Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin. Tasmina Perry
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engaged!’
‘Since when did that ever stop anyone having an affair?’
A monochrome lunar light lit the pavement as they ambled side by side through the quiet streets. Cate dug her hands into her pockets and tried to quicken the pace, aware of the arm still there. They turned into a little park where a line of crazy paving snaked across a stretch of grass.
‘Urgh. It’s all wet,’ she laughed, looking down at her strappy Manolos. ‘My toes’ll get soggy. Let’s go back to the street.’
In one movement, Nick bent down and scooped Cate into his arms, her legs dangling in the air. ‘Well, we can’t have soggy toes, can we, Catherine Balcon?’ he said, moving forward in a stumble.
‘Careful you don’t give yourself a hernia,’ she teased, feeling as light as a feather in his grip.
As her arm hugged the back of his neck, she felt a crackle of electricity between them. She let herself relax into the warmth of his coat, her head turning into his neck. He smelt good – of aftershave and freshly washed hair. Her lips were an inch away from his skin. His hold was surprisingly strong and she felt completely protected, a million miles away from William Walton and magazines and everything else. As she relaxed further and further into his arms, everything became suddenly clear. The reason she wanted to spend every waking hour working with him. The reason she flinched when David Goldman came on to her. She didn’t want David when, in her heart of hearts, she wanted Nick.
Nick turned his head. His mouth was so close she could almost taste the trace of champagne on his lips. ‘Cate,’ he murmured, his eyes closing as he moved towards her.
Her eyes shut as he gave her the most gentle kiss. It was perfect.
She let her lips kiss him back and then, just as quickly, Cate came to her senses. His girlfriend. Nick hardly discussed her, but Cate knew she existed. Rebecca. Plus Cate worked with Nick. They were business partners. It was unprofessional. It was no better than William Walton and Nicole Valentine. It was all wrong. She pulled her head away.
‘Nick. You’re with someone.’
She could see him flinch in the darkness.
‘But Cate. You are … I am …’
Her stomach tumbled as she desperately waited to hear what he would say. But she was scared he would confirm that she was second choice.
She got in a pre-emptive strike.
‘Anyway. We work together … It wouldn’t … it would be … awkward.’
He looked so deeply into her eyes that she could see the flecks of yellow in his irises.
There was a long pause that seemed to go on for ever. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
He said it so softly she couldn’t gauge his tone. Was it sadness? Relief? What? He placed her gently on the ground. The current of electricity between them, which seconds ago had burnt and jolted her, dispersed almost as soon as it had arrived. Cate felt nothing except a crushing sense of disappointment.
‘It doesn’t look wet any more,’ said Nick, slowly.
‘No, it looks fine.’
‘Gosh, we’re drunk.’
‘Yes, we are.’
And they headed out of the park towards the hotel.
Tom Archer stood by his kitchen window looking out into his garden and began to chop the carrots for his casserole. The renovations to his property had been completed exactly two months ago, and so Tom was back living in his Cotswold mansion, having returned from Dorothy Whetton’s seaside retreat. He laughed to himself at how absurd the change was from his life in London. What would I have been doing now if I was still there with Serena? he thought to himself. No doubt recovering from the Saturday night before, drinking Bloody Marys and debating whether to go round to some glamorous friend’s for dinner. Perhaps reading scripts over a cocktail or just talking shop. That’s what they usually did.
Things are very different now, he thought, staring out onto the lawns bursting with herds of daffodils. The birds were singing in the clear afternoon sky, there was no sound of traffic chasing through the streets and he was alone, enjoying his own company. And he was chopping carrots. He chuckled about his life now, researching and writing his script. The cricket season was beginning, too, and he had joined the local club, the Mitchenham Tennis and Cricket Club, which seemed to have caused much excitement in the village. Ah, the pressure to get in the first eleven, he smiled to himself.
He was mildly concerned at how easily he had slipped into this new routine. The turning heads and autograph hunters in the local pub had finally subsided, and now he was just Tom, one of the lads in the village who could enjoy a quiet pint and a chat about the council’s plans to move the bus stop from outside the bakery. His friends in London, his agent, his publicist – they had all said this country-living lark was just a passing fad, an inevitable result of his breakup with Serena. But two months in, he was still enjoying it, loving the freedom to do whatever he wanted in his own time without the say-so of the London crowd.
That wasn’t to say that he didn’t get a little bit lonely. In fact, he had actually begun to look forward to the visits from Edna, his cleaning lady, who came round three times a week to spruce up the house. Maybe I’m more sociable than I thought, he smiled. Which is why he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to invite his old friend Nick Douglas over before. When Rebecca Willard, Nick’s girlfriend had insisted on coming down too, Nick had suggested that they also invite Cate for the weekend.
Tom stopped chopping and put the knife down. He had very mixed feelings about Cate’s imminent arrival. He looked at his watch and realized that she, Nick and Rebecca were due to arrive in forty minutes. Yes, he had always enjoyed Cate’s company; the two of them would always pair off at Oswald’s parties, huddled in a corner, guzzling Martinis and poking fun at the rest of the party guests. However, Tom hadn’t seen her since that day she had come down to persuade him into a reconciliation with Serena. It had been a fairly clean-cut break-up with Serena; but he had a nagging feeling that he should let any ties to the Balcon family go. After all, they were her family. They were her.
What the hell, he thought quickly, putting three bottles of Dom Pérignon 1983 into the fridge and filling some wooden bowls with crisps. He flung open the French windows that led onto the garden terrace and, deciding that it was warm enough for a late-afternoon gin and tonic out there, he struggled to put up the huge cream linen umbrella over the garden table and chairs before lighting the patio heater for extra warmth. Back in the kitchen, he tossed the carrots into a bright orange Le Creuset casserole along with thick chunks of pheasant, parsnips and onions and hoped that a casserole and mashed potato would suffice for his guests. If Serena had been here, she would have demanded he bring in Le Caprice’s outside catering for extravagant canapés and an elaborate five-course meal – just for a casual supper. He closed the oven with a thud. Why didn’t I think of this before? He smiled.
Cate had been having misgivings about attending Tom’s dinner party, too, almost from the moment she had impulsively accepted his invitation. Now that she was driving through the pretty Gloucestershire villages, getting closer and closer to his manor house, she was even less sure. Even though Tom had been a good friend over the last five years, she was still a little awkward and embarrassed about seeing him. After all, her loyalties were to her sister. She didn’t even know if Tom knew about Michael.
But most of all, she was seriously anxious about spending the weekend with Nick, especially when he had his girlfriend in tow. Ever since that night in Milan when they had shared that brief kiss, her relationship with Nick had noticeably cooled. The first week back in the office was intolerable for her. Her feelings for Nick seemed to explode overnight to the point where she could hardly concentrate with him working in the next office, but it was clear that their relationship