Because she was only just beginning to realise that her naive notion of seeing Dominic as much as possible in order to concentrate on all his faults was a flawed and stupid idea.
Because, let’s face it, Romy, she told herself gloomily, whatever you discover about him won’t matter a bit. The attraction which had overwhelmed her at the age of nineteen was still stubbornly refusing to die.
Could she perhaps plead a sudden and debilitating virus, and make her escape before she got in any deeper than she already was?
‘Romy,’ said a soft, sweet and instantly familiar voice behind her. Romy whirled round, prepared to offer him her most unfriendly face, and then saw that he was accompanied by a couple who were obviously Mr and Mrs Bailey.
Archie Bailey was a fit-looking sixty-year-old, conventionally attired in a very new-looking black suit, while his wife was resplendent in a floor-length concoction of raspberry-coloured taffeta. Still, she must feel positively underdressed when she looks at Triss, thought Romy with some amusement.
‘Where’s Lola?’ asked Geraint.
‘She has insisted on tying back an untidy wisteria,’ Dominic grinned, and Romy thought how carefree he could look when he smiled like that. What a pity he didn’t do it more often!
‘Then I’d better go and find her before she starts pruning your roses too!’ Geraint laughed, and set off across the garden.
Dominic turned to Romy. ‘I’d like to introduce Archie and Dolly Bailey,’ he murmured. ‘This is Romy Salisbury.’
Dolly Bailey gave Romy a champagne-fuelled smile, and held out a plump hand which was covered in rings.
‘Hello, my love,’ she said, beaming, in the broadest northern accent that Romy had ever heard. ‘Pleased to meet you! I’m dying to hear all about that foreign royal family—and especially about a certain member of it, who I understand was absolutely smitten by you!’ Romy shook her blonde head ruefully, wishing that people wouldn’t believe everything they read in the papers! ‘There was nothing between us. It was pure invention by newspapers who would like to see him married!’
‘And increase their sales, of course,’ added Dominic cynically.
‘You’ve been reading too many tabloids again, Dolly!’ complained Archie.
‘And I shall carry on reading as many as I like!’ his wife retorted spiritedly.
‘I do hope that your daughter-in-law is feeling better,’ ventured Romy.
‘Oh, she’s nothing but a fusspot!’ said Dolly cheerfully. ‘First sign of a sniffle and everyone’s on full flu alert! And John gives in to her, too! I must say that when I was carrying our three I was out chopping logs for the fire—wasn’t I, pet?’
‘Aye, you were that,’ agreed Archie, with a somewhat grudging note of admiration in his voice.
Romy’s eyes met Dominic’s in a rare moment of perfect understanding. The Baileys were exactly as she had pictured them from his description!
She was just wondering fleetingly how he might describe her when she saw Ellen appear on the terrace and glance over in her direction.
Romy put her half-empty champagne glass down on one of the tables. ‘Please excuse me,’ she murmured, aware of Dominic’s eyes on her as she turned towards the house. ‘I must go and see to the table.’
Dinner was an odd affair—on the surface everything seemed to go swimmingly, but Romy felt so churned up with nerves that she could barely eat a thing.
She had deliberately put herself as far away from Dominic as possible, but that wasn’t far at all, considering there were now only eight of them eating, and it didn’t seem to stop her thinking about him for the entire first course. It took every effort of will she possessed not to let her gaze linger on him, and to wonder how he managed to turn eating into a sensual art-form.
Lola, Geraint’s wife, was absolutely enchanting, with her wild mahogany curls and her blazing blue eyes. She had recently given up her job as an air stewardess to concentrate on landscape gardening, and she berated Dominic loudly throughout the meal for neglecting his wisteria.
Dominic merely laughed and said, ‘Come back when you’ve finished your landscaping course, Mrs Howell-Williams, and I’ll give you a job!’
‘You’re on!’ said Lola, and winked at Romy, who was frankly finding it a little wearing to have to witness all his effortless charm being directed at everyone except her!
She drank half a glass of wine and concentrated on chatting to Archie, who began telling her all about his passion for fishing. ‘And that’s what I plan to do once I’m retired. If Dolly lets me,’ he added wistfully.
‘I’m sure she will,’ said Romy reassuringly.
Everyone had just helped themselves to salmon and potatoes and salad, when Ellen appeared at the door to announce that there was a telephone call for Archie.
Something in her voice made them all grow silent. Archie stood up and left the table immediately, and with one frowning look at Ellen Dominic followed him.
‘Probably some crisis at the factory.’ Dolly shrugged as she heaped another spoonful of boiled potatoes onto her plate. ‘I shall be glad to see the back of the damned place!’
Romy carried on as if nothing had happened, making sure that everyone had enough to eat and drink. Though tonight her job did not seem like work at all. Lola, Geraint, Triss and Cormack really were the most delightful people, who seemed to know each other really well and like each other a lot.
They all led fulfilled and independent lives, and yet St Fiacre’s seemed such a happy and thriving community. What she would give to live in a community like this, Romy found herself thinking almost wistfully, suddenly aware of how isolated her little mews house was. Oh, it was a very comfortable house—pretty, too—and, situated slap-bang in the middle of London’s shops and parks, its location could not be better.
But—and it was a big but—her neighbours were practically non-existent. The other houses in the mews had all been bought as investments by foreign bankers. Imagine being able to nip next door to borrow a cup of sugar the way Lola and the others obviously could!
Romy gave herself a little shake. Good grief—next she would be looking into prams and cooing, if she wasn’t careful!
When Dominic returned, his face was oddly serious, and he went round the table to lean over Dolly, placing a comforting hand on her plump shoulder.
‘Your daughter-in-law has been admitted to hospital,’ he told her softly. ‘They suspect that she might be about to go into premature labour—’
‘Oh, my God!’ yelled Dolly, and sent a wineglass crashing to the floor. ‘And after all those things I said about her, too!’
‘Try not to distress yourself, Dolly,’ he soothed. ‘They’re going to try to prevent anything happening. But if they can’t—well, these days thirty weeks is a viable length of time for a pregnancy.‘ He squeezed her shoulder. ’She’ll be fine—I’m sure she will! The doctor sounded very confident. So come on—I’m going to drive you both to the airport.’
‘Airport?’ screeched Dolly, as if he had suggested drifting to Newcastle on a magic carpet. ‘But we travelled down by train! And we’ve got a hire-car outside—’
‘And I’m going to drive it for you—Archie’s feeling a little shaken up,’ explained Dominic slowly.
‘But what about our return ticket?’ asked Dolly, her voice rising hysterically. ‘We can’t fly to Newcastle—it