A Night on the Orient Express (10 page)

‘Oh yeah. Playing Happy Families. I’m missing two parties. Two.’ Beth held up her fingers in case Stephanie hadn’t got the message. Her nails were covered in chipped varnish in a lurid green.

‘It won’t kill you to miss them.’ Stephanie knew this for certain. Every teenage party was the same. Cheap booze, vomiting, snogging and crying. She’d been to enough herself, and things hadn’t changed that much. Yet she understood the angst Beth was going through. The fear that something monumental and life-changing would happen while your back was turned.

A door further down the corridor opened, and Jamie stepped out of his bedroom. In contrast to his sister, he was dressed appropriately: a striped blazer and red tie, skinny black trousers, his dark hair gelled in a tidy mess, the designer indie kid. He had the confident air of one who had never felt out of place in his life. Jamie had the perfect combination of attributes needed to get on in life: he was clever
and
cool.

‘Creep,’ said Beth.

Jamie looked her up and down, impassive. ‘Dad’s gonna wig.’

Beth pulled at the end of her ponytail. Despite her outward defiance, Stephanie could sense the girl’s anxiety. She was running out of time.

‘It’s not as if anyone’s even going to see you.’ Even as she spoke, she knew how annoying she sounded. The voice of reason.

‘I don’t get why I can’t wear what I want to wear.’

‘Because it’s not appropriate. Please, Beth.’ Stephanie realised she was pleading. She wondered if bribery would help. Fifty quid? It would be worth it.

‘She won’t change,’ Jamie chipped in. ‘She loves winding people up.’

Beth glared at her brother, then threw up her hands.

‘Fine. I’ll change. As long as everyone
else
is happy, that’s OK.’

She stormed back into her room. Stephanie looked at Jamie, who gave a false smile.

‘Good times,’ he said.

‘I don’t know why they can’t be.’ Stephanie leant against the wall. She felt drained.

‘Because we’re damaged,’ Jamie told her. ‘Terminally screwed up. Surely you figured that out on day one?’

Jamie was right – she
had
figured that out on day one. Although presumably hundreds of kids had been through what Jamie and Beth had been through. Broken homes were the norm. But she supposed that didn’t make it any easier when your own parents split. Especially when it was your mother who left. It was so counter-intuitive, to walk out on your kids.

Mothers weren’t supposed to do that. Ever.

And to be fair, Beth and Jamie had been pretty nice to her so far. She had been horribly self-conscious the first time she had come to spend the night at Simon’s house, all too aware that she was stepping into Tanya’s shoes, even though Tanya had long gone and she and Simon had been divorced for nearly two years. Simon insisted Stephanie had every right to be there, that he had every right to bring her back now they had been going out for nearly three months, but she had felt awkward nonetheless and still did, at times.

‘I know they like you,’ Simon told her. ‘It’s not as if they don’t. Give it time. And try not to take it personally.’

That, thought Stephanie, was easy for Simon to say. And then he’d come up with the idea of the four of them going on the Orient Express, to spend some time together.

She walked back to the master bedroom. A billow of bergamot-scented steam came from the en-suite. The very essence of Simon. Her spirits lifted. He still made her heart leap with joy, even if she was finding it tough.

She got herself ready as quickly as she could, pulling the rollers out of her hair, putting on her make-up and sliding on her tights, her dress, her unfamiliar high heels. In just three months her life had changed so much. It had been a whirlwind romance – uplifting, exhilarating and wonderful. And now here she was, her evening dress hanging in a breathable linen dress carrier, her bag packed and ready to go on the Orient Express. She still wasn’t sure she believed it.

It might be a fairytale, but there was still real life to deal with. She pulled her phone off its charger and held it in her hand for a moment. She had promised Simon she wouldn’t call the café. They had made a pact with each other: four whole days without either of them contacting work. After all, it was obsession with work that had purportedly killed Simon’s marriage and sent his wife Tanya running into the arms of another man. Keith, as a freelance architect who worked from home, had plenty of time to give Tanya the attention she craved.

Nevertheless Stephanie was desperate to check in. It was going to take all her strength to walk away without ringing. Her team had worked for her for over a year and were perfectly capable of dealing with any eventuality – fire, flood, food-poisoning – but Stephanie felt as anxious as a mother leaving her newborn for the first time. The café was everything to her. She had invested time, money, blood, sweat and tears
and
her previous relationship in it – which was why she had empathised so much with Simon when they met. Her ex-boyfriend had told her when they split that she worried more about the state of her muffins than she did him. At the time that had possibly been true, but the accusation had hurt.

Now, she had learnt that there was more to life than the consistency of your baked goods. Even so, she was hardwired to worry.

She pressed speed dial, just as the door to the en-suite opened. Simon stepped out of the steam, a white towel wrapped around his waist. At fifty-two he still had a fine figure: broad shoulders tapering to a waist that showed only a hint of middle-age spread, and somehow that only added to the fact that he felt solid and safe. She cut off the call. She knew she looked guilty.

Simon raised an eyebrow. His eyebrows, dark and beautifully arched above his hazel eyes, were one of the things she loved best about him. She imagined he used them to great effect in court. A single twitch could speak volumes.

‘Sorry, sorry . . .’ Stephanie put the phone in her bag, then pulled the charger out of the wall. Simon dropped his towel to the floor and walked over to the wardrobe, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

‘Go on. Call them back. Make sure the place hasn’t been raided by hooligans overnight. Or razed to the ground . . .’

‘I’m sure it’s fine.’ She felt foolish. Simon was a barrister, with umpteen vitally important cases piling up that he was managing not to check in on. And she was worrying about whether her two very able assistants had managed to unlock the door to the café and stick the coffee machine on.

He walked over to her, a pale-blue shirt in one hand, a striped tie in the other. ‘Hey – I know it’s hard. But you have to walk away. You’re not indispensable. No one is.’

She knew he was speaking from experience. He’d retrained himself during his failed attempt to save his crumbling marriage.

‘You look amazing, by the way,’ he told her. ‘That was definitely the right choice.’

‘Makes a change from jeans and an apron.’ She held out her arms for a more in-depth inspection.

‘You know how that apron does it for me.’

‘I can always pack it.’

He grinned. ‘No. You’ll do as you are.’

She had on a crocheted dress and a long, finely knit cardigan over the top: chic, understated and a million miles from her usual uniform. Simon had come with her to help choose her wardrobe for the journey, something he had never done with Tanya. Sometimes Stephanie felt guilty that she, rather than Simon’s ex-wife, was benefiting from his decision to change, but it had been too late for Tanya.

‘Anyway,’ he had told her darkly, ‘she didn’t want me to change. Not really. It was just a convenient way of blaming me for her running off. It absolved her, didn’t it? I was unreasonable. Married to my job. Never mind the fact that all that time she was the one putting pressure on me to earn the bloody money. I mean, you don’t get all this,’ he waved his hand around to indicate the four-storey house and all its luxury trappings, ‘by being home for supper at six.’

Since they’d been together, the friends he’d introduced her to – there were only a couple who’d taken Tanya’s side and refused to meet her – exclaimed about how Stephanie had changed him. But Stephanie hadn’t deliberately changed Simon at all, far from it. If his habits had altered, it was perhaps because he had learned from his mistakes.

‘Or maybe I actually want to be with you,’ he told her. ‘Coming home to Tanya inevitably meant being faced with a litany of what I hadn’t done. She was very high-maintenance. Financially
and
emotionally.’

By all accounts Tanya had spent her days flitting between the gym, the hair salon and the beautician. Stephanie, by contrast, cut her own hair with the kitchen scissors and rarely painted her nails. When your hands were in a mixing bowl from dawn till dusk, there was little point.

Simon had also insisted on her finding time to go to the hairdresser and get a manicure before the trip.

‘Don’t worry – I’m not grooming you to be a trophy wife,’ Simon teased her. ‘Far from it. I just think you deserve pampering. You work bloody hard.’

After years of backbreaking work, getting up at dawn to open the café and being the last to leave – but only after she had cashed up, wiped down every surface, washed the floor and cleaned every dish – Stephanie found she loved the attention and the luxury.

‘I could get used to this,’ she told Simon, swishing her shiny locks and showing him her coral-tipped fingers.

‘Good,’ he said.

And now here she was, done up to the nines, not a hair out of place, ready to go on the Orient Express to Venice. Helping a customer out with
The Times
’ crossword was all part of the service at the café: Stephanie had never appreciated her extensive vocabulary before, but knowing the answer to seven across had definitely paid off. She looked at Simon, feeling a huge burst of glee and excitement and love. She took a step towards him and wound an arm around his neck.

He nuzzled into her. She could feel his lips on her skin.

‘There’s no time, I suppose . . . ?’ he murmured.

She felt the familiar fizz seep into her. She hoped the feeling would never wear off. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the clock. She disengaged herself with extreme reluctance. Who knew when they’d next have the chance?

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Get dressed. The taxi’s going to be here soon.’

Ten minutes later Stephanie, Simon and Jamie were waiting in the hall. It was huge, with a Minton tiled floor off which led the sweeping staircase. At the bottom of the stairs was the luggage.

Stephanie regarded their reflection in the mirror that took up most of the far wall. She would never have believed it if someone had told her she was going to find love with a middle-aged barrister with two teenage kids. Stephanie, the free spirit, so determined to make her own way in life, was astonished to find how much she enjoyed convention. A lot of her friends had been sceptical when she told them about their relationship, but as she revealed, ‘Sometimes, you just know.’

And at last here was Beth, gliding down the stairs in a perfectly nice dress: navy-blue with swallows on it, and maybe a little short, but that was the deal these days – no one made a fuss about dress length anymore – and her tights had no holes and she wore low-heeled pumps which weren’t at all scuffed and her hair was loose with a couple of sparkly slides and she looked . . . just right . . . Stephanie gave her an appreciative hug. ‘You look lovely.’

Simon nodded. ‘My gorgeous girl.’

Beth gave a wry smile. Her dad clearly had no idea of the earlier battle, and she was grateful to Stephanie for keeping quiet.

‘Right, has everybody got everything?’ asked Simon, poised to set the burglar alarm.

Just as everyone picked up their bags, the phone rang.

‘Don’t answer it. We haven’t got time.’ Simon began to punch in the code.

After four rings, the answer machine kicked in.

It was Tanya. Her voice was low and husky and sounded slightly slurred. As if she had just woken up. Or as if she was drunk.

‘Darlings – I’ve probably missed you. I just wanted to say, have a wonderful time. I shall think of you. Oh – and Simon. Your prescription shades – the ones you take skiing? I thought you might need them. Just in case you were wondering where they were, you left them here the other night. I’ll keep them safe for you, shall I?’

There was absolutely no denying the smug triumph in her voice.

Simon looked thunderous as he reached out a finger and cut the message off.

Stephanie looked at him.

Jamie and Beth looked at each other.

Outside in the drive, the taxi beeped its arrival.

An awkward silence fell in the hall. The taxi driver eventually came and knocked on the door and could no longer be ignored, but at least his intervention galvanised everyone into action. Beth and Jamie started taking out the luggage. They could sense a crisis and went into helpful mode.

Simon cornered Stephanie in the doorway. He looked sheepish as he scratched his head and offered his explanation.

‘Tanya wanted me to help her with her tax return. It’s the first time she’s had to do it on her own since the divorce, and honestly – she hasn’t a clue. She’s useless with figures. And I thought it was better for me to give her a hand than to face the fallout when she cocked it up.’

‘You don’t have to explain,’ said Stephanie. She smiled a smile that belied the heaviness of her heart. She didn’t want to overreact.

‘I do. I don’t want you to think that I sneak off and see Tanya behind your back.’

Stephanie didn’t reply. That’s exactly what he had done.

‘I know that’s what I did . . .’ Simon looked shamefaced. ‘But I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. I didn’t want to upset you. And it’s just bloody typical of Tanya to dump me in it like that. When all I was trying to do was prevent an even bigger crisis . . .’

He trailed off.

‘Honestly, it’s OK,’ said Stephanie. ‘But next time, maybe mention it?’

‘I know, I know. I made a mistake.’

Stephanie realised that it wasn’t often that she saw Simon flustered. ‘I understand if you have to see her. You can’t wipe out twenty years of marriage. And she’s still the children’s mother.’