Chapter Thirty-Five

'You're not actually wearing that shawl are you?' Zoe frowned at Libby as Jonathon helped out of the car. 'It's longer than your dress.'

'And that's why I'm wearing it.' Libby frowned at the Mill. It twinkled with fairy lights but the mistletoe over the door only increased her apprehension. 'I look like a Soho stripper.'

Her little black dress, a vintage sequined number, she'd assumed would be suitable without trying it on. It wasn't. When she'd bought it for an opening night party four years ago, it had been just shy of too big, now she could barely breathe. The strapless neckline sat far too low but if she pulled it up, the hem showed the tops of her hold up stockings. With no other even vaguely appropriate dress for a black tie event, she'd had to grin and wear it.

'You look incredible.' Jonathon smiled down at her. 'You both do.'

No. In a red satin, full-length column dress, her glossy hair flowing down her back, Zoe looked incredible - like a nineteen-fifties sex goddess. A nineteen-fifties sex goddess with a vast rock on her left hand.

And I look like a stripper.

'Er... ears?' Zoe pushed Libby's hair aside, scowling at the diamante strands the Dick had given her for her birthday. 'No.'

'But-'

'No.'

Libby took out the earrings and sulkily handed them over. She loved those earrings. Zoe hadn't minded Libby wearing them a few months ago. As they approached the entrance, Libby slipped off the shawl and the cold night air bit at her bare skin. Oh god, she was going to a Christmas Eve party on her own. Could her life get any more tragic?

But not for much longer. In five days' time, she had a meeting with her old boss at the English National Ballet. He'd called her the day after she'd emailed, delighted to hear from her, overjoyed to learn she was dancing again and ecstatic to discover she might want to come back. That's what she should focus on - her future.

Well, her future and bloody good hair. For some reason known only to Mother Nature, an intense conditioning treatment at the hairdressers had actually worked and her newly highlighted hair hung like a silk curtain. A Christmas miracle.

With her bravest smile plastered on, Libby carried her cashmere shawl over one arm, hoping her legs in her highest black heels would distract anyone from checking out her non-existent cleavage. Of course, if she slipped on the polished wood floor, there was a fair chance people would get to see her non-existent boobs too.

'Hello, angel.' Robbie waylaid her, kissing her cheeks. 'You came. I'm glad.'

'I don't know why. I'd rather be at home reading a book.' Especially since her repeated scanning of the room only confirmed Patrick's absence. Not that she wanted to see him.

'You'll have fun.' He handed her a glass of champagne before looking her over as only he could. 'You didn't fancy making an effort then?'

She managed a genuine laugh. 'Don't let your wife catch you looking at me like that.'

He shot her a wink. 'Seriously, you look beautiful.'

Buoyed up by Robbie's compliments, she wandered across to the seating plan, hoping she'd be sitting at Robbie's table with Patrick on the other side of the room. She found her name and closed her eyes for a second. Oh god. At table nine, she'd be sitting with six people she'd never heard of and Patrick. This was over. She headed for the door.

'Where do you think you're going?' Robbie said, grabbing her arm.

'Can you switch the tables around? Please?'

'No.' He shifted uncomfortably. 'It's Van's idea.'

Libby blushed. Vanessa had barely spoken to her all week, the longest conversation they'd had was to confirm Libby had to stay away from Robbie and if she wanted to keep working there, maybe she ought to find a boyfriend. This was a set up. A horrific, badly planned, ill-conceived set up.

Zoe appeared by her side, giggling at the seating plan. 'Oh, come on. Just get drunk and have fun. I bet he looks hot in black tie.'

Libby had no doubt he would, but that would be the problem. He'd sweet talk her, be nice to her, somehow persuade her to be friends and then... cold. For some reason, he'd back off. She couldn't let him do it again. She had to focus on London, on her old life.

Her and Zoe wandered through to the garden, where guests mingled with glasses of champagne, but Libby came to an abrupt halt when she spotted Paolo. Paolo? It really was Paolo. He was with Grace, one arm around her waist, laughing with her. Had Grace summoned Paolo? He fit her criteria: good-looking, hard-working, good with his hands and he made no secret of his desire for a huge family one day.

'Well, there's a shock.' Zoe's eyes narrowed. 'He didn't tell you?'

'No.' I want a cigarette.

Zoe glanced around, sipping her champagne. 'Is it me, or are you shagging men in an A to Z styley?'

Libby stared at her. 'What?'

'A, artist, Paolo.' She nodded to Andy. 'B, bobby.'

Oh for god's sake. 'Let me guess, Jack is C for carpenter? And how are you fitting Robbie in?'

'D... how about, Maitre'D.' Zoe flashed a pleased smile. 'Patrick could be next. Elephant doctor?'

'Just stick with Egotist.' Libby giggled.

'Zoe?' Jonathon appeared behind them, accompanied by a boot-faced Malcolm and a clearly uncomfortable Elizabeth McBride.

As Jonathon introduced them to Zoe, Libby excused herself, determined to go home. So now she'd bitched about Patrick in front of his parents. To make matters worse, Malcolm McBride had looked Libby over with a distinctly unimpressed frown. Clearly, he thought she looked like a Soho stripper too. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and headed for the exit.

*

Christmas Eve. He ought to be in a great mood, but Patrick walked into the Mill and his edginess worsened. Libby would be inside. And his parents. This look set to be a disastrous evening. He'd pissed off Libby, he'd pissed off Robbie and his parents didn't trust him. He'd fucked up everything and Christ, he missed being able to talk to Grace every morning.

So far, Christmas sucked. The day before, Sam and Charlotte had arrived from Spain, a surprise visit. Cue squealing mother and backslapping father. Patrick played along, happy to see his brother and sister-in-law, but when was the last time he'd seen their parents react like that to seeing him?

Hidden from the guests in the restaurant, Robbie had Vanessa pressed against the reception desk, looking over her slinky green dress. Patrick didn't blame him. She looked every bit the hot model she used to be.

'Put her down,' Patrick said, sounding grumpier than he intended.

'You're late,' Vanessa said, giggling.

'Fashionably.' Patrick scanned the seating plan. Scott and Clara were on a table with Robbie and Vanessa. Where was he... Oh Christ. He turned to Robbie. 'Not your idea, I assume.'

Robbie shook his head. 'And she's not happy about it. She's nearly bolted twice.'

'It's my idea,' Vanessa said. 'Take one for the team, Patrick.'

Could he sit through an entire dinner with Libby in front of half of Gosthwaite? Thank Christ he'd had a joint with Sam earlier. On the positive side, he'd get to hang out with Libby for the evening. Maybe this would be okay. Hell, maybe he could apologise and explain about the ultimatum. Maybe tonight could change everything.

But it was a black tie event, he mustn't misbehave. Too much.

The rest of the diners had taken their seats and waiters scurried around with wine. Scott gave a small salute, but Patrick's returned gesture faltered as he spotted Libby. At a table in the corner, she hid behind the usual black eye make-up and silly fringe, but something was different about her. Her roots were gone, as were the black streaks, and she'd had six inches of hair cut off, but that wasn't it. Oblivious to the old codgers at the table, she sat writing on her napkin. The shawl around her shoulders slipped, but she quickly pulled it back, wrapping it even tighter. Libby was hiding her body. Why?

As he approached, she glanced up, pushing her napkin under her side plate, and downed her drink. She didn't smile. When did Libby not smile, not even a little bit?

'How are you?' he asked quietly.

'Fine.'

'Refill?'

'I'll take the bottle.'

Seven days later and she was still pissed off. Marvellous.

'You're in a good mood.' He poured her a drink.

'Not the best. You won't have noticed, swanning in here at the last minute, but there's the most horrific set-up going on.'

'I had noticed.' Why was she hiding under a blanket-sized scarf? 'I didn't think it was horrific though.'

'What, are you thinking of hotting things up?' Her voice was quiet, but her eyes flashed suggestively. 'Back to your place, maybe? We could fuck in the hallway, up against the wall.'

Oh, hello. He raised his eyebrows and shifted in his seat. 'I was going to suggest a coffee and the chance to talk in private, but we could give your idea a go.'

'And what about tomorrow? Will come over all apologetic and have your reasons again?' The eyes lost all suggestion, instead anger, resentment and four months of hurt took over. 'Just another opportunity for you to walk away.'

'You were the one who walked away last.'

'This is horrific.'

'So you said.'

'I should just go home.'

'You've had an hour to do that, but you're still here.'

'I hate you.'

But you're still here. There's still a chance.

'Okay, enough.' He stabbed an olive, holding it out to her. 'Olive branch? It is Christmas after all.'

She bit the olive off the cocktail stick and relieved, he glanced down, hiding his smile. Her fabulous legs, she had crossed demurely under her chair, but nothing more than sheer black stockings and sky-scraper heels covered them. How short was her dress? He had to make friends with her.

'I want to say sorry, but you need to sit nicely and just listen. Pretend we're chit-chatting about your new hair, which looks much better by the way.' He flashed a smile as a waitress put plates of goats' cheese tartlet and beetroot salad in front of them.

As Libby leant back to give the waitress more room, the shawl slipped but she quickly pulled it back into position.

'Spoilsport. Why are you wearing this thing anyway? Not like you.'

As she sipped her wine, not answering him, he tugged the shawl. One side dropped to reveal the top half of her naked spine. He tried not to grin. That had to be a fabulously small dress. Unable to resist the temptation, he slipped his arm behind her back, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair, unseen by the rest of the room. She tensed, leaning her elbows on the table and biting her bottom lip.

'You can keep your apology,' she said. 'I've heard it all before. And let's be honest, you're just after a shag.

'Libs, I'm not just after a shag, though I'll admit it has crossed my mind.'

She flinched as his fingers brushed her shoulder. 'Will you stop doing that?'

He did as he was told. 'I don't like falling out with you.'

'Then you shouldn't have been such an arse.'

'I know.'

She turned to answer back, but he was ready with a little goats' cheese and salad on her fork, holding it near her mouth. Surprisingly, she let him feed her. He hoped it would keep her quiet for a while longer.

'Look, I'm honestly sorry for everything, but after dinner, can we go somewhere and talk?'

As she chewed, she frowned at him then leaned a little closer, taking in a deep breath. 'Have you been smoking weed?'

'Might've been.'

She nodded towards Zoe. 'Have you seen the future Mrs Carr? She's turned all Stepford since he put a ten grand rock on her hand.'

'That's going to make a weird family dynamic. His sons are older than her.'

Libby smiled a little and he relaxed. While she told him about Zoe moving out, intentionally only taking an overnight bag so Jonathon would buy her a new wardrobe, Patrick demolished his tartlet and Libby's leftovers. Okay, it was time. He topped up their glasses, bolstering himself to tell her about the ultimatum, but realised the shawl covered her shoulders once more and although, she had a polite smile fixed in place, her eyes were impassive. She hadn't relaxed at all.

'Shit, you just distracted me, didn't you?' He stared at her, confused.

She tipped her head in acknowledgment.

Why was she manipulating him? 'Libs, I'm trying to apologise. I want to...'

'I want to... what?' She wrapped her arms around herself. 'What do you actually want, Patrick?'

I don't know. 'My brother's over. He's looking forward to meeting you.'

'Why?'

'Why do you think?'

'Have you seen Paolo's here with Grace?' Libby pointed to the table in the opposite corner. 'He didn't even tell me he was coming up.'

'Really?' Patrick scanned the room.

'I spoke to them earlier. She's not loving working at Haverton and she said Lisa's cited twenty-three incidents of unreasonable behaviour on your part. Hasn't she learned to make coffee yet?'

'No, it's bloody awful. So is he staying at...' Why were they talking about Paolo and coffee? He closed his eyes, sighing. She'd used her little questioning trick to distract him again. 'Stop it. '

Slowly, she shook her head.

The waitresses cleared their plates, the OAPs shouting about how marvellous the cheese pie was, but silence descended between him and Libby. She shifted in her seat, moving away from him and he twisted his glass around, trying to work out what to say.

Just tell her.

It all seemed so simple when he was with Scott, but the reality was, she didn't want to listen, even to the good stuff - especially to the good stuff. He could attempt to bare his soul to her, but she'd use her Jedi mind trick and before he'd know it, he'd be talking about bikes.

She flicked her hair back. Roses and sweet peas. What was it with that perfume?

Okay, he'd fucked this up, big style, but if she didn't want to talk about them, or let him apologise, then fine. He wouldn't persevere. Who the hell wanted to talk about them anyway?

'What were you doing before?' he asked.

'When?'

'When I arrived, you were writing on your napkin.'

Her cheeks turned through seven shades of red. 'Nothing.'

Oh, that was impossible to resist. He stretched across, blocking her arms and grabbed her napkin. She tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of her reach. A... artist, Paolo. B... ballet dancer, Tristan. C, copper, Andy. D...

He stared at her, as amused as he was shocked. 'An A to Z fuck list by job?'

She swore at him. 'You're right out of luck. V's already filled.'

'There's a smutty joke in there. Vicar?'

'I hate you.'

'So you keep saying.' He checked the list. 'Voice coach? Whatever, he can go under C. Andy can go under P.'

'Out ranked by a paediatrician.'

'A vet doesn't outrank a voice coach? Thanks.' He tugged her hair. 'When did you go out with a paediatrician?'

'Sixth form.'

'That's just wrong.'

Libby swatted his arm. 'No. He was at college too. Now he's a paediatrician.'

'Cheating.' Patrick handed back the napkin. 'Fill the rest in properly.'

'The rest?' She gave a tiny smile. 'There are no more.'

He studied the list, shocked by the huge gaps. 'It's finished?'

She nodded.

'Libby, there are only ten names on here.'

'I haven't always had an appalling reputation, you know.' She frowned at him. 'I thought ten was plenty. I was pretty bad at sixth form.'

'Whatever, you were a goody-two-shoes. I still think a vet should outrank a voice coach.'

She kept up eye-contact as she dug in her bag, producing a pen. 'So how bad are you?'

Fuck. 'I know what you're doing. This is one of your distractions.'

'You've been smoking. You're an easy mark tonight.'

'Why don't you want to talk?'

'For B, are you going for Beauty Queen or Barmaid?'

Pushing his frustration aside, Patrick took the pen.

The waitresses delivered a turkey roulade, loading his plate with the potatoes Libby didn't want, and he devoured the lot as he completed his list. In less than ten minutes. Jesus, that was far too easy. Libby still picked at her vegetables when he started swapping the odd name for one with a higher ranking profession.

'Oh my god, you've finished already?' She took the list, a smile threatening. 'Cow-castrating assistant. Cute. Quantity surveyor, really? You haven't just made that up?'

Sadly no. Needy nightmare, that one, and he could've used Quality Control Inspector too.

'Who the hell knows a zoologist?' she asked.

'A vet, you idiot.' He elbowed her and she laughed. Finally, she'd thrown her head back and laughed.

Over dessert, they chatted about the ballet, how she adored teaching the little kids at Jane's, and as the waitresses poured their coffees, he forgot about ultimatums and who was watching. The other guests had started mingling, swapping seats and heading for the garden, but the two of them remained, loitering over another glass of wine.

'So, are we friends again?' he asked quietly.

Her eyebrows knitted together. 'I'm-'

'We can forget about the fucking in the hallway part, if you like.' He smiled down at his coffee, but couldn't resist a sneaky sideways glance to check her reaction.

The corners of her mouth twitched. 'I can't believe I said that.'

He laughed softly as she turned pink and tried not to stare as the the shawl had slipped down her arms, showing her perfect bare shoulders. 'Are you actually wearing a dress under there?'

'Yes.' She glanced up at him, peeking through her fringe. 'There's just not much of it.'

Fucking in the hallway it was. Maybe he could take off half the black eye make-up when he took off the dress.

'Libs,' he whispered, deliberately letting his lips brush her ear, 'let's get out of here.'

Her smile disappeared along with her shoulders. She'd wrapped the shawl around herself, tighter than ever.

'Libby?'

'No.' She stood up. 'I hate you and I'm not going to let you play hot and cold with me ever again.'

And those incredible legs carried her away.

Fuck.

Patrick slumped with this head in his hands. For several minutes, he sat staring at the table, unable to believe she'd walked away. I hate you. She'd told him enough times. Maybe she actually meant it. He hadn't arsed things up this badly with a girl since... Melody Lawson's sister.

What the hell was he going to do?

'You look like you need a drink,' Scott said, patting his shoulder.

Defeated, Patrick followed him to the bar, perching on a stool as Robbie poured three hefty whiskies. He'd never seen Robbie look quite so bad tempered. This wouldn't be good.

'Let's have it.' Patrick knocked back half his whisky.

'We've known each other for twenty years,' Robbie said, 'and I'd say we've been very good friends for the last two. Well, that's in jeopardy.'

'Rob,' Scott pleaded, 'that's not helping.'

'What?' Robbie held up his hands. 'You expect me to sit here and watch while Libby gets used and tossed aside by him? Seriously?'

'They're made for each other and he's changed.'

'He doesn't even like how she looks.'

Patrick stared at them both. 'I am still here.'

'Libby's an angel.' Scott said, twirling his whisky. 'A sexy, classy, intelligent, funny angel.'

'An Off Limits angel,' Patrick replied.

Robbie stared at the bar.

'We're not fifteen.' Scott shook his head. 'Come on, Rob.'

'I won't do it again,' Patrick said. He'd nearly lost his friendship with Scott over Clara. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

'I just want her to be happy,' Robbie said, rubbing his forehead. 'Forget Off Limits.'

Patrick closed his eyes. Christ, well that was one hurdle down.

'You haven't told her, have you?' Scott asked.

'Told her what?' Robbie's frown worsened. 'You haven't really got HIV, have you?'

'What? No, I fucking haven't.'

'It's just Clara-'

'Clara's going to get throttled. I'm on probation 'til June,' Patrick said. 'My parents will boot me out if I end up in the paper again. Bye, bye job, house, family.'

Robbie looked up at the ceiling. 'And Libby's a photographer's magnet.'

'It gets better. Grace was behind the Haverton Eye. It's offline now, but she said Wray's offering a grand for a photo of me and Libby. There could be half a dozen people here tonight, ready to sell us out. It's big risk.'

'Patrick's worried she'll leave if he tells her the truth,' Scott said. 'Is he right?'

Patrick looked up, expecting one answer, but hoping for another from the only person who knew Libby as well as he did. But Robbie nodded.

'She'll blame herself and leave to protect him.' Robbie sighed. 'If your job wasn't on the line, would you have already fucked her and fucked off?'

'No... Probably, but it's different now.'

'Why?'

'We're friends. I suppose we'd go out or something.'

How many times had he imagined it? They'd go out on the bikes and for long walks, though he'd draw the line at running with her. He'd take her to dinner and wander across the Square holding her hand. They'd sit in pubs, getting a little drunk on a Saturday night before going home to bed. Christ, he'd get to go to bed with her every single night.

'Not or something. We'd go out,' he added. 'But I don't know...'

Robbie drained his glass. 'What, are you worried you'll fuck it up?'

'It's already fucked up. She hates me.'

Robbie sighed. 'Then maybe it's time for an overblown romantic gesture.'

'Like what?' Patrick was wide-open to genius suggestions.

'You know the rules. What I'd do to win her over, wouldn't work for you.'

Despite the butterflies now dancing in his stomach, Patrick smiled. The rules: Do something that'll make her smile and show you're caring, sensitive or romantic. For a minute, he studied the door to the ladies toilet where she still hid, trying to come up with anything that would mean something to Libby. He knocked back the rest of his whisky. This was bloody good stuff. It must be Jura. A slow smile spread over his face. Isla. Libby needed to meet Isla.

'I need to get her back to my place. Taxi?'

'There're a couple on standby outside. But sex isn't an overblown romantic gesture.'

'Have a little faith, brother.'

Robbie leant across the bar. 'If you break her heart, I will kill you.'

'I'll let you. Now, how the hell am I going to get her to come with me?'

Scott patted his back. 'Rob'll talk to her. Won't you, Rob?'

*

It took five minutes hiding in the toilets for her to be sure she wasn't going to cry, but she sure as hell wasn't going to crumble here, not in front of Patrick. Yet again, he'd battered her defences. Wanting to apologise, the I like you, the I want to talk ... all of it raising her hopes, making her think he wanted more, but then when she asked him what he wanted, what did she get? I want you to meet my brother. What the hell for, a threesome?

No more.

With her make-up and shawl still in place, she left the safety of the bathroom only to find Robbie hovering by the huge glass doors - between her and escape. Arse. He turned as her heels clipped across the floor.

'Before you run away, can I have a word?' he asked. 'Please?'

Reluctantly, she sat down on the sofa. 'Is it all going well? It seems to be. Doesn't Vanessa look beautiful?'

'Yes, it is and yes, she does.' Robbie sat next to her. 'Now, what are we going to do about you and Patrick?'

Libby picked at a loose thread on her shawl. 'Nothing.'

'I think he's in love with you.'

'He's a funny way of showing it.'

'I don't think he really knew it until tonight.'

'He's stoned and drunk. He's just letting his indulgent, hedonistic side take over. I've seen it all before.'

'Remember on your birthday, I asked you if you trusted me. Do you still?'

She turned to him, frowning as she nodded. 'Of course, I do.'

'Then trust me now. Give him a chance.'

'Why?'

Robbie paused for a moment.

'When Patrick was eleven, he wanted a dog. It's all he wanted for Christmas that year. He'd asked for months and he was convinced he was getting one, a Springer spaniel puppy. Patrick went missing on Boxing Day, just disappeared. His parents rang around, frantic, and eventually, Scott and I found him kicking a football at the playground. There was no dog with him. Apparently, his mum and dad explained that because he was away at school, it just wasn't practical. He said, so he'd go to school here. They still said no. I'll never forget the look on his face. He was devastated that the one thing he really wanted, he'd never get to have.' Robbie nudged her. 'He had the same look on his face when you walked away before.'

Her heart broke, imagining the eleven year-old Patrick, picturing him with shining eyes, just as he'd had the night Baxter died. 'I don't care.'

'Yes, you do.' Robbie sighed. 'Libby, you're in love with him and you have been for a long time. What if he's your Somebody? You can't just walk away and not give him the chance to explain why he's done what he's done.'

'Yes, I can.' Because if Patrick were her Somebody, he wouldn't have behaved so appallingly in the first place.

'But look at all the things he's done for you. Like getting you your job back and organising for you to see Jane.'

'What? I assumed you... You mean, he did it?'

'He talked to me, made me see sense. I persuaded Van.'

Patrick had fixed her life? Libby struggled to breathe. He'd done those things when he was barely speaking to her. Why? Did he really care? If he did, why did he want to run away the night Baxter died? Why did he ditch her the second that beautiful blonde turned up in Oscar's? Hot, cold, hot, cold.

'I can't do this, Rob.'

She stood up, determined to flee, but Patrick stood ten feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Slowly, she shook her head. His eyes pleaded with her.

'Trust me,' Robbie whispered, 'and let him explain. He's your Somebody.'

Robbie headed back to the bar and Libby glanced at her escape route. Run. But her legs refused to move. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the little silk pouch tucked inside her handbag. Good looks, 25-35, nice eyes but not brown, English, honest, single, decent morals, good with animals. I want my Somebody.

'I want to talk to you,' Patrick said as he walked over, never shifting his gaze from her eyes. 'No hot, no cold. I just want to talk.'

'What if I don't want to talk?'

A small smile tugged at his mouth. 'Well, there's always your hallway idea.'

He took hold of her hand, linking his fingers with hers, and her resolve withered.