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Authors: Sarah Rayner
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Stella.”
“She is. Or rather was. They’re divorcing.”
“Really? Why?”
“Don’t know the full story.” The mixture was ready. Skilfully Maggie poured it into eight glass bowls. “Perhaps we’ll find out more later. Never liked her much, anyway. Thought she wasn’t right for him—too out for herself.”
“You were always so nice to her.”
“I know. I didn’t want her to be threatened by me.”
“Was she? She didn’t seem the insecure type.”
“I don’t know. Alex said she was.”
“Oh?” Jamie sounded miffed—the response Maggie had hoped to provoke. He’d been rather preoccupied the last couple of days, and had shown little interest in the dinner party she was looking forward to enormously. “He’s still got a bit of a thing for you, hasn’t he?”
Maggie felt guilty for winding him up. “Not really. Anyway, I met this very nice woman the other day. She’s just moved in around the corner so I thought I’d ask her to even up the numbers. You never know, they might take to each other.”
“And she’s called Georgie. So, why’s she moved here? Not much of a place for a single woman.”
“Maybe she likes the country.” Maggie resented the implication the area was only suited to the dull and married. “I gather her job has just been transferred to Guildford. She runs Waterstones there.”
“Hmph. A bookworm. Sounds right up Alex’s alley.”
Maggie carefully placed the bowls in the fridge. “Why are you so foul about him?” Yet she knew very well. Alex had been the major relationship of her student years and they’d long had a soft spot for each other. Then, years later, only weeks before her wedding, Alex, who had no idea she was pregnant, had asked Maggie to get back together with him. She’d never told Jamie, but he seemed to have picked up that Alex had carried a torch for her until the last minute.
“Actually,” she said pointedly, “Georgie seems good fun.” She checked her watch. “They’ll be here in half an hour. Have you finished?” Jamie grunted. “Then you’d best put Nathan to bed while I get changed.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later she was showered and sitting wrapped in a towel at the dressing table, feeling better now everything was under control.
“There.” Jamie patted his face dry as he emerged from the shower. As Maggie put the final touches to her makeup, she watched his reflection as he got ready.
The ritual was virtually the same as it was each morning. First, he dried himself thoroughly—the bathroom was too steamy, he maintained. Then he dropped the towel on the floor.
“Please hang it up, darling.”
He did as he was told, and rummaged in a drawer for a clean pair of underpants. As he pulled on the fitted boxers she smiled: they’re the black ones I gave him for Christmas, she noted. Next he selected an almost new pair of trousers, and a shirt. He pulled on the trousers, zipped the fly, and with a swoosh! removed the belt from his work suit, and threaded it through the loops. He’s doing it up on the final hole, she thought. Is he getting tubby? No, even though he had put on a couple of pounds in the last year or two—no doubt thanks to her cooking and an increasing number of business lunches—he was broad shouldered enough to retain the pleasing V shape that made his outline so different from hers. Yes, she concluded, he’s still a very attractive man.
“Inside or out?” he asked about the shirt, tucking and untucking it.
She realized with a jolt he was dressed and ready before she was. “Out.”
He headed downstairs, while she selected her clothes.
The navy shift dress, she decided. And the new basque.
* * *
The doorbell rang—it was Jean and Simon, as usual meeting a deadline with time to spare. Jean looked chic in black chiffon; Simon—bless him—had made the effort and put on a suit. Fifteen minutes later William and Liz arrived, equally smart, then Georgie—I like her dress, thought
“She is. Or rather was. They’re divorcing.”
“Really? Why?”
“Don’t know the full story.” The mixture was ready. Skilfully Maggie poured it into eight glass bowls. “Perhaps we’ll find out more later. Never liked her much, anyway. Thought she wasn’t right for him—too out for herself.”
“You were always so nice to her.”
“I know. I didn’t want her to be threatened by me.”
“Was she? She didn’t seem the insecure type.”
“I don’t know. Alex said she was.”
“Oh?” Jamie sounded miffed—the response Maggie had hoped to provoke. He’d been rather preoccupied the last couple of days, and had shown little interest in the dinner party she was looking forward to enormously. “He’s still got a bit of a thing for you, hasn’t he?”
Maggie felt guilty for winding him up. “Not really. Anyway, I met this very nice woman the other day. She’s just moved in around the corner so I thought I’d ask her to even up the numbers. You never know, they might take to each other.”
“And she’s called Georgie. So, why’s she moved here? Not much of a place for a single woman.”
“Maybe she likes the country.” Maggie resented the implication the area was only suited to the dull and married. “I gather her job has just been transferred to Guildford. She runs Waterstones there.”
“Hmph. A bookworm. Sounds right up Alex’s alley.”
Maggie carefully placed the bowls in the fridge. “Why are you so foul about him?” Yet she knew very well. Alex had been the major relationship of her student years and they’d long had a soft spot for each other. Then, years later, only weeks before her wedding, Alex, who had no idea she was pregnant, had asked Maggie to get back together with him. She’d never told Jamie, but he seemed to have picked up that Alex had carried a torch for her until the last minute.
“Actually,” she said pointedly, “Georgie seems good fun.” She checked her watch. “They’ll be here in half an hour. Have you finished?” Jamie grunted. “Then you’d best put Nathan to bed while I get changed.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later she was showered and sitting wrapped in a towel at the dressing table, feeling better now everything was under control.
“There.” Jamie patted his face dry as he emerged from the shower. As Maggie put the final touches to her makeup, she watched his reflection as he got ready.
The ritual was virtually the same as it was each morning. First, he dried himself thoroughly—the bathroom was too steamy, he maintained. Then he dropped the towel on the floor.
“Please hang it up, darling.”
He did as he was told, and rummaged in a drawer for a clean pair of underpants. As he pulled on the fitted boxers she smiled: they’re the black ones I gave him for Christmas, she noted. Next he selected an almost new pair of trousers, and a shirt. He pulled on the trousers, zipped the fly, and with a swoosh! removed the belt from his work suit, and threaded it through the loops. He’s doing it up on the final hole, she thought. Is he getting tubby? No, even though he had put on a couple of pounds in the last year or two—no doubt thanks to her cooking and an increasing number of business lunches—he was broad shouldered enough to retain the pleasing V shape that made his outline so different from hers. Yes, she concluded, he’s still a very attractive man.
“Inside or out?” he asked about the shirt, tucking and untucking it.
She realized with a jolt he was dressed and ready before she was. “Out.”
He headed downstairs, while she selected her clothes.
The navy shift dress, she decided. And the new basque.
* * *
The doorbell rang—it was Jean and Simon, as usual meeting a deadline with time to spare. Jean looked chic in black chiffon; Simon—bless him—had made the effort and put on a suit. Fifteen minutes later William and Liz arrived, equally smart, then Georgie—I like her dress, thought
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