Hidden Cottage (35 page)

In Monte Carlo Jeff was watching a bunch of straight-faced German and Swiss businessmen fooling themselves that they were hotshot gamblers and that their losing streak would soon be exhausted and any second they’d be back in the game.

Bored with losing money himself and with the grating hushed intensity of the group gathered around the roulette wheel, he went in search of a drink at the bar. The world-famous casino wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d pictured people enjoying themselves, having fun, breaking out with cheers and clapping when anyone won. It was more like a bloody morgue. No atmosphere at all. The building itself was impressive and there was obviously some serious money being flashed, but really it was all one massive yawn.

In contrast, the bar was busy with people laughing and joking and the atmosphere was much more to his liking. Everywhere he looked there were men dressed in suits like him, but unlike him, they had their wives with them, all dressed up to the nines, all having a great time. He still hadn’t forgiven Mia for not coming. She could have easily rearranged things, but yet again she had behaved with scant regard for his feelings.

He scanned the bar for any of his Rieke Hirzel colleagues and drawing a blank, he edged his way towards the far end where he saw two spectacularly attractive young girls looking his way. Homing in on them, noting the tight little dresses that skimmed great curvy bodies, legs that went on for ever and high-rise heels that fuelled all manner of erotic fantasies, they were damned hot and put all the other women present squarely in the shade.

‘Room for a little one?’ he asked genially. They smiled brightly and made room for him, one standing either side of him. No complaints with that arrangement, he thought. No complaints at all. This was infinitely better than standing around the roulette or blackjack tables. Turning up the charm, he matched the wattage of their smiles with one of his own. ‘How about a drink, you two girls?’ he asked.

The taller of the two – she was eye to eye with him – lowered her long lashes prettily. She had tousled hair, lots of it, curly and wavy and all sorts of blonde shades. Her face was tanned and well made-up, her teeth perfectly white, perfectly straight. ‘A glass of champagne would be divine,’ she said with an accent that was as sexy as hell, but didn’t sound too French to him. She didn’t look French either.

Her friend – also blonde but of the icy variety and with piercing blue eyes and a body that looked firm and supple – put a hand to the sparkly necklace at her throat. No way could the stones be real. There again, in this particular town anything was possible. ‘Yes, champagne would be lovely,’ she said. Her accent didn’t sound local either. Not that he was an expert.

The barman materialized and Jeff ordered a bottle of champagne. No point in skimping, he thought, might just as well go all the way.

Their glasses filled, they clinked them together and delighted with the way the evening was shaping up, he settled in happily for a chat, aware that the barman was watching, along with a few of the punters further along the bar. Let them look. This was a vast improvement on the tedium of earlier.

Finally Jensen had finished the amendments the client had requested to his website and he could get going. The client was a new one and ran a fast-growing yacht charter business based in the Caribbean and Jensen was hoping for a long and happy, not to say financially rewarding, relationship. He saw no reason why this shouldn’t be the case; he knew he was good at what he did, that he had a uniquely creative flair. He also had an above-average obsession for detail, which always reassured the client; they could relax in the knowledge that nothing would be overlooked. As with much of his work, the job had come his way via another client. Word of mouth was always the best way.

An hour later, with a sandwich and a packet of cheese and onion crisps bought on the concourse at Euston Station and plugged in to Thom Yorke’s
The Eraser
, he watched the information screen, waiting for it to tell him that his train was ready to board. Annoyingly there was a delay, something about a signal problem. When he was actually on the train and it had set off, he’d ring home and let them know he was on his way.

‘OK, Simon, you can relax now.’

‘I can?’

‘Yes. This is lovely. All of it. And I’m sorry I was so grumpy with you before.’

He smiled. ‘I thought there was a moment in the cab when you were going to hit me.’

Eliza looked across the white-clothed table and smiled back at him. ‘I thought I was going to as well.’

‘What stopped you?’

‘Good manners. That and the fact I didn’t have the energy.’

He raised his wineglass to her. ‘That’s because you’ve been running on empty.’

She drank from her own glass and mentally acknowledged that he was right. Acknowledged too that she was just beginning to relax and was grateful to Simon for going to such trouble to bring her here. After the cab had dropped them off at his flat, he’d told her to get into his car and not ask any questions. Resigned and crabby, she had sat in silence and listened sulkily to the music he had selected as he drove them out of London. At some point, after she’d seen signs for Bishop’s Stortford and Stansted, she had fallen asleep. When she woke, it was to the sound of Simon telling her they’d arrived.

Out of the car, she had looked up to see an old building in front of her; it loomed over them in the dark. On the other side of the car, subtly illuminated, was a large pond. ‘Where are we?’ she’d asked.

‘Welcome to Suffolk and the Millhouse Spa and Hotel,’ he’d replied. ‘Your weekend of recuperative pampering starts now.’

While she had stood in the reception area in a daze taking in the flagstone floor, the oversized armchairs placed either side of a cavernous fireplace, the glass vases of flowers and newspapers neatly placed on a long oak table, he had dealt with the business of checking in. From what she could overhear, they were expected.

They were shown upstairs where, in the eaves of the mill, she was shown into her room and introduced to a colossal bed and a freestanding bath. Minutes later, wondering what on earth she was going to do here, Simon tapped on her door.

‘Checking to see if I’ve done a runner?’ she said to him.

‘No, checking to see if everything is OK. Is it?’

Suddenly overcome with myriad emotions, one of which was knowing she’d behaved badly, she said it was perfect and gave him a small hug.

Now, thanks to room service, they were having dinner in his room, which was next door to hers. The food was delicious, as was the wine. ‘I don’t deserve you as a friend,’ she said.

‘That’s not what you thought when I confiscated your phone and laptop. You called me a fascist.’

‘I’ve calmed down since then.’

‘Thank God for that, Channing.’

‘I’m serious, though, Simon,’ she said. ‘I really don’t deserve a friend like you.’

‘I totally agree. I don’t know why the hell I put up with you. You’re a bitch to work with and a right pain in the arse the rest of the time.’

Shocked, she said, ‘Am I that bad, really?’

He sucked in his breath and gave a little shrug. ‘Let’s just say that description fits you on a good day.’

A smirk appeared on his face and the penny dropped. She threw her napkin at him. ‘You pig!’

He laughed. ‘You’re such an easy target; you take everything far too seriously. You’ve got to lighten up.’

‘I hate you.’

‘I hate you more.’

Jeff drained the last of his champagne and, seeing that the bottle was empty, he said to his two companions, ‘How about another?’

The girl with the many shades of blonde hair, whose name was Angelique and who was from Venezuela – her friend, Crystal, was from Bucharest – squeezed his arm, leant into him and whispered in his ear. He’d been wondering when they’d get down to it. He’d been on enough business trips to know the score. No way would a pair of young girls like these two be interested in chumming up with a bloke like him unless there was a financial arrangement involved. The whole time they’d been knocking back the champagne Angelique had given him her full attention, but Crystal’s gaze had wandered constantly as she worked the bar, checking for other potential punters.

The transaction agreed, the three of them left the casino and he led them to his hotel a short distance away. It was years since he’d cheated on Mia, but tonight he decided he’d do it in style.

Daisy pulled into the car park and slipped into a space where she hoped her brother would see her. No way was she going to get out of the car to meet him when it was raining so hard.

Tattie had said she would collect Jensen from the station, but since she didn’t know the way, it had seemed more sensible for Daisy to go. ‘Are you sure?’ Mum had asked. ‘I’m quite happy to do it.’

Taking the keys for her mother’s Golf, she’d said, ‘No, no, I’ll do it. This way I get out of having to clean up after supper. See you in a tick.’

‘Drive carefully,’ her mother had called out to her, forever the voice of caution. ‘It’s just started to rain.’

She’d only been waiting a few minutes when she spotted Jensen. She pipped the horn to attract his attention. He looks well, she thought as he loped along in the rain, his long strides wholly familiar to her. As a child she had tried to imitate the way he walked, thinking that it would make her look as cool as him, but he had derided her for it, had called her a stupid, unimaginative copycat. She had hated him for that and had paid him back by sneaking into his bedroom and breaking the Walkman he’d got for his birthday.

Children could be so needlessly cruel to each other, she thought. When she and Scott had children, she would make sure they were never nasty to one another. But then their circumstances would be different; her children wouldn’t have the emotional baggage she and her brother and sister had been saddled with.

She looked again through the side window as her brother was almost level with the car and was glad that things had changed between them. Things had changed a lot recently. Some things for the better and some things for the worse.

Dad. He represented the latter category. But she’d stopped caring. She was going to Australia to marry the man she loved and Dad would just have to sort out his feelings about that on his own. Tough love, that’s what that was about.

‘Thanks, Daisy,’ Jensen said when he’d slung his bag onto the rear seat and got in beside her. He smelt of cheese and onion crisps and coffee and damp hair. ‘Sorry I’m so late. How did the photo shoot go?’

‘It was fun. We got the photographer to take some pictures of us all together, with Madison as well. Not for the magazine, but for us to keep as a memento of the day. It was Mum’s idea, something for me to take to Australia. A shame Eliza wasn’t with us – it would have been nice to have her in the photos as well.’

‘Not me then?’

She laughed. ‘It was strictly a girls’ day. And a regular gabfest thrown into the bargain. I haven’t laughed so much in ages. Tattie’s fab. You’ve done well there, Jensen. You be sure not to lose her.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

They were on the A509, the rain really coming down now, when Daisy’s mobile rang.

‘It’ll be Scott,’ she said cheerfully, trying to reach her bag that was on the floor behind her seat. ‘He’ll be ringing to say goodnight.’

‘Very sweet, but you can call him back later when we’re at home,’ Jensen said.

Ignoring him, she released her seatbelt and tried again to reach her bag. ‘Got it! It’s OK, I’ll only speak to him for a couple of seconds.’

‘Law breaker,’ Jensen muttered as she put the phone to her ear.

‘Spoilsport,’ she replied with good humour, pulling a face at him. ‘Hiya, Scott,’ she said.

Jensen turned his head and did his best to tune out of his sister’s conversation. He suddenly felt tired. His eyes were dry and itchy from staring at his computer screen all day. He had a headache as well. Maybe Tattie was right and he needed glasses.

He closed his eyes and wished his sister would get off the phone, not because he was particularly law-bound, but because Daisy wasn’t the best of drivers; it had taken her three attempts to pass her driving test and then five weeks after passing she’d gone out in Mum’s car and driven it into a lamppost, claiming that it had been a simple case of mixing up the accelerator with the brake pedal.

Above the noise of the rain hammering on the roof of the car he listened to the swish of the windscreen wipers. One – maybe both of them – was beginning to judder against the glass; the rubber was shot. Tomorrow he’d get a new set of wipers for Mum and change them for her.

Thinking of tomorrow, his thoughts turned to the rented cottage they would be going to have another look at and which they would soon be moving in to. Everything was fixed in London for them to leave and Madison’s excitement was growing daily. Tattie was getting pretty excited as well and had all sorts of plans for their new life here, one of which was to turn herself into a domestic goddess. ‘I swear I’m gonna learn to cook, JC – you’ll be real proud of me!’

‘I’m real proud of you already,’ he’d said, mimicking her accent.

Aware that his sister was still talking to Scott and that he could hear something pinging, Jensen fought to open his eyelids and tell her what he thought about her so-called ‘couple of seconds’. But from nowhere a high-pitched scream had him jolting in his seat and he snapped his eyes wide open.

In an instant terror filled him and as he instinctively put his hands up to defend himself, all he was aware of was the insane brightness of the lights coming towards them.

Chapter Forty-Two

Madison woke with a start.

Straight away she knew that something was wrong. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep – she’d wanted to stay awake to see JC when he arrived. Mum had promised she would send him up to say goodnight as soon as he got here. But he hadn’t been up to see her, had he? She would have woken if he had.

She put on her glasses and peered at the alarm clock on the bedside table, and with the help of the light from the streetlamp outside coming through the gap in the curtains, she could see that it was almost half past eleven. She pushed back the duvet and padded across the soft carpet to the door that was ajar. Lights were on downstairs. She stepped onto the landing, leant over the balustrade and heard voices.