What Women Want, Women of a Dangerous Age: 2-Book Collection. Fanny Blake

learning about him every day,’ Ellen had protested, when cross-questioned earlier in the evening. ‘He’s lived in France, somewhere in Centre, for the last two or three years and doesn’t like talking about what went on there. He says it’s still too painful. Something to do with the woman he lived with. But I’m happy with that. I’d rather not know. Anyway, he’ll tell me when he’s ready.’

      ‘But, Ellen, you’ve got to ask him,’ Bea insisted. ‘God almighty, woman! You’ve got him practically living in your house, and your children will be home in a couple of days. Suppose he turns out to be – I don’t know – a paedophile or something?’

      ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ Ellen was outraged. ‘If there was something like that, I’d know. Why can’t you just take him as the loving, generous man I know he is? You’re my closest friends, for God’s sake. I just want you to be pleased for me. You’ll see when you meet him.’

      And then she had invited them to a family lunch. Bea had looked slightly ashamed of her suggestion, apologised and accepted. As had Kate.

      Kate ran her fingers up and down Mouse’s soft belly, making him stretch out his legs in pleasure. If Ellen was prepared to accept Oliver at face value, shouldn’t they? As Ellen’s friends, it was up to them to support her in whatever life choices she made. Who were they to question her judgement? Or should they, as her friends, be looking out for her when she was head over heels, possibly blind to anything that would spoil things? Kate knew Bea would take the latter view but for once she disagreed. She wanted Ellen to be happy. She wanted that for all of them. She sighed and began to read about the elephants of Knysna.

      Outside, the gate banged, and Paul’s key turned in the lock. She stood up to greet him, tipping an indignant Mouse onto the floor. At last. Late he might be but this was her chance to start making things better between them.

      Chapter 16

      As they pulled up outside the house, Matt leaned forward, pulling against his seatbelt and blocking the window. ‘Who’s that?’

      ‘Where?’ Ellen didn’t look up as she rummaged in her bag for her purse.

      ‘There’s a man standing on the doorstep, waving.’

      Despite Oliver’s attempts to persuade her, she had refused to let him come with her to Paddington to meet Emma and Matt and had asked for a couple of days alone in which the kids could settle back home. Reluctantly, he had agreed to be introduced into the household by degrees, without any fanfare. At the same time, Ellen enjoyed the thought of stealing out for secret rendezvous in the flat, keeping him a delicious secret for a little while longer, preserving the family’s status quo. Deceit might be bad but it was surely better than telling the children too soon. She was at last confident in her control of the situation and relieved she had found the right way at last. That was what her friends and family would want.

      But despite all they’d agreed, here he was.

      ‘So, who is he, Mum?’ Emma emerged from the gloom she’d been in ever since she’d set foot in the taxi. She had spent the entire journey home staring bleary-eyed out of the window. Ellen thought she’d caught her wiping away a tear but felt it better not to say anything. If Josh the surfie was the problem, nothing she could say would make a difference. The summer was over, they had to come home and Emma had to learn to live with disappointments thrown up by life, however painful. When they had time alone, she would try to console her.

      ‘Have you been having something done to the house?’ Emma looked anxious that her instructions to leave her garish Indian/hippie-themed bedroom might have been ignored and that she was going to find the tasteful lilac or gardenia walls that Ellen sometimes threatened.

      ‘No. He’s a friend, that’s all. Come on, get out.’

      ‘Not the one you told me about?’

      Ellen cursed the sharpness of Matt’s memory.

      ‘Not the boyfriend?’ He brought all the scorn of a thirteen-year-old to the last word.

      ‘Boyfriend!’ Emma was immediately all attention. ‘You never said anything, Mum.’

      ‘He’s not a boyfriend. Oliver’s just someone I met while you were away.’ She struggled to pocket her change, before bending over to pick up the two cases, leaving the kids to their backpacks. ‘You’ll like him.’

      Doubt was writ very large indeed on Emma’s face. But she said nothing.

      Torn between her fury at Oliver’s turning up, her desire to tear down the path and fling her arms round him, and her anxiety as to the best way to introduce him, Ellen stood by the gate, a case in either hand. She breathed deeply, trying to control the sudden thumping of her heart. Instead, Oliver took the initiative and came towards them. He looked relaxed in his cream chinos and a dark blue open-necked shirt. She saw him as if for the first time, taking in his aquiline features, the startling blue eyes and dark flop of hair. His familiar slightly uneven smile gave a sharp nudge to all the emotions that she’d thought she had under control, sending them skittering through her. If she took a step towards him, she felt her legs would give way. As if he understood, he turned to the kids, giving her time to gather herself.

      ‘Hello. You must be Matt and Em. Your mum’s told me all about you. Good holiday?’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ Emma’s voice was tight with dislike.

      ‘I thought you might all be starving after such a long journey, so I’ve brought some supper over.’

      They looked at him in surprise, unsure what to say. Why on earth would a stranger bring them supper? Ellen could almost hear the cogs turning.

      ‘How lovely. What a kind thought.’ Under the close scrutiny of her children, she chose her words with care, not wanting to expose her cartwheeling heart. Matt could probably be deflected but Emma would pick up on the slightest clue. As they led the way to the front door, she lagged behind with Oliver. She fought back the urge to put her arms round him. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she hissed instead.

      ‘I couldn’t wait for two days.’ As he touched her hand, her stomach flipped. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

      ‘Yes, I do. And after everything I said.’ A look of such abject disappointment crossed his face that she weakened. ‘Well, no, not really. Oh, I don’t know. You’re impossible.’ Whatever she said, it was too late. He was there and she was going to have to deal with it in the best way she could.

      They’d reached the front door. Emma was already inside and had shot upstairs to check her room. Oliver leaned down to pick up his bag of shopping.

      ‘What have you got there?’ A sure way to Matt’s heart was through his stomach.

      ‘Only spaghetti carbonara.’

      ‘Nice one! How did you know I liked it?’

      ‘Your mum told me, of course. I’ve brought a salad as well.’ He winked at Ellen. ‘And I tell you what, Matt, England are playing tonight and my TV’s broken. I wondered if I could watch with you. Only if you’re watching, of course.’

      ‘Oliver, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.’ His brand new TV couldn’t possibly be broken. How dare he try to win over her kids without consulting her on the method first? ‘Shouldn’t you get back home? We’ll have to unpack and get ready for school.’

      ‘Come on, Ellen.’ His voice was like the smoothest honey, impossible to resist.

      ‘Yes, come on, Mum. We don’t need much at the start of term anyway.’ Matt’s eyes were shining with excitement at the idea of being able to watch the match. Normally Emma shouted him down if he dared even suggest such a thing.

      Ellen was torn. She wanted Oliver to stay but she wanted him to go. At the same time she felt a guilty sense of relief steal over her. For ten years she’d been running this household, having responsibility for every decision, smoothing out every disagreement. Being able to share some of the daily grind suddenly seemed