Winter Wishes (29 page)

We were young when we met
, Tara mused.
Maybe too young?
What had they really seen in one another, apart from the obvious flame of physical attraction? When you were in your teens this was everything, of course, but with more maturity and life experience you began to realise that there had to be more than that to sustain a relationship. Friendship. Shared goals. Easy conversation. Values in common. All these were suddenly far more important.

Anyone could see that Danny had found all of these things in Jules. Tara had seen it herself, hadn’t she? Wasn’t this one of the reasons she’d really come back? Because she had sensed a threat?

Tara caught sight of her reflection in the window of Boots and smiled wryly at herself. A slender brunette with wide-spaced eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose smiled back.
I feel like a different person now
, she thought wonderingly.
I see things so differently. Dan and I never really had anything in common, and I betrayed him in the worst way possible.
Of course their marriage was over. The miracle was that it had lasted this long.

The divorce papers were in her handbag and Tara slipped her hand inside, brushing the thick white envelope with her fingertips. She would find somewhere to have a coffee, sign them quietly and then let events take their course. Setting Danny free was the least she could do for him. It was the one thing that might tell him that she had loved him once and that she really was sorry. Maybe then he could move on and be with Jules. There was a faint ache in her heart at this idea, but it was just a feeble echo of what she had once felt.
My feelings have changed too
, Tara realised with a little flicker of hope. She was ready, perhaps, to be brave and to face a future without him. Maybe their divorce wasn’t actually the end but, rather, the beginning of something even better for them both. This thought cheered her.

She took a deep breath. All around her, people were getting on with their lives, and she knew that it was time for her to move on with hers too.

Tara loved shopping and it had always been a great distraction from any worries, so this was partly why she’d headed to Truro. It had also seemed wise to keep away from the village today while her emotions were still running high. She might be starting to accept that her marriage was over, but bumping into Danny on the very morning she’d received the divorce papers was more than she could cope with right now. It was best to have a little bit of distance, and if she could do some Christmas shopping too then so much the better.

Checking her bank balance on her phone, Tara was pleased to see that she was at least in credit, if not exactly wealthy. She could afford to pick out some nice gifts, and if she was careful she might even have enough to treat herself to a new lipstick or perhaps a top. There was nothing like new make-up and clothes to cheer a girl up.

Since it was the penultimate Saturday before Christmas, the pretty cathedral town was thronging with shoppers. The car parks were overflowing, the pavements bustled and there was an air of excited anticipation despite the cold. The Christmas market on Lemon Quay was doing a roaring trade and the surrounding coffee shops were crammed with shoppers enjoying eggnog lattes and stollen as they recovered from lugging their bulging carrier bags across the town. She caught a glimpse, too, of the traditional horse bus as it carried its passengers on a tour of the main streets. Piped Christmas carols floated out of shop doorways, competing with the cheerful strains of the fairground carousel and the shouts and laughter of delighted children as they rode its luridly painted ponies. As Tara wove her way in and out of various stores, the pavements grew ever more crowded with Christmas shoppers, all wrapped up in winter coats and scarves, and hell-bent on shopping until the daylight faded.

By midday Tara’s feet were starting to ache and the handles of her carrier bags were threatening to cut off her circulation altogether. The streets were even busier now; yet more shoppers had flooded into the city for an afternoon of present-buying. As she stood on the pavement outside Laura Ashley, trying to juggle her bags onto fingers that were slightly less blue, Tara was jostled and bumped by a surging human tide. It was high time she stopped for a moment to get her breath back, find a coffee and put her signature on that sheaf of papers nestling in the bottom of her bag. She was deep in thought about this unpleasant but very necessary task when a man cannoned straight into her. Tara’s shopping slid from her grasp and spilled onto the pavement – where she would have ended up too, if a pair of arms hadn’t caught her and steadied her.

“Sorry!” gasped Tara. “I wasn’t looking. Oh!”

She was taken aback because the person who’d collided with her was none other than Richard Penwarren. His grey eyes twinkled down at her from behind his trendy wire-rimmed glasses, and his mouth curled into a delighted if apologetic smile.

“Tara! Fancy bumping into you, and literally too. I’m really sorry if I knocked you for six. I was charging along and quite miles away. Are you OK?”

Tara was ridiculously pleased to see him. Since the St Miltons’ party she’d been working as many hours as possible for Symon, and presumably the villagers’ winter ailments had kept Richard pretty busy at the surgery. She’d hardly seen him lately. On the one occasion that she’d visited, because Morgan had had a sore throat, they’d been seen by a locum – and Tara had been amazed to feel a sharp stab of disappointment.

“I’m fine,” she told him. “It’s my fault anyway. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She started to bend down to retrieve her bags, but Richard was determined to pick them up himself and carry them for her too.

“I won’t hear of it,” he insisted when Tara protested. “Of course I’ll carry your bags. Not only is it the least I can do after nearly knocking you over, but I’d hardly be a gentleman if I let you struggle.”

Tara thought briefly of Anthony, who’d been more than happy to let her lug half of Aldi up the steps to their house. Nobody could ever accuse Ant of being a gentleman, that was for certain. Richard, however, couldn’t have been more different from her ex. He was gallant and old-fashioned in a way that made her feel very feminine and cherished.

“Thanks,” she said, deciding to make the most of this because her fingers were throbbing. “That’s very kind.”

“Well, that’s me. Kindness personified. I get no pleasure at all from sharing the company of a beautiful woman in exchange for carrying a couple of shopping bags! It also helps me hone my fine physique.” He lifted her carriers as though they were dumb-bells and pulled a face. “Crikey, Tara, these weigh a tonne. What have you been buying?”

Tara laughed. “I’ve been on a mission. That’s practically all my Christmas shopping there. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’ll give it a shot. Now, where were you off to?”

“I was going to try and grab a coffee, but to be honest I don’t think I’ll have any luck.” Tara could see that the nearest cafés were bulging at the seams. “I might just get a takeaway one instead.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Richard told her. “I’m meeting someone for lunch and I’ve reserved a table at Casa Rosa. Do you fancy joining us?”

Tara knew the Casa Rosa. It was a pretty Italian restaurant down a narrow side road by the cathedral. Dimly lit with dripping candles in Chianti bottles and cosy red velvet booths, it was the perfect place for a romantic assignation. Presumably, Richard was meeting a woman there. She was surprised at how disappointed this made her feel.

The last thing Tara wanted was to feel like a gooseberry, especially on the very day she was having to sign her divorce papers.

“It’s nothing fancy, I’m afraid; only pizza and pasta, but its good food,” Richard added, seeing her hesitate. “I should imagine Dr Olsen, a colleague I’m meeting, chose the place mainly for the wine list. You know how medics can drink.”

Actually Tara didn’t, but at the mention of pasta her stomach rumbled loudly.

Richard laughed. “I think that says it all.”

But Tara wasn’t sure. Firstly she didn’t want to crash a business lunch and secondly her bank account was a little depleted after all the Christmas shopping. A latte and panini would have been within her budget, but a meal in a smart restaurant wasn’t an expense she could justify.

“It’s my treat,” Richard said swiftly, guessing the reason for her uncertainty. “Their tortellini is to die for, and as for the tiramisu… Well, let’s just say that the cholesterol is worth it!”

He looked so hopeful that Tara didn’t have the heart to refuse. Besides, she was hungry and Richard was great company.

“Damn. Tiramisu is one of my fatal weaknesses, just like that sticky toffee pudding you spoilt me with before,” she said. “You obviously know that I can’t resist an indulgent dessert!”

“Once you’ve tasted it you’ll be powerless.” Lifting her bags, Richard placed his hand on Tara’s elbow and guided her carefully through the crowds. People stepped aside as though there was a magic bubble around her. The power of having an attractive and gallant man with you, she supposed.

Hang on. Did she just think that Richard Penwarren was attractive? How on earth had that happened? And now that the thought had popped into her head, Tara was unable to concentrate on anything else, especially with Richard this close to her. Just the sensation of his fingertips resting lightly on her elbow caused her pulse to pick up and the hairs on her forearms to ripple. When they waited to cross the road and he brushed against her, Tara was shocked to feel a sudden jolt of electricity. She didn’t dare look at Richard, although she could feel him gazing down at her. Had he felt it too? And if so, what did it mean? By the time they’d reached the restaurant and Richard was holding the door open for her, Tara was starting to feel giddy. Just what was going on here?

“Aha, there’s Dr Olsen.” With his hand lightly on the small of her back now, Richard guided Tara across the garlic-scented interior. “Amanda! Sorry we’re late!”

An ebony-haired woman seated in a dimly lit booth towards the back of the restaurant glanced up from scanning the menu. She had an expensive golden tan, the kind that came from winter sun in the Caribbean rather than a tube of Boots’ best fake-it variety. Everything about her was groomed and expensive. Catching sight of Richard, she started to smile before she realised that Tara was accompanying him. Within seconds the two women knew exactly how the land lay. Richard might only think of Dr Olsen as a colleague, but Tara knew instantly that the glamorous Amanda saw things very differently.

“Amanda, this is my friend Tara,” said Richard, once he’d kissed her and they’d said their hellos. “I bumped into her just now, so I thought she could join us.”

“Lovely to meet you,” said Amanda, air-kissing Tara. The look on her face said that she could have stabbed Tara quite happily.

“Likewise,” Tara said.

After they were all seated and an efficient waitress had brought them their drinks, Richard grinned at Tara. “See, I told you Amanda wouldn’t mind. We go years back, to medical school. I once hid a pig’s head in her bed. It’s an old med-school gag. I think she’s just about forgiven me.”

Amanda swirled her blood-red wine. “The jury’s out on that.”

He laughed. “I guess that means lunch is on me then? Ah well, I suppose I deserve it. It was a mean trick.”

“Sounds it,” agreed Tara.

“It was schoolboy stuff,” Richard said. “The fact is, I used to fancy Mandy like crazy and I thought that would get her attention. Boys, eh?”

The irony was that all he had to do now was give her just one tiny bit of encouragement, Tara thought as she sipped her Prosecco. There was no need for a pig’s head.

“In fairness we all did that kind of thing at med school when we were training to be doctors,” said Amanda. She flicked a nonchalant gaze over Tara. “So, what do you do?”

Career one-upmanship. Tara couldn’t win at this. Not that she wanted to win; after all, she wasn’t competing with Amanda for Richard.

“I’m a mum,” she told her. “I have a nine-year-old son who keeps me pretty busy.”

“She’s a fantastic mother,” Richard said warmly. “Morgan’s a credit to you, Tara.”

His praise was a balm to her today. “Thanks. I’m proud of him.”

“And when you’re not being a mum, what do you do?” Amanda asked coolly.

Tara frowned. “I’m always a mum. If you’re asking what I do to earn money, I’m doing whatever I can over the winter. At the moment I’m a waitress.”

“How nice,” said Amanda politely. “I did that once when I was a student. Can’t say I ever enjoyed it though. Not really my thing.”

Tara looked her straight in the eye. “I guess not. Waitressing takes good people skills and tact.”

“A bit like a good bedside manner, Mandy,” joked Richard, oblivious to the subtext between the two women.

Amanda looked as though she’d like to say more but was afraid to seem like a bitch in front of a man she wanted to impress. Tara was relieved. She wasn’t here to upset anyone or fight them for a man. For heaven’s sake! This was the twenty-first century, wasn’t it?

Lunch progressed somewhat awkwardly from this point onwards. Amanda pointedly ignored Tara, and poor Richard worked doubly hard to make the conversation flow. Tara did her best to join in, but each time she opened her mouth Amanda steered the discussion back onto something medical, knowing full well that Tara wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about. By the time Tara was scraping her tiramisu bowl clean, she was feeling pretty low wattage. Excusing herself, she headed to the bathroom and stared sadly at her reflection.

“What are you doing with your life?” she asked herself. “How many more screw-ups, Tara?”

Richard was lovely but he was a doctor. Why on earth would he want to spend time with a soon-to-be divorcee and single mum? She had more baggage than Heathrow’s Terminal Five. She must have been kidding herself to think he’d be interested. He’d been kind to her, that was all. Richard was kind. It was one of the nicest qualities about him. His thatch of dirty-blond hair, his misty grey eyes and his gently authoritative demeanour were attractive too, of course, but it was the essential goodness of him that Tara was so struck by. Why it had taken her so long to see it was anyone’s guess.