by Mandy Baggot
‘Sit down, Chad,’ Elias repeated. He adjusted his dark-framed glasses to make sure he was looking directly at his client when Chad decided to turn and face the table again. Unless he was going to go and put the boot in to every plant in the room, then re-joining the discussion was the only other option.
His client’s shoulders lifted, up and almost to the top of his ears, then finally released. Chad turned around and hastened back to his seat. ‘OK,’ Chad said on an out breath, as he sat. ‘OK. Tell me what I can do.’
Elias picked up his pen and toyed with it in between his fingers. ‘You’re not going to like what I have to say,’ he began. ‘But you have to trust me on it.’ This was always his opening gambit in these initial meetings. It was tried and tested. It was a method he wished he’d been able to adopt during his own divorce. But he’d been wounded back then. Naïve. Used.
‘I don’t even like you saying I’m not going to like what you’re going to say,’ Chad admitted with a nervous laugh.
‘But will you trust me on it?’ Elias asked, blue-green eyes looking directly into Chad’s brown ones. This approach only worked if his clients had complete confidence in his abilities. He knew the way he worked was contrary to most of his contemporaries, but his global recommendations among Chad’s peers made his small firm one of the most sought-after divorce practices.
Chad gave a reticent nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’ Elias asked. ‘Because I am certain the other plants in this room do not want to feel your shoes.’
Chad took another deep breath, this time seeming to fully open his lungs, then slowly release a balloon’s worth of stress-air. ‘I trust you.’
Elias sat back a little and ran a hand through his dark hair, before adjusting his glasses for a second time. ‘OK.’ He took a breath, then leaned in, writing furiously on his notepad. ‘Read this.’ He pushed the paper towards Chad. ‘Say it. Say it out loud. And let it settle on you. It’s going to feel uncomfortable at first, but once it soaks into your subconscious, you’ll start to feel better about it.’
Chad’s eyes dropped to the piece of paper and Elias watched his body language immediately alter. Discomfort. Denial.
‘Give in,’ Chad read out through bitter lips. ‘What?! No! No! Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said the past half hour? Giving in is the absolutely last thing I want.’ Chad made to stand up again and this time, Elias reached a hand out and took a strong grip of his arm.
‘Sit down, Chad,’ he ordered. ‘You promised you would trust me.’
‘I know, but… but…’ It seemed his client didn’t have an answer.
‘Say the words again,’ Elias urged.
Chad shook his head, non-compliant.
‘Fine,’ Elias snapped. ‘I will say it on your behalf.’ He spoke, loud and strong. ‘Give in.’ He centred his core before speaking again. ‘We are going to give in.’
Chad had closed his eyes now and was shaking his head as every bad moment from his marriage came back to him. Elias knew how it went. It would pass. Because, if it didn’t pass, then Chad was not going to be successful in achieving the upper hand in his settlement.
‘Kristina wants the house in Dorset,’ Elias continued. ‘I say we let her have it.’ He waited a beat before continuing. ‘Plus the apartment in Kensington.’
‘But… I like the house in Dorset,’ Chad immediately complained. ‘And the apartment in Kensington used to belong to my mother.’ His eyes were open again now, but he had a childish, sentimental air about him. Why did people get like that over things that were essentially nothing more than status symbols or signposts to their wealth.
‘What do you like more?’ Elias inquired. ‘The properties in the UK? Or the villa in Corfu?’
Elias already knew the answer to this question. He didn’t take meetings with people he hadn’t thoroughly researched. He had looked into Chad as a businessman, then Chad’s personal life on social media. There were twice as many photos of the man in Greece than there were at the cottage on the Swanage coast and absolutely none of this family flat in a swanky area of London. Although Chad wasn’t immediately answering. Maybe Elias had called this one wrong…
‘Kristina hasn’t asked for the apartment in Kensington,’ Chad stated, folding his arms across his chest and sitting back in his chair.
‘That is the whole point,’ Elias stated. ‘Giving in, remember? My job is to make sure you come out of this emotionally and financially intact, with the best share of your assets.’ He sat forward, drawing pie-charts freehand on the paper in front of him. ‘So, we propose Kristina takes the Dorset house and the flat in Kensington and then you get the property in Corfu and we suggest a three-quarter share of the main family home. Whether you buy her out of that place, or you sell and split the proceeds, we can battle that out later…’
‘We raised our children in that house,’ Chad whispered. ‘We had so many family holidays in Swanage. Corfu was going to be something for Kristina and me in retirement.’ His eyes were misting over and the reverie was starting to grate on Elias. He did hope that Chad wasn’t going to be one of these clients who ended up unsure if he wanted to end the marriage at all.
‘Your property in Corfu is on the expensive north-east coast. I believe you English call it Kensington-on-Sea. Ironic.’ Elias shrugged. ‘Weighing up the position of your Greek villa, the valuation provided by the estate agent, the British obsession with the Durrell family… and your own personal connection with the property…’ He right away wished he hadn’t mentioned the personal connection. He didn’t want Chad to know he had cyber-stalked him. And he didn’t want to make this about the heart… because it definitely wasn’t, nor should it be.
‘If we give her the house in Swanage and the flat in London, do you think she will let go of the Corfu house and go with me retaining three-quarters of the property in Kent?’
Elias smiled, knowing that Chad was now engaged and that they were both on the same page. He watched his client unfold his arms and change into far more switched-on businessman than wrecked shell of a defeated ex.
‘I know she will,’ Elias told him. ‘Because I am going to make it happen.’ He picked up his water glass and raised it a little as if it were the most expensive celebratory champagne and he was calling a toast. ‘Step one. We give in, just a little. Step two. We take control.’
Five
It’s A Wrap, Amesbury, Wiltshire, UK
Becky plucked at the herbs with much more force than was needed. This was anger management courtesy of horticulture. Plus, the longer she stayed out in the garden, the more chance there was that Megan would disappear to get on with the managerial stuff Becky couldn’t possibly comprehend. Or maybe her sister would be swanning into Salisbury and mooching around the city centre looking at floaty kaftans and slinky bikinis for whatever dream destination Dean had booked that wasn’t Blackpool. Wherever it was he’d probably got a dodgy discount somehow…
Pulling at the mint plant, Becky looked down into the basket she was holding. She’d harvested too many already. If she carried on furiously ripping the plants up, they’d end up with nothing left. And she shouldn’t let her mini allotment suffer just because Megan had turned into a megalomaniac. But the way her sister had been, it was like time had rewound and they were aged ten and eight, sparring over who had done Barbie’s hair better.
The sun at her back, Becky dropped down into the red and white striped deckchair that used to belong to her dad. He’d always sat back and relaxed in it at home after a hard afternoon’s gardening. That’s one of the reasons why Becky loved that she had created the vegetables and herbs here. All her father’s knowledge on what grows best and how to tend young plants had been imparted so gently to a little girl keen to impress. And she had made sure none of it had gone to waste. Becky was only sad that her dad never got to see it. He would have loved this small corner of greenery she’d made. Even in the nursing home, when he was unable to speak, he had shown visual pleasure at the p
lants Becky had brought in to him. The doctors had said it was so important to keep all his senses stimulated to try and reawaken the parts of his brain that hadn’t been permanently damaged. He’d smelled the herbs and touched their leaves and Becky had seen how much it had meant by the wobbly-lipped smile on his face.
Putting her fingers to her nose now, she inhaled the combined scents of mint, chive and basil. Scents of summer. Fresh, pure and simple, yet all incredible flavour-enhancers. And that was where the finesse lay. While their competitors offered the usual sandwich flavours – cheese and spring onion, ham and mustard, egg and cress, chicken and mayo – Becky experimented. Somehow, she inherently knew what herbs, spices and vegetables to pair with each filling to make the It’s A Wrap flavours completely unique. When things had got tough with the bottom line, Becky had delivered their produce complete with a sample tray of her own creations, changing up ordinary lunch purchases and making each midday meal something to remember.
Jean Shering from the tyre factory’s usual tuna mayo was pepped up with home-grown watercress. Adrian from the opticians liked pulled pork with asparagus. And Sally from the swimming pool ordered two cheese, pear and mustard bagels every single day. Often on Becky’s delivery days, her customers would make culinary suggestions to her and she was always back with a mini sample for them to try on her next visit. Sometimes customer ideas worked – grated carrot, humous and chive – and sometimes they didn’t – avocado, raisins and horseradish. So, she may not be management material, but she was top of the tree when it came to customer satisfaction. Not that she would ever get any praise from Megan for going the extra mile. Because Megan didn’t know…
Becky slipped her phone out of the pocket of her trousers and flipped back on to the website she’d been looking at last night. Housesitting. What would that be like? Where would you get to go? The way Becky’s luck was at the moment she’d probably type in Paris and end up in Texas. Not that she was thinking about France. Or even America. No, if she was going to go anywhere, she knew she would choose Greece. Nothing looked quite as beautiful on her web searches. Idyllic islands surrounded by turquoise water under heavenly blue skies… It wouldn’t hurt to do a search, would it? She could pretend she was someone who could just drop everything and head off into the perfect sunset like Megan. Instead of being the backroom fixer everyone relied on to be reliable.
The Wiltshire sunshine in her eyes, Becky tapped at the screen of her phone, spurred on by a braver side of herself that appeared every now and then – possibly once every leap year – then waited for the results…
One result.
Corfu, Greece
Owner seeks housesitter for two weeks. Large villa with private infinity pool, steps away from the sea. A taverna within walking distance. Use of small car. Applicant needed asap.
*One person only. Absolutely NO couples.*
That was a little odd. Surely in this day and age you weren’t allowed to be prejudiced towards people in a relationship. And ASAP spoke of being a little desperate. When had this advert been posted? A look at the date in the top left-hand corner said late last night. Becky swallowed. Infinity pool. Steps away from the sea. But who would really want to do that? Head off at short notice, somewhere unknown, completely and utterly on their own. But, for the first time in a long time she did fit the criteria. She was one person only.
‘The coast is clear, dear. Megan’s huffed off to some networking breakfast.’
It was Hazel, already by her side. Becky hadn’t heard the door open and now she didn’t have time to shove her phone out of sight. She tried to tilt the screen away, but it was too late…
‘What are you looking at? Ooo, housesitting! How fabulous! My friend Hilary did housesitting once. Looked after a load of greyhounds in Norwich.’ Hazel laughed. ‘I’ve told you about Hilary, haven’t I? Probably ate the dog food as well as everything the family had in the cupboards.’ She sniffed. ‘She enjoyed it though. Said they had a hot tub and it was worth getting coated in doggy dribble to get a dip in that.’
Becky went to put her phone away, but Hazel took hold of it, pulling it closer for inspection. ‘This isn’t Norwich. This is… ooo, Corfu. Ooo, look at that lovely villa! I do love a house with that thick, rustic stone. Makes me imagine all those brawny, olive-skinned builders putting it all together…’
Were there pictures of the property? She hadn’t seen photos. It made sense there would be photos, if only to ensure the house you were sitting was actually there to be sat. Although, you could theoretically use iStock. Megan had done that for some of their food on the website, despite Becky’s protests.
She stood up now, getting closer to Hazel in order to see the images on her phone screen.
‘Oh, would you look at that sky! And those olive trees! And the urns full of blooms!’ Hazel looked from the photos to Becky. ‘That’s what you’ll be doing the whole time you’re there. Watering. In the Greek heat in July, you’re going to have your work cut out making sure they don’t all die.’
But she liked gardening. Gazing back at the images in front of her, she took in the mismatched pots and the flowering beds lining the border of the house. It was all pink and purple petals, a bough of a lemon tree ripe with fruit and that divine-looking pool literally whispering an invitation…
‘When are you going?’ Hazel asked, letting go of the phone.
‘Oh,’ Becky said. ‘I’m not going.’ She wasn’t. She couldn’t. It was a mad idea.
‘What?!’ Hazel exclaimed. ‘If I was twenty years younger, I’d have already booked my flight by now. What’s stopping you, dear?’
What was stopping her really? The business? Well, it was Megan’s business, not hers. The change in routine? Maybe it was time her world existed outside of Wiltshire. No one else seemed to worry about changing their routine at the drop of a hat. Becky sighed. Megan hadn’t given a thought to her when she’d clamped her hands around the luxury bag and told Dean two weeks at a mystery location was fine by her.
‘If you don’t take the job,’ Hazel said, ‘I’d feel compelled to tell Hilary about it and her waistline really doesn’t need the calorific pitfalls of moussaka.’
Could she do this? Really?
‘Email the owner,’ Hazel ordered. ‘Then come and help me finish these orders. Bertram from the Co-op left a message on the answerphone. He said he’s convinced by your sample of corned beef and blackcurrant jam.’
‘OK,’ Becky agreed. ‘I’ll be right there.’ She hovered her thumb over the ‘contact’ icon on the display. There was no harm in registering and trying her luck. Besides, it was likely a luxury villa by the Greek sea had already been snapped up, wasn’t it?
Six
Heathrow Airport, London
A week later
Elias was going back to Corfu. Was he completely mad? No. He did have good reason. Excellent reason. He needed to meet with Kristina, away from her solicitor, and put forward Chad’s proposal quickly. He would blindside her, choreograph ‘bumping’ into her at one of the local tavernas, make it a happy coincidence… before he followed it up with a visit to the villa and made a thorough inspection of the house. That was the way he worked. Personal. Close. No detail left unaccounted for.
It was just a shame he hadn’t managed to secure a direct flight. Everything out of London was booked except this one flight to Athens. It was inconvenient to make a change in Greece’s capital, but he only had a forty-minute connection time before the onward hop to Corfu that took less than an hour.
Sipping at his macchiato, Elias surveyed his fellow travellers in the restaurant of the departure lounge. You could certainly tell the categories most of them fell into. There were the businessmen and women like him – all sleek suits and laptop bags looking harried, checking watches or reviewing paperwork. There were the families – mum, dad and children ranging in ages from buggy-board to just-plain-bored – equally as harried as the businessmen and women. And there were the stag parties. Matching T-shirts bearing the nam
e of the groom – Steve’s Rutting Crew was the chosen gang-brand in this case – all on a pint of Stella Artois, all loud with a complete lack of spatial awareness. Elias felt for Steve. This would be his last hurrah. As soon as he tied the knot he would be setting himself up for the three D’s. Disappointment. Disillusionment. And ultimately, the biggest ‘D’ of all. Divorce. Perhaps he should slip the groom his business card.
He put down his coffee, about to check his phone, when something caught in his peripheral vision. He stood up.
*
Hazel’s bloody cabin bag! Her colleague might have thought it said ‘woman on the brink of adventure’, but Becky had said from the outset it was too big and the straps were too long. As the bag crashed to the airport floor – for the third time since check-in – Becky was caught between making a grab for it or keeping control of her new four-wheel trolley case. And taking a second to make that decision meant the case rolled off like someone else was controlling it and the bag began to spill the contents of her summer. Newly acquired fast-tracked passport. Purse. Phone. Laptop and traditional paper notebook to both catalogue her holiday and prepare a sample menu for the nursing home…
‘Lads! Look what we’ve got here! One of those dirty books!’
Face flaming as she gathered her belongings, Becky looked up to see a man with very gelled hair holding aloft a paperback she’d bought in WHSmith. It wasn’t dirty… she didn’t think. Granted, it was a romance. The blurb had said Greece and lemon groves and she’d been sold. After all, that was about to become her reality.
Ever since she had received the email acceptance from Ms O’Neill, the owner of Villa Selino in Kerasia, Corfu, with full details of the home that needed sitting, Becky’s insides had been jumping like a kangaroo. Excitement and trepidation. She was doing this. Caution was being thrown to the sea breeze. All she’d had to do was maintain this braver, new-experience-seeking her when she told Megan. And she had. Until Megan had tried to deny her the break…