There’s certainly nothing wrong with my date, she thought. And he had beautiful table manners. She pressed her lips together and dropped her lipstick back into her bag.
Graham insisted on accompanying Laura home in a taxi, and, relaxed by the wine and his easy company, Laura allowed her head to rest momentarily on his shoulder as she gave the driver directions to Padua. But she wasn’t going to invite him in for coffee; the drink or the euphemism. She knew that she shouldn’t let the gossip bother her, but she couldn’t help it. And the “tart” epithet was the slap that smarted most. She’d only slept with three men in her entire life, and one of them was Vince, so he didn’t count. She wasn’t proud of it; in fact she wished there had been more. Perhaps if she’d tried more men out, she might have found the right one for her. But not on a first date. And Graham was a gentleman. He wouldn’t expect it.
Ten minutes later, a rather bewildered Graham was on his way home in the taxi. He hadn’t even got past the front porch, let alone first base. Laura was in the bathroom gagging and gargling with antiseptic mouthwash. As she spat the stinging liquid into the basin, she glimpsed her still-startled expression in the mirror. Teary mascara was already dribbling black scribbles down her cheeks and her lipstick was smudged into a grotesque clown’s mouth. She looked like a tart. She struggled furiously to escape from her dress, wrenching it over her head and viciously screwing it into a crumpled ball. In the kitchen, she flung it into the bin and yanked open the fridge door. The prosecco tasted rank after the mouthwash, but Laura persevered and gulped it down. She took the bottle through to the garden room and lit the fire in the grate, knocking over her glass and breaking it in the process.
“Shit! Bugger! Bollocks! Stupid sodding glass!” she addressed the sharp fragments, which sparkled in the firelight. “Stay there broken, then. See if I care!”
She wandered her way unsteadily back to the kitchen and found another glass. As she worked her way through the rest of the bottle, she stared into the flames wondering what the hell she’d been playing at.
Horribly drunk, and exhausted by sobbing and hiccuping, Laura fell asleep on the sofa, her tear-swollen face buried in her beautiful, newly burnished hair.
CHAPTER 24
She slept for roughly ten hours, but when she woke, she looked like she’d been sleeping rough for several weeks. The thudding inside her head was soon echoed by a sharp tapping on the glass of the French windows. With considerable effort, Laura raised herself up just enough to see who it was that was making her already abominable headache even worse. Freddy. By the time she had struggled to a sitting position, he was standing over her, stony-faced, holding a mug of steaming black coffee. Laura clutched her dressing gown tightly around her aching body as Freddy registered the two wineglasses, the empty bottles, and Laura’s state of dishevelment.
“I see your date went well.” His tone was just a little more clipped than usual.
Laura took the coffee from him and muttered something unintelligible.
“Sunshine said that you were going out with your boyfriend.”
Laura sipped her coffee and shuddered.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she rasped.
Freddy raised his eyebrows at her.
“Well, it looks as though things got pretty friendly to me.”
Laura’s eyes filled with tears but her belly filled with anger.
“What the hell’s it got to do with you anyway?” she snapped.
Freddy shrugged. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
He turned to go. “And thanks for the coffee, Fred,” he muttered.
“Oh, bugger off!” Laura replied, just about under her breath.
She took another sip from her mug. Why in God’s name had she told Sunshine about her date?
Laura could feel the warning rush of saliva in her mouth. She knew she wouldn’t make it to the bathroom, but it would be rude not to try. Halfway across the parquet floor she was sick. Very sick. As she stood cold and miserable with vomit-splashed legs, and still clutching the mug of coffee, she was glad that, at least, she’d missed the Persian rug.