Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton
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secret. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. Sam smiled at the cameraman’s lack of subtlety and winked at Christie.
‘Oh, all right, then.’ She gave in. Why shouldn’t she confide in them? They had become such a tight threesome over the months they’d been working together that she wanted to share with them. Frank had opened up to her after their shopping expedition and she knew that all he wanted was a good man to love and be loved by in return. He so often disguised the loneliness he felt with lusty innuendoes about the muscle-bound studio scene-hands: men who laughed with him and teased that maybe he could ‘turn’ them before they went home to their wives and girlfriends. He never put his gaydar to the test, too fearful of middle-aged rejection. Sam was less of an open book but she got the impression that he had had his fair share of success with the ladies without committing himself to anyone in particular. She’d heard him out when one woman had taken him too seriously and he was running scared, seeking sane advice. Both men had trusted her with their confidences so perhaps it was about time she let herself go and trusted them. They might even be able to help her. A different point of view from Mel’s – her sister was her only confidante – might give her a new take on things. Besides, she wanted to steer the conversation away from Julia.
When he heard her story about Richard, Frank’s reaction was instant. ‘Turning you down? Obviously mad or gay, darling.’
Sam was more considered. His brow furrowed as he thought, his eyes serious. ‘Perhaps he’s more damaged by his divorce than you realise. He might not be ready. Maybe your vibe says you’re not ready either.’
‘But it’s been two years since the divorce,’ she protested.
‘Yes. And it’s over two since Nick died and look where you’ve got to.’ He was cutting his lamb slowly then arranging it on his fork with a piece of potato dauphinois and some broccoli. Before he put it into his mouth, he said, ‘You’re an attractive woman, Chris.’
Christie was suddenly aware of the pressure of his knee under the table. She looked up sharply. The expression on Sam’s face hadn’t changed one iota, but his eyes met hers before he glanced away.
His attention on his plate, he said, ‘You’re out of practice, that’s all. You know what they say. Use it or lose it. You’ve just got find it again.’
‘Easier said than done. And I should know,’ said Frank, ruefully, placing his napkin on the table. Anyone for a nightcap?’
They moved through into the snug where they continued their conversation, sitting in comfortable green and rose chintz-covered armchairs in front of the inglenook fireplace. At one side of the blazing fire there was a large reed basket of logs and at the other a set of shining brass fire-dogs. The low ceiling gave the room a cosy intimacy that encouraged the three of them to talk until they agreed they wouldn’t be fit to work in the morning if they didn’t go up. They kissed each other good night and went to their separate rooms.
As Christie changed for bed, she thought about what the boys had said. They had laughed together about finding ways to get her mojo back in working order but in the end had agreed that practice was the only way.
She was startled by a quiet rap at the door. Grabbing her coat as a dressing-gown, she went to open it. Sam was standing in the corridor, holding two glasses of brandy and smiling in a boyish way that lit up his whole face.
‘I’ve been thinking.’ He offered her a glass. ‘Seems to me that I might be the ideal person for you to practise your romantic techniques on. No strings attached. Just a bit of fun to get you started.’
‘Are you kidding?’ That last glass of wine had definitely gone to her head, making her feel pleasantly tipsy. She pulled her coat tighter round her, wishing that she had packed something other than Nick’s old pyjamas.
‘No, I’m serious. But if you don’t fancy it, well, have the brandy anyway.’ He held out one of the glasses.
‘Er … thank you. But …’
Go on, she imagined Mel’s voice in her ear. Who needs to know? He’s good-looking, you trust him, and he’s saying he won’t come back for more. Look at it as the first hurdle. Once you’re over it, the next one will be much easier. And, you never know, it might even be quite nice.
She laughed as her inhibitions took flight. What the hell? ‘Why are you standing out there?’ She stepped back, pulling the door open.
‘Really? Are you sure?’ His confidence deserted him. She liked him for that.
‘Let’s have the brandy and see. But if we do, no strings. And no telling Frank. We’d never hear the end of it.’
‘None and absolutely not.’ He came into the room and raised his glass in a toast. ‘Dutch courage.’
*
The next morning Christie woke up alone. Sam had left after they’d had a really very enjoyable time together, giving her a chance to catch some sleep and to get ready for the day ahead. He had been right, she thought, as she took her shower. Some skills don’t go away. They just need a bit of a polish. She had always imagined that she would feel guilty and terribly disloyal to Nick if she slept with someone else. At last she had realised that enjoying herself with another man didn’t mean she would forget him. No one was going to replace him in her heart, but that didn’t mean she had to sign up to the nearest convent. Mel was right. Of course. One slightly drunken night had shown her that she could enjoy herself without being racked with remorse. Before he left her room, Sam had emphasised once again that he didn’t want any ties and she was more than happy with that.
She was second down to breakfast. Frank was already in the dining room, with a cup of coffee and a half-eaten plate of scrambled egg. On her way to the table, she stopped to pour herself some orange juice.
‘Well, look at you!’ The light reflected off the top of his head as he gazed at her over his reading glasses, assessing what he saw.
‘What d’you mean?’ All innocent.
‘Doesn’t take Einstein to work out what happened to you last night. You look as if you’ve had your flue well and truly swept!’
Christie blushed. ‘Frank! For God’s sake, shut up!’
‘You’re glowing, darling. Well, it couldn’t happen to a nicer couple is all I can say.’
‘Get one thing straight, Frank Bolton. We’re not a couple. It was a one-off no-strings number.’
‘No need to bite my head off.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
Christie hoped so.
Sam was looking at his watch as he came over. He was slim in a pale grey suit that gave a pleasant hint of what was underneath. He gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. She blushed, remembering the pleasure she’d experienced the night before when those lips had been so very intimate, and earned herself another sly squeeze from Frank.
Without bothering to sit down, Sam poured and slugged back a half-cup of black coffee, then grabbed a piece of toast before turning to go. ‘Come on, guys. We’ve got to get down to the town hall for the results. They’re posting them at eight thirty.’
‘I’m ready. Just let me get my things and check out.’ She drank the last of her coffee and stood up. She felt better than she had for ages. Sam had done her a favour and she understood the deal between them. Her radar was being cranked back into working order. She hurried upstairs, feeling quite ready for whatever the day would throw at her.
Julia was late. Very late. Christie had asked for this meeting and had arrived promptly, just as Julia expected her to when she called a meeting. She was naturally aware that she was one among many on her agent’s long list of priorities, but even so, to be kept waiting for almost an hour (so far) bordered on rude. The time had been punctuated with messages