Just Desserts

(Book 3 of the Sweet Temptation series)

ASHLEY LISTER

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

This novella is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London, SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com

An eBook Original 2015

1

Copyright © Ashley Lister 2015

Ashley Lister asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

eBook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780007579570

Version: 2015-08-17

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

More from Mischief

About the Publisher

1

‘…if any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or for ever hold your peace.’

Father Truman paused and stared out at the wedding party.

The silence in the restaurant was so thick it was almost tangible.

It was not the first wedding that had been performed in Boui-Boui. Trudy had catered for several weddings where the bride and groom had asked to use the Michelin-starred facilities for their marriage. With its envied reputation, its associations with local celebrity and its trademark chintzy decor, Boui-Boui was a desirable location for such an important event.

Trudy recognised the priest. Father Truman was the local minister who had officiated at two or three previous marriages. He was a charming man and seemed to take genuine pleasure from being able to bring a couple together through the wedding service. But Trudy didn’t think she could warm to the man on this occasion.

Father Truman’s expectant silence continued.

Harvey Walker, the best man, stared out at those gathered. He looked resplendent in his morning suit. With black tails over a silver waistcoat, he held his top hat in one hand and wore a proud smile. Trudy thought he was looking for Charlotte, to give her a warming smile. The couple seemed to have been smiling at each other a lot recently.

His gaze fell on Trudy. His proud smile saddened a little.

Trudy warned herself that she wouldn’t cry.

Imogen, the maid of honour, chewed her lower lip nervously. She looked like a woman who didn’t care about the impending photographs. Her gaze flitted constantly between the bride, the groom and the priest. Her eye make-up, heavy and dark, had already been smudged by tears.

The restaurant was crowded. As the expectant silence stretched, a handful of guests shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. On table thirteen, Daryl leant close to Trudy’s ear and lowered her voice to a whisper.

‘You should say something.’

Trudy tried to push her away and silently shush her. She was loath to admit that she had been thinking the same thing.

‘Just clear your throat and cough,’ Daryl suggested. Her voice was incredibly soft. Her words were obscenely tempting. ‘It would be enough to let the bastard know that he shouldn’t have treated you so badly.’

‘Not now,’ Trudy insisted.

‘I’ll do it,’ Daryl promised. ‘I’ll shout out and say he shouldn’t be marrying that hatchet-faced bitch. He should be marrying you. Just give me a nod and I’ll do it.’

Trudy’s cheeks had turned crimson. She fretted that, in the service’s inescapable silence, everyone would hear Daryl’s outraged whisperings and might understand the embarrassment of what had happened. The idea of all Bill’s friends and family knowing about her shame was unthinkable.

‘Daryl,’ she warned softly.

‘Very well,’ the priest declared, breaking the silence. He turned to the bride and said, ‘Do you, Aliceon Johnson, take William Hart to be your lawful wedded husband?’

Trudy didn’t hear the rest of what was being said. She was too busy chastising herself for not taking Daryl’s advice. She should have halted the ceremony. She should have screamed and wailed. She should have shouted, ‘You can’t marry her. You can’t marry her because I love you and I thought you loved me.’

An hour later and the ceremony was concluded, the speeches had been mercifully drawn to a close and most of the buffet had been consumed. Guests were milling and mingling whilst an overly enthusiastic DJ encouraged everyone to take their place on the dance floor.

Daryl was in the arms of her latest girlfriend, Beatrice. Even though the music around them was loud and upbeat, the pair gyrated slowly together as though listening to a sultry ballad that only they could hear. Daryl was wearing peach colours for the wedding and they complemented the pastel greens worn by her partner. Beatrice’s gown was worn off the shoulder, revealing a yin-yang tattoo.

Daryl kept touching the tattoo as they danced.

It was only a small detail but it made Trudy happy for the pair of them when she noticed the intimacy. Their relationship had been swift but it looked close and she thought it was destined to last. Trudy empathised. Both of the women were slender and blonde and attractive. They looked like a perfect match as they rocked and swayed to the rhythm of unheard music.

Trudy had to wrench her gaze away. The acrid taste of jealousy was rising in her throat. She wasn’t particularly attracted to women but she found herself envying Daryl and Beatrice for the happiness they were sharing and she didn’t want to feel envious of something that was obviously so special.

‘How are you coping?’ Charlotte asked.

Charlotte wore an Alexander McQueen creation. It was light cotton, as white as the bride’s wedding gown, and its tailored cut accentuated the balance of Charlotte’s slim waist between her broad hips and ample bosom. Her brunette tresses were down to her shoulders and the ‘V’ above her nose was deep as she scowled with concern at Trudy.

Harvey stood next to her, his arm linked in hers. He looked equally concerned and waited patiently for Trudy to say, probably for the hundredth time that day, that she was fine and well and bearing up under the circumstances. She had practised the line so many times she could now almost say the words without feeling as though she was about to burst into tears.

Almost.

‘Do you need a drink?’ Charlotte asked.

Trudy shook her head. She was avoiding alcohol today. The day’s events were proof that she could make poor decisions. She didn’t need to take on alcohol to help further impair her judgement.

‘Something to eat?’ Harvey pressed.

‘I’ll get something for myself, thanks.’

She excused herself from their well-meaning interest and went to the buffet table. None of the remaining sandwiches appealed to her. She walked past most of the savouries without giving them much attention. Her interest, as always, was focused on the desserts.

She had glimpsed a selection of muffins on display and she wanted to investigate further. She nudged the fuchsia-haired maître d’ and asked, ‘Nikki, are those what I think they are?’

Nikki glanced at the display.

‘Kali’s mini carrot cakes?’

Trudy released a sigh. Kali was Boui-Boui’s resident pâtissier. Trudy had heard rumours about the woman’s legendary mini carrot cakes but she hadn’t previously had a chance to sample one. She took out her smartphone and snapped a couple of shots of the desserts before Nikki could raise an objection.

‘I thought she’d stopped making them,’ Trudy mumbled.

‘She had. But this is a special occasion.’

Trudy stepped closer to admire them. ‘Have you tried one yet?’

‘I’m working. Give me credit for some professionalism.’

Trudy picked up one of the mini carrot cakes. She had heard several people talk about the pâtissier’s speciality muffins, but Kali had never made one while Trudy worked in the kitchen.

The dark golden sponge suggested brown sugar as well as the addition of various rich, exotic spices. Inhaling their bouquet Trudy caught a note of coriander and a suggestion of nutmeg. The surface of the mini-cake was hidden beneath a smooth white layer of icing, decorated by curly slivers of orange zest.

‘Are you going to eat that?’ asked Nikki. ‘Or are you trying to sniff the flavour out?’

Trudy grinned. ‘I’ll eat it in a moment. First, I want to admire its beauty.’

She did take a bite, and enjoyed the rush of flavours and textures. The muffin was incredibly light and surprisingly moist. Trudy tried to occupy her thoughts by identifying the blend of mixed spices, the creaminess of the pecan nuts and the hints of orange and sultana that accompanied the subtle carrot flavouring.

It was a sensational taste experience. It was as good as any muffin she had ever made, and far better than some of those she’d sampled. Although Trudy knew Kali was good, the pâtissier was so quiet and modest about her achievements it always surprised Trudy each time she rediscovered the quality of the woman’s creations.

To Trudy’s mind, the only problem with the muffin was that it felt a little oily on her fingers.

She tried to work out how that could be addressed and eliminated. She re-examined the flavours to work out what fats had been used, her brow furrowing with concentration. If she was able to make something similar without the oiliness, Trudy thought her online catering company, Sweet Temptation, might be able to produce and supply a similar mini carrot cake to go with their current range of quality desserts. She also thought, if she was able to get a recipe out of the day, or at least expand her company’s product range by a single item, her attendance at the wedding would not have been the heartbreaking, soul-destroying trauma she had initially feared.

‘Trudy! There you are.’

Trudy fixed a grin to her face as she turned to smile at the bride. This was one aspect of the heartbreaking, soul-destroying trauma she had been wanting to avoid.

Aliceon looked beautiful in her silver-white gown. She was a tall woman with a willowy frame that looked like it was sculpted to model wedding dresses. Since she had now married Bill three times, Trudy thought, the woman could apply for a job as wedding-dress model, given all the amateur experience she had gathered over the years. She quietly chastised herself for the unkind thought and reminded herself that Aliceon did not deserve her animosity.

‘Congratulations, Mrs Hart,’ Trudy said cordially.

She put the mini carrot cake down and embraced Aliceon. It took an effort of willpower not to wipe the oily residue from her fingers on the back of Aliceon’s flawless wedding dress. But Trudy figured she was mature enough to resist such impulses. She would wait to wipe her hands clean until she was politely hugging Bill in his pristine morning suit.

‘You look absolutely beautiful,’ Trudy told Aliceon.

‘I know,’ Aliceon admitted. She twirled in her dress and said, ‘It’s a Caroline Herrera. Who couldn’t look gorgeous in a dress like this?’

Trudy smiled and nodded. Imogen, Aliceon’s daughter, had been sufficiently impressed with the dress’s design to talk enthusiastically about it when Trudy last saw her. It was a smooth flow of ice-white satin, set with snowy white lace and shiny white pearls. Regardless of how she felt about the woman, Trudy had to agree that Aliceon did look sensational.

‘Imogen looked very lovely as your maid of honour,’ Trudy said. ‘Where is she?’

‘I think she was getting the baby to rest in Bill’s office.’

Trudy thanked her and started toward the kitchen.

Aliceon placed a hand on Trudy’s arm, stopping her. She fixed her with a solemn stare and said, ‘Thank you, Trudy. It is appreciated.’

Trudy shook her head. ‘You have no need to thank me.’

Aliceon’s knowing smile creased the corners of her eyes. She released her hold on Trudy’s arm and stepped away.

An elderly, bearded man stepped in front of her. His expression was kindly. His eyes sparkled behind his small, wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘Are you holding one of Kali’s mini carrot cakes?’

‘Finlay,’ she smiled.

She hugged him harder than was needed. His was one of the few friendly faces she had seen today that wasn’t studying her with an expression of pitying dismay. Finlay, always the professional, seemed more concerned with the dessert she held.

‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘Is it one of Kali’s mini carrot cakes?’

She nodded. ‘Have you tried one yet?’

‘I’ve tried six,’ he admitted. ‘I’m still trying to work out some of the ingredients.’

They talked their way through the flavours, each interrupting the other in their haste to be the first to identify all the ingredients. Both of them had detected nutmeg and allspice. Trudy mentioned the walnuts whilst Finlay talked about the pecans.

‘I could have sworn I tasted cardamom in there,’ Trudy said.

Finlay slapped himself on the forehead. ‘Cardamom,’ he muttered. ‘Of course. Now that you’ve said it I know that’s what it is.’

She nodded, pleased she had named a spice that had eluded him.

Finlay’s grin faltered as he studied her face. He shook his head and considered her with sudden solemnity. ‘I don’t understand what’s wrong with that man.’ He nodded towards the centre of the room where the wedding vows had been blessed. Trudy knew he was talking about Bill. ‘I don’t understand why he’s let someone as special as you slip through his fingers.’

Trudy blushed and looked away.

Finlay cleared his throat and glanced toward the buffet stand. She could see he had decided to change the subject, away from the uncomfortable area of personal matters and back to safer exchanges about flavours. ‘I’ll go and get myself a couple of those mini carrot cakes whilst there’s still some left,’ he said. ‘It appears some greedy sod has been eating them faster than they can be put out here.’

Trudy gave him a rueful grin.

‘I’ll order you a consignment of the spices you’ll need,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I can tell you’re desperate to try making these for Sweet Temptation.’

She was not surprised he had guessed her motives. She watched his formidable bulk meander easily back to the buffet table and Nikki’s resigned greeting.

‘That would be great,’ she whispered.

It pained her to know that Finlay was thinking of her as the wronged woman.

She pushed the back of her hand against the corner of her eye, trying to stop the threat of tears before there were any streaks in her mascara. Moving purposefully, she hurried towards the kitchen, desperate to find Imogen and baby Bill. She hadn’t wanted to come to the wedding but she had known it would look churlish if she simply declined the invitation.

She almost made it without being stopped. She kept to the sides of the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Her single mission was to see Imogen and then make an escape from the whole nightmare scenario of the wedding.

A pair of blondes stepped in front of Trudy, blocking her way.

Trudy tried hard not to groan.

‘Are you ready to blow this joint?’ Daryl asked.

Beatrice laughed. It was not a pleasant sound and Trudy thought she could detect an edge of cruelty beneath the mirth. ‘“Blow this joint”?’ Beatrice repeated. ‘Are you trying to make yourself sound butch and macho?’

‘Do you want me to be butch and macho?’ Daryl asked.

Within an instant they were kissing again.

Beatrice had a way of kissing Daryl, holding her face with both hands. Daryl pulled the woman into her embrace and rested one hand on Beatrice’s yin-yang tattoo. It was an intimate way to deliver a kiss and Trudy could see it was enough to capture all of Daryl’s attention.

She took the opportunity to step quietly past the pair.

‘I’ll catch up with you in a minute,’ she said. She wasn’t sure they heard. By way of explanation she added, ‘I need to see Imogen before I leave.’

Daryl broke her kiss with Beatrice and called after her, ‘Don’t leave without us. I’ve got a date organised for you when we get home.’

Trudy shuddered. Daryl’s attempts at matchmaking were fast becoming a problem. She stumbled into the kitchen, relieved to have escaped the sound of ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ and the clatter of shouted conversations.

The kitchens were all but empty, manned by a solitary plongeur wiping down surfaces. He nodded a polite greeting to her. Trudy said hello as she walked towards the office in the centre of the kitchen. She was hoping to find Imogen so she could give her a quick hug and tell her how splendid she had looked as maid of honour. Stepping into the office she saw Imogen was just resting her baby on the couch.

‘Trudy,’ Imogen said carefully. ‘I thought I saw you earlier.’

She didn’t smile. Her behaviour seemed a little stilted. Her eyes were wide and she was staring unhappily. At first Trudy thought she’d done something to upset her friend. It was only when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her that she realised Imogen was staring unhappily at a figure in a shadowy corner of the room.

Trudy didn’t dare follow the line of the woman’s gaze. In truth, she didn’t need to. She already knew who would be standing there.

‘Trudy?’

She recognised his voice immediately.

He looked resplendent. His jacket was currently wrapped around his grandson, Imogen’s baby, but its absence only made him look more dashing. He wore a silver waistcoat over a crisp white shirt and it hugged his broad physique. His hair, the colour of polished steel, shone almost as brightly as the glint in his diamond-blue eyes. When his gaze met hers a smile faltered uncertainly on his lips.

Don’t you dare smile at me, she thought bitterly. Don’t you dare smile.

It made sense that he would have been spending five minutes chatting with his daughter in his own office. She didn’t know why the sound of his voice was so shocking but she supposed it was because she hadn’t wanted to talk with him today. At the back of her mind she had figured a meeting would be inevitable but she had hoped the encounter would be somewhere busy, made unimportant by a crowd of acquaintances, in a location that was sterile, without any personal associations.

This was a room where they’d had sex half a dozen times.

This was a room where they’d spent countless working nights discussing business and passions and unrealised futures. And this was a room from which it looked like Imogen was trying to make a discreet exit.

‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ Imogen began.

‘No need,’ Trudy said stiffly. She turned to Bill and said, ‘Congratulations.’

‘I didn’t –’ he began.

She didn’t let him finish but held up a hand, cutting him off, and turned to Imogen. ‘I’m just about to head home with Daryl and Beatrice. They’ve organised a date for me this evening. I just wanted to say that I thought you looked beautiful today.’

Imogen’s smile was genuine and broad. She started to say a thank-you but Bill was speaking over her.

‘You’re going on a date with Daryl and that model? Have you turned gay?’

She turned to face him. ‘I’m going on a date,’ she told him. ‘Straight or gay, what business is it of yours, Bill?’

His shoulders slumped. He nodded defeat and turned away. As soon as he stepped out of the office Imogen was speaking in his defence. ‘There were circumstances,’ she explained. ‘If you knew why he married her –’

‘Are you still working at Finlay’s shop in the morning?’ Trudy asked.

Imogen said she was.

‘I’ll probably see you there tomorrow. He’s organising a consignment of spices for a new product I’ll be working on. We can talk more then.’

‘Aren’t you staying for the evening celebrations?’

Trudy shook her head. The question was asked with such obvious concern she didn’t dare say another word for fear of bursting into tears.

‘Are you OK?’ Imogen asked.

Even though she’d practised her response until the words should have been automatic, Trudy wasn’t going to attempt them this time. She nodded, turned abruptly and rushed out of the office and into the kitchen.

At first she thought her body was trembling with the threat of tears. It was only as an afterthought that she realised her mobile was vibrating to alert her to the fact that she’d received a text message. She’d put the phone on silent as a courtesy for the wedding ceremony. Reading as she walked, anxious to get away from Boui-Boui and the rest of the guests who might come and ask her if she was fine, or OK, or bearing up, she inwardly cursed when she saw the message had come from Donny.

I hear your sugar-grandpa just married one his former wives. LOL.

A tear spilled down her cheek and sliced through her mascara.

2

There were flowers waiting on the doorstep of Eldorado when she returned. Beatrice grabbed them and exclaimed over their beauty. A bouquet of a dozen long-stemmed red roses, in a nest of lush green fern and vibrant white Baby’s Breath. They reminded Trudy of the last bouquet of flowers she had received. Those had been a bad omen.

‘These are beautiful,’ Beatrice called. She read the card and passed them to Daryl. ‘It says they’re for Trudy.’

Daryl passed the flowers to Trudy.

Trudy put the bouquet in the recycling bin.

Beatrice exclaimed in shock but Daryl placed a hand on her arm. Whatever questions Beatrice had been about to raise were silenced by the way Daryl firmly shook her head.

Trudy unlocked the door and they all stepped inside.

The walls were a mixture of magnolias, oatmeals and beige colours that made the open-plan arrangement of the downstairs appear spacious. The floors were polished wood. The furniture was light-coloured leather. Only the TV and the kitchen fittings, shiny and silver, gave any suggestion of a break in the bland colour scheme.

Trudy had to admit that living back at Eldorado had not been the hardship she expected. When she lived there as a student, sharing the house with Charlotte and Donny, and Donny’s visiting harem of pliant female admirers, Trudy had had a single room on the upper floor and a shared responsibility for the communal living area of the lounge-cum-kitchen. Now, although Charlotte still kept some belongings in her room, she spent most of her nights with Harvey in the apartment he’d acquired in the town centre. Daryl had taken over Donny’s use of the basement and, because Daryl didn’t spend much time in the communal areas, there were some days when Trudy felt as though she had Eldorado to herself.

‘Would either of you care for a bite to eat?’ Trudy asked, heading to the kitchen. She was trying to remember what remained in the fridge and whether it could serve the three of them.

‘No time to eat,’ Daryl reminded her. ‘You’re going out on a date.’

Trudy groaned. She had been trying to forget about that.

‘Do I have to?’

She thought of pointing out that she’d had enough romance for one day by watching Bill and Aliceon’s wedding. Looking at the steely resolve on Daryl’s face, Trudy could see there would be no point in attempting such an argument. They had already had this conversation several times. Daryl insisted she needed to return to dating as quickly as possible. She’d used phrases like ‘getting back on the horse’ and ‘clearing out cobwebs’, which had made Trudy worried about what she was expected to do on a date. More practically, Daryl had advised that Trudy needed to date again both for her own confidence and to show anyone interested in her life that she hadn’t been troubled by Bill’s marriage to Aliceon.

‘He’ll be here in half an hour,’ Daryl promised.

Trudy’s shoulders slumped and she nodded defeat.

‘Go get yourself ready,’ said Daryl. ‘Your mascara’s smudged.’

Trudy paused at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Who is he?’

‘His name is Mark. I used to go out with him. He’s a doctor at the local A&E department.’

‘When did you go out with someone called Mark?’ Beatrice asked.

‘We dated on and off for a couple of months last year,’ Daryl said. ‘Why?’

‘You never mentioned him.’

‘There are lots of things I’ve never mentioned to you, sweetie,’ Daryl purred.

She pushed her face close and kissed the frown from Beatrice’s lips. Beatrice responded with a widening smile and a tight embrace.

Trudy started up the stairs, relieved that she would be going out so she didn’t have to spend the evening in the house as an unwanted witness to Daryl and Beatrice’s obvious and intimate affection. It wasn’t that she minded the couple being together. She simply didn’t feel in the mood to watch other people being so blithely happy in a relationship.

In the bathroom she removed her mascara and most of her make-up. She’d worn an LBD from Coco Chanel for the wedding and it struck her as adequate for a blind date. The hem was short enough to show off that she had good legs whilst the high neckline suggested she wasn’t yet making herself available to anyone.

She applied lipstick and a touch of eyeliner and decided that was as much as she needed to do to make her face presentable. If her date Mark was expecting more from her then he was going to be disappointed. She supposed, in some ways, that it would be a kindness to introduce a date to disappointment so early on in a relationship. It saved making them wait until the word ‘love’ had been bandied around before teaching them that disappointment could have the power to crush a person’s heart or tear it, still beating, from their chest.

She shook her head, tousling the loose curls into shape, before heading down the stairs. Daryl and Beatrice had already retired to the basement so Trudy busied herself with working on an article about carrot cakes. She was just beginning to enjoy the writing when a polite fist knocked on the door.

She saved the document, closed the laptop and went out to greet him.

Mark turned out to be attractive and fun. He had dark hair and blue eyes and a rugby player’s nose. He recognised Trudy from a picture that Daryl had shared. Although it was obvious Daryl had mentioned Trudy’s role as a judge on Master Baker it was clear that he had never seen the show. Over dinner, at an unassuming town centre bistro called the Chekov, he asked her briefly about the programme and her investment in cookery. But mainly he talked about his work. He made her laugh with stories about some of the funnier things that had occurred in the A&E ward where he was currently stationed and Trudy felt a surge of gratitude to Daryl for organising such a perfect date.

The bistro was a clean family-run establishment. The shabby-chic furnishings were a mixture of tired aquamarine colours and weary woodwork that could have looked scruffy but somehow looked charming. Studying Mark’s jeans and jacket combination, as well as his polished smile and his untidy hair, Trudy thought she could say the same for him: scruffy but somehow charming.

Trudy ordered a stroganoff and she was pleased with its delightful blend of soured cream and beefiness that worked with the mushrooms and onions. When they were eating desserts, she sampled a portion of his sirniki, which had been served with blueberries and fresh cream. The pancake was golden and crisp on the outside but fluffy and deceptively insubstantial inside.

Trudy vowed to visit the Chekov again.

The only thing that cast a shadow on the evening was when she caught an unwanted glimpse of Donny. They had a window seat that overlooked the night. Trudy was staring out into the darkness of the rain-slicked roads and the neon colour of the passing traffic. Mark had left her alone for a moment whilst he visited the men’s room and Trudy was entertaining herself by looking at the animated movement of the night.

At first she didn’t notice the tall, handsome figure staring in at her.

When she finally registered the brooding intensity of his frown she recoiled.

It was Donny, glaring at her. He glowered through the window. His upper lip was curled with contempt. He shook his head as though unable to believe what he was seeing. She tried to tear her gaze away but he seemed to be holding her under some sort of mesmerism.

She’d heard people talk about rabbits being caught in the stare of oncoming headlights. Trudy had never appreciated what that meant before but now she thought she did.

When Mark returned, Donny stepped back into the shadows and then disappeared into the night. Mark asked if she was OK and said she looked pale. Trudy shook her head and pushed Donny from her thoughts. She’d had enough of him spoiling things that were good in her life. She was damned if she would let the coincidence of him walking past the Chekov be another reason to spoil something she was enjoying.

‘You’re sure you’re OK?’ he pressed.

She promised that she was and then declined the invitation to share a bottle of wine. It was enough to be in the company of someone who was attractive and attentive. She didn’t want to run the risk of drinking herself into another mistake so soon after the last one.

Once they’d talked about their shared interpretations of university experiences the conversation moved on to tastes in music, books and films. He was a rock aficionado and suggested a handful of tracks she could use to extend the musical accompaniment she had for her morning workout routine. Trudy downloaded the tracks and added them to her playlist whilst they sat in the bistro.

The tears came out of nowhere.

They were walking back to Eldorado through the town centre. They had just passed Melville’s and the radio station, when a wave of sadness rippled through her. It struck her that Mark would be an easy man to fall in love with. He was good, handsome and seemed kind. He was interesting and witty and considerate and…

…and he wasn’t Bill.

‘Shit,’ Mark gasped when he saw she was crying. He had an arm around her waist and a hand on her shoulder. ‘Is this something I’ve said or done? Or are you just overwhelmed by how wonderful I am?’

The words surprised a laugh from her throat. Combined with the tears she figured the noise would be horrific enough to give most people nightmares.

‘Not only am I good-looking and fun to be with but also, did I mention, I’m a doctor?’

She nodded and laughed again. This time her amusement sounded softer.

‘I think you did mention that once or twice.’

When he touched her elbow she thought his concern seemed genuine and sympathetic.

‘Let’s get you home,’ he suggested. ‘You’ve clearly had a long day and you need some rest.’

She wanted to protest but he spoke with commanding authority. He hailed a passing taxi, took her to the front door of Eldorado and then kissed her chastely on the cheek.

‘Will you call me when you feel a little less vulnerable?’

‘I don’t have your number,’ she told him.

‘Daryl has my number,’ he reminded her. ‘Now get yourself off to bed and get rested and call me if you fancy doing something like this again.’

She thanked him and promised him she would call.

Daryl and Beatrice either had gone out or were asleep in their basement room. Trudy took another sullen stab at the article she was writing about carrot cake but her enthusiasm for the subject had declined after the embarrassment of crying in front of Mark. She was in the process of pouring herself a warm milky drink when her mobile received a text message. She could see it came from Donny. She opened it knowing it would not be pleasant.

You’re dating another bloke already? Fuck me, Gertrude. You seem to be collecting more DNA samples than a CSI team.

3

An hour later she was back in his arms.

There was no sensation to compare with the thrill of naked skin touching naked skin. When she stood in his embrace, she felt the perfect balance of being protected and being vulnerable.

Her breasts were pressed against his chest. The stiffness of her nipples jutted hard against his pectoral muscles. His strong hands, the fingers as sensitive as a surgeon’s, the palms callused and hard, held her tight against him.

Because he was taller she could feel the stirring of his arousal against her belly. He was long to begin with. As excitement flooded through him, the warm flesh pressing on her bare stomach grew longer.

She had wanted him before.

Now, she needed him.

Their kiss was a sweet exchange of exploration and excitement. He made no demands on her flesh. He didn’t tease her lips with his teeth. He didn’t plunder her mouth with his tongue. It was one of those intimacies she had experienced so rarely. It was a kiss of gentle affection.

Her heartbeat raced.

The muscles inside her sex thrilled with a liquid rush of delight. In that moment she knew, whatever he asked of her, she would be happy to endure.

He broke the kiss to guide her on to the bed.

The room was nothing special. It was a fairly anonymous motel close to the motorway. If she had closed her eyes and concentrated, Trudy knew she would have heard the drone of swift traffic. But there were more important things occurring in the room that demanded her attention and no time to listen to sounds outside.

She stared up at a dimly lit ceiling, luxuriated in the firm mattress and savoured the sensation of his kisses at her feet.

He stroked his hands along one leg, whilst his mouth worked slowly up from her foot to her knee on the other. The scratch of his razor stubble was briefly too much when he went higher and neared her inner thigh. But Trudy figured she had suffered much worse in the name of intimacy and she wasn’t going to call a halt to events just because of a scratchy kiss.

When his kisses slipped to the tops of her legs, landing lightly upon the lips of her sex, Trudy did moan. She grabbed fistfuls of the linen on which she lay and wrenched at the sheets.

He laughed between her legs.

She savoured his mirth and heard herself giggling lightheadedly as his lips lingered on the centre of her sex. Her heartbeat was pounding faster. She could hear the throbbing pulse in her temples. The delicious sensations of excitement began to swell in her stomach and she knew he would take her to a peak of satisfaction.

‘You taste divine,’ he told her.

She writhed against the sheets, not sure whether the compliment was embarrassing or enthralling. Before she had a chance to make up her mind his mouth had again returned to her sex and his tongue was parting her inner lips.

She held her breath, fearful that if she made any sound it would be a sob. The slickness of his mouth against her wetness was a wickedly light lubrication. Occasionally the scrub of his beard rasped against her sensitive flesh, and she knew she would likely be left reddened and sore in the morning. But that was a small price to pay for the nirvana of what she was currently enjoying.

He lapped and kissed at her sex until the first rush of orgasm flooded through her body.

It was an intense release. One moment he was suckling hard upon her clitoris, and she felt as though she was teetering on the brink of a powerful eruption. The next moment, he had released his lips from her sex and simply held his tongue against the pulsing bead of her hypersensitive flesh.

It was enough to have her groaning with ecstasy.

She shoved a fist against her mouth to quell the sounds of her satisfaction.

Whilst a part of her wanted to scream with a mixture of gratitude and elation, she was aware that the motel room would not be the most discreet place to have a shrieking orgasm. Not only would it be inconsiderate for anyone trying to sleep nearby, she knew there would be serious consequences for her career if anyone discovered what she was doing.

He kept his tongue against her sex until another surge of relief rushed through her body. This one wasn’t quite as powerful as the first but it was strong enough to make her push him away.

He stared up at her, his blue eyes shining brightly in the darkness. His grin moistened by the wetness of her release.

‘Was that too much for you?’ he asked.

She propped herself up on an elbow and stared down at him. It took an effort because her muscles felt too weak to support her after the excess of her climax. But she was determined to appear as casual about this liaison as he was.

‘That was good for a start,’ she told him. ‘But I think I need more.’

‘More?’

He had a pair of fingers against her sex as he shifted up the bed and lay against her side. He stroked his free hand over the stiffness of her nipples and then cupped, squeezed and kneaded her breasts. She could taste her own wetness on his kisses and the flavour only served to excite her. The fingers on her sex had slid on either side of her clitoris and he lightly pulled and stretched at her flesh.

His kisses had been a powerful stimulant but this was far more intense.

Trudy pushed herself against his mouth, eager to let him know how much she was enjoying their passion and determined to give him the same satisfaction that he was bestowing on her. She didn’t know where he had learned the technique to touch her so intimately but she was amazed by how swiftly he was able to take her to another rush of pleasure.

The inner muscles of her sex ached from excessive stimulation. Her sex and upper thighs felt sticky and sodden from the release of so many orgasms. And she knew there was still more to come.

‘My turn,’ she told him.

He arched a questioning eyebrow.

She pulled herself from beneath him and forced him to lie flat on the bed.

He did as she asked, grudgingly but without complaint.

She placed herself over him, kissing his face, then his chest and then moving her mouth down to his hardness. When she licked his length, another quiver of arousal bristled through her body. When she dared to take him in her mouth, and then stared up at him whilst her lips were being stretched by his girth, she could see he was sharing her heightened excitement.

Trudy kept him there for a moment, savouring the taste of him and lightly running her tongue over the rounded shape of his end. It was only when he slid his fingers into her hair, and curled one hand so that he was gripping her tight, that she pulled herself away from him. Her smile remained fixed and polite as she eased his fingers from their grip on her blonde locks. Even though she was shaking her head, she could see that he wasn’t offended by her resisting his control.

She straddled him easily.

He was hard, and moistened with her saliva, and slipped effortlessly into her sex. Her inner muscles were pushed forcefully apart as she took him deep into her wetness. Trudy had thought before that her excitement was reaching new levels of euphoria. And, whilst the sensation of his mouth against her sex had been good, this experience was far more satisfying.

She was on her knees and sitting over him, easing herself gently up and down with a slow, mechanical rhythm. She allowed as much of him as possible to slip from her confines, before firmly and deliberately pushing herself back down on him.

He rushed smoothly into her.

He stiffened on the bed and stared up in amazement.

‘That feels good.’

‘It’s about to feel better,’ she promised.

Without waiting for a response she shifted from sitting on him to squatting over him. Without the barrier of her thighs from the previous position she discovered she could get more of him inside. His shaft, already satisfying in length, was now pushing so deeply into her that she felt the prospect of another climax building in her loins.

When she pressed down hard against him her clitoris was teased by the harsh scrub of his pubic curls. Her arousal accelerated to another level. She held him there for an instant, thrilling to the fact that she could feel the pulse of his arousal so deep inside her sex. And then she was pulling herself away from him and gliding easily up his slippery length.

He murmured sweet words of affection.

She clenched her teeth and said nothing as she rode slowly and deliberately up and down. She had her hands on his chest to steady her balance. Accidentally, her nails clawed at his skin. She occasionally pulled chest hairs from their follicles but he didn’t complain and she didn’t care.

She knew, when the explosion of his climax came, it would likely be enough to send another thrill of release through her body.

Working more swiftly, battling against the strain of the muscles in her thighs, and congratulating herself for exercising so regularly so that her quads were able to cope with this level of exertion, she squeezed herself tight around him.

He groaned.

She sighed, grateful she had managed to force some response from him. And then she pushed herself firmly on to him and squeezed again.

Whatever effort of willpower he had been using to resist his climax was finally beaten. She could feel the slick hot jet of his orgasm throbbing inside her. He pulled her tightly into his embrace and kissed her mouth as his length continued to throb and shiver. Her own orgasm felt equally powerful. Although she’d been trying to keep her inner muscles squeezed tight around him, the exhilaration of the climax was so severe she lost control. Pleasure surged through her body and she collapsed against his kisses as their bodies bucked and shivered together in wet satisfaction.

Trudy didn’t know if she had passed out from the experience or had simply drifted into a state of euphoric bliss, but she was aware of awakening on his chest and being graced by his smile.

His dwindling length remained inside her.

She could feel the thump of their heartbeats pounding in unison. Smiling down at him she kissed him lightly on the mouth and said, ‘Thank you, Mr Hart.’

4

The studio lights were harsh on Nicola’s pastry. They were so bright they bleached the golden-brown colour from the blintz’s shell and made it appear pale and undercooked. When Carlos Fielding cut into a corner of the blintz, breaking easily through the layers of puff pastry and securing himself a mixture of steaming apples, seasoned with cheese and cinnamon, the dessert still looked too pale to be really appetising.

Fielding seemed untroubled.

He winked at Nicola as he raised the forkful to his mouth.

Nicola watched him with breathless expectation.

Fielding had the dessert in his mouth for less than ten seconds before he spat it out. He was shaking his head and holding his hand up, as though surrendering.

‘Cut!’ he cried. ‘For Christ’s sake, please. Cut.’

The director echoed Fielding’s cry, then, red with fury, stormed over and pointed a warning finger in Fielding’s face. ‘Stop being such a diva,’ he roared. ‘You’re not the one who tells my crew to cut.’

Fielding sneered at the director. ‘And you’re not the one with a mouthful of irradiated dog shit testing their gag reflex. So, unless you want live footage of me puking all over your Master Baker set, you’ll stop filming for a moment so I can get a drink and get this piss-awful taste out of my mouth.’

Surprised by the onslaught, the director stepped back.

Fielding paused and flashed a thin smile at the bewildered Nicola. ‘No offence,’ he added coolly. ‘I’m sure this would be a lovely delicacy in a prison or in some sort of zoo where they don’t like the animals.’

Nicola studied him with an expression of pained horror.

Fielding placed a hand over his mouth as though he was holding back involuntary reflux. He steadied himself and then asked, ‘What the hell did you put in that blintz? Did you really want the filling to taste partially digested?’

Nicola ran away sobbing.

The director was walking away from Fielding, signalling for the filming team to take five and telling the studio audience that they’d be resuming as soon as Carlos had recovered from his ‘ordeal’.

Trudy watched as Fielding waylaid one of the studio runners and demanded a bottle of water. Quietly she muttered a prayer, desperate for any gods listening to make sure she never ended up being as big a diva as he was. She wondered what it would be like to be so self-obsessed and care so little for the feelings of everyone else. It couldn’t be a pleasant way to live.

‘He looks more butch on TV,’ Daryl told Trudy.

Daryl was on the set in her capacity as Trudy’s PA. She wore a Michael van der Ham miniskirt, the pattern an abstract blend of blacks and silvers on silk jacquard. She handed Trudy a bottle of mineral water so she could get a drink before filming resumed.

‘You say that everyone on TV looks butch,’ Trudy reminded her. ‘I think you have a thing for butch TV stars.’

‘Except you,’ Daryl corrected. ‘You come across as very butch on TV. But I don’t have a thing for you.’

Trudy didn’t know whether to be relieved or crushed.

‘Do I really come across as butch?’

‘Not really. You’re possibly the fairest judge on the set. Carlos is too quick to be rude for the sake of being rude. Tom is a sucker for a story of hardship or personal bad luck. But you make judgements based on the proper criteria of the competition. You base your judgements on the food alone.’

Trudy considered this and realised that was exactly how she was trying to judge the competition. She gave Daryl a grateful peck on the cheek and thanked her.

Daryl looked quietly pleased with herself.

They were filming the last of the Master Baker preliminary rounds. Two of the winning contestants from this evening’s show would go on to the semi-finals in the following weeks. During the semi-finals, as had happened in the previous rounds, contestants would be whittled down by their ability to produce quality desserts. Considering the way Nicola was now crying over her disrespected blintzes, shouting promises of retribution and refusing to let Carlos Fielding insult her again, Trudy thought she knew the name of at least one contestant who wouldn’t be going through to the next stage.

A clatter of dropped pans snatched her attention to the studio’s third stage set. The evening’s final pair of contestants were preparing their workstations in readiness for the next round of filming. A blushing man knelt over a set of empty pans he had dropped. He picked them up and Trudy saw that one of his fingers was bandaged by a blue plaster. There was something about his posture that seemed familiar. Even more maddening, when he half-turned, she recognised his face but she didn’t know where she knew him from.

‘Who’s that guy?’ she asked Daryl, pointing.

‘Which one? The unsuccessful pan juggler?’

He was standing up and had turned so she could now see him properly. He wore a badge that identified him as Victor but the name was of no help. Trudy figured, if she’d met him before, she either didn’t know him well enough to know his name, or had known him by a different name.

‘I don’t know him,’ said Daryl.

Trudy felt sure she had met him somewhere before. She tried to picture him without the bald head and the goatee but her imagination refused to participate in the identification game. There was something in his eyes, narrow and unsympathetic, that stirred a prickle of unease.

‘Do you want me to go and find out who he is?’ Daryl asked.

‘No,’ Trudy said. ‘I’m sure it will come to me eventually.’

Tom Yates joined them. He was shaking his head in bewilderment over the ferocity of Carlos’s outburst and asking Trudy what they could do to address Nicola’s upset. ‘The poor lass is in bits,’ he confided. ‘And she’s so angry. She says it’s a shame Carlos didn’t choke on her blintz.’

Trudy shrugged sympathetically. She could see Tom was getting ready to ask a favour and she had a foreboding of what it might be.

‘The director will be over here in a moment,’ Tom explained.

Trudy shook her head.

‘He’ll want one of us to taste Nicola’s blintz,’ Tom went on. ‘Are we going to toss a coin or draw straws? Or do you have a penchant for sampling something that’s been described as irradiated dog shit?’

‘Tom,’ she began, ‘if Nicola’s blintz tastes as bad as Carlos made out, I’m not sure I want to eat it.’

Tom dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand. ‘You know what a drama queen Carlos is about these things,’ he reminded her. ‘It’s an apple blintz. How bad can it really taste?’

Probably not too bad, Trudy conceded, although she had never been a big lover of the combination of cheese and apple. Nevertheless, she nodded agreement and said she would keep an open mind if she was called on to judge the blintz.

The director approached and asked Tom to give a second opinion on Nicola’s apple blintz. Trudy resisted the urge to sigh with relief.

‘Trudy could do it,’ Tom suggested.

‘You’ll be better,’ the director insisted. ‘We need her to calm down and you’re the man for the job.’

Trudy tried not to give a grin of triumph.

Tom nodded an unwilling consent and made his way across the studio with the director. In fairness, Trudy thought, Tom was a natural diplomat and always seemed to know the right thing to say. She knew she didn’t possess any of his considerable people skills and felt sure Nicola was in good hands with him. Daryl stepped back to her place behind the cameras when the assistant director led Trudy and Carlos to the evening’s final pair of contestants.

‘Did it really taste that bad?’ Trudy asked Carlos.

‘It was the most disgusting thing I’ve had in my mouth since I was a teenage boy and experimenting with my sexuality.’

She found herself smiling. ‘You really upset the poor woman.’

‘She’ll get over it,’ Carlos said. ‘She’s basking in her fifteen minutes and I suspect she’s got a new best friend in Tom.’

Trudy glanced toward the pair.

Nicola was hugging Tom and laughing with him as the pair finished off the blintz she’d made. Tom was smiling enthusiastically and hurling dismissive waves in Carlos’s direction.

‘How does he do that with people?’ Carlos marvelled. ‘How does he get them to like him so effortlessly?’

Trudy wanted to tell him it was probably easy if you didn’t insult them and their hard work, but she kept the opinion to herself. ‘Everybody loves Tom,’ she said quietly.

‘Everybody loves him,’ Carlos repeated. ‘That sounds like the surest way to get a disease.’ He shrugged the matter aside and stepped forward to meet the final contestants.

Alongside the bald and goateed man called Victor was a shy young woman, Amy, who seemed petrified by the TV cameras. Trudy said hello to them both and then studied Victor’s face more closely.

‘I’m sure I know you from somewhere,’ she told him.

He raised an eyebrow and seemed curious. ‘Where?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I can’t remember. I guess it’ll come back to me soon.’

‘Let me know when it does.’

His smile, while civil and polite, seemed to be masking something. She wondered if he already knew where they’d met before, and then dismissed that idea as paranoid. Why would someone keep such information secret?

Then the hubbub of the show was beginning and Victor and Amy were being rushed off to their separate workstations where they were working on the next stage of the evening’s desserts. Victor was making crêpes tulipes with raspberry sorbet whilst Amy had elected to serve a traditional apricot-almond clafoutis. Some preparation had been needed for both dishes and the chefs quickly immersed themselves in their work beneath the intense pressure of the cameras and the lights.

Trudy wanted to spend some time on Victor’s station so she could solve the mystery of his identity. To make the situation even more infuriating, whenever she tried to chat with him and learn a little more about him, Victor seemed strangely evasive and uncommunicative.

She mentioned this to Daryl, who told her she was worrying for nothing.

‘He’s a chef,’ Daryl reminded Trudy. ‘You’re all peculiar when you’re cooking. I’ve seen Charlotte concentrating over her pizzas like she’s giving birth to an immaculate conception. You can spend days brooding on a single flavour if you don’t think it’s quite right and I’ve seen Bill go –’

She stopped abruptly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to talk about him.’

‘Do I really spend days brooding on a single flavour?’

‘Days,’ Daryl agreed. ‘How long were you working on your mocha-chocolate ganache recipe?’

Trudy nodded reluctant agreement. She couldn’t recall exactly how long she’d been working on that dessert but she did know that the worst parts had covered a stressful couple of weeks. Although Daryl hadn’t finished voicing her sentiments on Bill, Trudy knew that he could sometimes be aloof when his thoughts were preoccupied by something in the kitchen.

‘In other words, I don’t think his behaviour is particularly peculiar,’ Daryl said. ‘It’s certainly no more peculiar than the rest of you moody culinary types.’

As an explanation, Trudy knew it made sense. And, even though it wasn’t a satisfying response, she refused to let herself dwell on the problem any longer. She went to find Nicola and see how she was coping after Carlos’s unforgivable outburst.

Fifteen minutes later the desserts were finished and served. Trudy complimented Amy on the lightness of her clafoutis whilst Carlos exclaimed enthusiastically over Victor’s tulipes. Another break was called while the three judges retired to a small room where they discussed their choices and made a final decision on the winning two contestants for the week. The format was now so familiar to her that Trudy was the first to speak when the door closed behind them.

‘Amy needs to be in the final,’ she explained. ‘Her clafoutis is gorgeous.’

They argued and cajoled for half an hour. There was a cameraman with them, filming as they exchanged cutting comments about each other and murmured compliments and condemnations about the chefs and the dishes they had prepared. Eventually, the three of them went out to face the contestants and announce their verdict.

‘It’s been a close debate,’ Tom explained, acting as spokesman. ‘But we’ve finally come to a decision. The two contestants going through to the semi-finals are Amy and Victor.’

There was good-natured handshaking and murmurs of congratulations. Victor and Amy hugged and the scene ended with a shot of Nicola scowling at Carlos. Trudy pulled her gaze away from the woman’s expression of pained animosity. She didn’t like to see someone so upset and she tried to find something of interest to watch that would give her a reason to look in a different direction.

Her gaze fell on Victor.

She watched him walk away from the studio’s set of kitchen work surfaces and cookery paraphernalia and step over to someone in the front row of the studio audience. It was not unusual for contestants to have family and friends in the audience to offer support. Trudy wondered if a glimpse of his friends and family might give her a clue where she knew him from.

Victor bent down. From the way his shoulders were bent, Trudy guessed he was whispering confidentially to his friend. The lights on the studio set were so bright it was difficult to see beyond their glare. Trudy craned her neck and shielded her eyes to peer, still anxious for a clue to his identity. She sat quickly back in her chair when she saw who he was talking with.

Victor was a friend of Donny.

5

The air inside the Sweet Temptation HQ was rich with the scent of maple syrup and pecan muffins. The fragrance was intoxicatingly sweet and made Trudy’s stomach growl. She had always thought there was something compelling about the smoky caramel tones of maple syrup. It was one of those flavours that made her mouth water and urged her to give in to hunger cravings. Blended with the other ingredients, the smell was a constant distraction and dangerously irresistible.

Trudy had just finished working on her column for the week. Inspired by Kali’s mini carrot cakes at the wedding reception, Trudy had charted a brief history of the carrot cake and included in the article a couple of eighteenth-century Georgian recipes for carrot pudding. She would have been happier if she could have included a copy of Kali’s recipe in the text but she knew that was too much to ask from the pâtissier. Also, she relished the challenge of trying to recreate her own mini carrot cakes as a homage to Kali’s speciality. Uploading one of the photos she’d taken at the wedding, Trudy thought the article looked good to go.

After a final read-through she attached the document and the photograph to an email and sent it to her editor. As a reward, she told herself, she could go down to the bakery below and sample one of the maple syrup and pecan muffins.

It wouldn’t even be a snack, she told herself. She could look on it as an exercise in quality control, ensuring that the products Sweet Temptation supplied were up to the high standard she wanted to maintain. Almost won over by the argument, Trudy slipped out of her chair and started moving slyly towards the door.

Charlotte burst into the room. She was grinning and brandishing a bottle of champagne in one hand and a trio of crystal flutes in the other.

Trudy checked her watch. It was only just eleven in the morning. Champagne at this time of the day seemed positively decadent. Or deviant. She eyed the bottle suspiciously. ‘What are we celebrating?’

Charlotte checked the door before responding. ‘I’ve called Daryl up here too,’ she said. ‘She needs to know this as well. But I wanted to tell you first.’ She stepped close and lowered her voice as though sharing a secret. ‘Harvey proposed.’

Trudy hugged her friend. The rush of happiness was so intense that it was almost a strain keeping back the tears. Charlotte and Harvey were a beautiful couple. Yes, there was an age difference. But age differences weren’t necessarily a bad thing for some couples. And they hadn’t known each other a year. But they made each other happy and Trudy didn’t think anything else mattered in a relationship.

‘Congratulations,’ Trudy whispered. ‘That’s wonderful. What did you say?’

‘What do you think I said?’

It was, Trudy knew, a ridiculous question. But it gave Charlotte an excuse to break their embrace and display the huge diamond she now wore on her ring finger: a princess-cut oblong set on a white gold mount. Trudy admired it and grinned and congratulated her friend again.

‘Did this come out of the blue?’ Trudy asked.

Charlotte popped the cork on the champagne and filled all three flutes.

‘Obviously the subject of marriage has been bandied around a lot recently.’ She had the courtesy to blush. ‘What with Harvey being Bill’s best man and with Bill…I mean…’ Her voice trailed off into an embarrassed, apologetic murmur.

‘It’s no big deal,’ Trudy said, squeezing her friend’s hand. ‘You know I’m excited for you.’

Charlotte regarded her suspiciously.

‘For both of you,’ Trudy promised. She raised her flute of champagne and tilted it against Charlotte’s drink. ‘To your happiness,’ she said. ‘May there be lots of it filling your days.’

‘To happiness,’ Charlotte echoed. ‘And there’s something I need to ask you.’ Her blushes deepened as she added, ‘Except it’s a little awkward.’

‘Awkward?’ Trudy raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on.’

Before Charlotte could speak, Daryl opened the door and stepped into the office. Her face looked like thunder. Her eyes were the pained red of promised tears. Her upper lip trembled as though she was struggling to contain her misery.

‘Daryl?’ Trudy began.

‘Hon?’ Charlotte asked.

Daryl shook her head and pressed her lips tight together.

‘What’s the matter?’ Trudy asked. ‘Who’s upset you?’

Daryl slumped into an office chair. Her shoulders trembled and her eyes blinked constantly.

‘Who is it?’ Trudy repeated.

‘What’s happened?’ Charlotte pressed.

‘It’s Donny,’ Daryl said eventually.

‘What the fuck has he done now?’ Charlotte demanded.

She was pulling her mobile from her pocket. Whatever the awkward question she had been about to ask when they were alone, it was now clearly off the agenda for the day. Charlotte was focused on resolving Daryl’s issue.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.