‘I haven’t got much in the way of spirits. All I’ve got is tequila, or brandy.’
‘I’m a single malt man, myself. But brandy’s fine.’
Rose poured a small measure of brandy and handed it to him. She flicked the CD player on and The Number One Love Album blared out. There was a fault on the player which made it start at track four – Take That, ‘Why Can’t I Wake Up With You?’ She wondered if Dan would notice and stole a surreptitious glance at him. His eyebrows lifted quizzically in the centre, but his eyes remained closed.
What was she doing? ‘I’m going to put some coffee on,’ she said, beating a hasty retreat to the safety of the kitchen.
‘Fine,’ he said sleepily.
After the cold of the churchyard, it was warm and stuffy in the house. Years of keeping the heating on at full blast in deference to her naked clients had turned her into a hothouse flower. Her body didn’t seem to operate in less than eighty degrees these days. Whether it was the contrast in temperatures or the nearness of Dan she wasn’t sure, but something was making her feel unusually warm. As she set out the cups and spooned coffee into the cafetière, her hessian creation which had prickled and chafed against her skin all evening became suddenly unbearable. She decided to slip upstairs and change while the kettle was boiling.
In her bedroom, Rose stood in her underwear and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. What, if anything, could Dan see in her rather than Gardenia? She pulled jeans and an old sweatshirt out of her wardrobe and struggled into them, then checked the mirror again. The figure that looked back at her screamed gardener, not seductress. She had seen Gardenia dressed in faded jeans and a plain white shirt and she had still managed to look like a complete glamour puss. Maybe it was the lack of Gucci loafers and Ray-Ban sunglasses that failed to give the desired effect. Certainly the Marks and Spencer navy velour slippers didn’t help. What did it matter, anyway?
Who was she trying to kid? There was nothing she wanted more than to go downstairs, knock Dan’s eyeballs out with her nonchalant sexiness and render him powerless to resist her. This was ridiculous. Why had she let Dan in here if it wasn’t for a spot of rape and pillage? She was going to have to make a decision whether she wanted to be a femme fatale or Mother Teresa.
Shutting the wardrobe door with more determination than was necessary, Rose made her way back downstairs. Her mind was made up. She was going to give Dan one quick coffee and send him home. It was cruel of her to have let it go this far. And he should know better than to want to deceive Gardenia. But perhaps it was her fault that men wanted to cheat on their other halves with her. Maybe something in her make-up coerced them into duplicitous behaviour. Or was it just her make-up? Why couldn’t men commit fully to her? Was it something in her genes? Or was it something in these jeans?
Rose took a deep breath before she opened the lounge door. As the door opened, so did her mouth. Dan was laid full length on the sofa, shirt completely unbuttoned, cuddling a cushion to his bare chest and snoring gently. His glass of brandy was empty and the bottle which had miraculously appeared next to it was looking considerably less full than it had.
She sighed wearily and gave his arm a gentle shake. ‘Dan,’ she said firmly. ‘Dan, wake up!’
He smiled contentedly, muttered incoherently and nestled the lucky cushion closer to him.
‘Dan!’ she tried again. He was dead to the world. Putting her head in her hands, she massaged her eye sockets, which were beginning to throb ominously. She needed this like Imelda Marcos needed a new pair of shoes.
Coffee could be the answer. The kettle had boiled and gone cold again. She flicked it on and tapped her foot impatiently, thinking about the old adage that a watched kettle never boils and pretending to study the rack of herbs above it instead. This kettle obviously wasn’t superstitious – it boiled in an instant and she poured the steaming water into the cafetière.
Dan had curled on to his side by the time she carried the tray through to the lounge. She set the tray on the table with as loud a crash as she could manage without smashing the cups. No reaction. ‘Dan.’ She shook his shoulder roughly. ‘I’ve brought some coffee. Why don’t you try to sit up and then you can have a drink.’
‘Where’ve you been?’ he muttered half-consciously. ‘I missed you.’
‘I was gone five minutes, Dan. Five minutes.’
‘You were ages and I love you so much.’
‘No you don’t,’ she said sadly. ‘You’re thinking of someone else. Sit up and have some coffee.’ She tried to pull him up by his shirt and failed unequivocally.
‘I love you, Rose.’
‘No you don’t!’ She was perilously close to crying. ‘Dan, you have to go home to Gardenia. That’s who you love. She’ll be getting worried.’
His face was the picture of misery. ‘I don’t love her any more, Rose. I love you.’
‘Dan, don’t do this to me. You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ll regret it in the morning.’ She plunged the cafetière and poured a cup of coffee. ‘Wait here,’ she instructed him. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ It was a stupid thing to say. Dan wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
Rose returned armed with a flannel soaked in cold water. ‘Look, I’m going to rub your face to wake you up. It’ll be a bit cold.’ Understatement of the year, she thought grimly. She braced herself and put the flannel to Dan’s face.
‘Ooo, hoo, hoo,’ he said and started to giggle.
‘Dan.’ She started to smile herself. ‘Be serious. This is to wake you up. I’m doing it for your own good.’
He was laughing uproariously and trying in vain to grab her arms. ‘Don’t struggle!’ she shouted, her grin spreading from ear to ear. ‘Just bloody well wake up, you bastard!’
He made a lunge at her and pulled her down on to his chest. The flannel sailed harmlessly across the lounge and landed in the cup of coffee. ‘Now look what you’ve done.’
‘Sssh,’ he whispered tenderly in her ear and sank back into sleep.
Rose collapsed against him. This was ridiculous. There had to be a way to get him up and out of here. Gardenia might not have missed him at the Viking evening, but she would certainly notice if he wasn’t in her bed. Rose looked at the clock. It was still reasonably early. Half past eleven. The dance didn’t finish until twelve. Then say quarter of an hour for Gardenia to say goodbye and wander home. Perhaps the best thing to do was let Dan sleep for half an hour and then try again to wake him up. There was a remote chance that he might have got over the worst of it by then.
She was completely exhausted too. No wonder Sumo wrestlers had to stuff themselves with food to keep their strength up. Mrs Took’s Viking vol-au-vents had been inadequate preparation for grappling with Dan. Prising herself from his embrace, she picked up the brandy bottle and took a healthy swig. She coughed, burped, and took another swig. Flopping back on the sofa, she nursed the bottle to her chest. Dan looked so peaceful. He had dropped into a deep slumber, a boyish half-smile on his lips. She dragged at the brandy bottle again, before tiredness overwhelmed her. Who said that village life wasn’t interesting? She’d had enough interest tonight to fill her monthly quota. The last track of The Number One Love Album finished playing – Meat Loaf, ‘I’d Do Anything For Love, But I Won’t Do That’. Taking another swig of brandy, she smiled to herself. Life was full of its own little ironies.
Rose let her eyes close. She would just have a few minutes’ rest herself before trying to wake Dan again.
Chapter Nineteen
HELLISH HANGOVER REMEDY
Rosemary, Fennel, Juniper.
It’s very easy to over-indulge during the festive season or at a special celebration. In the party mood the inclination to have ‘one more drink’ is all too tempting. And it’s usually only when we wake up in the morning that we regret the night before – by which time the damage is well and truly done! This highly effective remedy will help to ease the discomfort of the punishment that will be exacted upon you!
from: The Complete Encyclopaedia of Aromatherapy Oils by Jessamine Lovage
It was nine o’clock. Rose lay frozen to the spot as the church bells dolefully informed her with slow, relentless chimes that echoed painfully in her head, calling the upright citizens of Great Brayford to Sunday worship.
She wasn’t one of them. She was a slumped citizen. Slumped on the sofa, her head on a cushion, the empty bottle of brandy beside her. Reluctantly, she followed the line of her body to check that this wasn’t a dreadful nightmare. Dan, unfortunately, was still there, as large as life. Or as large as lifeless in this particular case.
His mouth had flopped open and his face bore a greenish-grey tinge. On a Martian it might have been appealing; on a builder it was a definite no-no. At some point she had obviously removed her slippers, for which she was grateful, because her legs were sprawled across Dan’s chest and she had a bare foot resting either side of his stubbly chin.
As she looked at him, he opened his eyes and looked back at her.
‘Good morning,’ she said flatly.
He jumped and pushed her feet ungraciously out of the way while he rubbed his eyes. ‘What time is it?’ he croaked.
‘Time you weren’t here,’ Rose said sagely.
‘What hit me?’ He sat up gingerly, only to fall back against the cushions as the effort proved too great.
‘I would hazard a guess at Reg’s Carlsberg and half a bottle of brandy.’
‘I think I’m going to die.’
Rose removed her legs from his chest and curled up at a safe distance at the other end of the sofa. ‘Not in my lounge, you’re not,’ she warned him. ‘We’re in enough trouble as it is.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘Though it might be easier to explain a corpse . . .’
Dan looked at her through half-closed lids. ‘Forget what I said. I think I’m going to live after all.’
‘Do I forget the other things you said?’ she asked softly.
‘Oh my word.’ He rubbed his hands over his stubble. ‘Would you like to remind me of them?’
‘Do you need reminding?’
‘No.’ He shook his head and looked as if he regretted such a rash movement. ‘I don’t think I do.’ He eased himself upright again. ‘I’m really sorry, Rose. I shouldn’t have done this. Or not done this.’ Wincing as he moved, he continued tentatively, ‘I don’t know what I should apologise for first.’
‘How do you intend to explain this to Gardenia?’
‘Preferably not with a carving knife at my balls,’ he said succinctly.
‘I think that may be wishful thinking.’
‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’ He massaged his hands over his face as if to pre-warn it of the impending onslaught of cold water.
‘No. I think you’d better get tidied up.’
‘What is worse?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘To look like I haven’t slept all night or to look like I have?’
‘I don’t know, Dan.’ Rose hung her head and not just because of the effort it was taking to keep it upright. ‘It’s going to take some pretty nifty digging for us to get out of this hole.’ As far as showing her face in the village again was concerned, she was dead and buried anyway.
‘Do you think Gardenia will believe me?’
‘I don’t think I would.’ Rose’s heart twisted at the hangdog expression on his face. She pushed herself up from the sofa. She was stiff from spending the night curled up against Dan. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
They both looked over at the wreckage of the tray – two cups of stone-cold, scummy coffee, one with what used to be a fluffy peach flannel soaking in it. They looked at each other and simultaneously said, ‘No.’
Dan also forced himself from the sofa and stretched his back, groaning loudly.
‘I’ll make up some aromatherapy oils to help you recover while you go and freshen up. The bathroom’s straight ahead at the top of the stairs.’
She found her slippers and padded through to her treatment room – complete with half-finished fireplace – and put her brain on auto-pilot as she mixed the blend of oils in a small brown bottle.
Dan came downstairs a few minutes later looking no better than he had before. Without the complete Viking ensemble he looked vaguely silly in his large shirt and leather trousers. Well, not even vaguely silly, just silly. It was definitely not a cold light of day outfit. She was relieved she had changed out of the brown hessian. But then if she hadn’t changed out of the brown hessian, perhaps he wouldn’t have fallen asleep on her sofa. And if she had stayed with him on the sofa, awake, who knows what might have happened. Last night they had been more ‘In The Mood’ than Glenn Miller.
‘You don’t look a lot better,’ Rose observed.
‘Thanks,’ Dan said. ‘I don’t feel a lot better either. In fact, I think being vertical feels a lot worse.’
‘Do you want a drink of water?’
He nodded gingerly and followed her into the kitchen.
‘I’ll stir a spoonful of honey into it.’
Dan grimaced.
‘It’ll do you good,’ she assured him. ‘Try to drink plenty throughout the day. You need to flush your system out.’
‘Yes, nurse.’ With a sigh of resignation, he drained the glass of water. ‘I feel better already,’ he said miserably.
‘This is your hangover remedy,’ Rose said with forced brightness. ‘Especially recommended by Jessamine Lovage.’
‘Who?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Suffice to say, it’s a reviving blend of oils to help detoxify the body.’
He looked suspiciously at the label which read baldly in big letters, ‘HELLISH HANGOVER REMEDY’. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Rosemary, fennel and juniper.’ She took the cap off the bottle and wafted it under his nose. ‘It’s quite stimulating.’
‘Stimulating?’ Dan recoiled in horror. ‘It stinks!’
‘Well, yes.’ Rose smiled. ‘Perhaps not one of the most attractive blends. But it’ll do you good.’
‘I hate medicine,’ he complained.
‘It’s not medicine. You bathe in it – just a few drops. Or rub it on.’ Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘Perhaps you could get Gardenia to give you a nice soothing massage.’
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a look that was as black and as ugly as his leather trousers.
‘It also has a diuretic effect.’
‘Marvellous,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’ He took the bottle from her and sniffed the oil again. ‘Are you sure this will do me good? Just the smell of it is making me heave.’
‘It’ll either kill or cure. If it kills you, it might save Gardenia a job.’ Rose smiled sympathetically. ‘Either way, you’ll never want to drink Carlsberg or brandy again.’
Dan managed a feeble laugh.
The phone rang. Its shrill, clinical tone seemed threatening and angry. The sound froze them both to the spot.
‘Shit,’ Dan said unhelpfully. They stared at the phone.
‘What shall I do?’ Rose touched his arm and instantly wished she hadn’t.
‘You’d better answer it.’
Now it was her turn for the black look. ‘I can’t!’
‘It’s your house,’ he said.
‘And this is your doing,’ Rose said as she walked to the phone.
‘Our doing,’ Dan insisted.
Rose looked at him reluctantly. Her face softened. ‘I suppose it does take two to tango.’
‘Oh no!’ Dan put his head in his hands. He peered at her through his fingers. ‘We did the tango?’
She grinned at him. ‘I was speaking metaphorically.’
The phone continued to ring.
‘One of us should answer it,’ Dan suggested.
‘We have nothing to feel guilty about,’ Rose reasoned. ‘Nothing happened. It was all a terrible misunderstanding.’
‘You don’t sound very convinced.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Was it?’ Dan cocked his
head to one side.
‘What?’
‘A terrible misunderstanding?’ He chewed his lip nervously.
‘No.’ Rose could feel her heart beating in her mouth. ‘It was a moment of madness brought on, as you yourself said, by an excess of moonlight, music and Carlsberg. Or white wine in my case. And brandy,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘We shouldn’t have done it.’
‘But we did.’
‘Gardenia doesn’t deserve this.’
‘And what do we deserve?’ he asked candidly.
‘The sort of hangovers that we’ve both got?’
The phone continued to ring. They both looked mournfully at it. Dan nudged her elbow.
‘Answer the phone, Rose.’
For once, she wished desperately it was her pervert. How delighted she would be to hear nothing but his empty, threatening silence at the other end of the line. She hoped vehemently he had been lurking in the hedge with his mobile phone and was picking a very opportune moment to terrorise her.
‘Hello, Rose speaking,’ she said brightly, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage.
It was Gardenia. ‘I’ll have him back when you’re sure you’re quite finished with him,’ she spat into the phone.
‘I can explain everything, Gardenia,’ Rose said.
The line went dead. Forcefully.
‘Well?’ said Dan hopefully. ‘That was short.’
‘But not exactly sweet.’ She looked at him ruefully. ‘She wants you back when I’ve finished with you.’
‘And have you?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Finished with me?’ He took her hands.
‘Well and truly, Dan.’ She pulled her fingers away from his. They were slightly too warm, slightly too rough and slightly too strong for her peace of mind.
‘This is all my fault and I feel absolutely terrible about it.’ He massaged his temples. ‘Your name’s mud in the village already. Just wait till they hear about this.’
‘You have such a reassuring way with you, Dan.’
‘Can I at least pop by and finish your fireplace?’ he pleaded.
‘I think the less popping in the direction of Rose Cottage you do, the better for all concerned.’