The Christmas Party (33 page)

Martin came back into the kitchen. He’d put his jacket on. ‘Are you ready, Mrs Harvey?’

‘I think I am,’ she said.

She followed Martin into the hall. He lifted her coat from the chair where she’d discarded it and held it open for her while she slipped her arms inside.

Melissa picked up her handbag while Martin took her vanity case for her. He held open the front door.

Taking a good, long look around the hall, she wondered whether she’d ever have a home like this again in the future. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. The Christmas decorations were quite spectacular. The lights shone out bravely.

She opened the door and a cold wind whipped through the hall, cutting them to the quick.

‘The car’s nice and warm,’ Martin assured her. Then he escorted her to the Bentley, taking her hand as she negotiated the icy steps, opening the door for her.

‘Where to, Mrs Harvey?’

It was a good question. Where to indeed? She hadn’t thought beyond leaving this house and Lance and boarding a plane back to America, yet the flight wasn’t until tomorrow evening. She had a day and a half to kill until then.

‘Do you have any friends you could stay with?’

‘No.’ She didn’t even need to think about that one, but it hurt her to say it nevertheless.

‘A hotel then?’

‘Yes. Of course. To the Ritz please, Martin.’ If this was going to be her last two days in England, she might as well enjoy them in style. Even on Christmas Eve, surely the Ritz would be able to find a little suite for her.

‘An excellent choice,’ Martin said, and closed the door.

It was a cold, grey dawn that failed to show the country at anywhere near its best. At least it wasn’t raining that terrible misty rain that the English optimistically called mizzle. The rain that permeated even the most content of souls and bled every semblance of joy from the bones.

The Bentley pulled away, moving down their avenue, until Martin turned on to the main road and joined the steadily growing drip of traffic. Eventually he stopped looking in the rear-view mirror and focused his attention on the route.

When he did, Melissa took a small, embroidered linen handkerchief from her handbag. It was only then that she allowed herself to cry.

Christmas
Eve

Chapter Forty-five

Someone exceedingly helpful from Wadestone Manor had gone down to the staff block behind the main house, away from the blaze, and found Tyler a waiter’s uniform to wear. White shirt, black trousers, black tailcoat. If it hadn’t been so bloody cold, he would have eschewed the tailcoat. It made him look stupid. Plus it was too short in the arms, as were the trousers, which flapped around his ankles. For all the shortcomings in the sartorial-elegance department of his outfit, at least he was fully clothed again. They’d also managed to find him some trainers; they were a good two sizes too big, but he’d done the laces up tightly. They’d been abandoned in an unused wardrobe – for some time, apparently – and Tyler had shuddered as he’d reluctantly inched his feet into them. Someone else’s underwear would have been a step too far, so he was commando under his trousers. Normally he’d find it quite a turn-on. Today he didn’t.

He stood alone now and watched as the flames over Wadestone Manor climbed higher. There were six fire engines at the scene, and the firefighters were battling bravely to hold back the blaze. It looked as if they were winning. The main fire seemed to have been contained in the marquee, which was pretty much destroyed. There would be smoke damage in the house – and of course a new library door would be required – but with some luck it would all be salvageable. Tyler only hoped they’d got bloody good insurance and that some minion hadn’t forgotten to pay it.

The Fossil staff had been ushered away and were, not before time, on their way home in the company coaches, the lure of their beds suddenly stronger than their morbid curiosity. Some had started up a rather tasteless rendition of ‘Disco Inferno’ as they went. Tyler noted who they were. Lance’s PA, Veronica, had taken a head-count and the missing employees were hunted down by the firefighters. William Failsworth, an unassuming events co-ordinator, had fallen asleep on the snooker table, which was sporting a large and unsightly gash due to the overenthusiasm of its previous occupants. One of the head-office receptionists, Celia Barnes, and Jeff Jamieson, a usually very staid business analyst, were found still having carnal knowledge of each other in a linen cupboard. Jeff had been blissfully unaware that the flames were nearly round his ankles along with his trousers.

Of Kirsten he could find neither hide nor hair. She must, at some point in the evening, have gone home.

There was nothing else for Tyler to do now but follow her. Despite the roaring bonfire in front of him, his fingers were turning blue with cold and his feet had already gone completely numb. He stuffed his hands deep into his tailcoat pockets, digging vainly for some warmth. He hunched the collar up against the cold. Saying a final farewell and a grudging thank-you to Dale the fireman, he headed off towards his car, shivering as he did. The settled snow flurried round his ankles as he walked, soaking through his lightweight, borrowed and rather shabby trainers. The quiet crunch of his footsteps on the gravel path contrasted with the angry noise that was raging in his head. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to hurt someone very badly.

His Mercedes was the last vehicle left in the car park. When he saw it his heart, if humanly possible, sank even further. The scratch that encircled it etched into his soul. That little piece of handiwork had Kirsten’s name written all over it. He knew that penknife would come back to haunt him. Seems as if his wife wasn’t in a conciliatory mood.

The tyres were flat and, having survived the inferno, he was now going nowhere in a hurry. The tyre sealer that came in lieu of a spare these days wouldn’t begin to repair them – not even one, let alone four – so he’d have to call someone to come out and replace them all. Thankfully, there was a signal out here, but the battery on his phone was dying. There was still just about enough left to surf the internet and find a company to come out and change the tyres.

When he’d done that, Tyler used more of his precious battery life to ring Kirsten, but there was no reply from her phone. When it switched over to voicemail, he couldn’t actually think of what he wanted to say, so he hung up. Instead, he blipped open the car and crawled into the back seat. He wished they’d been the sort of couple who’d had picnics, then there might be a nice warm tartan blanket in the boot. But they weren’t and there wasn’t. Lying down on the cold leather seats, he huddled into himself. Seconds later, sleep mercifully found him.

The rapping on the window roused him, and for a moment Tyler wondered where he was and why he was dressed as a waiter. Then it all came flooding back. The knocking grew louder and, rubbing his eyes, he opened the door. Dawn would soon be breaking, but for now it was still dark and a low mist clung to the snowy ground.

‘Come to do your tyres, mate,’ the man from Ezee-Tires said. He rubbed his hands briskly against the cold.

Tyler wondered how he hadn’t died of hypothermia. Even inside the car, he could see his breath. His body was stiff from the couple of hours’ sleep he’d managed to grab in extreme circumstances. What he wanted now was hot coffee and an even hotter shower.

He clambered out of the car while the man waited patiently, stamping his feet on the gravel with his heavy boots. If he thought there was anything odd about Tyler being in an illfitting waiter’s uniform, he didn’t mention it.

‘It’ll be done in a jiffy.’ The man jerked a thumb towards the cab of his van. ‘There’s a flask of coffee on the dash, if you want a drop. You look like you could do with some.’

At least one of Tyler’s prayers had been answered. ‘Thank you,’ he said fervently.

‘Sit in the van. No need for us both to be out here freezing our knackers off.’

Tyler could have wept at his kindness.

So while the Ezee-Tires man replaced his sabotaged tyres, Tyler sat in the fuggy cab of the van and availed himself of the man’s coffee, enjoying the brief hit of caffeine it gave him. That would sustain him enough for the drive home.

He’d have to try to smooth things over with Kirsten as quickly as possible: he needed to be bright-eyed and bushytailed and in the office before Lance. The things he’d learned last night were vital to his future career with Fossil Oil and he’d have to find out how much Lance remembered of it when he was sober. Even by Lance’s standards, he’d been well out of it last night.

It sounded pretty much to Tyler as if this was Lance’s swansong. It might seem like a plum job for Lance, but Tyler was also sure it would be a one-way ticket to early-retirement oblivion. There was no way Lance would be coming back from this kamikaze mission. On the other hand, it could be a crucial launch pad for Tyler. As the obvious replacement for the UK chairman of Fossil Oil, he’d need time to prepare his strategy, talk to the right people, buy a bit of support if necessary. If Lance was being forced to walk the corporate plank, then Tyler might need to be right behind him, giving him a hefty shove.

The chairman’s job had his name all over it. He’d be a figurehead. Plenty of glad-handing and elaborate, calorie-laden business lunches with the right people. That’s one of the reasons why Lance was like a walking wine vat. That was all the chairman’s job was: walking round being happy-happy-smiley.

It was one of the reasons that Tyler most wanted the job too. No more headaches over sales figures, profit-and-loss and bloody net contributions. That would be someone else’s problem. He’d had enough of that stress. If it hadn’t been for Josh Wallace performing above and beyond the call of duty this year, then Tyler’s arse could have been on the line too. It didn’t bear thinking about. So long as Josh was still the golden boy, Tyler could bask in the glow. And that was all right by him. He could even pull Josh up the ladder with him, so his back was always covered. Much as Lance had done with him.

His thoughts turned to Melissa. Perhaps he’d been too harsh with her. Even though they were leaving England, Lance would still have a certain amount of clout in Fossil for the time being, and it always paid to have more friends than you did enemies. Maybe he’d send her some flowers to her new home. Louise could find out where that was for him. Right before he fired her. If Melissa came back to London for a visit, it might not hurt to meet up with her again. They’d had some fun while it lasted, and he could always trust her to be discreet.

The man had finished changing his tyres, so Tyler handed over his credit card, and with more thanks he palmed him a twenty. Who’d want to be out changing tyres before dawn on Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake? Though they’d added more than enough to the bill to compensate. Great Christmas spirit, eh? Still, it was done and the man jumped into his van and drove away, leaving Tyler standing alone in the car park once more.

Climbing into his car, he gunned the engine and turned the heater to full blast in the hope of stopping the chattering of his teeth. He checked his phone but there was still nothing but a resounding silence from Kirsten. The battery was almost dead, and anyway it was too early to call her. She’d be tired and deserved a lie-in. If she’d had a long time to sleep on the antics of last night, it might put her in a better mood when he did turn up. Then again, if she was awake, she’d be tearing her hair out by now. Well, let her.

He turned the car slowly down the sweeping drive towards Wadestone Manor. Driving slowly past, he noted the smouldering wreckage of the marquee. The ice ammonite would be nothing but a puddle. All those metres of chiffon and sparkly bits, the resplendent Christmas trees and the fake icicles, all snuffed out in a matter of moments, totally obliterated, forgotten for ever. It was just a shame that the rest of the Christmas party couldn’t suffer the same fate.

The firefighters were still battling away, pouring torrents of water on to it, and he suspected they’d be here for the rest of the day. But there was an air of success about them now and it seemed as if they’d got it under control. Black smoke mixed with the mist, and the air was thick with the acrid smell. Tyler closed the air vents in the Merc, put his foot down and wheeled away. There was going to be some serious aftermath from this Christmas party. He could feel it in his chilled bones.

As he drove through the wrought-iron gates at the entrance and headed for home, it started to snow again. Fat, lacy flakes splattered on his windscreen. Tyler sighed. That was all he needed. A white fucking Christmas.

Chapter Forty-six

Simon twined his fingers through Kirsten’s hair. Tiny beads of sweat slicked her skin and glistened between her breasts. She cried again with elation and arched against him.

Giving a shudder and a sigh of satisfaction, he let his weight sink on to her, his dark hair resting against the white swell of her breast. His skin was soft and smooth and felt like silk against hers. He was tanned, his muscles firm and defined. The watery grey winter sun was struggling to get up as it was still the wrong side of a civilised time. Half-heartedly it pushed through the fading darkness and cloud cover, failing miserably in its attempts to bring any warmth into the room. Kirsten pulled the duvet over them and snuggled into the heat of Simon’s body. Despite the attempts of the weather outside, in here there was sunshine in her heart.

A few hours ago, the man lying next to her had been Simon the old flame, the one that got away. Now he was Simon her lover, her future, the old flame having been fanned into a brilliant, burning fire once again. A few hours ago she had been a faithful, unhappily married woman. Now she was an unfaithful and very happy one.

Flipping himself lazily on to his back and flinging his arm above him across the pillow, Simon eased her body against his. Her lover’s hair was tousled from sleep and stuck out at erratic angles, caused mainly by the bits in between the sleep.

‘Good morning,’ she said as he softly kissed the top of her head.

‘You sound bright and breezy.’ Simon looked down at her.