Page 79 of The Only Way Is Up

Daisy drained her glass then stood up, fishing a key attached to a huge oak tag out of her coat pocket. ‘It’s called the Stable Loft. I’ll go and check it out. Finish your drink, call Angela then come and join me when you’re ready.’ She hesitated for a second. ‘Unless . . . this is a bad idea?’

Tom was already reaching for his phone. ‘Daisy, this is the best idea you’ve had since you kissed me in my kitchen.’

The Stable Loft suite was exactly as Daisy had hoped – a beautiful room with a steeply pitched roof and exposed beams, decorated with deep carpets, a vast bed and a rolltop bath positioned in front of huge windows overlooking miles of snow-covered fields. The colour scheme was neutral and stylish, all mushroom-coloured curtains, duck egg cushions and soft white bedlinen.

Daisy switched on table lamps feeling jittery and nervous, conscious that this had been a spur-of-the-moment decision that might backfire horribly. She hadn’t been naked with a man for nearly four months, and the fallout from The Incident had prompted her to reject all forms of body hair grooming on the basis that it was winter and nobody was going to see her without her clothes on for a very long time. Tom was probably expecting the smooth, hairless Daisy he’d almost certainly seen on social media, and instead he was going to get a petting zoo.

And what if someone in the hotel called reporters and told them she was shacked up in a Cotswold hotel suite with the famous headmaster? Was this a mistake? She paced up and down, willing Tom to arrive before she made a run for it; then cast around for something to do other than downing neat whisky from the minibar.

She turned off her phone, then walked into the enormous bathroom and splashed water on her face, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was flat on top and frizzy at the ends from her bobble hat, and a bit of mascara wouldn’t have killed her. Being sexy and spontaneous had felt empowering in the moment, but now she just felt inadequate and stupid and some three hundred pounds poorer than when she’d arrived. Tom probably thought she was a slag and was sitting outside the pub trying to come up with excuses not to stay.

The room didn’t look lovely any more, it looked like a magazine interior for idiots with more money than sense. Who actually needed two sinks and a shower head the size of a dinner plate? What was the point of six scatter cushions on the bed?

A gentle knock at the door made Daisy’s heart pound out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths to stop herself being sick, tucked her frazzled hair behind her ears and wiped her sweaty palms on her leggings as she opened the door, praying that she wouldn’t regret this in the morning.

‘Hi,’ said Tom, his voice catching as he gave her a look that was pure, unadulterated lust. We’ve both been thinking about this for so long, thought Daisy. And now it’s finally going to happen.

‘Hi,’ whispered Daisy, backing into the room as Tom bore down on her with a level of fierce intensity she’d never seen from him before. He kicked the door closed and gathered her into his arms, pressing her against the wall with his whole body and kissing her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

‘I haven’t done this in a while,’ breathed Daisy, pulling back and searching his face for reassurance. ‘And I haven’t waxed or anything.’

Tom laughed softly. ‘I haven’t done this in over three years,’ he said, curling a tendril of her hair around his fingers. ‘And I haven’t waxed either.’

They both started to laugh and Daisy felt herself relax into him, knowing that nothing – nothing – she had experienced with Christian or Simon or any other man was going to come close to this night with Tom.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Tom watched the finer details of the hotel room emerge from the darkness, listening to the dawn chorus as Daisy slept beside him, her breathing deep and steady. The bed was warm and soft and comfortable and there was absolutely nowhere else he needed to be, so he burrowed his head further into the mountain of pillows and enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of serenity and contentment.

The previous evening played like a movie in his head – the passionate kissing, then the brief period of awkwardness where they both admitted they felt like inexperienced, fumbling teenagers. Daisy had also been shy and hesitant, clearly used to a man taking the lead and not nearly as comfortable in her body as he might have expected for someone so entirely, utterly glorious. But there wasn’t an inch of Daisy that Tom didn’t find alluring, from the chipped red nail polish on her toes to the downy fluff under her arms.

They’d taken things slowly, luxuriating in the knowledge that the whole night stretched out ahead of them and there was no need to bang each other like they had a bus to catch. Daisy had taken a shower to wash off the sweat and grime of their hike while Tom ran a bath in the enormous tub in the bedroom. Then Daisy had wallowed in the bubbles until Tom had finished his shower and padded across the soft carpet to join her.

Daisy had lain with her back against Tom’s chest, in a bath so deep that the water had been barely more than an inch from the top. Any sudden movements would have flooded the floor, so instead they just relaxed and familiarised themselves with the strange and novel sensation of each other’s nakedness, with nothing more than lingering, featherlight touches. Tom was pretty sure it was the single most erotic experience of his life. And strangely he felt no guilt about that. He’d worried that he might compare Daisy to Tessa, but Daisy was so different in every respect, and the intimacy he’d shared with this late wife was firmly in the past. His future, he hoped, was the woman lying next to him.

Once the water had started to go cold they’d moved to the bed, burrowing under the duvet to lose themselves in a tangle of damp limbs. That bit hadn’t been quiet and lingering at all – instead, it had felt like the weeks of simmering tension finally had the chance to boil over. At one point Daisy had accidentally elbowed him in the jaw, but mostly it had been incredible.

Afterwards Daisy had nestled her body into Tom’s shoulder so they could both catch their breath and languish in the post-coital glow, lying in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Daisy asked if he was hungry. Tom had been a little bit in love with Daisy since the day he’d watched her feeding the ducks from the window of his office, but hearing her ask ‘Shall we order pizza?’ had pretty much sealed the deal.

In the throes of passion neither Tom nor Daisy had remembered to put the little hanging card on the door to order room service breakfast, and he could completely understand why Daisy didn’t want to do a walk of shame to the hotel dining room in yesterday’s hiking clothes. So instead he offered to go down and pick up a tray of food and coffee, and try to procure a couple of toothbrushes from reception. The bathroom was full of tiny bottles of expensive toiletries, but apparently if you wanted a toothbrush you had to ask.

The Receptionist was the same woman who had checked Daisy in yesterday, and was more than happy to discreetly help with whatever Tom needed. So when he casually passed back through reception with a tray of toast, juice and coffee from the restaurant, she slid toothbrushes and toothpaste onto the tray along with a folded copy of the Mail on Sunday.

‘You might want to read that,’ she said gravely. ‘Page four.’

Tom hurried back upstairs with a sinking feeling that this blissful time with Daisy was about to come to an abrupt end.

Daisy turned the paper to face him. In bold black letters, the headline read: Daisy’s doubles! TV star’s love-all triangle is a game, set and match rivalry that goes back TWENTY YEARS.’ Under it were two photos – one of Christian and Daisy looking like Hollywood royalty on the fateful night of the NTAs, next to another of Marcus looking tired and hostile, clearly being papped outside the tennis club where he worked.

‘Shit!’ said Tom. ‘Read it out.’ He handed Daisy a slice of toast, then started buttering another.

The story started out with a recap of the Wimbledon Boys’ final in 1999 and Marcus’s bike accident shortly afterwards. Then there was a load of irrelevant stuff about Daisy which she skipped over, before the article ended with:

A source close to Marcus Elliot said, ‘Christian wasn’t expected that night, he turned up as a surprise for Daisy’s fortieth birthday with a Tiffany engagement ring. I think seeing him there opened old wounds for Marcus, as Daisy had told him she’d split up with her famous tennis beau.’ Neither Christian Walker or Marcus Elliot were available for comment.

‘Well. I guess you have to admire how these idiots can pull together a handful of random facts, fill in the cracks with made-up sources and quotes and call it an “exclusive”. Poor Marcus.’ Daisy put the paper down and took a forceful bite of her toast.

‘How do you feel about it?’ asked Tom curiously.