his victim, she thought. With Evie, it was all glamour and the high life. But with me, it was sex.
And I so nearly fell for it—for all the well-worn technique he’s practised over the years. How could I have been so weak—so stupid?
She said, her voice harsh, ‘I disliked this ring from the moment I saw it. It was too big, too showy, but I told myself that at least it seemed to prove that he’d really cared for her once.
‘And even though I was wrong about that, I’ll make sure that he cares eventually. That he’ll regret to his dying day what he did to Evie.’
And for myself, she added silently. How much will I be left to regret—and for how long?
And knew that, in spite of everything, her regrets could last for the rest of her life.
THINGS, Tarn told herself, were moving altogether too far and too fast, as if she was a novice skier caught heading downwards on a black run.
Her first shock had been the sale of Caz’s flat less than a week after it had gone on the market.
‘There were four offers,’ he told her that evening, with a tinge of ruefulness. ‘Even the agents were surprised.’
‘Well—it’s a beautiful flat,’ Tarn returned, glancing around her, and suppressing a slight pang of her own.
But she couldn’t weaken now, she thought. He deserved to lose it. To know what it was like to be left with nothing.
‘But sadly not beautiful enough to tempt you to forget my bachelor sins and stay here.’ Caz lifted her on to his knee and held her close, his lips against her hair. ‘Now we have to find somewhere for ourselves alone.’
The next shock had been to find herself being escorted round a whole series of the kind of properties she’d only ever imagined in her dreams and having constantly to remind herself that dreams were all they could remain.
She’d envisaged Caz becoming bored and possibly irritated at being involved in an endless quest which he must regard as unnecessary, but, however contrary her behaviour, and she remained consistently hard to please, his patience and good humour remained constant.
And their shared sense of the ridiculous provided her with some awkward moments when his sardonic sideways glance when the agent was happily eulogising some terrible interior design excess almost reduced her to helpless giggles.
‘It’s lovely,’ Tarn admitted, after they’d left yet another glamorous penthouse and returned to Caz’s flat. ‘But it’s just a showcase. I bet no-one’s so much as chopped an onion in that kitchen. And do we really need a hot tub in the roof garden?’
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