I seized Rococo's paw and felt just above it. 'Here?'

'I very much doubt it, Lucy,' he growled, wiping his mouth in disgust. 'Try her chest. Yuk! I think I'm going to be sick. Christ, I'm not doing that again, not for you, not for anyone!'

'Here, I've got her heart it's beating! She's still alive, Charlie, she's still alive!'

'Well, Halle-bleeding-lujah'

'Hold her more upright, Charlie, that's it, that's great. She obviously likes that, yes she likes you! Look, she's smiling, opening her eyes!'

'Terrific'

'Just hold on to her, Charlie, she's coming round'

'You know,' he gasped, wincing under her weight, 'if you'd asked me this morning, I'd have said it was an odds-on certainty that by this time today I'd be lying beside a beautiful blonde with the most fabulous figure, a gla.s.s of Merlot in my hand. Instead of which, I'm sitting here in the appropriately named doggy position, with a b.i.t.c.h called Rococo, who I've d.a.m.n nearly had s.e.x with.'

'Rubbish,' I scoffed, 'you saved her life'

'Yes, but life-saving isn't quite what I had in mind for this afternoon. I've had more physical contact with her than I've ever had with you. Certainly more foreplay and oh Jesus Christ, she's pa.s.sing out again!' Rococo's head flopped dangerously.

'The vet,' I said, standing up decisively. 'This is no good, we must get her to the vet.'

'Yes, G.o.d yes!' he groaned. 'Staggeringly good idea, best you've had all day. Why didn't you say that before I had to snog her?'

'And you can take her,' I went on determinedly, 'because I can't leave the shop. I'll ring and say you're coming. Come on, Charlie, let's get her in the car.'

Between us we lugged, dragged, and carried Rococo down the stairs - eyes rolling, tongue hanging, paws flailing - and out, into the drive, to the car, which luckily, was a convertible. We hauled her into the back seat, mouth foaming, all over the pale beige leather interior. Charlie winced.

'Drive fast,' I urged. 'And when you get to the surgery, beep your horn loudly and someone will come and help you.'

'How d'you know?' he wailed. 'How d'you know I won't be left with a dead horse-dog in the back of my car!'

'Of course you won't,' I soothed, 'because I'll ring and ask them to come out. Now don't worry, Charlie, just go - go!'

Something of the urgency in my voice galvanised him and he got resignedly into the driver's seat. He buzzed down the window.

'It must be love,' he said bitterly. 'There is literally n.o.body, no other woman on the face of this earth, I would do this for.'

'I think it's love too,' I whispered, leaning in and kissing him warmly on the mouth. 'And I think you're a lovely, lovely man. Now go!'

With a deep sigh, he pulled off, and I dashed back inside to call the vet. I also called Kit, on his mobile, and gave him the bad news, but not too melodramatically, and I told him not to worry and rush back, because Charlie was quite happy to stay with Rococo at the vet's, and I was quite capable of holding the fort here.

'But she's all right?' he asked anxiously. 'I mean, you think she'll recover?'

'I'm positive she will,' I said, crossing my fingers hard. 'And Kit, Charlie was amazing. He saved her life,- I'm sure.'

He didn't stop to ask what the devil Charlie was doing at his shop in the first place, but I think he probably guessed, and I made a mental note to smooth down the bedspread in the Tudor room, before his return.

An hour or so later, Charlie rang me. Rococo was coming round, and was 'comfortable' now, apparently. She had indeed had a reaction to the insulin, and they were going to re-jig it. Apparently her rather nervous disposition had been a contributing factor to her flaking out like that, too.

'Her nervous disposition,' he said bitterly. 'I tell you, my nerves are shot to bits. I can't take any more of this coitus interruptus, Lucy, I'm too old for all this. It's got to be a good old-fashioned dirty weekend in a cosy country hotel, with no-sick children, no dogs, no broom cupboards, and no Tudor Queens. Just you, me, and a locked door, in a delicious little eyrie somewhere, with a bathroom en suite, and no distractions, so I can ravish you to my heart's content. What d'you say?'

I giggled, but hesitated. 'A whole weekend might be a bit tricky, Charlie. The boys, you know.'

'But a night?' he persisted.

'A night,' I agreed, 'would be very acceptable.' I imagined a cosy old pub, by a mill-stream perhaps; a drink in the bar, huge log fire burning, holding hands together in the inglenook; then a table for two in the tiny, candlelit restaurant, faces glowing, senses heightened, then later on, full of wine and love, off up the rickety staircase to a cosy feather bed, beams over our head, owls calling quaintly in the dark outside, wrapped in each other's arms, away from the world and its prying eyes ...

'Ooh yes,' I breathed. 'In fact, it would be more than acceptable. It would be downright perfect.'

'Right,' he warned dangerously. 'You're on. I'll book it this very minute. I know just the place. Oh Lucy my love, I long for you, I want to explore and ravish you. I seem to be cursed with the most terrible potency. I shall go pop if I don't get to grips with your delicious personage soon!'

I giggled and bade him desist from popping, then put down the phone, my heart exulting, pounding with joy. It did occur to me to wonder, though, if at some stage he'd like to explore my intellect and relish my mind, as well as my body. But no matter. Our delicious tryst was on, and there was plenty of time for all that getting to know each other stuff later, wasn't there? Humming away happily I tidied up Kit's desk, lined up the receipts with the pads and pencils, and told myself I was just being picky.

Chapter Twenty.

Kit didn't get back until quite late. Having called in at the vet's and agreed that Rococo should stay in overnight, he finally walked through the door at about seven o'clock. I'd dithered about staying on. I was only supposed to stay until six, but decided, under the circ.u.mstances, that I'd better wait to hand over the keys and give him a de-brief on the day, rather than just abandon ship and leave him to find an empty - house.

'You were right,' he said, flopping wearily into a sofa. He looked tired and dishevelled. 'It was a reaction to the insulin. Too much, they think, and too often, but they're going to test her over the next couple of days and let me know. Thank G.o.d you were here, Lucy. I can't imagine what would have happened with Mich.e.l.le at the helm. This is exactly what I mean, why I need someone responsible.'

I cringed, recalling my fairly irresponsible exploits upstairs. I scuffed my toe on the woodblock floor.

'Er, well, you do know Charlie popped round, I suppose?' I muttered. 'I hope you don't mind, Kit.' I glanced up fearfully. 'Mind? Good grief, why would I mind? Of course I don't. It seems he might have saved Rococo's life, and anyway, I'm delighted if your friends pop in, makes it much less boring for you. I mean, it's not as if you're a teenager, sneaking your scruffy boyfriend in for a quick one on my sofa! I had my suspicions about Mich.e.l.le, I can tell you.'

I cringed a bit more and stared at the floor. Crikey. But then of course, Kit wouldn't suspect a thing, would he? Charlie was married, and I was a responsible widow, a mother of two. So what the h.e.l.l was I up too, then? Not for the first time, a wave of shame washed over me, but before it threatened to engulf me, Kit interrupted my thoughts.

'No takers, then?'

'Sorry?' I came to.

'I mean, were there any punters at all, or was it a totally disastrous day all round?'

'Er, well, no, not totally disastrous. Two elderly women came in this afternoon.'

'Really?' He sat up a bit. Seemed inordinately excited by this.

'Yes, but they didn't buy,' I added hastily. 'But then a couple did come in, just now, before you got back, and were quite interested in the walnut lowboy.'

'Excellent!' His eyes shone.

'Yes, thought it was absolutely stunning, and went away to think about it.' I lied a bit here. They'd actually given it a cursory glance and asked for directions to the M4, but Kit seemed so thrilled I over-egged it.

'And any calls?'

'Yep, two. Both from Americans. One, a decorator in London who said you'd know what it was about. Said he'd gota slight problem vis-a-vis the provenance of some silver you sold him recently.' What he'd actually said was that if it was Georgian, he was a Chinaman.

'Stupid prat. Doesn't recognise a Georgian hallmark when it smacks him in the face. And the other?'

'She was calling from New York. Said she'd be popping over some time next month to have a look at your pair of seventeenth-century chandeliers. I told her she'd better make it snappy because I had an Argentinian polo-playing client who was very interested in shipping them out, p.r.o.nto.'

'Did you, Lucy? Good for you! Excellent thinking on your feet! This calls for a celebration drink. You'll join me, won't you?'

It did? I was astonished as he bustled happily over to the sideboard where the decanters were kept. Golly, I thought, I'd sold precisely nothing, had a paltry two clients in for two seconds, nearly killed his dog, almost bonked his friend in the Tudor Suite, and here he was busy with the tonic and lemon. But who was I to demur? I glanced at my watch. It was almost the boys' bedtime and I felt I hadn't seen them properly for a few days, but it did seem rude not to. He handed me a whopping great gin, which I must say, I supped at rather eagerly, and then settled himself down beside me on the sofa, loosening his tie.

'Ahhh... that's better. G.o.d, b.l.o.o.d.y long day. And the console went for an astronomical sum'

'Ah. I was going to ask'

'Yes, well, don't. Total waste of time.' He rubbed the side of his face wearily. 'But no matter. Someone told me about a gem of a house clearance sale going on in Paris next week the Marquis de Saint Germain's pad, so I shall whiz across for that and once again, leave the reins in your capable hands.' He leaned his head back on the sofa and sighed. 'This is working out so marvellously, Lucy, I'm so glad you're here. You weren't bored, I hope?' He turned his head anxiously.

I sipped my drink nervously. 'Er, no. Not at all.'

Not today, heavens no, hadn't had time, what with a diabetic dog and a red-hot lover, but without them? For two, long days a week? On a regular basis? Staring at the highly polished floor, the gleaming furniture, and listening to the tick of the longcase clocks, waiting for a chance pa.s.ser-by? And this had clearly been an exceptionally good day.

I snuck a sidelong glance at the thin, sensitive face beside me, and wondered if he didn't perchance want me to run the London shop, instead? The one he had in Ebury Street which Charlie had told me all about, and where, according to Charlie, people came from all over the world to view his wares. I hadn't realised Kit had a second string to his bow, but apparently, this was the jewel, the showpiece, where all the real treasures went, having begun life here, in what was effectively his warehouse. Well golly, I could do wonders with that, I thought. I could be extremely front-of-house and charming, could even set up home in the dear little pied a terre that was by all accounts above it: move the boys in, ditch Oxfordshire and go back to London tout de suite. Maybe I could stand in for him on one or two of his trips abroad, too? A couple of days in New York would suit me down to the ground quick flit round Bloomingdales, then back to Ebury Street, except that was what Kit himself was planning to do, it transpired, as we chatted. With my help. Spend a few days aweek in his smart London showroom, before motoring back to his country manor at weekends. Unless of course he was travelling, in which case, he informed me, he could be found at the George V in Paris, or the Hilton in New York. I listened enviously. A good life, a balanced life, a cosmopolitan, interesting life, and one with a fair smattering of luxury thrown in for good measure, the life of a suave, charming, erudite man, so why on earth, I wondered, had his wife left him for the plumber?

I shook my head in disbelief as I drove home later that night, having actually shared more than just the one gin with him, and having had quite a giggle, too. As we'd talked long and hard, we'd realised we knew pretty much the same people in the antiques world an eclectic, often hysterically effete bunch, particularly in New York and had shrieked and roared away at their idiosyncrasies. And she'd swapped all that, I boggled, for S-bends and ballc.o.c.ks? Well, I'd like to meet the guy. Like to meet the plumber who could top all that, but then again, Charlie had said she'd been totally uninterested in the antiques world a gym bunny, he'd described her as, with sensationally streaky highlights, a year-round tan, and a pa.s.sion for wine bars and since it clearly was Kit's world, and not just his job, I could see how the marriage might have come unstuck.

It certainly helped to have a smattering of interest in a spouse's work, I mused as I negotiated the dark country lanes home. Ned had always enjoyed coming to private views, even if he knew nothing about the collection, and had loved the drama of an auction; soaking up the atmosphere, seeing it as a piece of theatre, with curtain up and then with the final bang of the gavel - curtain down. I, in turn, had spent many happy hours with him viewing rushes, and not necessarily understanding the minutiae, but enjoying watching him run footage again and again, chewing it over, deciding when to cut into a tricky piece, knowing it could make or break a film, patiently waiting until he was completely happy with it. There had been a meeting of minds, even though our worlds were far apart.

I breathed deeply as I swung through Netherby's gates. It still gave me almost physical pain to recall those days. A dull ache in the pit of my stomach, because I knew. I knew we'd had it, you see. We'd had that elusive, special harmony that everyone looks for and so few find. Or perhaps, pretend to find, marry, and make do. Rub along and make the best of it, smile wryly and say, 'Oh well, you know, we get along. But it's like any marriage, has its ups and downs . .

But our marriage wasn't like that. We'd experienced the real thing. And I knew I was out there looking for it again because human nature will, it can't do without. But when I stopped to think, like now, in the car, coming up to the house he grew up in, it frightened the life out of me. Because the person I hoped to find it with again was just as unavailable, in his way, as Ned. I'm not saying Charlie might just as well have been dead, but he was married. And OK, who knows, he might leave his wife, but - the car lurched suddenly in my hands -might leave his wife? And child? Is that nice, Lucy? Is that what you want? A chill ran down my spine. G.o.d, I horrified myself sometimes. But only occasionally. Mostly, you see, I put my head in the sand and didn't think about her. Or when I did, I draped her in a nun's habit and had her taking Holy Orders. Her choice, her decision. Nothing to do with me.

As I drew up outside the barn I gazed up at the night sky, picking a star, as so often, during the day, I'd pick a cloud.

'Well, what would you do?' I whispered to it hoa.r.s.ely. 'What would you do, if it had been me that had gone, Ned? If it had been the other way round?'

I often wondered. And I think the answer would be - the same as me, eventually. Go looking for someone else. But I also think he would have been more circ.u.mspect, more considered. He would have been grief-stricken, naturally, as I had been, and then he would have gone through the obligatory motions of railing at the stupidity of someone's inability to drive a simple car for heaven's sake - oh yes, there'd been a lot of that, a lot of anger - and then, a period of calm. A quiet time, of looking after the boys, putting one foot in front of the other, getting through the days, and being alone. But then, surely Ned, I got out of the car and stared at the sky, surely you'd have put a tentative toe in the water? Just as I had, now? You wouldn't be on your own for ever, however deep and strong our love? I found I couldn't quite look the star in the face, though. Found myself wondering if Ned's toe might have dipped into clearer, less murky, less married, waters. If he might not have found someone infinitely more suitable.

'Like Kit Alexander,' I could almost hear my inner self shriek in exasperation as I shut the door. Yes, OK, how much more convenient would that be, I thought with a sigh. Not that he'd necessarily be falling over himself to take me on, but I knew too, there'd been a spark of interest back there. Knew, in the offering of that second gin, there'd been a suggestion that he was enjoying my company, and would like to prolong the party. As little as that, but as much as that, too, and at our age, in our circ.u.mstances, and with our baggage, it was enough. One does get to read the signs. And wouldn't that be just so neat? A clever, interesting man, mad about antiques, mad about me, with two big boys for my two little boys to admire and look up to (but not actually need their nappies changing, h.e.l.l no, a bag of dirty laundry would be the most I'd get from them). Yes, and we could all gather round the huge oak table in Frampton's kitchen, Ben and Max listening wide-eyed as Kit's good-humoured boys told tales of their gap years in Africa, or Peru, both quietly relieved to see their dear old dad settled with a lovely, like-minded girl. A big, happy family. And something that Ned would approve of, I was sure. Oh, Ned would have no problem with Kit, but Charlie? I cringed, ducking under the glittering, reproachful gaze of the heavens, and made towards the barn.

As I walked up to the door, I glanced up. The boys' bedroom was in darkness, so hopefully they were fast asleep. Trisha had forgotten to draw the curtains, I noticed. I peered through the gla.s.s as I put my key in the door. The lighting was very subdued, just a couple of low table lamps, and I couldn't see her. Must be in the loo, or upstairs. It occurred to me that of course, I should have rung, warned her I was going to be late, but actually, Trisha was jolly sensible. Sensible enough just to put them to bed and wait. When I walked in, I heard movement. She was sitting on the sofa with her back to me, except that when she stood up and turned around, it wasn't Trisha at all, it was Rose.

'Oh! Rose, what on earth-'

'Sorry to startle you, Lucy.' She smiled.

'No no, it's fine. Are the boys-?'

'Up at the house. We popped them into bed in the spare room'

'Oh! I thought Trisha was going to babysit down here?'

'I'm afraid I can't spare her constantly, Lucy. Joan needed some help in the kitchen. I've got a big dinner party tomorrow, so she's working for me this evening.'

'Oh. Right.' I flushed, embarra.s.sed, and walked across to the counter. Yes, how presumptuous of me to a.s.sume she'd work for me all the time, but actually, that's what I'd been led to believe. And I wasn't sure I liked the boys not being here when I got back, sleeping up at Netherby, but then again, that was my fault too, I supposed, for not ringing and checking arrangements. So stupid, Lucy.

'I should have rung Trisha,' I admitted. 'If I'd known she couldn't stay on, I'd have come back earlier. I just stopped to have a drink with my new boss.'

'Or two?'

'Sorry?' I startled.

She looked at her watch. 'Well, it's after nine. I can't believe he expects you to stay that late. It clearly turned into a drinks party!'

'Well, it was just rather an unusual a busy day. And he didn't get back until very late, so yes, we did have a couple.'

Christ, why on earth did I have to explain my whereabouts to her? Or count my drinks? I put my bag and car keys down carefully on the work surface.

'Um, Rose, how did you get in here?'

'Oh, I have a key of course,' she said, matter of factly.

Of course. And it appeared she'd made herself a cup of coffee, read a couple of my magazines which were lying open on the table, opened a packet of peanuts, and found a bowl for them, none of which I'd mind if it were Jess or Teresa, say, and they'd rung first to check, but Rose, just fishing a key out of her bag, settling herself down in my home...

'And my dear, the reason I'm here is to apologise profusely.' She smiled graciously. 'I acted abominably the other night, it was quite shameful of me to accuse you like that. I wanted to ask well, to beg, really for you to forgive my ridiculous outburst. Do let's let bygones be bygones and start again, eh?' Her blue eyes widened anxiously, appealing to me, as she twisted her rings nervously. I'd never seen Rose nervous.

'Of course,' I said, perching on a stool at the counter. G.o.d, I'd almost forgotten. Only yesterday, but it seemed so long ago. So much had happened.

'I can't think what came over me. Of course I was upset. But what it had to do with you, I can't imagine.'

'Well, in a way you were right,' I said slowly, wondering where this huge capitulation was leading. 'I did introduce Rozanna to Hector. But as I said last night, Hector's a grown man.'

'Well quite,' she agreed staunchly. 'My sentiments entirely. A silly, grown man, with his brains in his trousers, and what he does is his own affair. I pray to G.o.d he'll see sense and come back to the fold of course, but what I don't want, Lucy, under any circ.u.mstances, is for it to get in the way of our relationship. We have such a close friendship now, don't we, and I don't want it to come under any sort of threat.'

I found myself taken aback once more. Close friendship? Did we? I'd never considered us bosom pals, but then again, Rose was so cold, maybe this was her idea of mateyness, as matey as she could get, anyway. In any event, I decided firmly, it was a relief. She was quite right, we couldn't have carried on with such an atmosphere hanging over us. Some air clearing was in order. I smiled.

'I quite agree. It would be awful to live cheek by jowl and be under any sort of strain.'

'Precisely,' she agreed. 'And even worse would be, if you felt so uncomfortable, you decided you couldn't live here. I was up all last night worrying about it, but you wouldn't think that, would you, Lucy?'

Ah. So that was it. I regarded her, perched on the arm of one of the squashy terracotta sofas she'd installed, surrounded by the tasteful Kelim cushions she'd ordered through a smart catalogue, in the glow of a soft table light she'd chosen from Peter Jones. I knew in my heart I'd been bought, that Jess had been right, and I knew too, that this was a key question, and I had to answer it carefully.

'No, I'm not thinking of moving out of here, Rose.' 'Oh, I'm so pleased!' She beamed.

'But,' I hesitated. 'I can't, either, give you a rock solid guarantee that I'll be here for ever.'

'Well, no, obviously not for ever!' She laughed nervously. 'Not when you're eighty-six and I'm a hundred-andsomething, of course not!'

No, I'm not talking about as far off as that. What I'm saying is, I don't know what shape my life will take. I don't know where I'll eventually work, for instance'

'Oh, but your job at the manor! Splendid, and ideal, all those antiques.'