delivery suites than medal podiums.
‘Not after last time – it’s not encouraged.’
‘Of course, you had an emergency C-section just like Zoe. Amalpresentation, was it not? Always makes me think of perfume girls demonstrating beauty ranges in shopping centres.’
She giggled. Niall was incredibly clued up about childbirth, having taken an active interest in that of his twins, whereas Hugo equated it all to horses and would have been more comfortable if Tash could be confined in a foaling box for the final weeks with a deep straw bed, CCTV and a sweat-activated alarm.
‘Little Cora didn’t want to come out, and who can blame her?’ Niall was saying now, his voice laced with that hypnotic laugh. ‘I remember feeling much the same way with you once.’ His delighted laughter rang out.
He had obviously had even more wine than his wife. A recovering alcoholic who fell off the wagon more often than a faulty cart wheel, Niall considered his summers in Ireland to be time out from AA, pointing out that his hard-drinking Irish family would disown him if he stuck to orange juice.
‘Yes, well, I really ought to—’ Tash started.
But once he was on a roll Niall was unstoppable. Unbeknown to Tash, when Zoe had handed him the phone a few moments earlier she had mouthed Cheer her up , and that was what Niall intended to do in the best way he knew: full-throttle flirtation.
‘You are a gorgeous girl, Tash French,’ he crooned, using her maiden name as he had so often in the past, ‘and I’m glad to hear that Beauchamp fellow appreciates what he’s got in you.’
‘Mmm. Quite.’ Tash’s eyes flashed as she heard Hugo come loudly in through the back door accompanied by his dogs.
Niall was thoroughly enjoying himself, revisiting a favourite old haunt. Zoe, who was accustomed to his wild flirtations and the fact that he remained quite hopelessly in love with every woman he had ever wooed, thankfully none more so than his wife, was quoted as saying that being married to a dedicated method actor and renowned playboy was like being in love with dozen different men, at least a few of which would always be in love with somebody else.
‘Sure I know I was a fool to let you go,’ he was purring now. ‘You have such an exquisite soul. Not to mention those magnificent legs. Best set of legs I’ve ever set eyes on. I’ll bet that gorgeous arse of yours is just as shapely and firm as it ever was, pregnancy or no.’
Only half listening because Hugo had marched up behind herand was demanding to know who was on the phone ‘at this bloody hour’, Tash felt her haemorrhoids throb.
‘It’s – um – Niall,’ she managed to mutter over her shoulder, so flustered that she accidentally pressed speakerphone.
‘… loved staring at your pins, angel …’ Niall was still reminiscing, his voice now booming around the room at top volume. ‘Sure, I remember making you walk around in nothing but frilly knickers when we shared that chilly fleapit – d’you not recall? I wanted to kiss each and every one of your goose bumps …’
Behind her, Hugo’s eyebrows shot up and he hissed, ‘What the fuck does he want?’
Tash fumbled to mute the call. ‘I called him.’
Hugo cocked his head at this.
Not realising that her explanation was open to interpretation, she pressed a few more buttons but only succeeded in turning up the speaker volume even more, while now also digitally recording Niall’s words.
‘… remember when I had you all to myself to play the naughtiest games …’ He was recounting with an enchanted laugh, his warm brogue so familiar that he could be on the battered little work-top television telling Jonathan Ross one of his hilarious anecdotes about filming on location. Instead he was on the kitchen phone remembering making love with Tash ‘… that day the heavens opened so hard that the ceiling fell in and we just carried on fornicating in the plaster dust and rainwater, watching the forked lightning
‘Not after last time – it’s not encouraged.’
‘Of course, you had an emergency C-section just like Zoe. Amalpresentation, was it not? Always makes me think of perfume girls demonstrating beauty ranges in shopping centres.’
She giggled. Niall was incredibly clued up about childbirth, having taken an active interest in that of his twins, whereas Hugo equated it all to horses and would have been more comfortable if Tash could be confined in a foaling box for the final weeks with a deep straw bed, CCTV and a sweat-activated alarm.
‘Little Cora didn’t want to come out, and who can blame her?’ Niall was saying now, his voice laced with that hypnotic laugh. ‘I remember feeling much the same way with you once.’ His delighted laughter rang out.
He had obviously had even more wine than his wife. A recovering alcoholic who fell off the wagon more often than a faulty cart wheel, Niall considered his summers in Ireland to be time out from AA, pointing out that his hard-drinking Irish family would disown him if he stuck to orange juice.
‘Yes, well, I really ought to—’ Tash started.
But once he was on a roll Niall was unstoppable. Unbeknown to Tash, when Zoe had handed him the phone a few moments earlier she had mouthed Cheer her up , and that was what Niall intended to do in the best way he knew: full-throttle flirtation.
‘You are a gorgeous girl, Tash French,’ he crooned, using her maiden name as he had so often in the past, ‘and I’m glad to hear that Beauchamp fellow appreciates what he’s got in you.’
‘Mmm. Quite.’ Tash’s eyes flashed as she heard Hugo come loudly in through the back door accompanied by his dogs.
Niall was thoroughly enjoying himself, revisiting a favourite old haunt. Zoe, who was accustomed to his wild flirtations and the fact that he remained quite hopelessly in love with every woman he had ever wooed, thankfully none more so than his wife, was quoted as saying that being married to a dedicated method actor and renowned playboy was like being in love with dozen different men, at least a few of which would always be in love with somebody else.
‘Sure I know I was a fool to let you go,’ he was purring now. ‘You have such an exquisite soul. Not to mention those magnificent legs. Best set of legs I’ve ever set eyes on. I’ll bet that gorgeous arse of yours is just as shapely and firm as it ever was, pregnancy or no.’
Only half listening because Hugo had marched up behind herand was demanding to know who was on the phone ‘at this bloody hour’, Tash felt her haemorrhoids throb.
‘It’s – um – Niall,’ she managed to mutter over her shoulder, so flustered that she accidentally pressed speakerphone.
‘… loved staring at your pins, angel …’ Niall was still reminiscing, his voice now booming around the room at top volume. ‘Sure, I remember making you walk around in nothing but frilly knickers when we shared that chilly fleapit – d’you not recall? I wanted to kiss each and every one of your goose bumps …’
Behind her, Hugo’s eyebrows shot up and he hissed, ‘What the fuck does he want?’
Tash fumbled to mute the call. ‘I called him.’
Hugo cocked his head at this.
Not realising that her explanation was open to interpretation, she pressed a few more buttons but only succeeded in turning up the speaker volume even more, while now also digitally recording Niall’s words.
‘… remember when I had you all to myself to play the naughtiest games …’ He was recounting with an enchanted laugh, his warm brogue so familiar that he could be on the battered little work-top television telling Jonathan Ross one of his hilarious anecdotes about filming on location. Instead he was on the kitchen phone remembering making love with Tash ‘… that day the heavens opened so hard that the ceiling fell in and we just carried on fornicating in the plaster dust and rainwater, watching the forked lightning
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