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'I think I'll stay home tonight. I can go out another time,' Clare told him lightly.
'Will David be angry at me?'
'Of course not, honey, he'll understand.'
'But you won't be friends.'
'Of course we will. Now, you just snuggle down while I get rid of these sheets. Shall I leave the light on?'
Tim nodded wanly, 'You wouldn't go without telling me?'
'You know I wouldn't, Tim. Now you close your eyes and relax the way the doctor told you. If you need anything I'll be just here in the lounge, OK?'
'OK.'
Clare dialled David's suite as soon as she had delivered the sheets down the hall to the laundry, and fetched new ones, leaving her door open in case Tim should decide to test her honesty.
Tamara answered with laconic disinterest.
' 'Lo?'
'Tamara, it's Clare. Can I speak to your father?'
'He's just getting ready for his hot date.'
In her agitated state, the sarcasm passed dare by. Besides, she had already put up with countless little digs, between puffs, during a workout in the gym that afternoon. She had been surprised, given Tamara's outrage at the learning of the dinner á deux, that the girl had deigned to join her, but the reason was soon obvious. Water dripping on stone had nothing on Tamara. Clare had been given chapter and verse of all the brilliant, talented, witty, rich, gorgeous women who had set their lustful sights on her father.
'He might have slept with them, but he didn't care about them; he just moved on to the next woman in the next city. He's not looking for permanency. He's had a vasectomy, you know, so he doesn't have to worry about being trapped by a woman with an eye to the main chance. My mother had a really tough time having me, and the doctor warned her not to have any more children. Dad loved her enough to sacrifice any future hope of sons to carry on the family name. That's probably why he's paying so much attention to Tim. Tim's just the kind of son he'd like to have had.'
'I really don't think you should be telling me this, Tamara,' said Clare tersely.
'Why not? You should know what you're in for if you're planning an affair with Dad.'
'I'm not planning anything. It's just a simple dinner,' Clare lied. Nothing about her feelings for David Deverenko was simple.
'Sure.' The single word was loaded with scepticism. The fact that it was partly justified drove Clare into working particularly hard at the routines, and she felt a mean sense of satisfaction when Tamara's competitive hostility insisted that she keep up with the pace. Sweat dripped off the tense young face, and Clare couldn't help but be impressed by her dogged persistence and the fluidity of her moves after an initially jerky start.
'I hope you haven't overdone it,' said Clare, feeling guilty as the girl stumbled on their way back to the changing-rooms. Tamara looked very young and vulnerable, all angles in her colourful leotard. 'I shouldn't have pushed you so hard.'
'Why did you, then?' Tamara demanded, expecting some adult prevarication in response.
Clare smiled ruefully to herself. 'Revenge, I guess. I wanted to pay you back for telling me some unpalatable truths that I'd rather have ignored.'
Tamara was struck into silence for a moment before she, too, smiled half-heartedly. 'Hey, who's the juvenile around here, you or me?'
Clare accepted the weak joke in the spirit it was offered. 'It can't be me, I feel at least ninety.' She sat down on a bench and rubbed a calf muscle. 'I think I'm the one who overdid it, trying to keep one step ahead of you.'
Tamara slumped on the bench beside her, mirroring her exhaustion. 'I feel pretty wobbly myself,' she admitted frankly. 'It's a lot harder than it looks. But you know what? Although I feel shattered, I feel good!'
She looked so surprised that Clare laughed. 'That's the idea. And the great thing about 'jazzercise' is that once you have the moves and a music tape, you have your own portable gym. It's fun to make up your own routines and invent new variations on old ones. Do you want to come again?'
Tamara was instantly diffident. 'Maybe.' But a few minutes later she was preening when the instructor passed them in the foyer and said, 'You're new, aren't you? You were pretty good for a beginner. You were really reaching for it and you have a good sense of rhythm. You'd better look out, Clare, or this protégé of yours is going to have you eating dust!' The last comment had pleased the girl no end.
Now she ignored the girl's sarcasm, and said, 'Tamara, I need to talk to your father.'
'Why?' She could tell the girl was enjoying keeping her dangling.
'Because Tim is sick.'
