Kiss a Falling Star Read online

  While she was halfway through checking out, she noticed Caspar unloading his food on the next conveyor belt. From the way he tensed, Ally felt sure he’d seen her.

  “Hey, Caspar,” she called. “Want to share a cab back?” Don’t you dare ignore me.

  He looked up. “Sorry. Got a few things to do.”

  “Okay.”

  As Ally packed her purchases into plastic bags, she watched Caspar’s cashier peel reduced tickets off every item he’d bought before she scanned it. Nothing wrong in buying things that were reduced, but that was all Caspar had in his basket.

  “Would you like to come ’round tonight for something to eat?” she asked over her cashier’s curly hair.

  “Can’t, sorry.”

  Bugger. Ally watched him leave the store and her shoulders slumped. Well, that was that. There was only so much rejection a woman could take.

  “He’s not worth it, love,” said the lady serving her.

  Except Ally rather thought he was.

  She pushed her cart outside to find two elderly women waiting at the taxi rank. Ally tucked in behind them. Maybe she could post the medal anonymously through his letter box. An expensive lesson about sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

  Ally didn’t have to wait long. Three cabs arrived together, and her cheerful driver loaded all her shopping in the trunk, probably relishing the huge fare. He hadn’t driven more than three hundred yards when they passed Caspar standing at a bus stop. The bloody liar.

  Ally tsked. “Pull over, please.” When the cab stopped, she opened the door, popped her head out and shouted, “Come on, you idiot.”

  Caspar didn’t move. The three people standing with him looked at each other, clearly wondering who Ally was addressing.

  “Am I so repulsive?” Ally yelled. Oh God, he didn’t think so, did he?

  He looked the other way but she caught the hint of a smile.

  “So you lied when you said you didn’t care about my wooden leg.” Ally raised her voice above the noise of the passing traffic. “Or my webbed feet. Or the squint.”

  The cab driver chuckled.

  “Good thing I didn’t tell you I’m a contortionist.” Oh God, if he didn’t come now, she’d die of embarrassment.

  Caspar walked to the taxi. Ally shuffled over so he could get in. His face was blank and she wasn’t sure whether he was happy to take the lift or not.

  “Which leg?” Caspar said, and every one of her erogenous zones took their pompoms out and did a happy dance.

  “Left.”

  For a split second she thought he might really believe her, and then he laughed. He looked so different when he was happy, and even though the moment didn’t last, Ally cherished it.

  “I’ve got a confession to make,” she said.

  “Not two wooden legs?” He raised his eyebrows and smiled again.

  And suddenly, she couldn’t do it. The medal could definitely wait.

  “I’m not a contortionist,” she whispered.

  “Damn.”

  “I don’t think. The only time I tried to put my legs around my neck I got stuck and Finn rolled me around the lawn like a ball. I fell in the fish pond.”

  The driver laughed so hard, his seat shook against her knees.

  “So about tonight,” she said. “Want to go for a drink after you’ve done what you need to do while I’m not giving you the meal I could have so skillfully and generously cooked for you? Unless you’re a no-carb, lactose-intolerant vegan who doesn’t believe in cruelty to soya. In which case, you can cook for me.” Am I trying too hard? Pushing too fast?

  He hesitated.

  “Careful,” Ally said. “You’re going to make a decision in a moment. Might a thunderbolt strike?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll cook. You bring alcohol.”

  “Great.” Shit. The one thing she hadn’t bought at the supermarket. “Now you sure you’re okay cooking for a no-carb, lactose-intolerant vegan?”

  “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

  Ally grinned.

  They teased each other all the way back to Wyndale and Ally liked him more and more. He just needed levering out of his shell. She told the driver to take Caspar back first. Partly to see where he lived and partly because she wanted to pay for the cab.

  Caspar directed the driver to an old house on the main road a little farther up the hill from Finn’s home. It looked like a tired lodge to something that was probably once grand, but if the house beyond existed, she couldn’t see it. Caspar climbed out with his two bags and took out his wallet.

  “We’ll go halves.”

  “No way. Not a penny. You were going to take the bus. I had to use a cab. I’ll pay. By the way, I want pudding tonight. Something with chocolate. I’ll be here at seven. Don’t let me down.”

  “I thought you were lactose intolerant.”

  “You mean I can’t eat chocolate? Damn.” Ally pulled the door closed before Caspar could insist on giving her money.

  Chapter Six

  “You’re never going to believe this,” Emma said into her phone.

  “Why bother telling me then?” Geoff asked.

  Emma giggled. Ally might have told her not to tell anyone where she’d gone, but that wouldn’t include their circle of friends, nor Emma’s boyfriend.

  “That woman who survived falling under the train, the one who’s on the front page of the Metro…it’s Ally.”

  “Wow. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Emma hoped like hell that was true because she hadn’t actually thought to ask, but if Ally hadn’t been, she’d have said, surely?

  “You ought to get her to come round,” Geoff said. “Should I go and get her, bring her to your place? Buy takeout?”

  Emma chewed the inside of her cheek. Sometimes Geoff worried her. Normal men weren’t so thoughtful.

  Had Emma called to see if Ally wanted to go to the pub?

  Had Ally found another job?

  Had Emma invited Ally to their party?

  Still, that was at an end now.

  “She’s gone to stay at her brother’s place in Wyndale, in Derbyshire. Ugh, the countryside. How crazy is that? All those horrible smells and scruffy clothes and animal poop all over the place.”

  “Nothing wrong with the countryside. Be a change to get away from London traffic, the lack of manners, the cost of everything. Don’t blame her. I wouldn’t mind relocating.”

  Panic fluttered in Emma’s belly. “For a weekend maybe, but you know I couldn’t survive without my grande mocha with hazelnut sauce on the top and bottom, heavy on the whip with five pumps of gingerbread syrup.” She laughed, but she wasn’t joking.

  “So she’s staying with her brother?” Geoff asked.

  “No, Finn’s in the States.”

  “Why don’t you suggest spending part of Kerry’s hen party in Derbyshire? Ally probably needs cheering up.”

  “You sweetie,” Emma said, thinking the opposite. “Speak soon.”

  She ended the call before she screamed. Emma didn’t want to be jealous, but why did Geoff keep asking about Ally and yet never about their other friends? Did his interest in her explain the large number of nights he said he was busy? Yes, he drove for a living, but why did Geoff always have to do the stopovers? And how about that restaurant receipt in his pocket for the night he said he’d gone to see his mum? Meals and drinks for two. His mother didn’t live in Greenwich.

  Emma couldn’t help but let jealousy eat away at her. Ally didn’t even make an effort to look nice. She just pinned her blonde hair up and it looked stylish. Emma couldn’t stand the idea of Geoff dumping her for Ally, but who could resist her? She was always taking him off into a corner and talking to him, laughing at his jokes, playing those stupid drinking games, watching football with him and knowing the names of the players. Perfect fucking cow. She’d wished Ally would just disappear.

  Oh, she almost had.

  * * * * *

  Mark looked
up when his boss, Frank, dropped the Metro newspaper on top of his keyboard. A quick glance at the front page photo told him nothing.

  “Well?” Frank asked. “Is she okay?”

  Mark looked harder at the picture. Fucking hell. Thank Christ he was fast on the uptake. “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Frank bellowed. “She was run over by a train.”

  “Shaken but fine,” Mark said.

  “You seem very calm about it.”

  Mark swallowed hard. “Obviously, I’m upset. Don’t think it’s quite sunk in what might have happened.”

  “Give me her address. I’ll send flowers.”

  Mark wondered if Frank fancied Ally. She’d woven her magic at a company function a few months ago and wrapped Frank around her little finger. Frank had looked at Mark differently once he’d started going out with Ally and hinted Mark was destined for big things now that he’d found a good woman. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by his boss that Mark had been through most of the female employees. So when Ally dumped him after she’d found him in bed with Belinda, the firm’s new paralegal who had irresistibly humungous breasts, Mark had kept quiet. When Frank had asked him and Ally to his dinner party, Mark said yes and Ally told him to take a flying leap.

  “I’ll give the address to your secretary,” Mark said.

  The last thing he wanted was for his boss to send Ally flowers. If she called to say thank-you, Frank would discover the truth.

  “Give it to me now,” Frank said.

  Mark’s phone rang. Thank you, God. He snatched up the receiver and mouthed “Later” at his boss. “Good morning, Mr. Bishop. I was just about to call you.”

  “By my right name?” Geoff asked. “Boss on your shoulder.”

  Mark watched Frank walk away. “Not quite.”

  “Have you heard about Ally?”

  If only this phone call had come a few minutes earlier. “Yeah.”

  “You could be in again, mate. Emma told me she’s gone to stay at her brother’s place.”

  Later that afternoon, Mark was able to drop the Derbyshire address on Frank’s desk. Frank took the opportunity to reinforce his opinion about how lucky Mark was to have met someone like Ally. A pretty woman, easy to talk to, bright and funny, and Mark wondered why he’d been tempted to stray. Then he remembered Belinda’s breasts.

  * * * * *

  Jack wasn’t sure who worried him more—the police, the blank-faced loss adjusters from the insurance company, his unregistered business partners or his bloody wife. The one link between them was Ally. Depending on her, Jack would either lose his money, his liberty, his life or his nuts. Maybe all of them.

  The police had interviewed him, asking difficult questions. Fire investigators spent a long time huddled in the ruins of his business and emerged with the heater he’d rigged to overheat. The loss adjusters wanted records that had gone up in smoke, but Jack was expected to provide duplicate bank statements and contact suppliers and customers to ask for copies of invoices in an attempt to recreate the situation prior to the fire. Some of that was impossible since a few of the companies didn’t exist.

  The sooner the insurance paid out, the better. Then those-who-shall-not-be-named would bugger off. Except it had occurred to him that once he had his hands on the money, he could run as far and as fast as he could. Jack was working harder than he did when he had a business to run, and now his wife thought he was hiding something. Well, give the bitch a bone.

  One by one, Jack Paxton deleted seven damning emails from his inbox and wished like hell he was wiping them from the face of the earth. He intended to clean his hard drive too, though he had to be careful not to be too obvious. Yet what was the point messing around with his machine when the damn things might still be sitting in Ally’s sent box?

  Any one of the seven messages could destroy him. If she’d sent them from her business account, he’d have been fine, but no, the stupid cunt had used her personal account. Jack had spent hours trying to get into her emails and failed. Apparently he was even muttering Ally’s name in his sleep. His wife was thrilled about that. Without Ally’s password, he was screwed.

  * * * * *

  After those failed attempts, only four ideas remained on the list of ways to kill Ally Everton. She’d gone to her brother’s place in Derbyshire. Why? Had she run or just decided on a change of scene? Had she registered the deliberate push or did she think it was an accident? A visit to see her would settle the issue. There could only be one outcome and it wouldn’t be good for Ally.

  * * * * *

  Caspar’s smile stayed on his face until he emptied his shopping bag onto the kitchen table. He’d only bought protein, no fruit or vegetables, figuring he could stave off scurvy for a little longer with an occasional glass of wine. Only how the hell was he going to produce a chocolate dessert? Buy a Mars bar and melt it over ice cream? But then he didn’t have ice cream either. He looked around the shabby kitchen and sighed. He’d be lucky if he could find two plates that weren’t cracked.

  Ten minutes on the internet confirmed Caspar was in trouble. Not much he could do with a chicken breast, a lamb hotpot, a shepherd’s pie and a chunk of cheese with apricots, not if he wanted them both to eat the same thing. His hand strayed to his pocket and he felt his wallet. They wouldn’t serve him in any of the village shops. He might have persuaded Rose at The Rumblin’ Tumto let him have something she’d otherwise have to throw away, but Caspar was reluctant to ask. If he went back to Buxton, that meant using some of the two hundred pounds.

  Caspar took out the money and put it on the top of the dresser behind the scalloped edge where it couldn’t be seen. He tucked Juno Wallace’s card in with it.

  He walked up to Wyndale Hall, his body tensing with every step. To his intense relief there was no sign of his father’s car, but he still went to the back entrance. Martha was singing along to the radio while she rolled out pastry. Caspar crept up behind her and was about to help himself to a slice of apple when she rapped his knuckles with the rolling pin.

  “Ouch.” Caspar rubbed his floury fingers.

  Martha turned and looked at him over the top of her glasses. “I might not be as quick on my feet but I still have eyes in the back of my head.”

  Caspar leaned over and kissed her head. “And lovely eyes they are too.”

  “What do you want?” she asked in soft voice.

  “Advice.”

  Martha raised her eyebrows. “That’s easy. Get your hair cut properly, shave more often, don’t—”

  “Not that sort of advice. I have someone coming for a meal tonight and I have to make dinner out of not very much.”

  Caspar didn’t miss the quiet pleasure in Martha’s eyes. Was she pleased he’d asked her for help or because he’d gotten a date? Maybe both.

  “What’s not very much?” she asked.

  She rolled her eyes after he’d told her. “Right. Well, I’m preparing vegetable soup for your parents. You can make some alongside me.” She put a handful of carrots in front of him. “Start by peeling these.”

  “I need a chocolate dessert,” Caspar blurted.

  “You can make a mousse. When you’ve done the carrots, go and collect the eggs from the chickens. Strange though, I’ve noticed they don’t seem to be laying quite as many as they used to.”

  Caspar winced. “I wondered if you’d spot that.”

  Martha put her hand on his and stared straight at him. “Caspar, you should ask—”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  It would be easy to blurt it all out to Martha. She’d always made him feel welcome when he came back from school in the holidays. She washed and ironed his clothes, packed up cakes and biscuits to send back with him and wrote weekly, which was more than his parents had done. His father had told his mother too much contact would make him more homesick. Once he’d grown accustomed to boarding school, Caspar was happier there than at home. His mother always made a fuss of him when he came back but she never stood up to his father, and in any
case, her heart was filled with love for Jemima. Even now.

  “So who’s this special person you’re cooking for?” Martha asked.

  “Her name’s Ally. She’s just moved into the village.”

  “The local grapevine not strangled her yet?”

  Caspar’s jaw twitched. “She knows I’ve been in prison.”

  “Are you going to tell her why?”

  “I expect Mary Binns has already done that.”

  Martha snorted and handed him more carrots to cut. “The only person who knows why you went to prison is you, Caspar. I suspect you haven’t told anyone the whole truth yet.”

  He chopped fast and hard.

  “Be careful you don’t cut your fingers.” Martha sighed. “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough? Who are you punishing? Yourself or your parents?”

  Caspar could feel himself drawing in, and like a snail tapped on the horns, he backed into his shell.

  “Do you need money?” she asked. “I have a sum saved.”

  “No, no. I’m fine.” Caspar swallowed the lump in his throat. “Have you heard when the BBC invasion’s expected? I hope they won’t make work for you.”

  “They’re media people. Of course they will. You won’t remember last time, you were away at school, but it took months to undo what they did. They paid for it, but I’ve never met so many self-absorbed people in my life. They even dug up your father’s vegetables and replaced them with healthier ones. He never did work out why the crop was so good that year. It was fun though. I hope it brings joy back into your parents’ lives.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

  “I should leave, shouldn’t I?” Caspar asked.

  “They just want you to be happy.”

  If wine, women and self-hatred led to happiness, he was all set, but Caspar feared happiness had died forever four years ago.

  * * * * *

  Ally set off to walk down to the village to find the mountain rescue base and also to buy a bottle of wine. Everyone she passed greeted her, though it took her awhile to translate “eh-up, duck”as “hello, dear” and that she didn’t need to look for falling objects.