A Stranger's Kiss

assume whatever responsibilities were to be thrust upon her, but Tara always suspected that it had been something of relief to find her goddaughter already happily settled with the kindly neighbour who had been babysitting her while her parents went away for the weekend.
    But she had dealt with the financial side of things and invested her parents’ small estate so there was enough money for Tara never to be a burden to the Lamberts. Enough even for a deposit on the tiny new house she and Nigel were to have lived in.
    She had always kept an eye on her from a distance. Always remembered the important things. And she had been there when she had been desperately needed. It was Lola who had taken the brunt of her grief when Nigel had died.
    The week passed too quickly. She arrived back at Beth’s just before lunchtime on Sunday morning and her partner was delighted to see her.
    ‘You’re looking better.’
    ‘I’m recovering, Beth. Apparently a broken heart isn’t fatal.’
    ‘Thank God for that,’ she said with conviction. ‘But it is like being ill. Take one day at time. You’ll wake up one morning and realise that the pain isn’t unbearable any more.’
    ‘I’ll take your word for it. You’ve been there often enough.’ Beth’s eyes sparkled. ‘I don’t believe it! Not again?’
    ‘This time it’s the real thing. I swear it.’ Tara shook her head, wondering at her friend’s stamina. Once was enough for her. ‘And you were wrong about there being no enquiries for you.’
    Her hand trembled and she set down the mug of coffee, afraid it might spill. She wasn’t strong enough yet. ‘He telephoned?’
    ‘He came to the office.’ Beth pursed her lips. ‘I know you think he’s the pits, but frankly, I was very taken with your Mr Blackmore.’
    ‘He’s not mine.’ Her pulse was hammering in her ears. ‘What did you tell him?’
    ‘Simply that you had gone away and I wasn’t at liberty to tell him where you were.’
    ‘Did he just take that?’ Why had she said that? Why did she want the answer to be no? She closed her eyes. It mustn’t matter so much. Recovery was still a long way from certain.
    ‘He didn’t actually try to beat your address out me, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
    Tara flushed. ‘Well, thanks.’
    ‘You could be more enthusiastic. Did you expect me to crack under his charm and spill the beans? He looked fit to come after you.’
    ‘Of course not,’ she said, quickly.
    Beth did not look convinced. ‘Can I offer you something to eat?’
    ‘No, if I can just beg a lift home via the Italian shop to pick up some bread and milk.’
    They had to drive by Victoria House to get to the mews. Tara kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead, terrified that he might just glance down from his penthouse and spot her. Beth said nothing, but Tara saw her mouth twitch.
    ‘I know he can’t see me. Doesn’t even know your car. I just feel... vulnerable.’
    She felt safer inside her flat. She stepped over the pile of mail and newspapers on the mat. It was home, a bolt hole; it represented safety. She checked the rooms. Everything was exactly as she had left it, apart from a week’s dust that had settled quietly over the furniture. She whisked quickly around with the duster, then made herself a sandwich.
    She forced herself to eat every mouthful. If she kept going through the motions it might eventually become habit-forming. She washed the dishes, unpacked, loaded the washing machine, made her bed, vacuumed. Opened the mail and sorted it all to deal with at the office on Monday. All tedious little jobs that kept her mind from dwelling on heartache. But it was still only five o’clock.
    A sudden desperation overtook her to stay busy. She would make Beth a chocolate cake. A thank you for loaning her the car. She switched on the radio to some cheerful commercial station and gathered her ingredients. The electric mixer was noisily whisking sugar and butter to soft peaks of cream to the accompaniment of the top twenty, when another sound, an insistent tapping, gradually began to overlay the general clatter. Tara switched off the whisk. It was someone knocking at the door.
    Her first reaction was to switch the mixer back on and ignore it. She didn’t want to see anyone and if it was next door she could always say she hadn’t heard.
    Tara sighed and turned down the radio. She wasn’t much good at fibs. The only lie she had ever told with any conviction, the only one anyone had