Mansfield Lark. Katie Oliver
last piece of cake. Our…disagreement runs much deeper than that.’
‘What happened? I never understood why you left so suddenly, without even telling me goodbye.’
He stared down at his hands, clasped loosely between his legs, and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Dominic stood up. ‘How about some Cristal, or something to eat? I’ll have Max fetch you a plate of whatever you fancy.’
‘No, thank you. What I’d like,’ she pressed on, ‘is for you to come back to Mansfield. Perhaps if you reached out to Charles—’
‘No. I’m not going back there,’ he said, his voice low but determined. ‘I love you, Mum, you know that; I’ve kept in touch with you all these years, and I always will. I’d do anything for you. Anything,’ he added firmly, ‘but go back home to him. I swore I’d never set foot in Mansfield Hall again, and I won’t change my mind. And there’s an end to it.’
Holly James finished marking up the feature for the April issue of BritTEEN and tossed her pen aside. The new editorial assistant wrote with real flair, but she had a lot to learn about dangling participles.
Holly leaned back in her chair and glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine p.m.; she’d worked yet another twelve-hour day. So much for my plans to meet Alex tonight, she reflected grumpily. She’d never make it to the Groucho club in time.
But as she picked up the phone to call Alex and tell him she couldn’t make it, she was secretly relieved. Because the truth was, she didn’t much like Alex Barrington’s friends.
Oh, they were polite, and polished, and they were all that was agreeable, as Jane Austen might have said, but what had Holly in common with a bunch of barristers and solicitors and back-benchers in Parliament?
Absolutely nothing, that much was painfully clear.
With their endless discussions of legal precedents and Inner Temple gossip, Holly always felt hopelessly out of her depth. And Camilla Shawcross, former barrister and MP for Putney, and thus one of Alex’s associates on the bench, had a real talent for making Holly feel like an empty-headed idiot.
With her stylish blonde hair, jewel-toned suits, and a double first from Cambridge, Camilla was everything Holly wasn’t.
Holly had no doubt that Ms Shawcross was sitting next to Alex at the club this very moment, one slim arm resting on the table alongside his as she talked earnestly of constituents and the home secretary and the goals of the latest Standing Committee.
She shuddered at the thought. What she really wanted was a long, hot bath, some Milk Tray, and a mindless reality program to watch.
But as she stood up to leave, Holly hesitated. It was Friday, quiz night at the pub where she and Kate and Natalie had gone a few times. They’d always had a laugh.
On impulse, she picked up her mobile and dialled Nat. ‘Nat? It’s Holly. What’re you doing?’
‘I’m looking at bridal magazines. Poor Rhys nearly threw his back out bringing a stack of them home.’
‘Have you chosen a dress yet?’
‘Yes! Wait till you see it, it’s gorgeous.’
Weddings, Holly thought with a pang. ‘That’s great,’ she said brightly, ‘really, really great!’
‘Are you okay, Hols?’ Natalie asked. ‘You sound a bit off.’
‘Fine,’ Holly assured her. ‘I’m leaving work, and thought we might go to the pub for quiz night. Have a laugh.’
‘I’d love that! But Rhys just started making dinner.’ She paused and added, ‘Why don’t you come here? We can have a nice long chin-wag, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’
‘Thanks, Nat, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m tired, anyway; I’ll probably just go home and go to bed.’
‘Ooh, with that gorgeous new man of yours? That’s a much better prospect than spag bol and a bottle of Valpolicella.’
Holly sighed. ‘No, I’m on my own tonight. Alex is with his friends at the Groucho. Again.’
‘And you don’t want to listen to all that boring legal talk,’ Natalie observed. ‘I completely understand! Well, go home and get some sleep. At least tomorrow’s Saturday; you can sleep in.’
‘I can, but Alex can’t. He’s scheduled a surgery first thing in the morning with his constituents.’
When she first heard Alex say he’d scheduled a ‘surgery’, Holly thought he was having his appendix out. Amused, Camilla had set her straight. ‘A surgery is an advice meeting a MP holds once a month for his constituents, Holly,’ she’d chided. ‘You’re so amusing!’
‘Poor man,’ Nat clucked sympathetically. ‘He works very hard, doesn’t he? At least make him take you out to lunch afterwards.’
Holly promised she would, and rang off. As she slid the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and left the office, she decided that Natalie was probably right.
She and Alex just needed some time alone together. They’d both been so busy, what with her work at the magazine and Alex’s constituents, that they scarcely saw one another.
On a whim she retrieved her mobile and called Alex.
‘Hello, Alex Barrington here. Please leave a message.’
‘It’s me,’ Holly said. ‘Let’s do something tomorrow, after your clinic’s done, okay? Let’s spend the afternoon together. I’m on my way home. Call me when you get this, even if it’s late. I’ll wait up. Love you. Bye.’
But although she left her phone on from the time she left BritTEEN until she’d taken a bath and crawled into bed with a book, and although it remained on the bedside table when she finally laid her book aside and turned off the light just after midnight, Alex never returned her call.
‘Where’s Dominic, Gem? Isn’t he coming?’
Gemma Astley scowled into her Mojito. Bloody hell, but she was tired of waiting for Dominic Heath.
She was always waiting – waiting for him to show up, waiting for him to ask her to marry him…waiting for him to say he wanted to start a family together. A girl like her could wait only so long.
Her biological clock was ticking, after all. And it was getting louder by the day.
Not that she could hear it over the rumble of house music and the shouted conversations going on all around her, mind. Ordinarily, she’d be thrilled to hang out here at Annabel’s, rubbing elbows with Mick and Bryan and Pippa.
But Dominic had yet to show up, and her excitement had rapidly curdled into anger.
‘He said he’d be here.’ Gemma looked up as Mick, the blue-haired bass player for the Destroyers, sat down next to her. ‘But once again, he lied.’
‘He had a couple of interviews to do. He’ll be along soon,’ Mick reassured her, and drained his bottle of Stella. ‘Besides, who cares? Let’s have a laugh. Come on.’
Gemma took his hand and together they gyrated on the crowded dance floor until they were breathless and giddy with champagne and laughter. Mick bobbed and weaved on the floor like a blue-mohawked chicken, prancing and twirling like a dervish.
As they made their way back to the table, both of them gasping for breath and snorting with laughter, Gemma caught sight of Dominic, leaning back in his chair with a beer in his hand and a black look on his face.
‘So you finally decided to show, did you?’ she observed as she dropped back into her seat.
‘Don’t start, Gem. I’m