face.
'Everyone wants to make him better,' Max went on. 'They all think they'll be the one to make a difference, to break through the barriers and make Jack fall in love again. But it's been four years now. Take it from me, he's not interested in any of that lovey-dovey stuff. He'd rather steer clear of commitment and stay single. That way he can't be hurt again. And that,' Max concluded, 'is what makes Jack irresistible. That's the challenge.' He stopped and looked sideways at Tilly, to gauge her reaction.
'What happened to the dog?' said Tilly.
'It died a year later. Nothing dramatic, just old age. Went to sleep and never woke up. Pretty good way to go.' Max held up his glass and said deadpan, 'Although given the choice, I'd prefer a night with Johnny Depp.'
Chapter 8
SO FAR, SO GOOD. Tilly was delighted with the way her first proper day was going. She'd dropped Louisa off at school at the appointed time, driven over to Cirencester and taken the wallpaper books back to Derwyn's, and called into the butcher's for a three-pack of beef en route. The potatoes were ready to be roasted, the carrots were chopped—into sticks , if you please; none of your common old slices—and Betty had enjoyed her walk through Roxborough woods, thankfully not manag ing to catch any of the rabbits that had come out to taunt her.
Tilly checked her watch. It was two o'clock and all she had to do now was pick up the framed prints. Then she'd have time to call in on Erin before heading back to Harleston to collect Lou and her friend Nesh from school.
Ha, there was even a parking space practically outside Welch and Co., the blue and white bow-fronted shop with the bay trees in matching blue and white tubs flanking the doorway.
Inside, Welch and Co. was the kind of place you go to when you want to buy something nice for your house and you're feeling flush. The walls were covered with assorted paintings and mirrors, there were ornate lamps everywhere, candle holders, stylish vases, ceramic pots, sculptures, real-looking fake flowers—it was one of those shops that everywhere you looked, you saw something that made you say, 'Ooh, that's nice,' then go a bit light-headed when you saw the price.
The woman sitting at the back of the shop at a white lacquered table with a stained-glass candelabra on it looked expensive too. Currently chatting on the phone, she was attrac tive and well-groomed, with long tawny hair that might just be extensions. She was wearing a pink shirt, a white pencil skirt, and a lot of makeup.
'…OK, but don't get your hopes up. He always says he'll give you a ring, but he never does.'
Designery-looking shoes, Tilly noticed. A glittering diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist.
'Well, I'm glad you had a nice time. Yes I know, he is, isn't he?'
Sheeny, superfine tights. No wedding ring. Musky, heavy perfume.
'Hang on a sec, Amy. Customer.' Covering the phone with French-manicured nails, the woman looked at Tilly and said charm ingly, 'Can I help you, or are you happy to browse?'
Browse. The word always made Tilly want to smile; as a child, she'd thought it was something you did with your eyebrows, and that it meant walking round a shop furrowing your forehead as hard as you could while you stared at the items for sale.
But now she was a grown-up and knew that it didn't. Aloud Tilly said, 'Actually I'm here to pick up some prints. For Max Dineen?'
That got the woman's attention. Her eyes widened in rec ognition and she sat up straighter on her chair. Raising an index finger, she said into the phone, 'Amy, I have to go, someone interesting's just come into the shop.' Pause. 'No, not him. God , you're obsessed.'
'Crikey,' said Tilly. 'I didn't know I was going to be interesting. I hope you aren't expecting me to do a tap dance.'
'Not if you don't want to. But you're definitely
'Everyone wants to make him better,' Max went on. 'They all think they'll be the one to make a difference, to break through the barriers and make Jack fall in love again. But it's been four years now. Take it from me, he's not interested in any of that lovey-dovey stuff. He'd rather steer clear of commitment and stay single. That way he can't be hurt again. And that,' Max concluded, 'is what makes Jack irresistible. That's the challenge.' He stopped and looked sideways at Tilly, to gauge her reaction.
'What happened to the dog?' said Tilly.
'It died a year later. Nothing dramatic, just old age. Went to sleep and never woke up. Pretty good way to go.' Max held up his glass and said deadpan, 'Although given the choice, I'd prefer a night with Johnny Depp.'
Chapter 8
SO FAR, SO GOOD. Tilly was delighted with the way her first proper day was going. She'd dropped Louisa off at school at the appointed time, driven over to Cirencester and taken the wallpaper books back to Derwyn's, and called into the butcher's for a three-pack of beef en route. The potatoes were ready to be roasted, the carrots were chopped—into sticks , if you please; none of your common old slices—and Betty had enjoyed her walk through Roxborough woods, thankfully not manag ing to catch any of the rabbits that had come out to taunt her.
Tilly checked her watch. It was two o'clock and all she had to do now was pick up the framed prints. Then she'd have time to call in on Erin before heading back to Harleston to collect Lou and her friend Nesh from school.
Ha, there was even a parking space practically outside Welch and Co., the blue and white bow-fronted shop with the bay trees in matching blue and white tubs flanking the doorway.
Inside, Welch and Co. was the kind of place you go to when you want to buy something nice for your house and you're feeling flush. The walls were covered with assorted paintings and mirrors, there were ornate lamps everywhere, candle holders, stylish vases, ceramic pots, sculptures, real-looking fake flowers—it was one of those shops that everywhere you looked, you saw something that made you say, 'Ooh, that's nice,' then go a bit light-headed when you saw the price.
The woman sitting at the back of the shop at a white lacquered table with a stained-glass candelabra on it looked expensive too. Currently chatting on the phone, she was attrac tive and well-groomed, with long tawny hair that might just be extensions. She was wearing a pink shirt, a white pencil skirt, and a lot of makeup.
'…OK, but don't get your hopes up. He always says he'll give you a ring, but he never does.'
Designery-looking shoes, Tilly noticed. A glittering diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist.
'Well, I'm glad you had a nice time. Yes I know, he is, isn't he?'
Sheeny, superfine tights. No wedding ring. Musky, heavy perfume.
'Hang on a sec, Amy. Customer.' Covering the phone with French-manicured nails, the woman looked at Tilly and said charm ingly, 'Can I help you, or are you happy to browse?'
Browse. The word always made Tilly want to smile; as a child, she'd thought it was something you did with your eyebrows, and that it meant walking round a shop furrowing your forehead as hard as you could while you stared at the items for sale.
But now she was a grown-up and knew that it didn't. Aloud Tilly said, 'Actually I'm here to pick up some prints. For Max Dineen?'
That got the woman's attention. Her eyes widened in rec ognition and she sat up straighter on her chair. Raising an index finger, she said into the phone, 'Amy, I have to go, someone interesting's just come into the shop.' Pause. 'No, not him. God , you're obsessed.'
'Crikey,' said Tilly. 'I didn't know I was going to be interesting. I hope you aren't expecting me to do a tap dance.'
'Not if you don't want to. But you're definitely
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