‘Who?’ Tully asked. But her body was already tense. This happened to Tully when something caught her off guard: her body reacted. Tully liked to think that she would have been excellent in the caveman days, when your fight-or-flight response was critical to your survival.
‘Heather,’ Rachel said. Her face was scrunched up as if expecting a punch.
Admittedly, Tully did think about it.
‘Heather? Heather Heather? Dad’s Heather?’
Now her flight instinct was in full swing. She was already reaching for her handbag and looking at the door in panic.
The doorbell rang again.
‘I know I should’ve told you but . . .’ Rachel started but her words disappeared into the ether because, all at once, the fight instinct had caught up. Tully had been so delighted when Rachel invited her to lunch. She’d been touched! She’d thought Rachel wanted to spend some quality time with her. Instead, it turned out she’d been lured here.
‘Why on earth would you invite Heather here?’
‘Dad thought lunch would be nice opportunity to bond.’
‘Which is why we had the last lunch with her!’
‘Listen,’ Rachel said, ‘I should have told you sooner, and I’m sorry. But I promised Dad that I would get you to come and I wasn’t sure you if you would if I told you the truth.’
‘I’m insulted,’ Tully said, even though she was certain that Rachel was right.
‘Let’s just be nice,’ Rachel said as she left the kitchen to answer the door.
‘I’m always nice,’ Tully muttered, following her. ‘Nicer, in fact, to people I don’t like.’
Rachel opened the door. Heather was dressed in a black flowing dress, sandals, and large tortoiseshell sunglasses. She carried a bottle of wine and a small posy of pink peonies. She really was the picture of understated elegance. It was magnificently irritating.
‘Heather, hello!’ Tully cried from behind Rachel. Her voice sounded high-pitched and strange. For goodness sake – what was the matter with her?
‘Hi, Heather,’ Rachel said, in a normal-sounding voice. ‘Come on in. Shall I put this on ice? We already have a bottle of chardonnay open.’
Heather handed over her bottle and came inside. Almost immediately the doorbell rang again.
‘Invited someone else?’ Tully said to Rachel.
She gave Tully a beseeching look. ‘It’s my delivery person,’ she said, picking up a white cardboard box. She disappeared, leaving Tully and Heather alone in the tiny kitchen. Tully pretended to busy herself moving the potatoes around in the bowl, but the silence was thick. It made it easy to hear the conversation happening at the door.
‘So,’ a deep voice said, ‘what have you got for me today?’
Tully and Heather’s eyes met. There was something . . . sexy . . . about the voice.
‘Cream buns,’ Rachel said. ‘For an office farewell.’
‘I like cream buns and I cannot lie.’ There was a short pause. The owner of the sexy voice must have opened the box to take a look, because a moment later Tully heard a deep inhalation, followed by: ‘I swear, this is what Heaven smells like.’
Tully pictured her sister. She would be struggling with this scenario. On the one hand, she’d want to be giving the man with the sexy voice the cold shoulder, which was what she always did to men. On the other hand, he’d just complimented her baking, which was Rachel’s actual kryptonite.
The pause dragged on for a couple of seconds. A moment later, Rachel re-entered the kitchen. She grabbed a bun from the cooling rack, piped cream into the centre and popped it into a foil cupcake case. She dusted it faintly with icing sugar and slipped it into a cellophane bag. Then she returned to the door.
Tully resumed her eavesdropping position.
‘For me?’
The voice sounded genuinely thrilled. The cellophane bag rustled and then . . . a distinct, masculine moan of pleasure. Tully couldn’t help it; she had to get a look at him. She figured she’d think of an excuse by the time she got there, but unfortunately, the moment she laid eyes on him, all excuses – and words – deserted her. He was even better-looking than his voice had suggested. Dark hair and piercing green eyes and a nose to rival Elvis Presley.
‘This is my sister,’ Rachel said.
The man waved, swallowing the last of the bun. ‘Hello, sister.’
‘This is Darcy,’ Rachel said to Tully.
Tully continued to stare at him unselfconsciously, as Darcy’s attention was fixed solely on Rachel. Over the years, Tully had seen a lot of men look at Rachel like this, as if she were a rare and precious treasure. The difference this time was that Rachel was staring back.