The Long Weekend (32 page)

He was standing by the window with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing jeans, and a pale-blue chambray shirt, untucked. The breeze from the open window brought a trace of Must de Cartier across the room, recently sprayed. It was still sharp. His skin hadn’t yet warmed it; mellowed it, but the scent was so familiar. Claire remembered finding his jumper in her bedroom, just after they split. She’d borrowed it to walk home in one evening. The smell had made her cry.
Don’t look back
, she reminded herself.
Look forward
.

‘Hi.’ She was as businesslike as possible. ‘I just came to say . . . I hope you have a great evening tonight. Luca’s put on a really special menu for you. And if there’s anything you want—’

‘Claire.’ Nick cut straight across her as soon as he realised who it was. He walked towards her, his eyes bright with expectation. ‘There’s only one thing I want. You know that.’

‘Yes. Well. About that too. Um . . .’ She fixed a bright smile on to her face. ‘I know we had a bit of a moment yesterday. I think we got slightly carried away. But as far as I’m concerned, it didn’t happen.’

Nick stared at her.

‘A bit of a moment?’ He repeated her words back to her.

‘Yeah. Just for old times’ sake. It didn’t actually mean anything.’ Claire said it as if she did that kind of thing all the time.

‘How can you say that?’

‘Look, it was lovely and everything, and amazing to see you, and great to . . . bury the hatchet after all this time . . .’ Why couldn’t he get the message? This was excruciating.

‘Bury the hatchet?’ Nick echoed her again. ‘Is that what you call it? Claire, it was momentous. It was . . . the most important thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘No,’ said Claire. She had to be firm. ‘No, it wasn’t. You’re investing too much into it. It was a quick bonk between two people who once meant a lot to each other.’

He looked at her in disbelief.

‘But you still do. Mean a lot.’

‘No, Nick. I’m a different person now. There can’t be anything between us. You’re getting married, and so am I. To the people who love who we are now. And that’s the way it’s got to be.’

‘Is it?’ His eyes bored into her. ‘There’s no law that says you have to marry the person you are engaged to. People break off their engagements all the time. And everyone survives. We could walk out of here, you and me. Together. Luca and Sophie would survive.’

Claire flinched at the sound of their names.

‘Please. Don’t make this difficult.’ She tried to be brisk. ‘You should be downstairs. Your friends are waiting. And I need to get back to work.’

Nick folded his arms. She wasn’t going to fob him off that easily, she realised.

‘Is it because I can’t offer you all this?’ he asked. ‘Is it because I can’t give you a five-star hotel and a white yacht and—’

‘No!’ cried Claire. ‘You know me better than that.’

‘Yes. I do. And I know this isn’t the real you. You’re playing a part. That smarmy, jumped-up playboy isn’t the man for you.’

‘There’s no need to bring Luca into this.’ Claire’s tone was harsh, but she had no choice. ‘Please. I was hoping we could part friends. Unlike last time. You could have found me if you’d really wanted to, all those years ago.’ She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. It was a mistake, flinging that accusation at him. It made it seem as if she still cared.

‘Your father made it very clear you didn’t want to be found.’

She put up a hand.

‘I don’t want to rake it all up. Let’s just move on, shall we?’

There was a silence that seemed to go on for ever. The two of them stood in the stillness of the room. From outside they could hear the excited chatter and babble of people enjoying themselves. It seemed like another world.

Finally Nick held out his hand.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘It was good to catch up with you, Claire. And I wish you every happiness in your new life.’

His tone was entirely neutral. Neither of them smiled as she took his hand and shook it.

‘Me too,’ she echoed. ‘Every happiness . . .’

And she turned and left the room.

Dan and Laura sat on the harbour wall, scoffing scalding-hot chips and watching the last of the boats coming in for the evening.

‘I want to show you something tomorrow,’ said Dan, squirting another sachet of ketchup over his chips. Laura had never met anyone who ate so much ketchup. Or anybody who ate so much and managed to stay so skinny.

‘What?’

‘Surprise,’ he said with his mouth full.

‘Something you found today?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Seals?’ There were supposed to be seals further down the coast.

He shook his head, smiling.

‘Puffins?’

‘I’m not telling!’

She nudged him. ‘Spoilsport.’

‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’

Laura frowned, wondering what on earth it could be.

Dan crumpled up his chip wrapper.

‘Do you want to finish mine?’ she asked. ‘I’m stuffed.’

He took them off her and devoured them while she looked out to sea.

‘It’s perfect,’ she sighed, as the fiery orange blob of the sun inched its way downwards.

‘Perfect,’ he agreed. ‘I always forget how nice it is to get out of London.’

They both sat in silence, watching the light bounce off the water, a gentle breeze dancing round them. Laura felt calm. She didn’t need to know who her father was. Of course she didn’t. She had Dan. She slid her arm round his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. She loved him, she realised, with his down-to-earth attitude. He didn’t need to impress anyone. He knew what he wanted. And that was why she felt so safe. She could trust him. She knew where she was with him. He didn’t play games.

He picked up the last chip and smiled down at her.

‘Last one?’

She opened her mouth and he fed it to her.

Dan was all she needed in the world.

Colin was sitting at the most discreet table in the dining room, waiting for Alison to arrive.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out the best way to have this conversation. Was it fair to drop his bombshell on her in public? Alison was a calm and measured woman, not likely to become hysterical, or slap him, or tip a jug of water over his head, but he was very aware that the dining room was going to be full of people. He couldn’t talk to her in the privacy of his room, because Chelsey was there. He’d given her room service, and she seemed happy enough to be left while he went down to dinner. He swore this would be the last time she was fobbed off and left to fend for herself, but this was important. Nor could he leave the hotel. So the dining room it would have to be.

He clutched a tumbler of Laphroaig, his favourite malt whisky, in his right hand. He took a swig, enjoying its medicinal smokiness. And he definitely needed a slug for courage. Who knew what the forthcoming conversation would bring? By the end of it, would he have gained a daughter but lost a wife?

And then suddenly she was there, walking towards him with an uncertain smile. She was wearing a loose pink linen dress and ballet pumps, her dark-blonde hair blow-dried into a slightly tousled bob. Round her neck was the gold necklace he had given her for her last birthday. She looked . . . perfect. A confident woman in her prime who knew how to dress. He thought she had never looked better.

As he stood up to greet her, she leant in for a kiss and he smelled her perfume: Beautiful, by Estée Lauder. Father Christmas put a bottle in her stocking every year. It was so familiar. It made him afraid; afraid of everything he might be about to lose. But he had no choice.

‘This is a lovely place,’ she remarked, sitting down on the chair opposite him. ‘You’d better tell me what you’re doing here. I can’t see any sign of a conference of any sort.’

She meant business, he could see that. With a wife’s instinct, she knew she wasn’t going to like the reason she’d been summoned here.

‘Let’s get you a drink.’ Colin signalled to the waiter, who hurried over. ‘A Bombay Sapphire with slimline tonic and a slice of lime, please.’

‘Had we better make it a double?’ Alison’s tone was light, but Colin wasn’t fooled. He was, however, comforted by her poise. She knew how to carry herself, did Alison. He felt a burst of pride, followed by another shard of fear. What he was about to tell her was either going to strengthen their marriage, or destroy it altogether.

But then he reminded himself she hadn’t always been like this. There had been a time when she had pushed him away, when there had been nothing he could do for her, even though he had tried everything in the world he could think of to help.

Which was exactly why they were here now.

Claire focused on the paintings as she walked down the stairs. She might swap that seascape for the picture of the heron, she thought. She liked to move the paintings round every now and again, to refresh the walls. She didn’t want returning visitors to get bored.

On the first-floor landing she bumped into Angelica.

‘Oh, there you are! I’ve had someone on the phone about a booking for next week. They specifically wanted a room overlooking the harbour, so I swapped them with the person booked into Room Four, because they didn’t specify.’

Claire nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.

Angelica peered at her.

‘Claire? What’s the matter?’

Claire shook her head to indicate nothing, but her face was crumpled with the effort of trying not to cry.

‘Hey.’ Angelica went to put her arms round her. Claire raised her hands to stop her.

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’

It was obvious she wasn’t. Her eyes were brimming with tears; her chin was wobbling. She was heading for a meltdown. Angelica looked round. No one should witness this. Not one of the guests; especially not any of the staff. She steered Claire towards the linen cupboard. It was huge, big enough for both of them. She pulled open the door and dragged her inside.

‘It’s okay. No one can see you in here.’

Claire fell against her and proceeded to cry her heart out. Angelica held her, feeling her whole body shudder. She stroked her gently, shushing her.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We should take you to your room. You can’t cry like this here.’

This seemed to alert Claire to the inappropriateness of the situation.

‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be
fine
. Sorry.’ She frantically brushed her tears away.

Angelica looked at her.

‘Is it because of . . .?’ She raised her eyes upstairs, to indicate Nick.

Claire gave a mixture of a nod and a shrug.

‘If you really love him, you should follow your heart,’ Angelica told her.

‘How can I?’ Claire demanded. ‘There’s Luca. And the hotel. And the bloody London thing. And anyway, he’s getting married.’ Fresh tears popped from her eyes, like bubbles from a bottle of Fairy Liquid. ‘Oh God . . .’ She pressed the heels of her hands under her eyes. ‘I never cry. What’s the matter with me?’ She tried to laugh.

Angelica chewed her lip. It was plain that Claire was still besotted with her childhood sweetheart, but she obviously thought she couldn’t go there. What if she knew the truth about Luca, though? Would that change how she felt? Should Angelica tell her about his lingering hands, the meaningful glances, the innuendo? She knew enough about men to know that if she’d given him half a chance, Luca would have taken things further. All the way . . .

Of course, she didn’t have actual proof of anything. Instinct was hardly concrete evidence. And it wasn’t her place to interfere in Claire’s life.

Besides, if she blew the whistle on Luca, it would get back to him, and she would probably be out of a job. And then she would have no chance of a future with him.

Not that she wanted a future with him, she reminded herself. Luca was bad news.

Oh God – why was life so difficult?

As Angelica wrestled with her conscience, Claire seemed to pull herself together. She straightened up, smoothed back her hair, patted under her eyes to make sure there was no trace of mascara.

‘Sorry about that,’ she told Angelica. ‘I just had a bit of a wobble. Wrong time of the month. Too much pressure. You know how it is. Yes, that’s fine about Room Four. Well done.’

And the next moment she had pulled open the door and vanished down the corridor. Angelica stared after her. That was no premenstrual wobble, she thought. That was a woman whose heart was broken. But if Claire didn’t want to share with Angelica, there was nothing she could do to help.

She looked up as Nick came down the stairs, his face set and hard.

‘Evening, sir,’ said Angelica.

‘Evening,’ he managed, his accompanying smile as bleak as the nearby moors in the depths of winter.

She watched him as he made his way down the next staircase. No, she decided. She wasn’t going to throw her penny’s worth into the mix. She had enough problems of her own without stirring up trouble.

Colin couldn’t delay the conversation any longer. They’d made polite chit-chat and ordered their drinks. Alison looked at him. There were two pink spots on her cheeks, the ones that always appeared the moment she drank alcohol, but otherwise she seemed calm.

‘So?’ she asked. ‘What’s this all about?’

Colin set his glass down.

‘You know when we were going through that difficult patch? When Ryan was about five?’

Alison grimaced. ‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘How could I forget? I totally lost the plot. It was awful.’

Colin nodded. ‘I think in a funny kind of way I lost the plot too. It was a very stressful time.’

Alison took a sip of her drink. ‘And . . .?’

‘I . . . had an affair.’

There. That was it. He’d dropped his bombshell. But the walls hadn’t come crashing down. Alison was sitting very still.

He supposed he’d better elaborate.

‘I’m not going to sit here and defend it. It was a disgraceful thing to do. But at the time I felt very alone. Very unhappy. An opportunity presented itself, and for some reason it seemed the right thing to do. Of course, it wasn’t . . .’

Alison stirred her drink with her swizzle stick.

‘I suppose I’m not surprised,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not happy about it, but I’m not surprised. Most men would have. I was a mess.’