Terry had bought himself some new aftershave, she noticed. Ralph Lauren, Polo. Nice. And a bottle of hair-thickening shampoo. Trying to spruce himself up, Pru thought with an indulgent smile. Bless him. What’s the betting he’s splashed out on new underpants too?

Humming to herself, Pru fished the Hoover out from the cupboard under the stairs and hauled it upstairs. Elbowing the door open, she launched herself into Terry’s bedroom. Honestly, what was it with men? Why did it never occur to them to draw back the curtains before they left for work?

The Hoover landed with a crash on the floor. Two people abruptly jack-knifed into sitting positions on the bed. Only semi-covered by the tangled duvet, they were both naked.

And neither of them was Terry Hayes.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded the man, sitting bolt upright. ‘Who’s she?’ squeaked the girl next to him, pulling the duvet up to her ears.

‘I’m the cleaner.’ Pru told herself not to be so silly, they couldn’t possibly be burglars. In the semi-darkness she peered closely at the man, who was rather good-looking. Those heavy eyebrows and piercing dark eyes, now she came to think of it, were definitely familiar.

‘Who are you?’ said Pru. ‘Terry’s brother?’

‘Pru?’ The man began to relax. He grinned at her. ‘I’m Terry.’

‘No you aren’t.’ Pru hesitated, confused. This was like a John le Carré novel where the gardener suddenly whisks off his beard and turns into a KGB agent.

‘Actually, he is,’ volunteered the girl in the bed. ‘And I’ve worked with him for the last four years, so I should know.’

Having taken the intrusion amazingly calmly, considering, Terry asked Pru if she wouldn’t mind making them all a pot of coffee.

Ten minutes later, showered and dressed, he appeared in the kitchen.

‘Sorry about barging in,’ said Pru, going pink at the memory as she poured the coffee into green and gold cups. ‘I thought you were at work. I did ring.’

‘Day off. I never hear the phone when I’m asleep.’ Terry dismissed her apology with a good-natured shrug. ‘Anyway, I’m curious. Why didn’t you think I was me? What’s my bossy sister been telling you?’

‘Nothing,’ protested Pru. ‘Marion didn’t say anything. It’s my mistake. It was the photograph in your bedroom, that’s all. I just assumed the chap in it was you.’

Terry’s rather angular mouth twitched.

‘It was me.’

‘But—’

He tapped the side of his nose.

‘Before I had this done.’

Pru winced. She’d put her foot in it again.

‘You mean you had an ... an accident?’

‘No accident. You’re being wonderfully tactful,’ Terry looked amused, ‘but there’s no need.

You’ve seen the photo, Pru. Let’s be honest, I was born with one hell of a nose.’

‘Oh ... well ...’

‘Jokes? I heard them all. Witty nicknames? Honker, Concorde, Big Bird ... I’ve been called everything in my time. When I was at school, the other kids made my life hell,’ Terry went on.

‘Then you get older, and people might stop calling you names, but you know they’re still staring at you, trying to concentrate on what you’re saying to them and all the time thinking: "God, look at the hooter on him." ‘

Pru couldn’t stop staring either.

‘So ... so you had plastic surgery?’

‘It wasn’t a question of vanity.’ For the first time Terry sounded defensive. ‘I just wanted to look

... normal.’

‘Oh I know,’ cried Pru. She understood exactly how he must have felt. ‘I know. Did ... well, did it hurt?’

He shrugged.

‘A bit. But it was worth it. If it had hurt a hundred times more, it would still have been worth it.

You see, I don’t have tothink about my nose any more. Why are you crying?’ He looked worried. ‘Pru, stop it. You mustn’t cry. Your nose is fine.’

Unable to speak, Pru raised her arms and scooped her hair away from her face.

At that moment the girl who shared both Terry’s office and his bed came into the kitchen wearing his towelling dressing gown.

‘Good grief.’ She eyed Pru’s ears with alarm. ‘Shouldn’t you get those seen to?’

‘Karen is to diplomacy what Margaret Thatcher is to tap dancing,’ Terry apologised. ‘But this time I have to say she’s right.’

Pru covered her ears back up again. Funny how all it had taken to overcome a lifetime’s fear of surgery was a snapshot of a man with a beaky nose.

Typical, too, that all those years when money had been no object, she hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to have her ears fixed.

Now I’ve got the courage, Pru thought gloomily, and I can’t even afford a tube of UHU.

Chapter 25

Liza lay in the bath for an hour, watching her skin shrivel and marvelling at her spectacular stupidity. It was her birthday, she was thirty-two, and she was acting like a pathetic teenager.

Damn, worse than that. She was acting like ... Dulcie.

There had been plenty of offers over the course of the last few days, from various men eager to take her out on her birthday. Stupidly, still hoping against hope that Kit Berenger would be in touch, she had turned them all down. She had even invented ever more elaborate excuses on Kit’s behalf, every time the phone rang and it wasn’t him.

In the end Liza had run out of excuses. Reasonable ones anyway. The only excuse that would do now was if he were dead.

So here she was, a grown woman in the grip of a deeply embarrassing crush – an unrequited crush at that – all alone on her birthday and feeling more spinsterish by the minute.

Climbing out of the bath, Liza put on a baggy yellow sweater and a pair of pink shorts. Since it was sunny outside she took her work out into the tiny garden.

Seconds after she’d settled herself down with more reference books and a notepad, the post arrived. Sending her coffee flying, Liza raced to the door. Cards, cards, cards .. .

None of them from Kit Berenger.

Hating herself for being foolish enough to even think he might have sent one – how truly pathetic could you get? – Liza crammed her sunglasses on to her face and forced herself to work for two hours straight.

At midday she made herself another pot of coffee and phoned Mark.

‘Dinner tonight. Are you still up for it?’

‘I thought you were busy.’

‘Change of plan,’ Liza replied brightly. ‘I can make it now.’

‘Oh, shame, I made other arrangements.’ Bemused by her call – it didn’t occur to him for a second that she could actually have been stood up by another man – Mark added, ‘Of course, you’re welcome to join us. Suzie wouldn’t mind ...’

Dulcie was just as much of a let-down.

‘I can’t, I’m seeing Liam. He’s mad about me,’ she confided happily. ‘You should have seen him last night, trying to climb in through my bedroom window! He’s so romantic,’ she sighed, ‘so masterful.’

Not in the mood to hear this, Liza attempted a quick getaway. ‘Okay, doesn’t matter—’

‘Hang on! You still haven’t told me what’s been going on between you and Kit Berenger.’

‘Terrible line, I can hardly hear you.’ Liza bashed the phone against the wall a couple of times and hung up.

When the doorbell rang an hour later she was tempted not to answer it. Why bother when it was either flowers from Mark – a guilt gift to make up for not being able to see her tonight – or Dulcie determined to get the low-down on the Berenger affair.

Some affair, Liza thought miserably. Chance would be a fine thing.

The doorbell rang again. Heaving an irritated sigh, she went to see who it was. If it was flowers, she’d answer the door. If it was Dulcie she definitely wouldn’t.

It wasn’t Dulcie. It wasn’t flowers either. And the silhouette through the stained glass was man-shaped.

Pulling the door open, Liza came face to face with Kit Berenger.

‘Happy birthday.’

He was wearing a dark-green shirt with a fine crimson stripe and the most impeccably cut black suit.

‘Thanks.’ Liza wondered how he knew it was today. But who cared? He was here, he was here.

‘You could always invite me in,’ Kit suggested when she didn’t move.

‘I thought you were going to phone.’ Liza stayed where she was. ‘Don’t tell me, you spent the ten pounds and couldn’t remember my number.’

He grinned. ‘Oh ye of little faith. Actually, I learned it off by heart. And I nearly phoned, hundreds of times. Had to exert a fair amount of self-control, I can tell you.’

Liza took a deep breath. She was having to exert a bit of self-control herself, right at this moment.

‘Either way, phoning would have been the decent thing to do,’ she said evenly. ‘If you decide you don’t want to see someone again, you should still let them know.’

‘Come on,’ chided Kit, his tone humorous, ‘you didn’t think that for a second.’

Liza pulled him into the narrow hallway and slammed the door shut. They stood, inches away from each other, her dark-brown eyes fixed angrily on his yellow-gold ones.

‘I thought I didn’t think that for a second,’ she almost hissed at him, ‘until you didn’t ring. Oh for God’s sake,’ she blurted out furiously, ‘how could you do that to me?’

‘Look,’ said Kit, ‘I thought we both needed the time to think. I don’t know about you, but I don’t make a habit of feeling like this about someone. It’s pretty scary, if you want the truth.’ He hesitated, then half smiled. ‘Bloody scary, in fact.’

‘It’s only lust. You don’t have to be scared!’

‘Ah, but what if it isn’t only lust?’ Kit put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You said yourself, I was too young for you.’ Liza smiled up at him.

‘I meant I was too old for you. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re hardly talking weddings here.

What’s wrong with a harmless fling?’

‘Is that all you’re interested in?’ demanded Kit. He began to sound annoyed.