Free What Women Want by Fanny Blake Page B

take one another a bit too much for granted over the years but tonight would be a chance to patch one of those thinning areas. Seeing Ellen had made her realise she’d like to recapture a bit of that old pizzazz and she wanted to believe Paul would too.
    *
    ‘Darling, I can’t find the corkscrew,’ Kate yelled from the kitchen.
    ‘It’s up here. Come and sit down.’
    She was surprised that Paul hadn’t commented on her contribution to the evening, however minimal it had been. She was used to him being more appreciative. When she’d got in, relieved to be temporarily back on top of the endless practice admin that came with her job, the scent of the Mediterranean had stolen up the stairs to greet her. Paul was absorbed in his cooking and, to her relief, refused all offers of help. Instead she went into the dining room and laid the table with the Victorian lace cloth, got out the silver, replaced the candle stubs with new, then went into the garden to snip three Belle Isis roses, their pale flesh-pink petals in full bloom. Putting them in a vase, she inhaled their myrrh-like scent, then placed them in the centre of the table. She heard the bang of the oven door, then a muttered curse, and guessed she still had time to whizz upstairs and change into a simple dusky lilac linen dress, brush her hair and even dab on a lick of lipstick before adding a quick spritz of cologne.
    Paul had docked his iPod to send a piano concerto she didn’t recognise rippling round the dining room. She dimmed the lights and lit the candles, pleased with what she saw. The scene was set for seduction.
    Paul came in carrying two plates. ‘I’ve messed up the panna cotta. Not thinking.’
    ‘That’s not like you.’ He normally got the results he wanted by adapting any recipe as he needed to. ‘But this looks delicious.’ The bouillabaisse, the garlicky croûtons and rouille breathed the South of France into the room. She watched him pull the cork on a chilled bottle of Montrachet and pour the pale, straw-coloured wine into their glasses. She lifted hers to clink with his. ‘To us.’
    As Paul smiled back, she noticed the slight bags under his eyes. He looked tired. Immediately she reproached herself once more for not paying him enough attention over the last months. With the children grown-up, it was too easy to give the time that she used to devote to them to her work. Apart from that, throwing herself into the practice and all it involved meant her mind was constantly occupied, giving her little time to dwell on how much she missed her two oldest. Now that she was a partner, and had upped her number of sessions a week, she didn’t get home till nine most nights, too exhausted to do anything more than eat, doze in front of the news and go to bed. As she began to eat, she thought again about how little she knew of what really went on in Paul’s world, any more than he really did of what went on at the surgery. They met at the beginning and the end of the day, caught up with all the jobs they didn’t have time for at weekends, exchanging snippets of news as they passed each other – and so the months disappeared. An idea struck her.
    ‘We should think about going to see Sam. We deserve a holiday.’
    ‘Yes, we do. But Africa?’
    ‘Well, it’s going to be hard to see him anywhere else.’
    ‘I can’t possibly. Not now.’ Panic crossed his face before he looked down at his bowl.
    ‘No, of course not. But we can make plans.’ If she pressed enough, she might be able to persuade him. Dreaming up and organising the trip of a lifetime might be just the thing to bring them together again. And combined with seeing their faraway son – what could be better?
    ‘I’m sorry, but now isn’t the moment.’ He picked up his fork and took a last mouthful.
    ‘Why not?’ Why wouldn’t he explain what was causing his withdrawal from her?
    ‘It’s been a heavy week.’ Paul finished his meal and put his head into his hands. ‘There’s