‘Come on, Max. I’m your sister, remember? Do you seriously expect me to believe that’s all there is to it?’

Maxine blinked. ‘To what?’

‘This whole Romsey Road business.’ It hadn’t been an innocent blink. Janey, pleased with herself for having guessed, moved in for the kill. ‘Because ‘I can’t help thinking what an extraordinary coincidence it is, you getting the part and at the same time losing interest in Bruno.

Call it a shot in the dark,’ she suggested lightly, ‘but would there happen to be any seriously wicked men in Manchester?’

This time even Maxine had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Well,’ she murmured vaguely,

‘now you come to mention it, maybe one or two ...’

Chapter 57

The fact that the weather had finally taken a dramatic turn for the better did nothing at all to lift Bruno’s spirits. Outside Mole Cottage - which Maxine had insisted on calling Toad-in-the-Hole Cottage following the discovery of a mouldy cooked sausage under the bed - the sun shone with enthusiasm for the first time in months. Tiny clouds drifted across a clear blue sky, the sea -

turquoise fading to aqua -- glittered in the distance and daffodils had sprung up en masse, their yellow heads nodding in the warm breeze. Even the hopelessly overgrown front garden was sprouting an assortment of yellow blooms; but since he had no interest in flowers Bruno didn’t have a clue what they were.

He didn’t care, either. He didn’t care much about anything at all right now, except the fact that forty-eight hours earlier Maxine had left him.

Standing at the living-room window, he gazed blindly out to sea as tears pricked the back of his eyes. She hadn’t even let him down gently, dammit. Instead, with typically selfish haste, she had just come out with it - no, there was nobody else and he hadn’t done anything wrong, it simply wasn’t working. After that she’d slung the few clothes and bits of make-up she had left at the cottage into a pink raffia bag, and said gaily, ‘Sorry, darling, but these things happen. Wish me luck. Bye!’

The lying bitch, he thought, pressing his lips together and turning the postcard over and over in his hands. She hadn’t even bothered to cover her tracks properly. That was what you got for loving and trusting someone, Bruno concluded bitterly. They took flicking advantage of you and didn’t even stop to think of the pain they were inflicting .. .

He had found the postcard stuffed into the breast pocket of his denim shirt. Maxine, who had borrowed it the previous weekend, had spilt chocolate milkshake down the sleeve and chucked it into his laundry basket. That way, of course, he could wash and iron it himself before she borrowed it again.

And it was such a naff card, Bruno thought, blinking hard and staring down at the scene depicting Romsey Road in all its grubby glory. Turning it over, he read for the fifteenth time the brief message scrawled on the other side: ‘Don’t I always deliver the goods? Ring me! Zack.’

Even Bruno, who didn’t watch television, recognized the name. Zack Morrison might not be the most talented actor on the planet, he thought sourly, but he was renowned for his ability to deliver the fucking goods .. .

Bruno dressed with care, deliberately choosing the pink-and-grey striped shirt she had bought for him and teaming it with immaculately pressed charcoal-grey trousers. It was warm enough outside not to bother with a jacket.

Studying himself in front of the bedroom mirror Bruno nodded, satisfied with what he saw.

He could still turn it on when he wanted to, he thought with renewed pride. How many women, after all, had told him he had the sexiest green eyes in the world? How many had called his smile irresistible? How many had begged him to take them away from their husbands?

Paco Rabanne, Bruno decided, reaching for the bottle standing on the chest of drawers. No, Eau Sauvage. She had bought that for him too. If that was what she liked best, it was what he would wear.

Nina was sitting up at the bar drinking tomato juice and chatting to one of the lunchtime regulars when Bruno walked into the restaurant. The good weather had brought with it an influx of customers and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. What Wayne Simmonds lacked in personal magnetism, Bruno decided, he evidently made up for with his skill in the kitchen. At least the business hadn’t suffered whilst he’d been away.

‘Goodness,’ said Nina shyly, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him. ‘Look who’s here!

Bruno, how lovely to see you after all this time. And you’re looking so well; working at the Grand Rock obviously suits you.’

Smiling, Bruno bent and kissed her pale cheek. Nina hadn’t changed at all; that was what he’d always liked about her. Even the floppy, floral, Laura Ashley dress was utterly predictable.

She’d been wearing it for the past six years.

‘You’re looking pretty good yourself.’ Standing back, studying her shining, unmade-up face and breathing in the comfortingly familiar scent of patchouli oil, he took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Are you busy or can we go upstairs and have a proper chat? It feels odd being down here and not having the right to insult the customers.’

The sitting room, flooded with sunlight, was less tidy than before but otherwise just as he remembered it.

Nina, intercepting his glance, smiled and said, ‘You were the one who put things away around here. I’m still as hopeless as I ever was.’

‘You aren’t hopeless.’ His tone was affectionate. ‘Just ... relaxed. Oh Nina, it really is good to see you. Tell me how you’ve been keeping. Tell me how you’ve really been.’

The dozen or so silver bracelets tinkled as she pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘Well, fine.

Busy at Christmas, of course, and New Year’s Eve was as chaotic as ever. January was steady.

We’ve changed the menu around and the customers seem to approve.’

‘I meant how have you been.’ Leading Nina to the sofa, he sat down next to her without letting go of her hand. ‘I don’t suppose it’s been that easy for either of us

‘Oh, you know.’ She shrugged and examined a fraying hole in her skirt. ‘As you said at the time, these things happen. Life goes on.’

‘Nina.’ Bruno’s voice softened. ‘I said some very stupid things at the time. And I’ve lived to regret them. You—’

‘How’s Maxine?’ she said suddenly, her eyes bright with interest. ‘I saw her in that toilet-roll commercial on television. I thought she was very good.’

Bruno sighed. ‘Maybe she was. But Maxine isn’t you, sweetheart. She doesn’t even begin to compare with you. I realize that now. I don’t want Maxine any more,’ he said simply. ‘I want you to forgive me for behaving like a fool. I want you.’

For a moment Nina looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Gazing at him, hesitantly touching the sleeve of his shirt, she whispered, ‘This is the one I bought you last summer.’

He nodded and gave her an encouraging smile.

‘Oh Bruno, I wanted you back so badly it hurt,’ Nina said softly. ‘I dreamed of this happening; it was practically the only thing that kept me alive ...’

‘And now I am back.’ Bruno stroked the inside of her thin wrist.

‘If only you’d changed your mind sooner.’ Nina spoke with genuine distress. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. ‘Oh dear, I don’t quite know how to tell you this ... but I’ve met someone else. I’m happy with him. We’re going to be married in April; nothing flashy, just a small wedding, not even a proper honeymoon.’

‘Married?’ echoed Bruno, his eyes widening with horror. He stared at her, aghast. ‘Who the hell to?’

She flinched. ‘Um ... Wayne.’

‘You are joking!’ he shouted, unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Nina! You can’t do that!’

Nina stuck to her guns. She loved Wayne and he loved her. She knew that.

‘But we are doing it,’ she said nervously. ‘It’s all arranged. April the twentieth.’

This was like a truly terrible dream. Bruno, not even realizing that his fingernails were digging into her wrist, howled, ‘For Christ’s sake, cancel it! He’s only marrying you for your money.’

‘No he isn’t.’ Nina pulled free and rubbed her arm. Poor Bruno, he may as well hear all the news in one go. Straightening her shoulders, her face glowing with pride, she said, ‘He’s marrying me because I’m pregnant.’

Chapter 58

It wasn’t much, thought Guy ruefully, but it was all he had. Maxine’s throwaway remark last night, when she had teased Josh about his new eight-year-old girlfriend — ‘Goodness me, you’ve gone almost as pink as Janey does whenever I mention your father!’ — wasn’t a great deal to go on, but it was the most promising sign so far that she might actually feel more for him than she’d been admitting.

It had been enough to persuade him that the moment had arrived to do something, to find out for himself. Not knowing was beginning to get to him, Guy decided. The time had come to act. And if Maxine had been wrong, he thought, he could always strangle her with his bare hands...

Two dozen pink roses. Janey winced as one of the thorns ripped into the tender skin between finger and thumb. He’d had to order not one, but two dozen long-stemmed pink roses.

Jealousy, pure and simple, surged within her as she tried to imagine whom Guy was so eager to impress. And how tempting it was to choose less-than-perfect blooms, the ones whose petals were beginning to loosen so that within a day or two they would drop off But pride compelled her to select the finest, just-flowering buds instead, flawless shell-pink tinged with apricot. If whoever-it-was took the trouble to look after them, they would last a good fortnight.