Free Two Loves by Sian James

Marian had ended in divorce.
    He’d never become a very successful actor, though his English good looks ensured him a certain amount of television work; the small part of the father in situation comedy being his most usual role, and as far as Rosamund could judge, he was still as impatient and bad-tempered as ever. But she supposed he was now less frustrated, able to feel that his big chance – the important lead part that was going to make his name – might finally come his way.
    Rosamund realised that Dora was a much more suitable partner for him than her mother could ever have been; Dora was a busy careerwoman who idolised him but without taking him too seriously.
    Rosamund arrived twenty minutes late at the restaurant where they were to have a pre-theatre supper. She’d felt in need of fresh air and a long walk after the sadness of her afternoon with Erica; the tragedy of her lonely old age. Dora and her father were already halfway through their meal. ‘I knew you wouldn’t want to find your father in a bad mood,’ Dora said, kissing her. ‘I’ve ordered lasagna for you. I hope that’s all right.’
    â€˜Perfect,’ Rosamund said. ‘How lovely to see you. And you,’ she added, smiling at her father who just managed to smile back. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, ‘I’m a very fast eater.’
    â€˜How beautiful you look,’ Dora said. ‘She’s so lucky to have your looks, Paul, isn’t she?’
    Her father looked at her critically, so that she was immediately aware of her three-year-old linen suit, bought in a sale to please her mother, a good label but a poor fit and not really her colour. She ate fast and had soon caught up with them.
    â€˜Gâteau? Fruit? Cheese and biscuits?’ Dora enquired.
    â€˜Cheese and biscuits,’ Rosamund said rather sadly. ‘I had an éclair for tea.’
    â€˜We’ll all have the strawberry gâteau,’ Dora told the waiter, ‘and coffee and the bill.’
    Dora was small with cropped black hair shot through with grey in a most attractive way. Brindled, Rosamund thought. Her mouth and her eyes were large, her face freckled; a lovely, ugly face like an intelligent pug. Exquisitely dressed, not in a careful, studied way like her mother – everything co-ordinated and of the best possible quality – but in strange exotic clothes that would probably have looked appalling on anyone else.
    The three of them ate their gâteau feeling pleased with one another.
    They saw a musical comedy, so undemanding that Rosamund could follow it while giving most of her attention to her afternoon with Erica, the way she’d felt so close to her.
    After the play was over they went backstage to see one of the actors whom her father knew, all of them congratulating him warmly on his performance, though he’d only been on stage for five minutes, her father ridiculously over-indulgent, it seemed to her, though the actor seemed to take it as no more than his due.
    After they’d spent far too long discussing his performance, he’d turned to Rosamund. ‘And this is your daughter,’ he said, taking her hand and gazing into her eyes, as though auditioning for a romantic lead. ‘Shall we have a drink together in the pub over the road when I’ve changed?’ he asked her father. ‘Is she on the stage too? I must get to know her.’
    â€˜No, she’s an artist,’ Dora said briskly. ‘Yes, we’ll wait for you as long as you don’t take too long.’
    â€˜Oh, let’s get a taxi,’ her father said as soon as they got outside. ‘Let’s not wait. He’s such a boring old fart.’
    â€˜Oh Paul,’ Dora wailed when they were in the taxi. ‘How selfish we are. We should have waited. He was bowled over by Rosamund, and they might have hit it off.’
    â€˜No,’ Rosamund said, ‘I wasn’t at all