Julia licked her lips. Why was it so hard to say? Because once you’ve said it he’s going to shut the door on you again, whispered the little know-it-all inside her head, and you don’t want him to shut you out, not ever.
‘It was all a mistake!’ she rushed into speech to drown out that niggling thought. ‘It wasn’t meant for you—the cake, I mean, that’s why I had to push you in the pool. Well, I suppose I didn’t have to push you. Connie said I could have fainted, but I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s all Richard’s fault, damn him!’
‘Is this going to take long?’ Hugh interrupted her string of disconnected remarks. ‘I do have some work to do.’
‘Will you shut up and listen!’ Julia howled in exasperation, then clapped a hand over her stupid mouth, trying to get a grip on herself. She lowered it, staring him straight in the eye this time, determined: ‘It would help if you stopped looking down your nose at me. I’m only trying to tell you how sorry I am.’
‘At last. I accept your gracious apology, Julia. Good night.’
‘No!’ Julia grabbed at a solid forearm as he turned away. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’
‘Oh? I distinctly heard you say you were sorry.’
‘But I haven’t told you why,’ she wailed desperately.
Very carefully he removed her small, restraining hand—their only point of contact, thought Julia sadly. Her early desire to cry sneaked back and her face set. She rarely cried, and prided herself that she never sank to such emotional blackmail when reason failed. She blinked madly and tried for a casual shrug that fooled neither of them. They stared at each other for a moment, his rejection trembling in the air, then a stifled sigh broke from him and although his posture didn’t change, the tension seemed to drain out of his face.
‘I have a feeling I’m going to regret this … but— why, Julia?’
The trace of gentleness in the soft, resigned voice, sent a flicker of pain through Julia. He was being kind because he felt sorry for her. She didn’t want his pity any more than he would want hers. He was waiting, patiently, prepared for anything … but not, it seemed for the Revenge of the Cake.
‘My God!’ The appalled exclamation was jerked from him as she reached the climax of her tale. ‘Isn’t one practical joker in the family enough?’
There was a tiny silence as they both absorbed the implications of his involuntary remark.
‘In the family?’ A small, tremulous smile lit Julia’s wistful face. ‘Was that a Freudian slip?’
‘Since Freud is dead, and you, Julia, are a chef not a psychologist, we’ll have to forego the revelation.’ Hugh frowned repressively, but Julia’s smile only widened as she was swept by a marvellous wave of relief. It was going to be all right, after all. She hadn’t irreparably damaged the tenuous threads of their relationship.
‘I see I’ve been promoted again … back to chef,’ she exclaimed as he raised an eyebrow. ‘Does that mean that all is forgiven?’
‘Did you think I would be so churlish as to say no?’
‘Well, I wasn’t sure,’ Julia admitted frankly. ‘You can be awfully enigmatic when you try. You might have thought it the perfect chance to get me the sack.’
His lids drooped concealingly. ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of my good nature, do you?’
She smiled warmly at him, her happiness an ache in her throat. ‘Why don’t I come in and we’ll discuss all your faults in detail … and mine of course.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Firm but not dismissive, and this time Julia didn’t mind a bit.
‘Another time, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps. Good night, Julia.’ So gravely polite, so delightfully Hughish that she couldn’t resist.
‘Good night, Hugh. And thanks for being such a darling about your dunking!’ Going up on her tiptoes she planted a laughing kiss on the highest reachable point—the vulnerable spot where his strong throat curved into his collarbone. The unexpected throb of his pulse against her soft mouth imbued the kiss with a disturbing intimacy and Julia whirled away from his arrested gaze, breathless at her own temerity. Back in the kitchen she attributed her slight giddiness to her headlong rush down the stairs and had a snack to revive herself.
Later, when Steve turned up for one of his late-night chat sessions, Julia for once had little to say. Twice he accused her of not listening to what he was saying and the third time she was startled and upset when he deliberately broke the glass he was holding to get her attention. For one awful moment she thought he was going to throw the pieces at her, his white-faced anger all out of proportion to her crime. Hastily she had denied her indifference, but he had stormed out, leaving Julia to sweep up the shards of glass and wonder at his boiling frustration. On other nights she didn’t even think he had cared about her divided attention.
Reluctantly Julia dragged herself out of bed and began to set her plans for the day afoot. At the appointed time she greeted Richard at the front door with a smug smile.
‘We can’t take the MG, Richard,’ she said, noticing the keys in his hand. ‘There won’t be room.’
‘Sure there will. The hamper’ll fit in the boot.’
‘But we won’t.’ Ros gave Julia a sly wink as she, Olivia and Steve carried the hamper through from the kitchen, and out to Steve’s old Mark II Zephyr parked conveniently outside. Julia bit her lip to hold back a smile at Richard’s annoyance as he trailed sulkily after them. That would teach him!
‘Where’s Charley? Don’t tell me you didn’t think to invite him, too?’ he grumbled sourly in her ear.