Книга - A Special Kind of Woman

A Special Kind of Woman
Caroline Anderson


Part of the Mills & Boon 100th Birthday CollectionWhen single mother Cait Cooper sees her daughter off to medical school, she feels now is the time to do all the things she’s yearned to do. Dr. Douglas Owen is just that, and sets about giving Cait more fun than she’s ever had… until their affair puts her right back where she started and Cait doesn’t know which way to turn.







Caroline Anderson has the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, run her own soft-furnishing business and now she’s settled on writing. She says, ‘I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realised it was variety and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends, and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher husband John and I have two beautiful and talented daughters, Sarah and Hannah, umpteen pets and several acres of Suffolk that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!’ Caroline writes for the Mills & Boon Romance and the Mills & Boon Medical™ series. Make sure you look out for her latest books!




A Special Kind of Woman


by

Caroline Anderson




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

‘THAT’S it, there.’

Cait looked up at the grim and forbidding exterior of the halls of residence and her heart sank. Oh, lord. Her baby was going to be living here in this dismal grey pile, hemmed in by endless buildings and concrete and dirt and vice—

‘Look, Mum, there’s a parking place, by that Mercedes.’

So there was. What an unfortunate contrast. She zipped her modest old banger across the road into the space just ahead of another car, triggering a blast on the horn and wild gestures the meaning of which she could only guess at.

She resisted the urge to gesture back, and reversed neatly into place behind the Mercedes. ‘OK. I wonder if we’ve got enough money to feed the meter and keep it quiet for an hour or so?’

‘It won’t take that long,’ Milly said naïvely. ‘I’ve only got a few things.’

Cait glanced in the rear-view mirror at the teetering pile of essentials Milly had simply had to bring with her, and sighed. A few things? In her dreams.

She fed the meter—copiously—and then they had to run the gauntlet of the security system to gain access to the entrance hall. Milly went up to the porter behind his desk in the porter’s lodge and smiled a little uncertainly. ‘Hi. I’m Emily Cooper. I’ve got a room here this year?’

‘Sure. Cooper—here it is. Here’s your swipe card, your room key, information about the phone system, rules of the hall…’

He handed over a sheaf of papers, rattled off some instructions and dropped the key in Milly’s outstretched hand. ‘Give me a shout if you need any help.’

‘Right, let’s go and have a look,’ Cait said. ‘We’ll bring in your things in a minute.’ She summoned up an encouraging smile, and Milly smiled back, her face a little tight and pale.

To be fair, it was probably pale because of all the wild partying and farewells that had been going on for the past few days, but Cait knew she was also apprehensive.

It was a huge step in her life, and one Cait had no personal experience of to fall back on in her encouragement. She couldn’t give her the ‘don’t do this and you’ll enjoy that and try the other’ sort of talk she might have been able to under other circumstances, because she’d never made it to university, despite her ambition to read Law. Instead she’d been struggling to raise Emily and keep a roof over their heads.

Not that she’d ever been as clever as her brilliant and multi-talented daughter. Still, she’d done her best for her, kept her nose to the grindstone and been there for her for the last eighteen years.

And now it was time to let go.

Oh, help.

‘It looks quite decent,’ Milly said slowly, as if she was trying to convince herself. ‘At least the paint’s new.’

On old and crumbling walls, Cait thought with a return of her maternal panic. Oh, yipes. She dredged up a smile. ‘Here’s your room! Look, it’s handy for the kitchen. That’ll be nice.’

‘Not when everyone’s making tea in the middle of the night,’ Milly said pragmatically and shoved her key in the lock.

The door swung open to reveal a fairly small and barren room. Although like the corridor outside it had been recently decorated, still it seemed bare and forbidding, and Cait’s heart sank. There was a bed, a chair, a battered old desk with some wonky shelves over it, a wardrobe in the corner and that was it. Home from home it was not, even though their home was far from luxurious. Poor baby.

‘Well, at least it’s clean, and the carpet’s new, by the look of it,’ she said with false cheer. ‘What’s the bed like?’

Milly bounced experimentally. ‘OK. Bit soft.’ She stood up and looked out of the window into an inner courtyard, and her face fell. What a dismal view, Cait thought. The bins. Oh, lord.

‘At least you won’t have the traffic noise from the street,’ she said bracingly, and Milly made a small noise that might have been agreement. ‘Come on, let’s get your things and you can unpack and put everything out on the shelves. It’ll look a lot better then.’

Milly made the same noncommittal noise, and with an inward sigh Cait followed her back out to the car. They brought in the cases first, bumping and banging on their legs and the walls of the corridor, and as they struggled up the stairs to the second floor, they had to pause to let two people pass.

The man went first, tall and rugged, flashing her a brief, impersonal smile of thanks that for some reason made her heart beat faster, then a young man Cait thought was probably his son paused beside Emily.

‘Hey—Milly, isn’t it?’ he said, and Milly flipped her hair out of her eyes.

‘Hi, Josh!’ she exclaimed, and smiled up at him with every appearance of delight. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Same as you, I guess.’ He lounged against the stairwell wall and grinned. ‘So, did you make it to medicine?’

‘Yes—did you?’

‘Yeah—hey, that’s really cool!’ His grin widened, and Milly’s smile lit up her face.

She’s really beautiful, Cait thought with a lump in her throat. Oh, heck. Will she be all right?

‘Josh?’

The voice echoed back up the corridor, and he pulled a face. ‘Coming!’ he called, and flashed her another grin. ‘I’ll see you around, Milly.’ He bounded down the stairs two at a time and disappeared round the corner.

Cait watched him go, tall and gangly but with a cheerful friendliness about him that lightened her spirits. ‘So who was that?’ she asked Milly casually.

‘Oh, his name’s Josh something—can’t remember. He was at one of the other schools in town—I’ve seen him around. He went out with Jo for a bit. I met him on a conference in Cambridge as well, but I haven’t seen him for ages.’

‘Well, it’s someone you know, anyway,’ Cait said, relieved as much for herself as for her daughter. ‘It’s always nice to see a familiar face, and he seemed pleased to see you. Come on, let’s get these bags in.’

The bags were the easy bit. The boxes were much more of a challenge, and Cait was wondering how on earth she was going to get up the stairs with the last one, a hugely awkward lump that seemed determined to defeat her, when she felt the weight taken out of her hands.

‘Here, let me,’ a soft, deep voice murmured.

‘Thanks.’ She stepped back and smiled, then their eyes met and her heart hiccuped behind her ribs. ‘Oh—you’re Josh’s father,’ she said inanely.

‘That’s right. Owen Douglas.’

‘I’m Milly’s mother—Cait Cooper.’

‘Her mother? Good heavens. I thought you were her sister or aunt or something.’

Flattery? If it weren’t for the wedding ring on his hand and the fact that he was helping her, not the other way round, she would have thought he wanted something. Under the circumstances she gave him the benefit of the doubt and blamed it on the poor lighting.

‘Hardly,’ she said, studying him and thinking what a terrible shame it was that he was married. Not that he’d be interested in her. No man worth having ever was. Oh, well.

He flashed her a rueful smile over the top of the box that nearly melted the soles of her shoes. ‘I’d shake your hand but I seem to be holding something just a tad heavy at the moment.’

‘Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry!’ She leapt to attention. ‘Can you manage it?’

‘I think I’ll just about cope,’ he said drily. ‘You’ll have to show me the way, though.’

‘Of course—she’s on the second floor,’ she told him over her shoulder, heading up the stairs at a fast clip. ‘Josh must be on the floor above.’

‘He is. I think he’s giving Milly a tour at the moment. We’ve finished, at last. I can’t believe he thinks he needs this much.’

Cait laughed. ‘We’re not the only ones, then? I’m sure most of what you’re struggling with is non-essential.’

‘Nothing’s essential,’ he said drily. ‘Not by the time you’ve lugged it up three flights of stairs.’

He lowered the box to the last square inch of space on Milly’s floor, and straightened with a smile, holding out his hand. He must be fit, she thought. He isn’t even breathing hard.

‘It’s good to meet you, Cait,’ he said, and belatedly she reached out her hand and felt it totally engulfed in a warm, hard grip that robbed her of her senses. She mumbled something about small worlds, and he laughed.

‘Not really. There aren’t that many medical schools—you’re almost bound to meet someone you know.’

‘Well, I’m very glad we met you! Quite apart from you lugging that huge box upstairs for me, it’s comforting to know she’s not totally alone in this big, bad city.’

He shot her an understanding smile. His eyes crinkled and seemed to glow with warmth from their amber depths, and she felt herself melting again. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on hers, and something deep in her heart that had been in hibernation for ever seemed to flicker into life.

How long they stood there staring at each other she didn’t know, but Milly and Josh erupted into the room and broke the spell, and a girl opposite came out and introduced herself, and suddenly Cait felt redundant.

‘Time to make a move,’ Owen murmured, and she nodded distractedly.

‘Come on, Josh, come and see me off,’ he said, and his son’s face seemed to falter.

‘Oh. Right. See you, Milly.’

Milly nodded, and the girl from the next room looked from her to Cait and said she’d see Milly later, and went out, leaving them alone.

‘Want me to help you unpack?’ Cait asked, not knowing whether to prolong the agony or get the heck out of it before she made a fool of herself.

‘I can manage,’ Milly said. ‘It’ll give me something to do until teatime.’

‘Now, the phone in here should be working for me to ring in, they said, so I’ll call you when I’m home, and you’ve got your mobile if you need me—’

‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll be fine.’ She hugged Cait, and Cait wrapped her arms around her and thought how slight Milly felt, how small and slender and fragile and much too little to be here, doing this all on her own.

‘Right, I’ll be off before I get a parking ticket,’ she said brightly, and kissed Milly on the cheek. ‘Remember, I’m there if you need me. Love you.’

She hugged her daughter again, a brief, hard hug, and then turned and made her way sightlessly through the corridors and out into the street. The Mercedes was gone, so she backed into the space, pulled out into the street and made her way out into the hum of the London traffic.

I won’t cry, she told herself firmly, and then again out loud, ‘I won’t cry! She’s doing what she wants to do. She’s happy! She’s made it. There’s nothing to cry about.’

But there was, of course, because her baby had grown up and flown the nest, and now Cait would be all alone.

‘You’ll be able to do what you’ve always wanted to do. You’ve enrolled for that course in Law, and you can read books and go to films and museums and art galleries, and do all the things you’ve never had time for.’

Intellectual things. Not family things. She’d be clever and better educated, but she’d be lonely.

She sniffed hard and scrubbed her cheeks on the back of her hand, then had to dig about in her pocket for a tissue. She wandered into the next lane and got a blast on a horn for her pains, and after that she turned on the radio and sang to it, very loudly and utterly off key, all the way out of London onto the A12.

Then finally her bravado fizzled out, and she turned off at a roadside restaurant, folded her arms on the steering wheel and laid her head down and howled.

‘Idiot,’ she told herself disparagingly a few minutes later. ‘You must look a total fright.’

She lifted her head, blew her nose vigorously and glared at herself in the rear-view mirror. Red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes glared back at her, and she sighed unsteadily. ‘Coffee,’ she said, and opened the car door, to find Owen Douglas standing there, immaculately clad legs crossed at the ankle, propping up a familiar Mercedes estate.

‘You OK?’ he said softly, and she closed her eyes in despair. Of all the times to bump into someone you didn’t know well enough to howl on.

‘I’ll live,’ she muttered, and forced herself to meet his eyes. They were gentle with understanding, and suddenly she was glad he was there because, know him or not, he was at least in the same boat.

‘You look like I feel,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘How about a coffee?’

She nodded. ‘I was just going in. Have you only just arrived?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I was leaving. I’m in no hurry, though, and I’m sure I could force down another cup. You know what they say about misery loving company.’

Her laugh was a little strangled, and it ended on something suspiciously like a sob, but at least it was a laugh, and maybe she’d cried enough.

‘Coffee sounds good,’ she said, and for the first time in hours, she managed a genuine smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and his voice sent little fingers of anticipation shivering up and down her spine.

Don’t be a fool, he’s married, she told herself fiercely, but his eyes were smiling and her heart was clearly not listening at all…


CHAPTER TWO

SHE looks gutted, Owen thought as they headed towards the restaurant. Empty and hollow and a little lost, just how he felt. He held the door for Cait and caught a drift of scent—not really perfume, just a subtle trace of something tantalising mingled with the warmth of her skin.

The waiter came up to him, looking puzzled. ‘Did you leave something behind, sir?’ he asked, and Owen shook his head.

‘No. I’ve just bumped into a friend and decided to come back,’ he said, and then wondered if it were rather overstating the case to call her a friend. Probably. A slight acquaintance was nearer the mark.

Very slight.

And yet he felt he knew her, because they were sharing the same very real and basic emotions at the moment and that gave them an instant connection.

He ushered her to a seat, his hand resting lightly on the smooth, supple curve of her spine, and as they sat down opposite each other she flashed him a small but potent smile that hit him right in the solar plexus.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said softly. ‘I hate coming into places like this alone, but I couldn’t go on any longer without…’

She trailed off, so he finished the sentence for her. ‘Letting go?’ he suggested. His grin felt crooked. ‘Been there, done that.’

Cait searched his face with her luminous grey eyes, and he wondered if the few renegade tears that had escaped his rigid control had left their mark. So what if they had? he decided. He loved his son. After all they’d been through together, Josh was worthy of his tears.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked gently, and he gave a soft grunt of laughter.

‘I’ll do,’ he said with a sigh, and she smiled back, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears and fiddling with her watchstrap.

‘Hell, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’ve spent years working towards this with her, and now it’s come I feel—oh, I don’t know what I feel.’

‘Oh, I do,’ he said with heartfelt sympathy. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

Her smile was a bit wonky. ‘Oh, well. At least you didn’t make an ass of yourself in the car park,’ she told him drily, and he chuckled.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

The waiter came up to them, pad in hand, and asked if they were ready to order.

‘Coffee?’ Owen suggested, and she nodded.

‘Please.’

‘Anything else? We could always eat if you’re hungry.’

He met her eyes, those lovely soft grey eyes with the dark line defining the iris. Her skin was clear, her lips soft and mobile, and he had an insane urge to kiss them. Just now they were moving, saying something, and he had to pull himself together almost physically. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ he said, and she gave him an odd look.

Dear me, you’re losing it, Owen, old chum, he told himself, and felt heat crawl up his neck.

‘I said, I don’t want to hold you up,’ Cait repeated. ‘Won’t your wife be waiting for you?’

Jill. His embarrassment faded, replaced by the ache of an old, familiar sadness.

He shook his head. ‘No. No, she won’t be waiting,’ he said softly. ‘What about you? Will there be someone waiting for you?’

She shook her head. Something flickered briefly in her eyes that found an echo in his lonely soul. It was replaced by her slightly off-kilter smile. ‘No. No one’s waiting for me, except the cat, and she can cope.’

‘So—how about it?’

‘I tell you what, I’ll bring your coffee while you decide,’ the waiter said, giving up on them and handing them a menu each. Owen felt a twinge of guilt. He’d forgotten the man’s existence.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, and raised a brow at Cait. ‘Well?’

She looked down at the menu, then up at him again. ‘Um—if you’ve got time, I wouldn’t mind something light.’

‘Have whatever. I’m going for a truly wicked fry-up.’

Her eyes widened, and then she laughed, a low, musical sound that played hell with his composure. ‘Comfort food?’ she said wryly, and he chuckled.

‘Something like that. Plus I don’t have Josh nagging me. He’s a health-food freak. How he’ll survive in halls I can’t imagine.’

‘Milly will be in clover. My cooking’s hit and miss at the best of times, and most of the time I’m too busy to worry. I can’t remember when I last cooked anything like a roast—well, apart from last night, but it was sort of the Last Supper and the Prodigal Son all rolled into one, if you get my drift.’

He did. He’d done just the same thing, only they’d gone out to a restaurant and then on to a pub and caught a taxi home, both a little the worse for wear and a bit subdued this morning.

The waiter brought their coffee, and Owen poured them both a cup and sat back, stirring his cream in absently and thinking about Josh and how odd it was going to be at home without him.

‘So, what do you do that keeps you so busy?’ he asked with deliberate cheer, changing the subject, and she laughed and rolled her eyes.

‘I’ve got a shop, for my sins—I hire and make ball gowns, and occasionally wedding dresses. It’s a bit seasonal, but there’s usually a steady flow of work. The balls are winter and the weddings are summer, in the main, so it pans out quite well. What about you?’

‘I’m a doctor—a surgeon,’ he told her. ‘I cut up people instead of fabric. It’s easier than your job. People heal.’

It made Cait laugh. ‘True, but I can buy new fabric if I make a mess, and I can always make a mock-up,’ she pointed out, and he smiled.

‘I’ll have to concede that one. I can’t see me waking a patient up and saying, “OK, that was just a dummy run, now we’ll do the real thing.”’

Her smile was gorgeous. Too wide, really, but her teeth were even and sparkling, and her nose wrinkled up when she laughed. She really used the whole of her face. Every muscle of it was involved in her spontaneous expressions.

She’d be a lousy poker player, Owen thought slowly, but she’d be incredible to make love to. Every touch, every stroke would find an echo in that wonderfully mobile face and those incredible eyes.

He shifted slightly in his seat, aware of the stirrings of a need he hadn’t felt in years. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and his breath jammed in his lungs. He dragged his eyes from her face and down to the menu, scanning it blindly for a moment until his eyes focused. Then he chose the most wicked thing he could find and stuck the menu back in the holder.

‘I’m ready when you are,’ he told her, his voice sounding strangled, and the double meaning hit him like a tram. Oh, hell. He hoped she wasn’t looking at him, because for a brief, terrifying second he was sure his thoughts were clearly written on his face—and they were seriously, seriously X-rated!

Cait was starving.

Owen had chosen what he was having and had put his menu down, but she was torn between the toast and pâté she’d spotted at first and the wonderful illustration of golden crispy chicken and chips with a side salad. It was horribly expensive by comparison, but what the heck. She could afford to splash out every once in a while, and it was a rather unique occasion, if not exactly special in the accepted sense!

‘I can’t decide,’ she murmured, but her eyes strayed back to the chicken and chips. ‘I was going to have the pâté, but this looks so tempting…’

‘Go for it,’ he advised, taking the menu out of her hand. ‘Stop worrying. Instinct is a wonderful thing.’

‘So it is. OK, I’ll go for it.’

She looked up into his face, but it was expressionless, apart from a polite smile that told her nothing. He hailed the waiter, ordered their meal and topped up her coffee.

She stirred the cream into it, chasing a bubble round the top, and then looked up at him again, surprising an unguarded look that made her breath catch in her throat.

No. She was imagining it. Of course he hadn’t looked at her like that.

‘So, where do you live?’ she asked to fill the silence, and then wondered if that was too intrusive a question to ask on such brief acquaintance. Apparently not, because Owen volunteered the information without a flicker.

‘Just south of Audley—about ten miles out, a little bit west of Wenham Market.’

‘That’s near me,’ she said, and wondered if she sounded hopelessly over-eager. That would be embarrassing. Just because he’d said there was no one waiting that didn’t mean there was no one in his life. Maybe she was away, perhaps on business. Oh, blast.

‘Near you?’ he said. ‘The shop or your house?’

‘Both. That’s where the shop is, in the square, between the antique shop and the butcher, and we live in the flat above it.’

‘It’s a nice little town—or is it a village?’

Cait laughed softly. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure they can decide. We’ve got a village hall, but it’s quite big for a village and it’s got lots of shops. I’d say it was more of a town, in a way.’

‘It’s got lots of character. I envy you in a way. It’s a bit isolated where we are. It’s all part of its essential charm, but it’s also one of the greatest drawbacks.’

‘Is it an old house?’ she asked, slightly appalled at her curiosity, but he didn’t seem to mind.

‘Yes and no,’ he said confusingly, and then elaborated with a smile. ‘It’s a converted barn—so the barn itself is old, but it’s only been a house for a short while. Six years or so, I think. I bought it three years ago, after my wife died.’

Cait felt shock run over her like iced water. Not away on business, then, she thought numbly, and shook her head in denial. ‘Oh, Owen, I’m so sorry,’ she murmured.

‘Why should you be sorry?’ he said softly. ‘It’s just one of those things. It was quick, at least. She didn’t suffer. She had a burst blood vessel in the brain—she must have died almost instantly.’

‘Oh, Owen,’ she said again. ‘How awful for you. Was she at home?’

‘No. She was in the car. She’d pulled over but the engine was still running. A witness said she pulled up, slumped over and that was it. They discovered the haemorrhage at post-mortem.’

How hideous for them. How horribly sudden and violent and unexpected. She felt tears prickle at the back of her eyes and blinked them away. ‘It must have been dreadful,’ she said, choked. ‘How did Josh take it?’

Owen laughed, a short, humourless huff of sound. ‘Not well. He was fourteen at the time. He was furious with her.’

‘And the others—are there any others?’

He shook his head. ‘No. No others. Just me and Josh.’

‘Chicken and chips?’

They both looked up, slightly startled, to see the waiter hovering over them with two plates.

‘Um—yes, thank you,’ Cait said, moving her cup out of the way and letting his revelation sink in. The waiter left them, and without thinking she reached out her hand and covered his. ‘Owen—thanks for telling me about it.’

His grin was crooked and a little off-key. ‘That’s OK. I don’t usually talk about it. I’m sorry to unravel on you like that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

‘Yes, you should. She was a part of your life for years. You can’t just not talk about her as if she didn’t exist.’

He met her steady gaze, gratitude at her understanding showing in his amber eyes, and then he smiled a little sadly. ‘Thank you for that. You’re right, but most people don’t see it that way. It makes them uncomfortable.’

‘That’s silly.’

‘Maybe. Eat your chicken and chips.’

She looked at his plate, heaped with what looked for all the world like a truly wicked Sunday breakfast, and had a sudden urge to dunk her chip in his egg yolk.

‘Go on, then, if you must.’

‘What?’ She looked up, startled, to find him laughing softly at her.

‘Dunk your chips in my egg.’

The smile wouldn’t be held in. ‘That’s so rude of me. How did you know?’

‘Something to do with the longing look you gave it?’

Oh, lord. She’d better not direct any longing looks at him, then. He was altogether too good at picking them up!

She reached over, the chip in her fingers, and pierced the golden yolk. ‘Oh, yum,’ she mumbled round the mouthful, and he laughed again.

‘One more, and that’s your lot,’ he said firmly, and she indulged herself one last time before turning her attention to the fragrant, steaming plateful of chicken in front of her.

Within a few minutes she’d demolished it, and sat back with a huge sigh of contentment. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said with a grin. ‘Excellent.’

He speared the last mushroom and chewed it thoughtfully, then smiled back. ‘How about a pud?’

‘That’s too wicked!’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ll burst.’

‘How horribly messy. We’d better avoid that at all costs. Another coffee?’

She shook her head, reality coming back to her. She had work to do before she opened the shop in the morning, and it was already after seven. Besides, the cat would be hungry and would take the hump and go off in a sulk if she didn’t get back soon.

‘I ought to go,’ she told him, and he nodded.

‘OK.’ He looked up and caught the waiter’s eye, and a bill appeared a moment later.

‘Could you please split it?’ she asked him, but Owen shook his head.

‘No. Leave it. Here.’ He counted out a pile of notes, told the man to keep the change and ushered her out.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she protested, but he just smiled.

‘Yes, I should. I talked you into it—and, anyway, it was a pleasure having your company.’ He walked her to her car, and as she reached it he looked down into her eyes and searched them in silence for a moment.

‘Thank you for rescuing me from the doldrums,’ she said, a touch breathlessly, and he smiled, just a slight shift of his lips in the harsh glare of the outside lights. His eyes were in shadow, but they seemed to burn with an inner fire that she didn’t dare interpret.

‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and before she could move or speak or even blink, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his. ‘Goodnight, Cait. Take care.’

He slipped a card into her hand. ‘Here. This is my number. Ring me if you need anything.’

Then he was gone, his long legs striding round his car. He slid behind the wheel and waited for her to get into her car, then once she was settled and pulled forward a fraction, he raised a hand in farewell and followed her out of the car park.

His lights trailed her all the way home, then as she pulled up they flashed a couple of times and he drove away.

How chivalrous, she thought with a tiny smile, and then looked up at the dark window in her flat over the shop. Oh, lord. No Milly to nag and bully and hug. None of her various friends to trip over, no festering coffee-mugs on Milly’s bedroom window-sill, no frenzied searching for a bag, a phone, a piece of paper.

Just silence.

Cait braced herself, and got out of the car. It was time to start the rest of her life.

She slid her hand into her pocket to pull out her house keys, and the sharp corner of Owen’s card scratched the palm of her hand. She pulled it out and looked at it in the dim light of the streetlamps, and a smile curved her lips.

Maybe—just maybe—her new life had already started.


CHAPTER THREE

CAIT would have gone crazy in the next few days without the cat to keep her company. They were both a little lost without Milly, and to comfort herself poor old Bagpuss took up residence in Cait’s immediate vicinity.

Wherever she was, the cat was too. She slept with her, she followed her round all day, and she cried piteously if Cait shut her out.

It was getting on her nerves, but since she could understand it, it was hard to get cross with her.

Well, most of the time. On the second Sunday Milly was gone, she put down a wedding dress for ten seconds and came back to find the cat making a nest inside the piles of tulle.

‘Out!’ she ordered firmly, not daring to pick the cat up for fear of plucking the fine netting, and Bagpuss stalked off with her tail in the air. It didn’t last long, though. Within moments she was back again, scratching at the door until Cait relented and let her back in.

She jumped up and settled down on the sewing table next to the pins and bobbins, tucking her paws under her and purring gloatingly because she’d got her own way again. Every now and again she reached out an idle paw and batted at the threads trailing from the needles in the pin cushion, making Cait nervous. She moved the pin cushion out of reach.

‘I don’t need a vet bill,’ she said, but the cat just washed herself and settled down for a snooze. ‘Tired?’ Cait asked unfeelingly. ‘That’s because you were miaowing all night and keeping me awake. I told you, she’s gone. She won’t be back for ages. Maybe even Christmas.’

Christmas? Good grief. It seemed such a long time away, but it wasn’t really. She was just finishing off this last of a run of wedding dresses, and then she’d have to overhaul her winter ball gowns, all the reds and blacks and deep greens that were so popular for the Christmas balls.

Some would need revamping, others would go in the pre-season sale, and she would have to do a lot of restocking, so she wouldn’t have time to miss Milly.

Not really. Only every time she got out two plates for supper, or cooked two jacket potatoes instead of one, or weighed out the wrong amount of spaghetti. Only whenever she went into the bathroom and it was tidy, with no soggy towels dropped on the floor or nightdress abandoned over the edge of the bath or the scales missing.

Only whenever she heard something funny and wanted to share it with her daughter, and then remembered she wasn’t there.

She was getting on fine, by all accounts—or at least she seemed to be. She’d rung a couple of times, between one party and another, and she seemed to be having a great time.

Unlike Cait, who was submerged under a pile of tulle that had to be ready by tomorrow.

And then, of course, there was the evening class she’d enrolled herself on.

She sighed. Maybe she was trying to take too much on, but she couldn’t afford to get someone else to run the shop and she didn’t dare farm out the sewing. She’d tried that before, with disastrous consequences.

So she’d struggle, and she’d probably have to stay up half the night every now and again, but she’d get there.

She had an essay to finish for tomorrow night, come to that, but her bride was coming for a fitting at nine in the morning, and she had to get the dress to the right stage by then. Still, it was straightforward enough, a variation on a pattern she’d made several times before.

She stayed up until eleven working on it, then started on the essay. Not a good move. Her brain felt like treacle, and the words seemed doubly impenetrable through the fog of exhaustion.

She fell asleep with her head in the book at one, went to bed and tried to carry on, and finally at three she admitted defeat, turned out the light and disappeared into blissful oblivion until eight thirty-eight.

Twenty-two minutes till her fitting.

Great!

She shot out of bed, had the fastest shower in the history of mankind and gave the cat a double portion of food by accident as she rushed out of the flat and downstairs to the shop, the dress carefully held aloft so she didn’t trip over it and shred the bottom.

Her bride was late. Almost half an hour late—time for a cup of tea and some toast while she finished off her essay, had she but known, but she didn’t, so she spent the whole time waiting for the young woman to arrive.





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