Chapter Thirty-Six
Diane had left a message on his phone, last night. ‘I’ve got something to tell you!’
But James hadn’t returned her call because he wanted the excuse to turn up at her house.
The lack of Valerie had taken some getting used to. It was like having an abscessed tooth out — the unanaesthetised surgery had cured the fiery pain but he’d had to get used to the gap it left. And he knew that there was a ‘decent period’ meant to pass before bereaved spouses moved their lives on. But he was so desperate to see Diane. Just to see her. He’d make do with that.
He’d enquire after Gareth’s health and ask her advice about Harold’s worrying colour. That would be perfectly OK.
Even with Val gone, Harold and Gareth were family.
Diane swung the door open at his knock and beamed with reassuring joy. ‘James!’ Her hair, unbound, flowed over one shoulder like winter sunshine and her T-shirt’s neckline was low enough to grab his attention. His heart stirred into a rapid boop-de-boop.
Far from being annoyed that he’d swanned up without notice, she grabbed his hands and fairly dragged him across the threshold. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you.’
He took in her flush of excitement. ‘The new business plan went down OK with the bank?’ he guessed.
‘The what? Oh yes, and the bank’s up for it. I read so much in the papers about the big bad banks not lending businesses any money these days, that I was quaking by the time I got there. But they’re increasing the loan on the business account for Diane Jenner Originals and giving me an overdraft in case I need it. Which I shouldn’t. They’re happy because I have firm orders and my margins stack up, my cash flow’s realistic and . . . oh, I can’t remember all the business-speak. Just that they said yes.’
She looked so bright-eyed and beautiful that he risked a soft hello kiss on her cheek. ‘Fantastic.’
‘That’s not even the biggest news, amazing things have been happening.’ She thrust him down into one of the old kitchen chairs as she danced through the ritual of making coffee in a brass-topped cafetière and hardly drew breath in her description of the meeting with the bank and how she was rearranging the workroom and had bought a new machine that would be delivered on Monday along with a work table. And she was going to interview someone. ‘I’ve never interviewed anybody in my life.’
When she was finally sitting opposite him, the steam from their coffee rising between them, he managed a foothold in the conversation. ‘Are Bryony and Gareth here?’
She grinned. ‘No, neither of them. Bryony’s out with George and Tamzin, apparently. She’s picking up her old life, which I think is a good thing. She was a tiny bit jealous to come home and find George so besotted with Tamzin and the band happy with their new drummer, but she’s getting her head around it, now the baby is well on the way. And Gareth . . . I’ve got to tell you about Gareth, James—’
His mind seized on the incredible fact that she seemed to be alone in the house. ‘But he’s not here? Nobody’s here?’
‘Just me, but, listen—’
All the pent-up tension and guilt, the pain over his daughters and his father-in-law in their grief, gurgled away at the news that Diane was alone. For just a little while he could have her to himself. His hands slid across to take hers and he drew her over the tabletop so that he could kiss her gentle mouth. ‘Diane,’ he murmured, against her lips.
She answered with a kiss of her own, parting her soft lips and sucking his tongue into her mouth in a way that scorched straight down to his groin. He found himself straining over the damned table, the edge digging into his lower ribs. He half-stood, hunching over to maintain the contact as he inched around the table and she turned in mid-air as he lifted her up until somehow he was taking her chair and pulling her astride himself. It felt so fantastic to have her body against his that he let common sense flee the scene without compunction. Her arms and legs wound around him and he buried his head against the softness of her neck, aroused in a heartbeat, breathing her in, his lips on her warm skin, feeling her hands caressing his shoulders. His hands fitted themselves naturally to the curves of her buttocks and his thumbs stroked the fine skin between her waistband and her top. ‘You feel fantastic.’
He shifted his mouth to the soft skin in the V of her T-shirt, tracing her cleavage with his tongue tip. He groaned, and let his hands slide up her ribs, feeling the shapes beneath her skin, bunching the fabric, bulldozing it with his hands until he had a nice expanse of bare Diane. ‘You taste good, too. And smell good. I want you like crazy.’
‘James—!’ Her voice was husky but not horrified. It was enough encouragement. He ran his hands all over her naked flesh as if frightened she’d suddenly come to her senses and push him away.
‘James, I have to tell you—’
Her bra was blue and made of some silky stuff and he was successful with the clasp first time. He flicked the fabric aside, she spilled out into his face and he sucked her into his mouth. ‘ Oh —!’ She stopped talking. She groaned.
And the door burst open.
‘Mum, I’ve brought — Oh!’ Bryony stopped dead.
‘Shit!’ Diane yanked down her top and James whipped away his hands and mouth as if her breasts had grown teeth.
‘—Tamzin and George home,’ Bryony finished, lamely.
Diane bounded to her feet, eyes huge with horror and, helplessly, James rose to stand at her side.
‘Oh. My. God.’ said Tamzin, faintly, from the doorway. Her eyes, fixed on James, were horrified. Bewildered. Accusing. Hurt.
James felt pinned to the spot by her repugnance. ‘Tamz,’ he croaked.
George, behind Tamzin, murmured, ‘Amazin’.’
Tamzin’s freckles stood out like tiny wounds against her pale skin. ‘Dad, what about Mum? Oh, poor Mum! She’s hardly been — Did she know ?’
His lips felt as if they didn’t belong to him. ‘She didn’t know. Nobody knew. We were trying hard not to let it happen.’ He took a step towards Tamzin, wanting to hug away the pain he’d just caused her. But he halted when Tamzin took a step back. If only she hadn’t come in exactly then — or, for that matter, any time in the next hour — he wouldn’t have hurt her. However much he’d wanted Diane he wouldn’t have allowed his lust for her to hurt Tamzin.
In slow motion, Tamzin turned her gaze to Diane. ‘You, Diane. You!’
‘Mum!’ said Bryony, on a long, scandalised breath.
First Bryony and then Tamzin bumped down into kitchen chairs.
James felt like hell. He wished he hadn’t given in to the yearning to see Diane. All their lives he’d filtered situations to protect his three daughters, but this time he was the cause of Tamzin’s pain. Apologies dried in his throat like breadcrumbs. He had no idea how to begin to explain that people stayed with bad marriages because they had to, even when they wanted someone else all the time. And occasionally gave in to the wanting.
It was Diane who tried, blue eyes burning with distress. ‘I’m sorry. We tried. We both meant to hang in there with our less-than-ideal marriages, we took that decision. But, today . . .’
She stumbled to a halt.
Tamzin buried her head in her hands. ‘Daddy. How could you?’
Tentatively, James slid an arm around her thin shoulders, hating himself. Was aware, with another part of his mind, of Bryony and Diane speaking in low voices. Of Diane justifying, explaining.
Bryony staring at her mother as if she’d never seen her before.
With a cursory wipe of her eyes, Tamzin jerked away from James. ‘Right. Well. We have some news of our own. I don’t suppose there’s any point breaking it to you gently, now.’
Her reddened eyes were suddenly filled with purpose, and even defiance, as she looked from her father to Diane. ‘Jenneration has been offered the opportunity to play the venues in Hamburg. You know, like The Beatles did. George is taking a gap year so he can go.
‘And I’m going with him.’
‘You can’t.’ The automatic objection was out before James could stop it.
‘I can .’ Tamzin pulled away from him.