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Ross stiffened, his face grim. ‘And what did you say to him? Did you say you would?’
‘How can you even ask that? When we got married I gave up the ballet and I’ve no intention of going back—that was what I told Michael, and I meant every word.’
Ross groaned. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help being jealous of him. I know how long you and he were close—you told me yourself, once, that it was like a marriage.’
‘But without the sex!’ she hurriedly told him.
‘I know, I believe you, but I find it so hard to believe he never wanted you. You’re so lovely.’ He pulled her close, held her, his mouth seeking hers, passionate, demanding, possessive. Dylan put her arms round his neck and kissed him back, leaning against him in weary relief.
Ross sighed a few moments later, looking down at her with half-closed, glimmering eyes.
‘I’m starving—what’s for dinner?’
She giggled. ‘You’re so romantic!’
‘I am! After dinner we’ll go straight to bed and make love all night.’
‘Promises, promises!’ she teased. ‘So, how about stirfry chicken? I bought a fresh organic chicken at a farm near Carlisle. While I slice some of that, could you rush out and pick me some vegetables? Some tomatoes, a carrot, some spring onions, some nice new peas, a couple of new potatoes.’
He squeezed her waist. ‘You only love me for my homegrown vegetables!’ Dropping a kiss on her nose, he walked over to pick up the garden trug which always stood near the back door.
‘It won’t take a second. Start chopping the chicken!’
The door banged shut and Dylan sagged down on to a chair for a moment, eyes closed, breathing carefully.
That had been a difficult few minutes. She was very glad to have her flower wagon back—but she wished to God Michael had not brought it himself.
Please God, too, he accepted her decision about the new ballet, and would not be in touch again. Her silence would tell him she wasn’t going to change her mind, surely? Once Michael realised that she was not coming back he would find another partner, maybe someone far better than her. Nobody was indispensable. The world was full of brilliant young dancers. Well, not full of them, maybe—but Michael would find someone somewhere.
She couldn’t see him again. It was painful to face it—Michael was very special to her; he always would be—but obviously there was no room in her life for both him and Ross.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY had dinner with Alan and Suzy the following week. Dylan was determined to be friendly, which wasn’t difficult as Alan turned out to be very likable. A big, burly, go
od-humoured man, with thick, bushy brown hair and sleepy eyes, he reminded her of a bear. He even walked like one, lumbering clumsily as if it wasn’t natural for him to walk upright.
‘I’ve never seen a ballet,’ he told her, staring as if she had two heads. ‘But I love dancing.’ His grin spread right across his jowly face. ‘Pity I’m no good at it!’
‘He isn’t kidding, either,’ his wife chimed in. ‘If you dance with him watch your feet. He’ll end up dancing on them.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time for dinner soon, I think—I’ll get it started.’
‘Can I help?’ Dylan asked, getting out of her chair.
‘No need—I can manage. You stay and talk to the men. Keep them off the subject of football or they won’t talk of anything else for the rest of the evening.’
Suzy served marvellous food—salmon and asparagus mousse with toast, followed by grilled tuna steaks and new potatoes with a mixture of vegetables, then a pudding of poached slices of fruit—oranges, apples, bananas and pears—in a light syrup with vanilla ice cream.
‘I wish I could cook like that!’ Dylan sighed, helping Suzy stack the dishes in the dishwasher later.
‘So do I,’ Suzy said, laughing.
Dylan did a double-take. ‘What?’
‘I bought it all ready-prepared from a supermarket. All I had to do was grill the tuna and cook the vegetables. The rest was just an assembly job! Life’s too short to spend it slaving over a hot stove. Dinner parties should be fun, not work. I like to be with my guests, not in the kitchen.’
‘I must remember that. The food was all so delicious, it never occurred to me that you had bought it ready-made. It’s a brilliant way of entertaining.’ Dylan had been feeling very nervous about the idea of giving dinner parties. Oh, she had often had her friends and colleagues round for a meal in London, but they all knew each other very well and had light-hearted attitudes to entertaining—she would make a huge pot of spaghetti or risotto, or someone would go out for Chinese or Indian food, and they would sit around on the floor, eating and talking, drinking cheap wine. Now she would only be giving small dinner parties to a limited circle of Ross’s friends, none of whom she knew well. It was a relief to know that she didn’t have to make it an ordeal—Suzy’s way of giving a dinner party made it much easier.
They had no sooner rejoined the two men than Alan jumped up, put a tape of dance music on the music stack and grabbed Dylan by the waist.
