looked at her. 'You choose.'

    As he said it, his hand momentarily brushed against hers and Tilly felt the spark of emotional static arc between them. She heard her own breathing quicken. 'Choose what?'

    'We're changing the subject. To something happier.'

    Happier,
happier
. She swallowed with difficulty. 'How about handbags?'

    'That's cheating.' Jack slowly shook his head.

    'Cricket?'

    'Fine, let's talk about cricket.'

    'I hate cricket.' Was it her imagination or was he moving closer?

    'We could discuss Italy.' OK, his mouth definitely wasn't as far away as it had been twenty seconds ago. 'Ever been to Italy?'

    'No.'

    'Oh dear. We're running out of things to talk about.' He waited. 'If I told you that I like you, would you think I was spinning you a line?'

    Tilly managed a nod.

    'Well, I'm not. It's the truth. I really do like you. A lot,' said Jack. 'In fact, it almost scares me. I'm not sure I want it to be happening.'

    Was this how he did it? Was this the well-spun line? It probably was. She imagined him trotting it out over and over again to an endless parade of gullible females, each of them falling for it and believing they were the one person capable of making that difference and unthawing the tragic widower's frozen heart…

    Oh God, but what if it
wasn't
a line? What if this was the one time he actually meant it?

    'And in case you were wondering,' Jack's voice was low, 'it almost killed me, keeping my promise last night.'

    Had it? Really? He looked as if he was telling the truth. He
sounded
believable. And he had the most incredible mouth she'd ever seen. Breathlessly, Tilly said, 'I thought you weren't bothered.'

    He half smiled with his incredible mouth. 'Oh, I was bothered all right.'

    Tilly's stomach was by this time awash with butterflies. 'I wish you didn't have such a reputation.'

    'I know. Me too. I'm not proud of some of the things I've done.'

    'Like that girl Amy, from the Fox last week. As far as you're concerned, she meant nothing. But you still slept with her. She was boasting about it,' said Tilly. 'She was so thrilled and besotted, because she didn't realize it was just a meaningless one-night stand, and that's so
sad
. You're just making her look stupid.'

    Jack surveyed her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said evenly, 'I don't want to talk about Amy. I never discuss my relationships. Everyone knows that.'

    'So is that part of the attraction? They know they can trust you to be discreet?'

    A glimmer of amusement. 'I'm sure it helps.'

    He was right, of course. Tilly had never forgotten the desper ate humiliation of going back to school after breaking up with Ben Thomas, only to discover he had broadcast intimate details of their relationship to everyone they knew. But instead of telling them what a great kisser she was—like he'd told her a
million
times while they'd been seeing each other—he'd delighted in spreading the news that she stuffed tissues in her bra to pad it out and had once laughed so hard at a video of Mr Bean that she'd accidentally wet herself.

    Only a tiny bit, but Ben hadn't said that, had he? To hear him crowing about it, you'd think it had been a bucketful. The jokes she'd had to endure had kept everyone else in Year Twelve entertained for months.

    So yes, the prospect of a relationship with someone who knew the meaning of discretion definitely had its upside.

    'What are you thinking?' The little finger of Jack's left hand brushed against her wrist as he spoke, reminding her that he was still there.

    As if she could forget. Tilly's mouth was dry.

    What am I thinking? That I could sleep with you and no one would ever know. We could go upstairs and have sex right now and it would stay our secret. All I have to do is be home before midnight, when Max and Lou are due back from Stratford. As far as they're concerned, I'll have spent the evening watching DVDs with Betty, because that's the great thing about dogs: they can't raise an eyebrow and coolly announce—à la Hercule Poirot—that actually, Tilly Trollop, that's not quite true, is it, because you were—

    
Dddddrrrrinnnngggg.

DOORBELL.
Bugger.

Back to earth with a bump.

    'Who's that?' Apart from the most inconsiderate caller of all time, obviously.

    Jack shrugged. 'Never did get round to having those CCTV cameras installed.' But he wasn't looking too thrilled. Nor was he moving from the sofa.

    'Shouldn't you find out?'

    'They might go away.'

    It was probably one of his many women, someone who might not take kindly to being turned away on the doorstep, who might even insist on being invited into the house. Maybe Jack's way was best.

    Dddddrrrinnggggg, the bell went again, followed by the sound of the letterbox being pushed open. Tilly held her breath. Perhaps they were posting a note to say they'd been round and could Jack give them a call later when he—

    'Jaaa-aaack! Are you there?'

    A female voice, surprise surprise. Tilly looked at Jack, who was frowning.

    'Who's that?'

    'Jack, it's meee! Please open the door, I'm
desperate
.'

    Tuh, and not ashamed to admit it.

    'Looks like you're going to have to let her in.' Unfolding herself

from the sofa, Tilly said, 'If it's someone with a jealous streak, maybe I'll leave by the back door.'

    But Jack was already on his feet, his face clearing. 'It's OK, I know who it is. My God, I don't believe it…'

    He hurried out to the hall, leaving Tilly hovering in the living room like a spare part. The next moment she heard the front door open and mutual exclamations of delight, followed by footsteps hurrying across the parquet flooring, then another door being opened and shut.

    Jack returned to the living room, shaking his head and smiling. 'She was desperate for the loo.'

    Ha, that old excuse. 'Is it Amy?' It hadn't sounded like Amy.

    'You'll see. She'll be through in a minute.'

    They heard the flush of a toilet, then the sound of water running in the cloakroom sink. Finally the door opened.

    'Thank goodness you were in,' the female voice called out. 'I was going to use the loo in the Fox but it's Declan's night off. I didn't know a soul in there and a group of teenagers recognized me and started making smart remarks so I got out fast. And then of course it just got worse; I was ten times
more
desperate. If you hadn't answered the door, I'd have had to wee in your back garden—oh, hello!'

    Having finished drying her hands, the mystery visitor material ized at last in the living room. Tilly's mouth dropped open as she realized who it was.

    'Oops, am I interrupting something?' Kaye pulled a face. 'Sorry, have I just barged in at completely the wrong moment?'

    Yes, yes,
yes.

    'Not at all. Kaye, meet Tilly Cole.' Easily, Jack effected the in troductions. 'Tilly, this is Lou's mum, Kaye.'

    'Tilly!' Kaye's eyes lit up. 'How lovely to meet you.' She crossed the room, greeted her with a hug and a kiss. 'Although it would have been lovelier if you'd been at home when the taxi dropped me off! No one there but Betty. I've had to walk all the way from Beech House.'

    'Max and Lou have gone to Stratford,' said Tilly. So much for no one ever knowing she'd spent the evening here with Jack.

    'The RSC!' Kaye smacked the side of her head. 'Lou told me. I didn't realize it was tonight. My memory's gone completely to pot since I became public enemy number one in the States. Oh God, here I go again.' Abruptly her sapphire blue eyes filled with tears and she flapped her hands by way of apology. 'Sorry, sorry, it's been a hell of a week. I just had to get away…'

    'Hey, sshh, don't cry.' Jack was there in a flash, folding Kaye into his arms and rubbing her back comfortingly.

    'Oh God, and I haven't even got a tissue.' Sniffing, Kaye wiped her eyes. 'Everything's just been building up and up.'

    Over her head, Jack said, 'There's a box of Kleenex in the kitchen.'

    Tilly obediently found them then paused in the doorway on the way back, pierced with envy as she watched Kaye and Jack standing together in the middle of the living room. Which was ridiculous and shameful, because Kaye had been through a horrible time, but the sight of her rocking in Jack's embrace while he murmured words of consola tion and kissed the top of her head… well, it did look heavenly.

    'Tissues,' she said lamely, and Kaye turned, grateful and pink-eyed.

    'Thanks so much. I'm not usually such a crybaby. I didn't get to sleep on the plane; I suppose I'm just shattered.' Noisily blowing her nose, her face pale and blotchy but somehow still beautiful, she said, 'What time are you going home? Can I hitch a lift?'

    'Um…'

    'Oh! Unless you weren't planning on going home.' Kaye gazed from Tilly to Jack, the thought belatedly crossing her mind.

    'No, no.' Tilly hastily shook her head. 'Of course I'm going home! I just called in to pick up my pashmina. I was practically on my way when you rang the bell. We can leave now if you want.'

    'Could we? Would you mind?' Sagging with relief, Kaye said, 'Thanks, it's just that I'm so tired, and I'd love to see Betty properly instead of waving to her through the letterbox.' She summoned a wry smile. 'Everyone in America hates me, but my dog still thinks I'm great.'

    They drove back to Beech House and Kaye had her emotional reunion with Betty, prompting yet more tears, but splashy happy ones this time. Then, because it wouldn't be long now before Max and Lou arrived back, they settled down to wait and Kaye opened a bottle of Max's wine.

    'Just as well I turned up on Jack's doorstep.' She clinked glasses with Tilly across the kitchen table. 'I think I probably did you a big favor tonight.'

    'There's nothing going on between us.' Tilly shook her head in protest.

    'You might think that. But Jack may well have had other ideas. And when he wants to be, he can be very persuasive. Not that he usually needs to do much persuading.' Kaye blew kisses at Betty. 'Most of the women around here tend to just fling themselves at him like… what's that game where you wear a Velcro suit and throw yourself at a Velcro wall?'

    'The Velcro wall game?'

    'Whatever. Anyhow, that's what it's like when they do it.'

    Tilly flushed slightly; had she done that? If Kaye hadn't arrived, would she have ended up doing the Velcro suit thing and hurling herself at Jack?

    'It's like the deli counter at the supermarket,' Kaye went on. 'They all queue up, take their tickets, and wait their turn to be served.' She gave a snort of laughter. 'Or serviced.'

    Which made Tilly feel
so
much better.

    'Never mind.' Kaye leaned forward, patted her arm. 'You may have just had a lucky escape. And didn't I warn you about Jack before? Next time you need to pick up your pashmina from his place, just take along a bullhorn, keep a safe distance from the house, and tell him to feed it out through the letterbox.'