Forget Her Name(62)

‘Don’t you?’

I close my eyes, suddenly uncertain. Could I have made a mistake? Was he the same man I saw outside the food bank, or not? I picture his face behind the wheel of the silver Jag, then try to match it to the man in the tube station.

My uneasiness grows.

‘I’m not sure of anything anymore.’

‘Darling, it was a perfectly natural mistake to make. He looked at you, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you made eye contact with this guy. You made a connection. Then a few seconds later . . .’

I put my hands to my face. ‘Don’t, please.’

‘You’re not to blame. So you can stop thinking it’s your fault.’

‘My fault?’ I stare at him.

‘Of course,’ he says gently. ‘Look, I feel guilty too. Guilty that I didn’t spot what was in his mind. That I didn’t pull him back from the edge . . . It was a traumatic event for everyone there, not just you.’ He strokes my cheek lovingly. ‘You’re a sensitive soul though, and you’ve had one hell of a tough week. Plus, you were drinking tonight.’

When he puts it like that, I can see my mistake. The only thing I’m guilty of here is bringing everything back to myself. Of being self-obsessed.

It’s an unpleasant realisation.

‘I feel like such an idiot.’

‘Maybe.’ He leans forward to kiss me. ‘But you’re my beautiful idiot,’ he murmurs against my mouth. ‘My very sexy idiot.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I sigh. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Forget it,’ he whispers, pushing me back on the bed. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Dominic. I love you forever.’





Chapter Thirty-Seven

We wake late the next morning, our naked bodies still entwined, to a gorgeous smell drifting through the house: turkey and roast potatoes. Dominic is awake before me, and it’s his hand playing with my hair that brings me back to full consciousness.

Rachel, I think. It’s my first thought. Her ashes.

My body goes cold. When I open my eyes Dominic is gazing at me, a smile on his lips.

‘Hey, sleepyhead.’

‘Hey.’

I snuggle against him, pushing away all thoughts of my sister with surprising ease. Perhaps she has finally lost her ability to frighten me.

‘Did we do it twice last night or did I imagine it?’ I say.

His grin disarms me.

‘Twice, definitely,’ he says. ‘Though it was morning, both times. We went to bed very late.’

I smile at him. ‘And I thought we’d have less sex once we were married.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘I guess I just assumed. My parents have separate rooms. That must be for a reason. Married people fall out of lust, don’t they?’ I stroke down his body, and smile at his intake of breath. ‘Three times, just to make sure we’ve still got it?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

He rolls me over onto my back, kissing me hotly, then cups my breast.

‘Catherine! Dominic!’ my mother shouts up the stairs. ‘Lunch will be ready soon.’

I giggle. Dominic turns and calls back, ‘We’ll be down in a minute.’

He regards me hungrily as I slip out of bed and hunt through the drawers for clean clothes suitable for Christmas lunch with the family.

‘Nice view,’ he says, smiling.

I throw a pair of lacy knickers at him, and he growls, climbing out of bed after me.

‘Hey, put me down,’ I insist as he grabs me, ‘you big bear.’ He lets me go and I turn back to my lingerie drawer. ‘They’re too polite to say so, but I was probably supposed to help with lunch.’

‘I doubt you’ll be missed in the kitchen.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘That your skills lie in a different direction to cooking,’ he says with a grin, and ducks when I try to hit him.

‘Very funny. All the same, I should go down and lay the table or something. I hate feeling like a parasite.’ I push him away as his arms come round me again, groping and squeezing. ‘Seriously, don’t.’

Reluctantly, Dominic opens his arms to let me escape.

‘Fine,’ he says languidly. He picks up his dressing gown. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower. But you’re far from being a parasite. You need to be here right now. And your parents know it.’

I watch him go, unsure if he’s offended or not. I’m also not entirely certain what his parting comment was about. You need to be here right now. And your parents know it. What does that even mean?

I find a matching black bra and thong. Then I pull a dress out of the wardrobe and throw it on the bed. It’s a black-and-silver dress, skin tight, clinging in all the right places. Or the wrong places, depending on your point of view. I have no idea why I chose that one, my brain somewhere else, or maybe switched off entirely. Dominic bought it for me last Christmas but I’ve never worn it on the grounds that it’s too damn revealing.

And this is a family Christmas. Not a night out on the town.

‘Cat, darling?’ my mother calls up from the bottom of the attic stairs. ‘Are you on your way down?’