Rumours. Freya NorthЧитать онлайн книгу.
turned for Juliet to zip up the skirt.
‘Look at your peachy bum, missus!’
Stella looked at herself in the mirror. ‘That’s the genius of Paul Smith tailoring,’ she said.
‘Rubbish!’ said Juliet. ‘It doesn’t look half as good on me, you cow.’ She held the jacket as Stella slipped it on. ‘Just look at you!’
Stella looked. And had to grin. ‘Blimey.’
‘That’s an understatement,’ Juliet said. ‘It would be nice for you to have a little fun,’ she said softly. ‘You deserve it. It’ll be good for you – for your self-esteem.’
‘You sound just like Jo – different vocabulary. She witters on about my mojo.’
‘Go, Jo.’
Stella didn’t want to be drawn. ‘I just don’t think I’m that bothered any more.’
‘If that’s the case, you’ve let bloody Charlie define the rest of your life – and yet he’s now out of your life. You’re really good in a couple, even when the other half was a prize shit. Don’t let what you went through change something that naturally suits you.’
Stella hadn’t thought about it that way. ‘But – Will,’ she explained, as if Juliet (like Jo) had missed the point. ‘It’s too complicated.’
‘No,’ said Juliet strongly. ‘That’s an excuse. It needn’t be complicated – and there’s no reason for Will to be involved. You need to have you-time, doing grown-up stuff. You need to pep up your self-confidence. You think your divorce has diminished you – but actually, it gives you your life back. You’ve probably forgotten what that’s like.’
Stella sighed. She stroked the suit as if it was living. ‘If I say yes, will you stop lecturing me?’
‘Yes,’ said Juliet.
‘But no gynaes.’
‘Roger.’
‘And no one called Roger.’
‘Noted.’
‘And no one too much older or too much younger.’
‘No grandpas, no toyboys.’
‘No facial hair.’
‘No?’
‘No!’
Juliet counted off on her fingers. ‘Mid- to late thirties. Height and weight proportionate. Clean-shaven. Anything else?’
‘No addictions,’ Stella said quietly.
Juliet took her hand and gave it a little squeeze as if to say, you needn’t even think it, let alone say it out loud.
* * *
Siobhan was late, but there again, she’d never been on time. Xander thought about it while he waited – if she’d been a girlfriend, officially, it would be a bone of contention to grind between them; but keeping it casual meant the irritation he felt came also with a sense of relief that no tiresome confrontation was necessary. He hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, hadn’t had any contact. But she’d sent him a text which he’d received at lunch-time, alone in the office when Mrs Gregg was taking her hour. Mrs Gregg always took exactly fifty-five minutes so that she had sufficient time to sit back at her desk, pat her hair, wriggle her fingers, look around her desk and then say, ‘So!’ in a bright voice.
The text came through when Xander was thinking, not bloody tuna mayo again, and wondering whether to see what sandwiches Caffe Nero had instead.
Horny. SEx
Siobhan Elliot. Always signed herself SE, the strategically placed kiss turning the whole thing licentious.
I have a cure for that. X
It remained unclear to Siobhan whether that was X for Xander, or a kiss.
They always met at a pub in Standon that neither of them went to at any other time; they always had bar food and a glass of wine, Xander always paid. If they went back to Siobhan’s, Xander left after sex. If Siobhan came to his, she usually stayed the night but not for breakfast. Neither had met the other’s friends nor even knew much of their lives beyond their rendezvous. They’d been seeing each other a couple of times a month for the past six months and the arrangement suited them both.
Her customary lateness was premeditated as it presented her with the opportunity to sashay in, swish her way across to him, sit herself down sinuously. Everything about her was consciously feline. A performance, an act. Everything was about calculated seduction but Xander had done his sums and it all added up. He was therefore a little taken aback at a pair of cold hands covering his eyes when Siobhan came up behind him without him noticing. But there again, a gaggle of women had just come in and he hadn’t thought to look amongst them for her. He encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away from his eyes.
Only it wasn’t Siobhan.
It was Caroline.
At any other time, Xander would have been delighted to see Caroline. But not here, not tonight and not when Siobhan’s arrival was imminent.
‘Hullo, monkey,’ she said.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said Xander.
‘Bloody charming!’ she laughed.
‘Sorry, Cazza, I meant—’
‘You can buy me a pint for that, tosser,’ and Caroline swept her patterned shawl over her shoulder, catching Xander across the cheek with the soft bobble fringing. ‘You’re lucky I don’t give you a slap. Pint, please!’ she said to the barman. ‘He’s paying.’
The landlord gave Xander an odd look as if to say, this isn’t a pick-up joint, you know. And Caroline gave Xander an odd look because she’d never seen him appear so awkward.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Mums’ Night Out,’ Caroline said. ‘We’re bored of Dansbury pubs and your dad’s probably playing dominoes in Little Dee. Pet – are you feeling all right?’ Caroline placed the back of her hand across his brow before stroking his cheek. And that’s what Siobhan saw when she walked in. And that was the moment Caroline clocked the two glasses of wine in front of Xander. She grabbed her pint and look a long drink. ‘Bloody hell – you’re on a date!’
‘Xander?’ Siobhan was here.
Neither Siobhan nor Caroline had ever known Xander to redden nor heard him tongue-tied. Caroline thought it most amusing. Siobhan didn’t.
‘I’m Caroline,’ and she offered her hand, slightly wet with beer, to Siobhan.
‘Siobhan,’ Siobhan said, declining to take it.
‘Siobhan – Caroline, Caroline – Siobhan,’ Xander said, wearily. Caroline was beaming sunnily at Siobhan, as much as Siobhan was staring unimpressed at Xander. Caroline was just about to ask Siobhan a checklist of questions when one of the other mums called her to take her seat at the table and suddenly Xander didn’t know whether he’d rather she stayed rather than went. Or whether he’d rather he and Siobhan went rather than stayed. He drank his wine and couldn’t think what to say to either of them.
‘Right, well, I’ll be leaving you two lovebirds to enjoy your evening then,’ Caroline said and slipped off the bar stool, offering it theatrically to Siobhan who took the seat without acknowledgement. As Caroline backed away, she pointed from her eyes to Xander and then back again. She winked lasciviously and made a telephone gesture with her hand and, with a big grin, joined her party.
‘Old friend,’ said Xander, though Siobhan hadn’t asked. ‘Best friend, really.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Married, two kids, lives in the village.’
He’d never mentioned Caroline to Siobhan. He didn’t think he’d