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She gave his knuckles a sharp rap.
‘Yeah, I vote for more sausages,’ agreed Dan, backing up his twin. ‘You can sod off to the pub.’
‘There’s plenty,’ said Lynda Hadley, shaking her head with a tut. ‘Honestly, boys, you’d think you’d been starved all your life. It’ll take me two minutes to serve up and your father should be here any second.’
Bugger. He’d really hoped to make his excuses and make a quick getaway.
‘No, seriously, Mum. I haven’t got time. I haven’t even washed up yet.’
‘But when will you eat? You’ve been up since silly o’clock and I bet you only had sandwiches for lunch.’
‘I’m eating out,’ he said, edging towards the door.
Just then his father came in, tossing his car keys on the dresser on the side, scooping his wife up for a quick kiss. ‘Evening. I’ve just been in the village. I hear you’re eating at Bodenbroke Manor this evening, Nick.’ He raised his eyebrows with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
Nick held back the groan. Thanks, Dad. Drop me in it, why don’t you?
‘Bodenbroke Manor,’ piped up Jonathon, settling against the back door, his arms folded and a mischievous smile playing on his face. ‘Now that’s fancy. A date, is it? Who’s the lucky girl this week?’ He frowned. ‘I thought you’d finished with that posh, horsey bird.’
‘Her name is Henrietta,’ said Nick with a frown. ‘And I’m not seeing her any more.’
‘Didn’t last long,’ observed Gail with a sly smile.
Nick shrugged, edging ever closer to the door, hoping that Jonathon would move sooner rather than later. ‘It was mutual.’
‘When did you fix this up?’ asked Dan, joining in the conversation, having found a charger to fit his phone and plugged it in. His face creased in sudden interest.
‘Today,’ said Nick. ‘Look, if the inquisition can lay off, I need to shower and change.’
He was so close to the door and he actually had his hand on the doorknob when Dan suddenly crowed, ‘It’s one of those London photo women, isn’t it? You’ve been up on Starbridge Fell all day. You sly devil. You asked one of them out.’
Jonathon laughed and stepped back to block the door. ‘What? And they said yes?’
Nick froze. ‘Why shouldn’t they?’ he asked, regretting the sudden stiffness in his voice.
‘Punching above your weight, aren’t you?’ teased Dan. ‘Which one is it? One of the wardrobe ladies? The blonde one. What’s her name … Georgina?’
Nick shook his head.
‘What, the darker one?’
‘Neither of them,’ he said, trying to keep his expression pleasant.
‘Well, who then?’ asked Jonathon, screwing his face up in perplexed confusion. ‘The stylist woman is married and so is the PA and Creative Director.’
‘Bloody hell, you didn’t pull a model, did you?’ gasped Dan, pretending to reel back, bumping into a chair, which screeched across the tiled floor in protest.
Gail and Cath shook their heads in mutual mock despair at Dan’s theatrics and then Gail said, with a naughty grin, ‘And why not? Let’s face it, he’s the best-looking one out of all of you.’
Dan clutched his chest. ‘I’m hurt, dear wife. I thought I was.’
‘You’re the best-looking of my husbands,’ she teased, winking at Nick, who was grateful for the brief diversion in conversation. Sadly, Jonathon wasn’t about to let it go.
‘Seriously? Which one?’
Nick sighed, knowing if he were going to get out of here in time to wash and change, capitulation was the only solution. ‘I’m going out with Tara. We got chatting. We fancied dinner together. For God’s sake, it’s not as if I’m going to ask her to bloody marry me or anything. She’ll be gone by the end of the week. And I’ll still be here.’ His voice rose. Realising that he’d made a bit of a tit of himself, he grasped the door handle and yanked it open, leaving behind a collective gasp and a telling silence.
‘Gosh, this place is really rather nice,’ said Tara, taking in the expensive wallpaper, which reputedly cost over two hundred pounds a roll, the stylish furniture and the retro designed lighting. ‘We could almost be in London,’ she added in a conspiratorial whisper behind one hand.
Nick lifted his wine glass and took a sip. ‘We’re not all heathens up here, you know.’
‘I think I can see that,’ said Tara, giving his body a rather blatant once-over.
From the minute he’d picked her up from the George, she’d been flirtatious and forthright, which was a huge relief. If he were honest, as he was driving to collect her he’d had a sudden last-minute panic. What on earth was he going to talk to her about all evening?
He needn’t have worried; as he’d helped hoist her tiny frame into his truck, she’d murmured, ‘Oh, this is very masculine,’ as she’d settled herself into the seat. ‘I don’t think I know anyone who drives a truck,’ she’d said, drifting her hands across the dashboard as he’d started the engine up. Within a few miles one hand had drifted to his thigh and he drove the rest of the way trying not to wriggle like an overexcited teenager.
She wore a floaty chiffon pantsuit thing with tiny straps that dipped so low it made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her legs in skyscraper heels, so high you surely needed a health and safety certificate to walk in them, looked endless and made his heart bump uncomfortably in his chest. She was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her glorious hair was bundled in a big messy updo of some sort, with lots of tendrils curling around the white alabaster column of her throat.
For God’s sake, get a grip, man – she’s a flesh and blood woman, not a flaming Greek statue.
‘How long have you been modelling?’ he asked, forcing himself to make sensible conversation instead of staring at her like a lovesick puppy.
‘For ten years.’ She pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I’m old.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He laughed. ‘What, you’re twenty-six, twenty-seven?’
‘Twenty-seven,’ she whispered, looking around the room, ‘but don’t tell anyone. That’s quite old in this business. Although I’m ready to move on now. Do something a bit more meaningful, you know? I’d like to be an ambassador for something worthwhile. You know, saving the planet. Eradicating plastic. Something like that.’
‘Sounds noble,’ he teased.
For a moment her nostrils flared and he saw the tendons in her neck tense.
‘I’m serious. I feel very passionate about some of the issues facing our planet. The amount of plastic in the sea is a terrible thing. It’s a big issue. Animals are dying.’ She fixed him with a rather intense stare.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to belittle your ambition. I was teasing. I’m used to brotherly banter.’
She dipped her head with gracious acquiescence. ‘We have to save our planet.’
‘You’re right,’ he concurred, realising that this was a big deal to her. ‘Although I tend to get worked up about issues closer to home, I guess.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Bit selfish, really. We’re already seeing the effects of climate change on the seasons.’ Last year’s hot dry summer had had a major impact on the grasslands where the sheep grazed. ‘So what will you do?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll be an ambassador. You know, do photoshoots highlighting the issues. Be the face of a campaign. I’m just waiting for the right offer.’
Nick nodded, feeling a little out of his depth. He had no idea how these things worked. They lapsed into silence for a minute, until the waiter came to take their order.
‘I’ll have the medallion of beef,’ said Tara before adding, to Nick’s surprise, ‘and can I have chips with it?’
‘We do pommes frites,’ said the waiter in a slightly stuffy accent, which made Nick want to laugh. They played five-a-side together on Thursdays and he was light years from stuffy.
‘Perfect,’ said Tara.
Nick grinned as soon as the waiter departed, taking his own order for confit of duck and seasonal vegetables. ‘And there you’ve blown the preconception that models never eat anything but salad and carrot sticks.’
Tara tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I have a fabulous metabolism. I can eat what I like.’ She almost sounded defiant.
Nick smiled. ‘That’s good to hear as the food here is excellent.’
Tara nodded and picked at the tines of her fork, before rearranging her cutlery several times.
‘So, do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Nick asked to fill the silence.
She shook her head, pulling her mouth into a sad little moue. ‘Just little old me. Mummy and Daddy had me very late in life. Poor Mummy nearly died, so Daddy put his foot down and said no more children. Mummy said that I was such a beautiful child, she was glad she couldn’t have any more children because she couldn’t bear risking having another child in case they were a disappointment.’ Tara gave a tinkling laugh and tilted her head on one side, looking up at him. ‘Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Of course, utter nonsense. All parents think their babies are perfect.’
Nick laughed. ‘You should speak to my mother. She doesn’t have any illusions about her children, but then she had five of us.’
‘Five! Good lord.’ Tara’s eyes widened dramatically and she put her hand on her stomach. ‘Gosh. That’s a lot. Your poor mother. That must have wrecked her figure.’
Nick’s mother would have laughed her head off at that comment; she adored all of her children. He was sure she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. ‘I’m not sure she sees it like that.’
‘Are they all as good-looking as you?’ Tara slapped her hand over her mouth, as if the compliment had slipped out by accident. She lowered her eyes to the table.
Nick laughed, thinking of the conversation between his brother and sister-in-law as he’d left. ‘I’m one of four brothers and one sister. I think we all agree that our little sister is the best-looking.’
‘Oh,’ said Tara, as if this was a very strange thing to say.
‘So what do you do when you’re not sheep farming?’ she asked.
‘It’s not exactly a nine-to-five job,’ said Nick, ‘but when I can, I like to get away from the farm. My sister lives in Paris—’
‘Oh, I adore Paris. I was there for the Paris Fashion Shows. I did a catwalk show for Dior this year. It’s such a super city. When were you last there?’
They talked Paris, with Nick dredging up everything he could possibly remember of his two visits there, until dinner arrived.
Tara certainly had a healthy appetite and scoffed down her food as if she were starving.
‘You were hungry,’ he said, looking at her clean plate as he finished the last of his food.
‘I was in the fresh air all day,’ snapped Tara, again sounding defensive.
‘I had no idea modelling was such hard work,’ said Nick. Clearly she wasn’t used to the sort of banter he enjoyed with his family. He ought to remember she wasn’t from a big family like his.
‘It’s not for everyone. I don’t think people realise how hard it is. They just think we turn up and have our photos taken.’
The waiter appeared and took away their plates before returning with the dessert menu. ‘Would you like anything else?’ he asked.
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Tara, perusing the menu, her tongue poking out rather adorably between her lips. ‘Are you going to have anything?’
‘I’ve not really got a sweet tooth.’
Her face fell.
‘But we could share something, perhaps?’ he suggested.
‘Yes, the profiteroles. I adore them.’
Nick ordered dessert with two spoons, although he needn’t have bothered because, although the dish was placed in front of him, as quick as a snake, Tara’s hand would strike and snatch a spoonful of choux pastry and cream. She made regular moans of delight with each mouthful.
‘I haven’t had chocolate in ages. I’d forgotten how delicious it is. Such a sensual pleasure, don’t you think?’ She dipped her spoon in the last of the chocolate sauce and slowly licked the back of it with long slow strokes, all the while her eyes intent on Nick. She let out a breathy sigh. ‘That silky richness on your tongue.’ She ran her tongue up and down the handle of the spoon, her eyes dark and sultry with the sort of promise that had Nick shifting in his seat, very relieved that the tablecloth was covering things up.
When the waiter came to clear away the dessert dish, Nick was ready to decline coffee and take Tara straight back to the George. Given the suggestive signals she’d been sending him, he thought they were on the same page, but she rose from her seat, tossing her napkin on the table.
‘Darling, could you order me an espresso? I just need to go to the ladies. Sort myself out.’
‘OK,’ he said, ordering himself a cappuccino and settling back in his seat, feeling his heated skin start to cool. He pulled out his phone, quickly checking his Facebook feed, smiling as he saw a post from his sister, Nina.
Chocolate Heaven was the caption underneath a picture of a perfect chocolate éclair and her fingers and thumbs just beyond it, shaped in a love heart.
God, how much would Tara enjoy one of those and what sort of state would he be in, watching her eat it?
Looks delish, sis, he posted quickly, scrolling through more of her pictures. Since going to Paris to run a patisserie and moving in with her boyfriend, Sebastian, who happened to be Nick’s best friend, Nina had become the queen of éclairs and all things sugar. Perhaps he could take Tara there one day. He had a sneaking suspicion she might rather like it.
He commented on a few pictures, liked a few others and then realised a full fifteen minutes had elapsed. Where was Tara? Please don’t say she’d done a runner. No, surely not. Despite his pre-date qualms, it had gone pretty well. She certainly seemed interested. Without being big-headed about it, he got on with women. Most dates he went on turned out well, more than well sometimes, although there had been the one time he’d been on a blind date with one of Gail’s friends, who turned out to be best friends with one of his exes. That had been rather excruciating.
Just as he was seriously considering sending a search party up to the ladies, Tara reappeared, her eyes glittery and her face all smiles as she slipped back into her seat and took a sip of espresso as if there was nothing wrong.
Perhaps she’d had some female issue and she was too embarrassed to say anything.
‘Ugh, this espresso is cold,’ she said, pulling a face.
‘Would you like me to get another?’ said Nick equably, not wanting to make her feel self-conscious by saying that she had been rather a long time.
‘No, it’s OK. It’s quite late now and it will probably keep me awake.’ She looked at her watch and then gave him a beautiful, sorrowful smile. ‘You need to drop me back at the hotel. I’m afraid I need my beauty sleep. I can’t turn up tomorrow with bags under my eyes.’
‘Let me get the bill,’ said Nick, wondering at what point the evening had suddenly petered out.
Chapter 2 (#ub28aa657-f062-547b-94a2-d097ee12b3f9)
London (#ub28aa657-f062-547b-94a2-d097ee12b3f9)
Maddie gripped her knees together, her hands clasped over the kneecaps to stop them shaking, as Henry Compton-Barnes, complete with suede patches on the elbows of his jacket and a dicky bow, stared down at her work. It seemed to take forever before he finally looked up and spoke.
‘Professor Gregory is a good friend of mine and you’ve come highly recommended. I shall therefore be completely honest with you.’ His mouth pulled into a regretful line as if someone were tugging at strings attached to each end of his lips. ‘Technically, you are very good. These are well executed. The detail, in fact, is brilliant.’
Despite the words, she knew there was a giant-sized ‘but’ headed her way.
‘What I’m looking for in a painting … for this gallery …’ He shook his head. ‘These have no originality. No flair. They’re missing that je ne sais quoi, the indefinable, that makes a piece of art stand out. What I’m looking for is something that only the artist can conceive. When you look at their work, you know that only they could have painted it. I liken it to a singer, someone like, forgive me, I’m considerably older than you, but someone like Carly Simon, for example. You hear her voice and you know immediately it’s her. Her voice, like a signature, is unique and that’s what I’m looking for in a painting.
‘These, I’m afraid, are good, very good, but I don’t see your soul or any investment from you as an individual.
