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Kate’s mouth crumpled. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she admitted, thinking that for a man who was little more than a stranger the pain he had caused seemed to be disproportionately intense.
‘Nothing you can do,’ said Lucy in a determinedly bright voice. ‘Except carry on working and waiting for Mr Right and put it all down to experience.’
‘There’s no such thing,’ said Kate bitterly.
‘What, as experience?’
She swallowed, trying to smile and to lighten up. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. But just now her sense of shame and humiliation was too strong for her to be able to resist cynicism. ‘As Mr Right,’ she said tightly. ‘Now, are we going out tonight?’
‘You want to?’
Kate shrugged. ‘We always do at the end of a job, don’t we? I can’t sit around here moping for the rest of my life!’
Once Lucy had gone, she made a determined effort to dress up, even though her heart wasn’t in it. She nearly wore black, but that seemed like a psychological admission of defeat. So she put on white linen trousers instead—with a glittery little top in silver-spangled white, because the summer night was warm and sultry.
At just past eight she and Lucy set off for the Italian restaurant, stopping off at the pub on the way as they always did.
It was a typical London pub—packed and noisy—so they sat outside on a wall next to a big pot of daisies and drank their lager and enjoyed the river view.
‘I’ve never seen you look so fed-up, Kate,’ said Lucy, watching her sister stare miserably into the foamy top of her drink.
‘I guess I’ve been very lucky in the heartbreak stakes,’ said Kate lightly. ‘Up until now.’ Her infrequent love affairs had tended to become friendships more than the mad kind of passionate romances which broke your heart. She had never been the type to sob into her pillow over a man.
So how come one brief and beautiful encounter had left her feeling as though a part of her had been torn out and thrown into the gutter? Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and she forced herself to take another sip of beer.
‘Come on, Kate,’ said Lucy gently. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
CHAPTER SIX
AT LEAST Kate had her career. That was what she kept telling herself over and over again, in an attempt to convince herself that in work lay some kind of refuge from her problems. The only difficulty being that her particular career was that it was such a solitary occupation.
When she decorated a house she liaised with the owners to discover exactly what it was they wanted her to create. She then went about finding paints and fabrics and objets d’art from various suppliers.
But there was no regular daily interaction with workmates. No one to sit and drink coffee with and talk.
Though maybe that was a blessing in the circumstances. Workmates might ask her why her eyes were ringed with great black shadows. Why eating seemed to be an intolerable effort. And why it took all her energy just to summon up a fraction of her usual enthusiasm.
She was now refurbishing a dining room in north London—a sprawling great Edwardian house belonging to a television actor and his presenter wife. Money was no object, and they had seen some of her work at friends’ houses and given her a free rein. The dream scenario, really. But this time the smile she pinned to her face each morning felt like an effort, and she hoped that her mood wasn’t transmitting itself to her employers.
On Friday, when the walls had been painted in a rich, dark green, she returned to her flat in Chiswick and thought unenthusiastically about the weekend ahead. She needed to keep active. To fill her time, so that the memory of Giovanni and his bright blue eyes and delicious body would fade far away into the distance.
She thought about going to visit her parents. No. That was a crazy idea. Her mother would take one look at her gaunt face and demand to know exactly what was wrong—and how could you tell your mother something like that?
The phone began to ring and aimlessly she reached out her hand and picked up the receiver, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice. ‘Hello?’
There was a click as the line was disconnected and she
stared at it for a moment, then replaced it uninterestedly, secretly pleased that no one had spoken. The last thing she had felt like doing was having a conversation, having to pretend that everything was all right, when everything in her heart felt all wrong.
The heat of the summer day was still intense, and so she drew herself a bath and soaked in it for ages, until the water was merely lukewarm and the tips of her fingers had shrivelled into pale little starfish. Then she put on a long satin robe and padded barefoot into the sitting room.
She would order in some pizza. She winced. No, definitely not pizza. The Italian connection would be much too great to contemplate. A curry, then. And a glass of wine. With maybe a sad old movie afterwards, which would allow her to shed tears legitimately.
She painted her toenails and had just let them dry, when the doorbell rang, and she hoped it might be Lucy. She didn’t want to hassle her sister with her problems, and so she hadn’t suggested getting together with her. But maybe Lucy fancied a little company as well.
But it wasn’t Lucy who stood on the doorstep, it was Giovanni, and Kate stared at him, her mouth drying, her heart beginning to thunder as she met a hard blue gaze.
‘You!’ she breathed.
