Gemma wavered. He really did look tired, with shadows under his eyes and his hair sticking up like a coxcomb. She squeezed his hand. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.’
Maybe they could get started on that baby after all.
‘Mum wants me to come back to Mansfield,’ Dominic told Gemma as he drove them to his townhouse in Primrose Hill.
‘Will you go?’
He pulled into the underground parking garage and shut off the engine. ‘I don’t know. She says the place is falling apart. The old man needs my help – but he won’t ask for it.’
‘He needs your money, you mean.’
‘Well, yeah, of course.’ He snorted. ‘Ironic, since the last thing he said when I left home was that I’d never amount to anything. ‘A great disappointment,’ that’s what he called me.’
‘That was an awful thing to say,’ Gemma said indignantly, and leaned across the console to kiss him. ‘But I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Besides, you’ve had the last laugh – you’re a massive success, and he’s had to come to you for help.’
‘Oh, no, he meant every word,’ Dominic assured her grimly as he got out of the car. ‘And he won’t want my help. Even if he did,’ he added, ‘I’d tell him to go and stuff it up his arse.’
‘But it’s your mum who asked for your help,’ she reminded him.
‘That’s the only reason I’m even considering it.’
‘I think you should go. It’s past time you two patched things up. How long’s it been since you spoke to your dad?’
‘Eleven years,’ he answered as they entered the ground floor of his townhouse. He tossed his keys on the hall table.
‘That’s far too long to be on the outs with your father.’
‘You haven’t spoken to yours since you were a kid,’ he pointed out.
‘That’s different! Dad ran out on us and never looked back.’ She kicked off her shoes and followed Dominic into the kitchen. ‘Besides, he’s an alcoholic, lay-about plumber, not an earl. One day, you’ll inherit Mansfield Hall…and the title that goes with it.’
‘I don’t want it,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ve never wanted it. I’m no toff, Gem. I hate all that stuff, riding to hounds, and attending charity balls, and belonging to all the proper clubs. It’s not for me. It never was.’
‘But it’s a part of who you are, Dominic, whether you like it or not.’
He dragged a chair out from the table and sat down as Gemma switched on the kettle. ‘Maybe. But the fact remains that the old man hates me, Gem. He always has.’ He looked up at her, his eyes troubled. ‘I don’t want to go back there and dredge it all up again.’
‘But your mum needs you,’ she reminded him. ‘She asked you to come home and help her. And she’s never asked you for anything before.’
Dominic groaned. ‘I know. And you’re right. Bloody hell, but you’re always right, Gem. What would I do without you?’ He stood up and pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Gemma’s arms slid around his neck as she opened her mouth under his. His kiss left her lips swollen and her thoughts scattered. ‘The only reason I put up with you,’ she murmured against his mouth few minutes later, ‘is because of this.’
He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. ‘And I thought it was only because of my money.’
‘Well, that too.’ She caught her teeth between her lips as he began to unbutton her blouse. ‘Why don’t we get started on that baby we’ve talked about?’ she murmured.
Dominic’s hands stilled on the third button. ‘You’re the one who’s always talking about having a baby, Gem. Not me.’
‘But you said you wanted us to have a baby.’
‘And I do! But I’m not ready for kids yet.’
Gemma pushed him away. ‘But you’ll never be ready, will you, Dominic? That’s the problem.’ She turned away as the kettle began to boil. ‘I’ll get the tea.’
‘Don’t be like that, babes.’ Dominic kissed her unresponsive cheek and sat down as Gemma set their cups on the table. ‘I do want a kid, eventually. Once I’m not touring so much.’
‘But you’re always touring! You never stop.’
‘Well,’ he pointed out reasonably, ‘tonight was our last show until September. So we have all summer to talk about it.’
She regarded him sceptically over the rim of her mug. ‘Really? You promise you’ll think about us having a baby, at least?’
He nodded. ‘I promise. And I thought about what you said about helping Mum out, too. I’ve decided I’ll do it. I’m going back to Mansfield Hall.’ He met her eyes. ‘And you’re going with me.’
On Saturday, Holly woke to find Alex’s side of the bed empty. She sat up, blinking in the early morning light that slanted through the blinds, and stretched.
She heard the shower running. Alex had come in late last night; she remembered him reaching for her, sharing a few urgent, whisky-flavoured kisses before they made love. Then he’d rolled over and fallen asleep.
He emerged from the shower, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist. He bent forward to kiss the top of her head. ‘Good morning, darling.’
‘Morning,’ she mumbled, and yawned. ‘You came in late last night.’
‘Yes, sorry. A few of us went on to Mahiki.’
Holly pressed her lips together but said nothing. She had no doubt that Camilla had gone right along with him.
‘After this morning’s surgery,’ he added, ‘I thought we might spend the afternoon together. Have lunch in the country, perhaps.’
‘That sounds great.’ Holly wrapped her arms around her legs. ‘We never see each other anymore.’
‘Summer’s nearly here,’ he reminded her as he pulled on a shirt, ‘so the House won’t be sitting. Which means,’ he added as he pulled on his trousers and tucked in his shirt, ‘more time for us. No more late Mondays, no more PMQs on Wednesday…’
‘PMQs?’
‘Prime Minister’s Questions.’ Alex adjusted the knot of his tie and studied his reflection in the mirror. ‘We have the chance to grill the PM every Wednesday on whatever topics we choose. Terribly nerve-wracking the first time you do it.’
‘Like the first time you have sex?’
‘Exactly. But much less fun.’ He leaned down to kiss her. ‘I’ll meet you in Barnet later. Love you.’
‘Love you.’
As she popped two slices of bread into the toaster and brewed a pot of coffee a few minutes later, Holly switched on Radio 1. Maybe she and Alex could find a festival after lunch. There was always a festival on somewhere.
She buttered her toast with a generous hand and took a bite, savouring her moment of carbohydrate bliss. She’d wear jeans, she decided; nice dark-washed ones, not the ratty faded ones; and her new booties with the spiky heels.
And she’d top it off with her ‘Up the Monarchy’s Arse’ t-shirt, the one Dominic Heath had given her when she’d interviewed him last