Chapter Fifty-Six
There was a stunned silence. Diners turned to stare at the blonde woman screeching at the dark-haired man sitting opposite the flabbergasted redhead.
‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ Jill ranted. She dumped her handbag on the table, then stuck her hands on her hips. ‘I had a feeling you were up to no good, so I put a tracker on your car. I thought you’d gone to get a takeaway. When I realised the dog had vanished too, I checked the tracker’s notifications. And what did I find? You’ – she stabbed a finger at Dylan – ‘visiting a property in Little Waterlow and then’ – the finger jabbed the air again – ‘returning to West Malling. But instead of coming home, you drove here’ – the jabbing finger went into overtime – ‘with this FLOOZIE!’
‘Excuse me,’ I interrupted. ‘But I’m not–’
‘Shut up, you partner-pinching TROLLOP!’
My mouth dropped open just as Dylan came to his senses. He sprang to his feet.
‘Jill,’ he said, voice placating. ‘Now is neither the time nor the place–’
‘Ay say,’ said a plummy-voiced female at the table to my left. ‘Ay couldn’t help overhearing this lady and ay think’ – she gave Dylan a furious look – ‘that you should be thoroughly ay-shamed of yourself. You might be a handsome man, but you’re also a cad.’
‘You tell him,’ snarled Jill.
And with that she shoved Dylan hard. He fell backwards into his seat. Without missing a beat, Jill emptied the centrepiece of roses over his lap.
‘What the…’ Dylan spluttered, as the camp waiter zoomed over.
‘Excuse me, madam,’ said the waiter, barging past Jill.
Plucking petals from Dylan’s crotch, for a moment he looked like he’d died and gone to Heaven.
‘Er, thanks,’ said Dylan, swatting away both the waiter’s hands and wrecked flowers.
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ gushed the waiter. He turned to Jill. ‘Madam, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ Jill mimicked in a silly voice. ‘And I’m going to have to refuse,’ she growled. ‘I want everyone in this restaurant’ – her voice rose an octave – ‘to know that Dylan Alexander is a lying, cheating, two-faced, devious TWAT.’ She took a huge juddering breath, and glared at me. ‘As for you’ – she jabbed a finger in the air – ‘you are a tarty farty witchy bitchy ginger MINGER.’ And with that she grabbed the ice bucket and emptied the slush over my head.
The shock had me springing to my feet. I’d had enough of this unjustified public humiliation.
‘How dare you,’ I gasped, as freezing water dripped inside my dress. ‘This woman’ – I told anyone who cared to listen, which was everyone judging by the rapt faces – ‘is totally deluded.’
‘Bollocks,’ shrieked Jill.
Dylan once again attempted to pacify his apoplectic sister-in-law.
‘Jill,’ he said quietly. ‘Please–’
‘Ay think it’s a bit late to plead for forgiveness,’ interrupted Plummy Woman.
‘I AM SO UNHAPPY,’ bawled Jill, and promptly burst into tears.
All around us came the sound of chuntering. From the overheard snatches of conversation, it was clear that the diners were on Jill’s side.
‘That poor woman…’
‘She’s distraught…’
‘Just awful…’
‘A cheating husband…’
‘A shameless mistress...’
And then Jill overplayed her hand. Leaning across Plummy Woman, she grabbed a steak knife.
‘Ay say,’ Plummy gasped. ‘Ay was about to use that.’
‘My need is greater than yours,’ hissed Jill. She waved the knife in the air. Instinctively, I shrank away. Jill focussed on Dylan. ‘I’ve a good mind to stick this in your throat,’ she spat.
The entire restaurant did a collective intake of breath. Someone screamed.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Dylan calmly.
‘Silly?’ Jill gave a manic laugh. ‘SILLY?’ she yelled.
‘Madam,’ quavered the hovering waiter. He looked like he was about to faint. ‘Please, put down–’
‘And you can fuck off,’ Jill warned. She spun round and pointed the knife at him.
What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion.
Jill turned back to Dylan. Knife raised, she lunged towards him. At the same time, Plummy’s dining partner reared up from his seat. He came at Jill from behind. Seizing the deranged woman’s raised arm with one hand, he then grabbed her free wrist. Using both momentum and body weight, the two of them crashed down on the floor. The steak knife flew out of Jill’s hand. Quick as lightning, the man whipped Jill’s wrists behind her back. Holding them in a vice-like grip, he then sat on her.
‘Someone call the police,’ squealed the waiter.
‘I am the police,’ growled Plummy’s partner. ‘Albeit off duty. However, I’m perfectly entitled to intervene and uphold the law. Now hurry up and phone for assistance.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I squeaked. I scrabbled in my bag for my mobile, then blanched as I caught sight of a torrent of messages from Freya. Oh God. I’d deal with her later. But as I went to call 999, my hands – still wet from the ice bucket’s impromptu delivery – dropped the phone. It skittered off under the table.
‘I’ll ring them,’ said Dylan hastily. He patted his pocket and promptly pulled out a balled-up pair of underpants.
‘Ay will ring the police,’ said Plummy imperiously. She then proceeded to do so with her pink iPhone.
‘Geddoff me,’ screeched Jill. She wriggled desperately trying to shake off the hefty off-duty copper. ‘Dylan,’ she wheedled. ‘Tell him I meant no harm.’
‘That’s not what me and a load of witnesses saw,’ barked the copper. ‘Sorry, sir’ – he looked up at Dylan – ‘but I regret to inform you, your wife is going to the police station.’
‘She’s not my wife,’ said Dylan grimly.
Jill’s handbag was still on the table, where she’d left it. Dylan reached inside and pulled out a set of keys. Seconds later, he’d reclaimed his spare housekey. He squatted down and spoke to Jill.
‘I’m truly sorry it’s come to this,’ he said, rocking back on his heels. ‘But now is as good a time as any to tell you that you are no longer a guest in my home.’