‘I don’t really feel like Mexican,’ he said. ‘What about Dean and Deluca?’
But my mouth was watering for the burrito I had last time. ‘What if we each get whatever we want there and sit together outside? There are plenty of other choices. Come on, it’s a gorgeous day. I’m having such a craving. Please? Please, please?’
He laughed. ‘I’d never want to deny your cravings, but don’t blame me if it backfires later this afternoon, so to speak.’
‘Sir, please, the very idea! As if I’ve ever parped.’
Everyone in lower Manhattan seemed to want burritos too. It was way too gorgeous not to go out for lunch, and the market was rammed. It felt like summertime. I was overheating even without my jacket.
‘Go get your Mexican,’ Chuck suggested. ‘I’ll meet you here and we’ll find somewhere nice outside to sit.’
My queue was one of the longest, so by the time I got back to the entrance with lunch steaming in my hands, my mouth was watering very attractively.
My heart sank when I saw that Chuck’s sister was with him. Of course, I’d forgotten that she temped nearby. She was just about the last person I wanted to see. Not because she wasn’t nice, but because Chuck went into such a grump the last time he saw her here.
I was just about to duck into the nearest shop when she spotted me. ‘Hello!’ She waved me over. ‘Fancy seeing you here. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
I glanced at Chuck, who just shrugged. The sooner we get this over the better.
‘Rosie, hi. You’re Marilyn, right?’ I shifted my burrito to shake her hand, though the faster we said goodbye to her, the better. Chuck looked miserable.
‘These queues are monstrous,’ I said, hoping she’d take the hint and go join one. I wanted to spend my lunchtime being in love with Chuck, not making polite small talk with his sister.
But she wasn’t budging. ‘I’ve already eaten.’
She kept staring at me. No, not at me. At my necklace. Her brow furrowed just as I looked at her neck.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Nice necklace. Chuck obviously knows a good thing when he sees it.’ I shot a teasing look at my boyfriend, but his expression was completely blank.
She grasped her Tiffany heart. ‘Where is yours from?’
My answer was stuttery in confusion. ‘The same as you, from Tiffany’s. Chuck gave me one too.’
Her face drained of colour. She frowned at Chuck, who shrugged.
Later I’d wonder if some part of my subconscious suspected anything when we’d first met. The mind does that, doesn’t it? Oh yes, what a great little know-it-all in hindsight.
Marilyn wasn’t Chuck’s sister. ‘Chuck?’ It was almost a whisper.
Marilyn was more forthright. ‘What the fuck, Chuck?’
Yes, exactly, I thought. What the fuck, Chuck?
‘Honey, I’m sorry, I haven’t told you about her,’ he said. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was talking to his girlfriend. His first girlfriend. So presumably I was her, not honey.
Marilyn’s expression was one of complete and utter shock. Like mine, no doubt. Yet there was Chuck, acting like he’d simply forgotten to tell her they’d run out of milk. The cheek!
Then I had a terrible thought. Someone who could be so calm about confessing to an affair must have had practice. For all I knew, he cheated on his girlfriend all the time. Where did he find the time? I could barely keep up with my washing.
‘I didn’t want to say anything, in case things calmed down,’ he went on, ‘but she’s been harassing me for months. I’m sorry, honey, I should have told you before it got so out of hand. I’ve been sick about it.’ When he ran his fingers through his hair, he actually looked like the victim he was claiming to be.
‘I’ve been harassing you!’ And there I was, thinking he was confessing our relationship to his girlfriend.
But he was still talking to Marilyn. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. The girl’s delusional. I’ve been trying to be nice so she wouldn’t go off, but, Rosie, really, that’s enough now. You’ve got to stop.’
‘Chuck, what are you on about?’ This couldn’t be happening. My ears were telling me it was, but my brain refused to listen. ‘You sound like I’ve been stalking you.’ I turn to explain to Marilyn. ‘We’ve been going out for months. Ever since the Christmas party. I’m sorry, but it’s true.’
‘Only in her head,’ Chuck told Marilyn. ‘I swear it’s only in her head.’ When he reached for her hand, to my horror, she let him take it. ‘At first I thought she was just being nice because of the account. She seemed a little too friendly, but I thought maybe that was just English people. Then she started suggesting drinks when I came to the hotel to talk about the party. I told her no, but she kept on about it. I’m sorry, honey, I did take her for a drink. It was strictly professional, but I realised as soon as she’d had a few that it was a huge mistake. It just encouraged her.’ Then he turned to me. ‘I do owe you an apology for that, Rosie. I should have been more firm with you at the start.’
‘He’s lying, Marilyn!’ I could feel the angry tears threatening to spill over. How could he say such things? Such big fat porkies.
But Chuck was shaking his head. ‘She actually booked out one of the hotel rooms the night of the party and tried to get me up there. I kept telling her I was married, but she didn’t care.’
I felt the air leave my body from the impact of that little bombshell. That was when I noticed the ring flashing on Marilyn’s hand. The hand Chuck wasn’t holding. ‘You’re his wife?’
Chuck sneered. ‘C’mon, Rosie, you knew that.’ He turned to Marilyn, whose expression had slowly morphed from shock to anger. ‘She just won’t accept that I’m married, honey. She didn’t care.’
I gazed at Marilyn. That poor woman. Her world was crashing in as much as mine. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I told her. ‘I didn’t know. If I had, I wouldn’t have …’
‘At least you admit it,’ she said.
‘But that’s not what I meant! I meant that I wouldn’t have had a relationship with Chuck if I’d known he was married.’
‘Please,’ Chuck said. He practically twirled his finger by the side of his head. ‘Tell Marilyn how you turned up unannounced at my office. I had to get our lobby people to turn her away.’
‘You met me in the park twenty minutes later!’ I said. ‘You spend Saturdays at my flat. And Sundays. Do you deny that?’
‘I play baseball on Saturdays,’ he said. ‘As Marilyn knows. And how could I be at your flat on Sundays when I go to the sports bar with Marilyn and my boss every Sunday?’
‘You come to mine before,’ I said. But I knew that sounded desperate. There’d be plenty of time later for being heartbroken. Just then I was furious. I dug out my phone. ‘Look, Marilyn, look at all these text messages. And calls. Months of them.’ I showed her all the evidence. She couldn’t argue with that.
‘It’s even worse than I thought,’ Chuck said, looking at my phone. ‘That’s not my number.’
Marilyn looked too. Now she was standing right next to him. ‘That’s not my husband’s number.’
Then he did twirl his finger by his ear. I wanted to snap it off. ‘He must have a second phone!’
‘Or you do,’ she said. ‘And you’re sending yourself texts. You poor woman. I hate to think what’s going on in your deluded head.’
‘I can’t believe you’re having imaginary conversations with yourself,’ Chuck said, almost with a smile. He knew he was getting away with it. ‘You might want to get some professional help. It’s actually gotten scary. She followed me to Vermont. I almost had a heart attack when I saw her. Honestly, I’m telling you, she’s unhinged.’
That’s right, Vermont! I scroll through my phone. ‘Look. Look, Marilyn, I’ve got photos.’
But I was starting to see through her eyes. There was one photo of Chuck and Jim with their faces in shadow in the lodge, which I could easily have taken as they posed for someone else. There were a few candid sna
ps of Chuck from a distance and about a million pictures of trees and houses. It wasn’t exactly rock-solid evidence. ‘But how do you explain the booking for our hotel? He booked the room in both of our names. Marilyn, I’ll give you the details. You can ring them. Or check his credit card statement.’
‘That’s sad,’ Chuck said. ‘Booking your room in my name.’
‘Chuck stayed with Jim in Vermont,’ Marilyn added. ‘And I do check the statements because I deal with all the bills. I’m sorry, Rosie, but you need to stop this.’
‘Then what about the nights we’ve stayed at his club?’ I said, almost to myself. ‘It’s all there on his Amex.’
‘Chuck hasn’t got an Amex.’
It felt like a nightmare. Everything was so distorted that I was starting to doubt myself. But no. I was wearing the proof around my neck.
‘I suppose you’re going to deny that you bought me this necklace too?’ That was how the whole thing started in the first place. Marilyn would have to see that.
Chuck sighed. ‘Of course I don’t deny it. It’s right there in my work expenses.’ He was saying this to Marilyn. I’d ceased to merit any explanation. ‘My boss signed off on it. Rosie, you must realise that we give out corporate thank you presents all the time. I am sorry that I picked that, though. I should have just given her a pen or something. Can you forgive me, honey?’
Marilyn smiled. ‘Forgive you for having a crazy-person stalker? I’ll think about it.’ She turned to me. ‘But you. If you don’t leave my husband alone, I’m calling the police.’
‘I really didn’t want it to come to this, Rosie,’ Chuck added. ‘I haven’t wanted to involve your work, but now it’s not just me. You’re scaring my wife.’
His threat was real. Chuck could easily get me sacked for using that hotel room. I had no way to prove he was with me. We were too clever to be seen by anyone. But the booking records will show that the room was blocked out by me without any payment.
Not only had my relationship gone up in smoke. My career had too. ‘I won’t bother you again,’ I said to Chuck. ‘Just don’t involve the hotel. Please.’
Chuck’s smile was magnanimous and smug. ‘I guess as long as you take yourself off our anniversary party and stop bothering me, I won’t need to talk to anyone. At least you’re leaving soon.’ By way of explanation he said to his wife, ‘She’s going to Paris.’
‘Well, bon fucking voyage,’ Marilyn said.
And that’s why I limped back to Scarborough a broken woman. I’d been wrong about everything I thought I knew, and it left me bruised, heartbroken and unemployed. I couldn’t have stayed on in New York even if I’d wanted to. And, believe me, I didn’t want to. Thanks to me, Chuck’s company was the hotel’s most important client. One word from him and I’d be out on my arse anyway. So I got out before I got chucked out. Chucked out. Ha ha, bloody ha.
Chapter 20
Can you blame me for not falling over myself to trust Rory, just because he’s telling me I should? My feelings might be urging me to jump in with both feet, but I’ve had enough of being naïve after New York, thank you very much. Trust is something that’s built up, earned over time … proven. Not giving me any reason not to trust Rory isn’t the same thing as giving me reasons to trust him. But I’m willing to go so far as to say that I want to.
Rory doesn’t know the whole story about Chuck. Not even my parents do. It’s too humiliating to tell people who actually know me. Looking back, of course I should have smelled a rat, but everything had a reasonable explanation at the time. With his sister living with him, it made sense to go to my flat instead of his. It was just bad luck that my hours meant our dates had to be in the daytime. And it was good luck that his club had cheap rooms where we could snatch precious time in the wee hours after my shifts. There were none of the obvious red flags, like turned-off phones or furtively whispered conversations. It was my idea to keep our relationship secret so my boss wouldn’t fire me. And it wasn’t like we’d never gone away together, or only met to have sex. We spent most of our time in public, having dates like any normal couple. I had met his best friend and I’d even met his sister. Or so I’d believed.
Knowing all that still doesn’t make me want to broadcast what happened.
I am trying to be kinder to Rory, for the sake of our relationship, even though he’s technically taking my job. Every time that cynical little voice murmurs in my ear, I have to remind myself that having bollocks doesn’t automatically make one a bastard. It’s not his fault that he shares his gender with a sociopathic arsehole.
I haven’t really got time to row with him anyway. We’ve been too busy getting ready for the coachload of critics and travel writers due to arrive any minute. PK nonchalantly dropped that nasty little surprise on us two days ago. As it is, we’ll barely be ready for the December 1st grand opening. We need every minute we can get.
‘That’s part of the reason for them to come a week early,’ PK had said. ‘They can point out all the things that need fixing before the actual paying customers arrive.’
‘But PK,’ Rory had said, ‘why not let us be ready first, so that they get the full experience and then we can tweak the finer details?’
PK’s little PR stunt had disaster written all over it.
‘Because I make the decisions, Rory, not you. Don’t forget that. Besides, it has to be this weekend because of Thanksgiving. It’s a long weekend.’
Rory and I looked at each other. ‘It’s not a holiday in England,’ I said. Even Rory rolled his eyes, and he was never unprofessional with the Philanskys.
‘No duh, Rosie,’ PK said, sounding a lot like his brother. Only meaner. ‘It’s an American holiday. They’ll come straight from Heathrow in the morning. You shouldn’t be so worried. It’s only a week early. If you’re cutting it this fine, then I have to question what you’ve been doing up till now. I’m sure you’re not cutting it that fine, are you?’
‘No, PK, we’ll be ready,’ Rory said.
Chef’s been doing his best with the new menu ideas, but he hasn’t mastered haute cuisine yet. He flung a spoonful of mash at me when I suggested he smear it on the dish instead of making his usual pile.
But even if he plates up Michelin-star food, Cheryl and Janey are going to be the ones serving it. I cringe every time I think about how that’s going to go. A new uniform won’t fool anyone, when Janey curses like she’s just bashed her thumb with a hammer, and I can’t get Cheryl to stop chewing gum while she’s serving. ‘Better to chew gum than have dragon breath,’ she says. I don’t want to know why she doesn’t just clean her teeth.
‘The professional moaners are here!’ Peter calls from the window in the conservatory, where he and Barry are keeping watch. ‘They don’t look too horrid. Lot of luggage, though.’
So far, taping up the cameras has been working. I can sneak up on them from underneath and slip the cardboard over without being seen. Which means that the residents don’t have to stay in their rooms all the time. Though PK is getting annoyed that the technicians aren’t finding the fault that’s made the cameras stop working.
I rush over to Peter for one last hug before he and Barry catch the train to their audition. ‘Break a leg,’ I tell him. ‘Or a paw or whatever. You’re going to be fantastic and we’re all there with you in spirit!’ Since he really won’t let us be there in actual fact.
‘Ta, Rosie. We’re not too nervous, are we?’ Barry looks as composed as usual. ‘We’ll just do our best.’ He suddenly looks bashful. ‘Thanks for all your encouragement. We wouldn’t have had the guts to go through with it if not for you and the others. Your friendship means the world.’
‘Don’t, Peter, you’ll make me cry!’ I hug him once again before hurrying them out the door to catch their train. Even though he’s a perfectly grown-up man, I feel like I’m sending him off alone on his first day of school. And I’m worried that the other children will tease him. I couldn’t bear it if that happened. I want to keep him safe here with us, eve
n though I know this is something he needs to do.
‘We’re ready for this,’ Rory says to me, once I’ve composed myself again behind the reception desk.
‘No, we’re not.’
‘No, we’re not, but we’ll do our best. Just keep smiling. That’s half the battle.’
It’s the other half of the battle that I’m worried about.
Twenty or thirty people pile noisily through the door. Their American accents ricochet around reception.
‘Good morning, I hope your journey was good,’ I say to the first couple to reach the reception desk. Most have come with at least a spouse or a friend, if not their entire families.
‘Just send tea up to the room, please,’ the man says as he hands over his stiff new passport. He’s in his mid-forties or early fifties, with such obvious hair plugs that I can’t help staring. And his teeth are the same shade as printer paper.
‘There’s tea in the room, Mr Plunkett,’ I tell him through my grin. Mr Plug-It.
‘Oh, but that’ll be cold, won’t it?’ Mrs Plunkett asks.
‘No, you can make it whenever you’d like. The kettle’s in the room.’
‘What, with a tea bag?’ She sounds horrified. How does she think we make tea? ‘I want English tea.’
‘Yes, there’s English Breakfast Tea and lots of other flavours.’ PK made us clear out the usual Yorkshire Tea. Personally, a builder’s cuppa is fine with me, and we are in Yorkshire, but what do I know?
‘Are there little sandwiches and scones?’ Mrs Plunkett wants to know. Her dark- blonde hair doesn’t move with her gestures. She must have emptied an entire canister of hairspray on it to avoid having to check it in at the airport. One Plunkett has her hair pasted into place. The other has his sewn in.
‘Ah, no, you mean afternoon tea. We serve that between two and five in the conservatory or the bar.’
‘But I’m hungry now.’ She serves me a printer-paper smile with her demand.
The Big Dreams Beach Hotel Page 18