The Long Weekend (38 page)

She knew he would be stuck inside all day watching DVDs while her mother slept. Maybe if she got away early she could take him to the beach this evening, but she was due to work until seven, and by the time she got home she’d be knackered and would just want a shower and something to eat, not to have to get his swimming things together and walk all the way to Neptune’s Cove, which was his favourite . . .

When it should be bloody Trudy who was doing it.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. She was used to being let down by her mother, but it wasn’t fair on Dill. He had enough to contend with.

To compound her dark mood, Claire seemed very chirpy. She was checking out the young couple Angelica had upgraded.

‘I hope you enjoyed your stay,’ she said, as they paid their bill.

‘We loved it,’ the girl said. ‘We’re hoping to be back soon. We’ve put an offer in on a house.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ Claire replied as she folded up their receipt and put it in an envelope. ‘Good luck.’

The couple gathered up their bags and walked off arm in arm. Two more satisfied customers, thought Angelica. Well, they would be, wouldn’t they? They’d got twice the room for half the price. She wished she could snap out of her sour mood. She didn’t begrudge the couple their upgrade – of course she didn’t . . .

‘Go and wake that lazy lump for me, would you?’ Claire asked.

Angelica got off her chair and made her way over to the stairs. She should have phoned in sick. She was tired of putting a brave face on it. Good old Angelica, who everyone relied on but didn’t give a toss about. It was all right for Claire to be all perky, with her sparkly diamond ring and her glittering future. It had been Angelica’s shoulder she’d cried on, though, hadn’t it? When everything hadn’t seemed so rosy?

She stomped up the stairs. She hated feeling like this. Where was she supposed to find a shoulder to cry on when she needed it? Could somebody tell her that?

While they packed up the last of their things, Alison was showing Chelsey photographs of her dog, Monty, on her phone. They’d decided not to stay on, but to take Chelsey back home while arrangements were made.

‘He’s a springer spaniel,’ Alison told her. ‘And he’s very naughty. I have to take him to special classes.’

‘I’ve always wanted a dog,’ said Chelsey. ‘But Mum wouldn’t let me.’

Colin had to turn away. The emotion kept getting to him. He imagined Chelsey with Monty in the garden, running around like his kids once had. Was it going to work?

It had to, he thought.

And even if it didn’t, even if their marriage buckled under the strain, at least he didn’t have to live with the guilt any more. The secret was out. He could do his best for Chelsey from now on; do everything in his power to give her a happy life and whatever she wanted.

The two of them were giggling over the photos. For a moment he felt like the outsider. Alison had always been wonderful with children.

Alison had always been wonderful full stop, he reflected.

‘Come on, you two,’ he said. ‘Let’s make the most of that weather.’

They were hiring a boat. Colin wasn’t sure how good he was going to be at skippering, but at least it would give him something to focus on while the two of them bonded.

He picked up his phone and checked it, nervous that there might be a text from Karen saying she’d made a mistake, saying she was coming to collect Chelsey.

Nothing. Colin felt relief. Every hour of silence from Karen was another nail in her coffin. He’d be able to get a court order, hopefully custody in the long run. He didn’t want things to get nasty, but he thought he had enough evidence to prove she was unfit. Of course, it would be so much better if they could do things in a civilised manner. Karen was Chelsey’s mother, after all, and she should stay in contact with her.

And it wasn’t all going to be plain sailing. Another year and Chelsey would be hitting the troublesome teenage years. He might well regret taking her on.

No, thought Colin. He was never going to regret taking her on, whatever happened. Chelsey was his flesh and blood. She deserved every opportunity, every chance that his other children had been given.

Now that he’d got her, he wasn’t going to let her go.

He zipped up her little case and picked it up.

‘Come on then. Let’s check out. We can leave our cases and pick them up later.’

‘Can we come back one day?’ asked Chelsey. ‘I love it here.’

Colin looked around the room. It had been a strange weekend. Traumatic, emotional, difficult . . . but there was no doubt that Pennfleet was special. The Townhouse was special. A good find, he thought.

‘Of course,’ he told her, because he was never going to be able to say no to her. He could see that from the wry smile Alison gave him.

There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

Luca was still fast asleep in bed.

‘Oi,’ said Angelica, prodding him. ‘Some of us have got work to do. Get up.’

He opened his eyes and looked up at her.

‘You’re full of charm this morning,’ he told her.

‘Fuck off,’ she said, and burst into tears.

He sat up, alarmed. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. He didn’t like crying women. It was one of the things he valued Claire for, the fact that she didn’t turn the taps on at any given opportunity.

‘Like you care,’ Angelica sobbed. ‘Like you give a toss about anyone except yourself.’

‘That’s not fair.’

He put out a hand to stroke her. She shut her eyes.

‘Don’t,’ she said, but she didn’t move.

He ran his fingers through her hair. ‘Poor Angelica,’ he soothed. ‘What’s the matter? This isn’t like you.’

She shut her eyes even tighter, to keep the tears in. ‘You don’t know how much you mean to me, do you?’ she asked eventually, her voice taut with the effort of not crying.

‘Mean to you?’ he laughed. ‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘Don’t laugh at me.’

‘I’m not laughing at you.’ He patted the bed next to him. ‘Sit down. Tell me what this is all about.’

She hesitated, then sat down, against her better judgement. Luca was leaning back against the wooden headboard. His hair was wild, and he needed a shave. His chest was golden against the white of the bed linen. She breathed him in and thought she would faint as his familiar scent curdled her insides.

He was staring at her, puzzled. ‘Come on,’ he said.

Angelica wasn’t at all sure how to proceed. Whether to treat this as an informal staff meeting, or unburden herself to him as a friend. Or to tell him the truth.

He lifted his hand and stroked her bare arm with the back of his fingers.

‘What?’ he asked softly.

His touch made her crumble. She couldn’t treat him as a boss or a friend.

‘You’re all I think about,’ she told him. ‘Day and night. Awake or asleep, you’re always there. On the edge of my dreams . . .’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Luca. And as her tears started to fall again, he put his arms round her and pulled her towards him. ‘Come here. You shouldn’t cry.’

She was leaning against his chest. His arms were around her.

Oh God, thought Angelica. What on earth had she said? It had just seemed so unfair. Poor Dill. Her bloody mother. The loved-up couple. Everyone walking around in the bank holiday sunshine, happy with their lot. When all she could see unfolding in front of her was a lifetime of frustration.

And now, the moment she had fantasised about so many times was here. His warm hands were sliding up her legs, under her skirt, into her knickers. She squirmed.

‘No,’ she said, but she felt helpless. This was everything she had ever longed for. She had fought it for so long, and now, when she was at her most vulnerable, she didn’t think she could resist. Even though she knew it was wrong. Even though it would only bring her more heartache.

But at least she would know how it felt. At least she would know what she was missing. His hands were inside her shirt, running over her skin. It was everything she had ever imagined. Everything she had ever allowed herself to dream about. And Angelica thought that if she died today, she would die happy, as the feelings built up inside her, growing in force until she could hardly bear it.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged, and tears rolled down her face.

‘I won’t.’ Luca’s breathing was ragged. ‘I won’t . . .’

Claire ran up the stairs, two at a time. Where on earth
was
everybody? Didn’t they know how busy they were going to be today? The hotel seemed to be full of people wanting coffee on the terrace, or a table for lunch, or cocktails, and she wasn’t a bloody magician. She needed Angelica on reception and Luca in the kitchen, but neither of them was to be found. She reached the bedroom door. Angelica must have gone to wake Luca, who’d probably ignored her and gone straight back to sleep again.

As she opened the door and surveyed the scene inside, she felt . . .

Nothing.

Not anger. Not jealousy. Not shock. Or outrage.

Nothing.

She turned and shut the door gently. She stood on the landing for a moment. All she could hear was her heart thudding inside her. Adrenalin. The fight-or-flight impulse.

She wasn’t going to fight. There was nothing to fight for, she realised. Nothing that she wanted. He could have it all, as far as she was concerned. And good luck to him. They would be fine, Luca and Angelica. She wasn’t going to hang around and fight over the spoils. She had more dignity than that.

Besides, there wasn’t much time. She knew that. If she was going to get what she did want, she would have to move fast.

She set off down the stairs, thinking as she went. She didn’t need to take anything with her. Her bag and keys were downstairs in the office. She could send for everything else later, if need be.

As she reached the first-floor landing, she paused for a moment. She was outside Trevor and Monique’s room, and for a split second she felt a pang of guilt at what she was about to do. She remembered everything Trevor had told her, and it occurred to her that by leaving, she was jeopardising their dream. She owed them if not an apology then at least an explanation.

She stood outside their room, about to knock. They’d be disappointed, she knew that. And then a further thought occurred to her. Why should she just walk away and leave Luca with the fruits of her hard labour, not to mention her initial investment?

She looked at her watch, took a deep breath and tapped on the door.

Trevor opened it with a beaming smile.

‘Claire!’ He stepped aside to let her in. ‘What can I do for you?’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘Have you come to sign on the dotted line?’

Inside, Monique was sitting at the dressing table applying the last of her maquillage. Beside her the French windows were open to the balcony, showing a glimpse of the glorious day outside. Claire felt a lump rise in her throat. She would be giving up all of this.

‘No,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’ve got a totally different proposition.’

Trevor and Monique looked at her expectantly.

‘I’ve come to ask if you’ll buy my share of the Townhouse.’

There was a moment’s silence while the two of them took in what she was saying.

‘What do you mean?’ said Trevor.

‘Luca and I own forty per cent each,’ Claire explained. ‘But . . . I don’t want to carry on. We’re finished, Luca and I.’

‘Oh my God!’ Monique got to her feet. She was still clad in a white satin nightdress with matching negligee. ‘What’s happened? The engagement . . . it was only yesterday . . . You seemed so happy!’

Claire looked down at her ring. She’d totally forgotten about it. She tugged it off and rolled it round in her fingers, nervous.

‘I’m not going to go into details,’ she replied. ‘But I thought I would give you first refusal. And obviously . . . I can’t go ahead with the London deal. I’m so sorry. I know how much it means to you. I hope you’ll find another way of pulling it together.’

Trevor and Monique looked at each other.

‘What do you think?’ Trevor asked.

Monique spread her hands out, holding them palms upwards.

‘Trev – babe – you don’t even need to ask, surely. I mean, we love this place. We’re a part of it. It’s a part of us.’

Trevor looked out of the window into the distance, turning Claire’s proposition over in his mind.

‘Well,’ he said finally. ‘I can’t pretend we’re not disappointed. About London. It was going to be a dream come true for us. But we can’t hold you back from what you want to do. And yes, in theory, we’ll buy you out.’

‘Thank you,’ Claire held out her hand for him to shake. ‘I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be in touch. To work out the details.’

‘A handshake from me is as good as a contract,’ Trevor told her.

Claire turned to shake Monique’s hand too, but was surprised to find herself engulfed in a white satin, Envy-drenched hug.

‘If you want to talk, chick,’ said Monique, ‘then I’m here. I’m a woman of the world. If you want any advice . . .’

For one wild moment Claire felt tempted to unburden herself. But time wasn’t on her side. She extricated herself carefully.

‘Thank you both so much,’ she said, and left the room before the lump that had risen in her throat choked her. She didn’t want to think about what she was leaving behind. She had to look forward. And hope that she wasn’t too late.

Moments later, she was at the reception desk. There were people milling around, looking for attention, but she didn’t care. She found an envelope, put the ring inside it, and scrawled a few words on a compliment slip:
Hopefully you kept the receipt
. Then she sealed the envelope and wrote Luca’s name on the front.

A customer came up to the desk and complained about the service being slow.

‘We just want coffee. We’ve been waiting for ages.’

‘The receptionist will be back in a moment,’ she told him. ‘She’s just . . . seeing to the boss. So to speak.’

She dropped the envelope into the in-tray, smiled her sweetest smile, picked up her bag and keys and walked out of the door.

In the grand suite, Trevor’s heart was heavy as he turned to his wife.

He dreaded her reaction to Claire’s news. She’d put a brave face on it while Claire was there, but he hoped that now she’d gone, Monique wasn’t going to fall apart. The hotel in London had been the thing that had kept her going.