Page 56 of The Cornish Christmas Book Clu
‘Tell me some more about your marriage because try as I might, I can’t see the two of you together.’ She sensed him deciding how much honesty she could take. ‘Don’t hold back. I’m not a fragile plant. I suppose the sex was amazing. I’m sure Tori can bend into positions my poor body couldn’t copy in a million years unless I wanted to end up in A and E.’
‘Oh, Tamara.’ His voice cracked. ‘I am so angry with her right now. But I’m actually angrier with myself for not telling you straight away. It was stupid.’ Gage caressed her face with his hands and gazed into her eyes. His mouth was inches away from hers and if they kissed, one thing would lead to another.
But a vivid picture of his ex-wife, supercilious and arrogant from her sleek red hair to her ankle-breaking designer heels, filled her head.
‘Wasthe sex great?’ The question burst out and she sat back, crossing her arms and putting some space between them.
Gage paused before saying softly, ‘Yeah, at first it was. But after a while, it palled because at the end of the day, physical satisfaction on its own leaves you empty.’ He visibly swallowed. ‘There was no affection, Tamara, no real caring.’
Tamara shuffled over to close the distance between them. ‘I suggest you ring Victoria again and make it crystal clear you don’t want her coming here.’
Her fierce response brought the first smile she’d seen on Gage’s face all evening.
Despite that, a sliver of her old insecurity returned. ‘If that’s what you want... If I’m poking my nose in and you want to—’
‘Stop it. Please. We’ve both got pasts. There’s no getting away from that, even though it’d be a bloody sight easier.’
The crooked tug of his smile loosened something inside her.
‘Victoria is part of mine. That’s all. A small part in the scheme of things.’
‘I need to stop being immature, don’t I? And dig out a pair of my old Bridget Jones big panties, the sort I used to wear before you came along.’
A wicked grin burst out of him. ‘So all the sexy silk and lace was bought in my honour?’
‘I didn’t know I was competing with a supermodel, either, did I?’
‘You have never — ever — been in competition with Victoria. She was a mistake when I was vulnerable. You’re a choice I’ve made from a good place, mentally and literally.’
‘Any minute now you’ll start singing “You’re the One that I Want” and beg me to get my Sandy outfit on.’ That was a cowardly attempt to make light of his unequivocal statement.
‘I can’t hold a tune, so that’s not happening. The Sandy outfit — well, you know I won’t ever turn down that offer. But...’ Gage’s cheeks flushed.
There was the sense he wasn’t saying something, so she decided to pre-empt him. ‘The level of commitment we’ve got now works great for me, if that’s what you’re worried about. My teenage dreams of white weddings and happy-ever-afters flewout the window long ago. I’ve clung onto my independence all these years and never let any man get as close as you.’
‘I know. And that means a lot. What we’ve got is great.’ The loud breath he exhaled emanated relief.
It’d shocked her a minute ago to realise she wanted more. Lying had been the only way.
Chapter Twenty-One
If she’d ever wondered how many men it took to put up a Christmas tree, Tamara now knew the answer. Vernon Bull was directing operations, of course, with Wilf, Paul and Quinten good-naturedly following orders that mainly consisted of moving the tree a minuscule amount one way, and then the other.
Early this morning, they’d dug up the tree and planted it in a large red ceramic pot generously given by Monica Wyndham-Smythe. Although Tamara hadn’t met the woman who lived in the new development yet, Gage had bumped into her in Vernon’s shop and said she’d seemed keen to become involved in village life. The tree had been loaded on a wheeled trolley and pushed down to the village. They’d already cleared a spot in front of the church, and now Wilf’s fir stood tall and ready for its lights.
She should be home, baking the mince pies for the official light-up later on, instead of lingering here. It had seemed a long way off when she’d agreed to Evelyn’s suggestion, but the first of December had rolled around faster than she’d bargained for. Numbers were tricky because she didn’t know how many people would turn up. She’d heard some villagers complain that it was a waste of time and typical of the new folk moving in, wanting to change things. In their view, Penworthal had never had a Christmas tree, so why did it need one now?
A ladder appeared and Paul nimbly climbed up, holding a thick strand of lights under one arm. He started wrapping it around the tree and Tamara suppressed a grin when he patently ignored Vernon’s harried instructions. Although plumbing had become his main line of business, he was also a qualified electrician so they’d put him in charge of that side of things today.
‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’ The vicar came to stand next to her. Tamara didn’t know Tim Killigrew well, but the young tousled-haired man struck her as refreshingly down-to-earth. He’d been heard to joke that he’d become a vicar to make up for some of his ancestors’ misdeeds. In the sixteenth century, Lady Mary Killigrew had been possibly Cornwall’s most notorious pirate. Tim was responsible for three other churches apart from Penworthal and lived near the largest of those, about ten miles away.
‘It certainly does. You’ll be here tonight?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ He pointed to a smartly dressed ash-blonde hovering near the tree. ‘Karen Buckingham, Wilf’s wife, is going to lead the carol singing.’ Tim chuckled. ‘Be glad she offered or you might’ve been stuck with my out-of-tune efforts.’
‘I’m no singer either, although I can’t resist a Christmas carol. I ought to get a move on or we won’t have any mince pies.’
She wasn’t totally unprepared because she’d been making and freezing blocks of pastry for the last few weeks and they were all defrosted now, ready to use. It was a pity the bookshop’s large oven hadn’t been overhauled yet or she could’ve used it.
