Distraction

Chapter Twenty-Five

'What do you think?' Zoe stood back, admiring the carved pumpkin lanterns arranged in the fireplace.

'You've missed your calling.' Libby sat on the windowsill, summoning the enthusiasm to prepare for the Halloween party to end all Halloween parties.

'How was work?'

'Just awesome,' Libby replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Three weeks. Twenty days, if she was being precise. Twenty days she'd survived at the bar. How, was a miracle. If she had one friend at work, just one, it would help, but every single member of staff hated her. They were jealous. She'd shagged not just one Golding brother, but both of them. It didn't matter how many times she told them she hadn't touched Xander, because they'd seen the photos in the paper; they knew the truth.

The job itself was surprisingly okay. Oscar's Bar and Bistro was set in the old magistrates court, kitted out with ornate mahogany tables and ancient Chesterfield sofas. In keeping with the classy setting, they served decent wine and addictively tasty tapas. Plus, Libby proved to be great barmaid, but then, she'd done it so many times in between other jobs, she ought to be a bloody expert. Actually, if she included the temporary bar jobs, her employment tally over the last three years had to be well over thirty. An incredible feat.

'What happened?' Zoe handed her a staple gun. 'Cobwebs on the beams, please.'

Libby dutifully stapled stringy nylon threads to the ceiling while she explained how at ten past eleven, Oscar Golding, her uber-boss and father of the Golding brothers, had walked into the bar. Inevitably, he'd asked why she was working there and not Low Wood Farm, but before Libby could answer, she'd glanced around to see Steve, the chef, taking a photo on his phone.

Without hesitation, she'd taken Steve down with the defensive leg sweep her mother had taught her and, as he lay on the floor groaning, Libby deleted the photo. Of course, then she'd had to explain to Mr Golding Senior not only why she'd lost her job at the farm, but why she'd floored the chef. I fort she were goin' for an 'at trick, Steve had said. Sadly, the ground hadn't swallowed her.

'It's a job,' Zoe said, 'and for Haverton, not a bad one. Don't bugger it up.'

If Libby could just get her head down at the bar, the rumours would die down and she'd make friends. Or, more likely, the very dishy Mr Golding Senior would see she could run the place better than Rich, give her the manager's job and the staff would resent her even more.

Libby sat on the windowsill again, staring outside. 'Do you think he'll come?'

'Paolo or Patrick?'

When Libby had mentioned throwing a party, Zoe leapt at the idea. A Halloween shindig, Zoe said, would be the perfect excuse to dress in porn-worthy costumes and lure fit men into bed. They'd emailed everyone they knew, in Gosthwaite and Manchester, with majority saying yes. Friends were crammed into holiday cottages throughout the village, even Robbie and Vanessa were coming. Libby had been astonished when Robbie emailed to say yes, but he'd explained how it'd show everyone that things were okay. The only person who hadn't responded, was Patrick.

Four o'clock. Libby frowned at the vets. His Land Rover still wasn't there.

She didn't get him. Three weeks ago, he'd persuaded her to bare her soul. He'd totally taken an interest in her life. He'd even said she looked pretty. But since then, nada. No dropping in for a quick coffee, no cheeky chats over the fence as he passed by on his bike and to cap it all, the other day he'd posted eye drops for Hyssop through the letterbox. Patrick was avoiding her.

What if he didn't turn up or worse, copped off with someone else? Where was he?

An ancient MG pulled up and Libby's heart made an involuntary leap. Paolo. He'd really come all this way. After a quick check for smudged make-up, she ran outside to meet him. Okay, her lust cravings were purely for Patrick, but she still longed to see her old friend.