White, puffy clouds fill the sky, the rain shower from earlier having moved on. Within a few minutes, we have passed though the city, and open fields start to appear. Then, the rolling countryside is all I can see. It amazes me how one minute you can be in a major metropolis like London, and within moments you can be in the heart of the English country. The repetitive rolling of the train soothes me like a mother’s heartbeat, and I feel my eyes growing heavy, my head relaxing against the cold glass. Large, flat raindrops start to splatter against the window once again.
I must have nodded off. I am suddenly awakened by the train jerking away from another station. Two boys, about twelve years old, decide to sit opposite me while in the middle of a loud dispute. Realizing that Harptree is the next stop, I eagerly gather up my bag. Anxiety builds within me about tonight, and I can’t wait to check into the hotel and have a short nap to refresh myself. I can feel jet lag weighing me down.
Stepping off the train at Harptree, I am instantly taken back to my youth. The station looks exactly the same; time has not changed it at all. If it weren’t for the updated movie posters on display up and down the empty platforms, I could easily be standing here in the early 1980s. The small, red brick station house is on the far side of the tracks, still surrounded by bramble. At the entry to the parking lot, the weathered iron pedestrian bridge stretches up and over the tracks above my head. Under the stairs, a small waiting room with ancient seating—and probably no heating—is still sheltering travelers, with generations of names and initials carved into the wooden church-style benches. I am tempted to walk over and see if the initials MS and KR enclosed in a heart are still readable, scratched into one of the old seats. I smile fondly for a moment, recalling the rainy day Matthew bravely used his pocket knife to carve our initials into the wood. I cut off the thought, pushing away his memory and all the pain that comes with it.
“Just breathe,” I reassure myself. “That was a long time ago, and he is a long way away.”
Being back here always dredges up old memories, but Allie is usually with me, diverting my attention. This time, I find myself alone. Slowly, retracing my childhood steps, I make my way up the stairs, my fingers trailing along the wooden hand rail as I cross over the tracks on the bridge and out onto the other side toward the taxi stand. I hail a cab to take me to the Hastings Hotel.
The short drive to the hotel gives me a chance to organize my nostalgic thoughts and feelings. I package them up neatly and lock them away. This trip is supposed to be exciting and carefree; I am not about to let bad memories overshadow my precious time here.
Tipping the taxi driver and feeling my fatigue, I walk toward the hotel entrance, relieved that my journey is finally at an end. Allie and I have stayed at this hotel before, and we liked the place. It’s tucked away down at the far end of a busy roundabout; its location is convenient, since we are usually traveling between relatives. During my childhood, this end of town was mostly ploughed farmland and woods. Now, a small wooded area surrounding the hotel is the only evidence of the country haven it once was. The Hasting Hotel is two stories tall, a simple, long rectangular building of beige brick and white plaster, with honeysuckle vines climbing the exterior walls and flower beds full of fragrant white roses below.
The leaded glass windows give it an old English cottage feel, yet it is very modern inside and only a few years old. The lobby is bright and clean, with a small lounge area toward the rear that offers a light breakfast in the morning and complimentary coffee or tea all day. I walk through the automatic doors, and a young lady in her early twenties smiles at me from her computer and greets me warmly, giving me her full attention.
“Good afternoon, madam. How may I help you?” she asks, standing up from her chair behind the counter.
“Hi,” I reply. “I have a reservation for tonight, Katherine Jacobs.” I hand her my passport and credit card.
“Thank you, madam.” She takes my documents, clicking away on her computer. “Yes, we have your reservation for one night. Is the first floor suitable for you?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” I nod.
“Wonderful. If you can initial here and sign at the bottom.” She hands me a pen and motions to the highlighted areas on the hotel registration form. “Here is your passport, credit card, and room key. The lift is directly behind you. Your room is located on the first floor. Exit to the left, and you are all the way down the hall in room 232.”
“Thank you.” I take my items and start to gather up my suitcase, eager to get to my comfortable room.
“Is there anything else I can get you, madam?”
“No, thank you.” I smile and start turning toward the elevator.
“Thank you for staying with us at the Hastings, madam,” she concludes and returns to her computer.
The elevator doors open immediately as I press the lighted call button. I enter, and a computerized female voice announces, “Ground floor, doors closing,” very loudly. A short ride in the bright, mirrored elevator soon delivers me to the upper floor, and within minutes, I am happily settled inside my room.
The room smells wonderfully fresh, is exceptionally clean, and has a bright window overlooking the parking lot. It’s what I consider a standard room, with a small closet to the right, a bathroom to the left, and an inviting double bed with crisp white linens and a dark blue throw blanket. I can finally relax. I am here, and I have successfully made it with time to spare. I unpack my suitcase and evaluate how wrinkled my outfit is for tonight. Hanging up the silk blouse and skirt, I set aside my heels, put my toiletry bag in the bathroom, and finally take off my boots, crawling onto the bed. I set the alarm on my old fashioned English flip phone for five o’clock, close my eyes, and surrender to my exhaustion.
CHAPTER 3
Surprise
The bath feels heavenly, albeit narrow and small compared to my oval tub at home. It’s wonderful to soak in the piping hot water. My head is clearer after almost a three and a half hour nap, even though it took me two hits of the snooze button before I finally dragged myself up. It’s about nine in the morning at home, and my body clock is lost over the Atlantic somewhere in between time zones. After a refreshing cup of tea and a couple of cookies from downstairs, I opted for a long soak. The party isn’t until seven, and I have the advantage of being in the same parking lot, so I have plenty of time.
I don’t know what to expect tonight. Of course Diana will be ecstatic to see me, but I won’t know many of the other guests. Diana and I share a special friendship, but we have lived on different continents our entire adult lives. We share everything with each other; in truth, I probably know far too much about her marriage, and vice versa.
Di always says if we lived close to each other, we would be “thick as thieves,” implying that we would be inseparable, and I know this to be true. But like I have my girlfriends back home, she has her girlfriends here, women I don’t know, women she interacts with on a daily basis. I cringe briefly; thank goodness Diana has severed ties with an awful woman, Tracey, from years ago. I met her once when they stopped over in Los Angeles, and what a disaster that night turned out to be. She almost ruined our friendship. Deep down, I suppose I’m feeling a little insecure and perhaps a bit nervous.
Of course I can rely on Jenny, Diana’s sister, who is four years older than us and an absolute riot. She is about five foot ten, skinny, beautiful, unmarried with no kids, and has a personality that reminds me of a flamboyant movie star. Everyone is “darling” and everything is “smashing” or “marvelous.” She came over and stayed with us in California for a holiday a few summers back, and we had an amazing time. Dave and Allie adore her. I am looking forward to seeing her again and saying thanks in person for the invitation to the party tonight, because if it weren’t for Jenny, I wouldn’t be here.
After shaving my legs and emptying the bathwater, I have a final rinse under the shower. I step out and dry off, and I lavishly smother myself in a fresh-scented white tea lotion that matches the sham
poo, conditioner and bath gel I have used, all compliments of the hotel. The scent is refreshing and clean, with a hint of exotic floral, and smells divine. My makeup routine is simple: mascara, eyeliner, bronzer for my face, and lip gloss. My hair is a little higher maintenance, but soon enough, I am staring at my reflection and satisfied with the end result, a staggering improvement from the tired, middle-aged woman I saw earlier on the plane. I feel rather sexy.
The silver-grey silk blouse I picked out to wear hangs well, compliments my figure, and enhances my eyes, making them appear more of a slate blue. The scooped neckline shows a little cleavage and the diamond necklace I am wearing. It’s a princess cut platinum solitaire that Dave surprised me with on our fifteenth anniversary this year, and it matches the diamond earrings I am wearing that he gifted me with on our tenth. The black pencil skirt sits modestly at knee length and is fitted but not overly tight, allowing me to walk and sit comfortably. My small leather clutch purse matches the color of my blouse and is large enough for my lip gloss, breath mints, credit card, and some cash. The only doubts I have are about the two-and-a-half-inch black stilettos. I know they are going to cause me pain, but they complete the outfit.
Sorting through my carry-on bag, I spew the contents onto the desk, searching for the charming, purple gift-wrapped box I have been carrying around like precious cargo. Months ago I found a beautiful dark wood picture frame that had friendship quotes engraved into it. I had a local engraver match the font and engrave mine and Diana’s names on it. The only problem was that it needed the perfect photograph. I searched and searched though pictures old and new until I found the precise one. It is a photograph of me and Diana taken in the summer of 1986. I was home for two weeks of vacation, my first time back since leaving a year and a half earlier. I remember the weekend clearly. Diana and I had arranged to spend most of the weekend together, and we were getting ready to go out that night when Jenny took the photo. We are so young, just shy of sixteen, and the intensity in our eyes and the happiness of that moment are evident. Our arms are wrapped around each other as we sit on Diana’s bed, smiles beaming across our makeup-painted faces.
When I stumbled across it, I was instantly taken back to that moment. I was so excited to be home again, to see Diana, and we had so much fun that night at the club. Then, of course, there was Matthew. My heart warms for a moment with the thought of him, another relapse, then quickly hardens back up, encasing itself in a protective shell. I force my well-trained mind to return to the happier thought of Diana. I hope she likes the gift.
I try to divert my nervous energy and focus on my breathing—a technique learned in yoga class—in an effort to calm myself. In through the nose, out through the mouth, I repeat over and over to myself. Tucking my purse under my arm, I grab Di’s birthday gift and close the door quietly, stepping out into the hallway.
“Here goes!” I mutter, checking around to make sure no one is listening.
A few minutes later, I am walking outside, heels clicking on the concrete pathway, the scent of roses and honeysuckle filling the air as I stroll along the quaint walkway in between the hotel and the restaurant next door. The air is cool and refreshing, the evening sky still fairly bright, although a warm, golden glow is starting to span the scattered clouds as the sun begins its descent. There are quite a few cars in the parking lot, and I can hear music drifting from The Swan, but it doesn’t sound too loud yet, so I am not sure if anyone has arrived for Diana’s party.
It probably would have been a good idea to keep watch from my room, as now it appears I will be walking into a room of strangers. Thank goodness it isn’t a surprise party; Diana is aware that Terry has arranged a light buffet and reserved a small section of the restaurant for family and friends to celebrate her birthday. At least I’m in the clear to walk right in. Gathering up my courage, I approach the entry, and taking one last deep breath, I push against the heavy doors.
The Swan is quaint and charming but with a modern twist. The exterior matches the hotel, since they were both built around the same time. Upon entering through the black wooden doors, the pub area is directly to my right. Gorgeous limestone tiles in various shades of cream welcome me toward the grand bar that runs the length of the room. Stacked stones in matching tones cover the front of the bar, with multiple beer taps scattered atop and about a dozen dark brown leather bar stools inviting me to take a seat and select a drink from the many choices on display. The restaurant, to the left, features a large exposed brick fireplace as the focal point along the far wall, and I can imagine how welcoming it must feel on a chilly winter evening.
Tonight, a section of the dining room floor has been cleared to accommodate dancing and a buffet, but plenty of tables with cream colored linens remain, offering seating for a least a hundred guests. Based on the empty bar, I am guessing Terry must have rented the entire venue for the night. He has gone above and beyond, as there is a DJ setting up with disco lights, and purple balloon arches decorate the cake table, the buffet spread, and all four corners of the dance floor. A table is set up in the corner by the fireplace with a stunning two-tiered chocolate cake decorated with fresh summer flowers in shades of purple and lilac (Diana’s favorite colors), surrounded by matching cupcakes.
So far, about thirty guests have arrived, seated at various tables throughout the restaurant. As I make my final evaluation of the room, feeling out of place and self-conscious, Jenny spots me, and I hear her yelling my name over the music.
“Katie! You made it!” she exclaims. She leans in and gives me two exaggerated air kisses on each cheek. Kiss, kiss. Kiss, kiss. “I’ve been messaging you all day, darling.” She smacks my hand as if I’m a misbehaving child. “You’ve had me worried sick.”
Surprisingly, tonight I find myself the same height as Jenny, as she is wearing adorable flat gold sandals, her toes painted in a French manicure, her legs tanned darker than mine. She must have recently been on holiday somewhere warm. She looks lovely in a white, strapless summer dress, which is mid-thigh length and gathered at the waist, enhancing her amazing “I’ve never had kids” figure. Her long, dark hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, showing off enormous gold hoop earrings. Her brown eyes remind me of her sister.
“Oh, Jenny, it’s good to see you again. And I am sorry. I haven’t checked my messages. I was so tired when I got in … please forgive me, darling,” I mimic. She gives me a twisted smile.
“Come on, let’s get a drink quickly.” Jenny grabs my arm, pulling me in the direction of the bar. “Di will be here any minute.”
A few more guest come through—none of whom I recognize—while I sit waiting for Diana to arrive. Jenny, who abandoned me shortly after I arrived, is off being a socialite, and I have found a small table away from the dance floor. There is a group of ladies to my far left, Diana’s girlfriends I assume, and another large party that appears to be Diana’s relatives is seated over by the buffet table. The dance floor is empty, although I doubt it will be for long.
The doors open once again, and this time I spot Joe, Terry’s older brother, walking in with his mom. She’s holding hands with Annie, Terry and Diana’s ten-year-old daughter. Their faces are bright and cheery, and following behind them I see Terry and Diana. I can tell that Diana is surprised the moment she walks in, her eyes widening in shock as she spots the balloons, DJ and cake table. I enjoy watching her take it all in, and she turns to Terry and gives him a big hug and kiss. Their affection for each other is genuine, and it makes me smile because I know it takes a lot of hard work. They have been together since they were kids, but the closeness, the intimacy they share, is authentic.
Di is dressed in a lovely black and white dress; the design, with white at the outside edges, makes her appear especially slender. It is form-fitting, with capped sleeves and a round neck. Of course she is sporting her classic black three-inch heels, a coordinating jacket hanging over her arm next to a striking red leather purse. Her hair is rich, dark brown, trimmed short in her signature pixie cu
t, and she looks radiant.
Terry matches her perfectly in simple black dress pants and a white silk island-style shirt, untucked with short sleeves. He has gained a few pounds since I last saw him, and he sports a bronze spray tan, but he is still extremely handsome with his green eyes and thick head of blondish brown hair that’s fashionably spiked up. He stands about six inches taller than Di tonight with her heels and his hair. Together they make a stunning couple.
The ladies next to me notice that Diana has arrived, and they jump up in unison, yelling “Happy birthday!” very loudly and stampeding toward her. I hang back, momentarily enjoying the scene as a spectator, watching as she hugs each one of her girlfriends. I try to pick out who is who based on our emails, trying to pair these ladies to the descriptions Diana has given me.
First, I know that one of them, she doesn’t particularly like at all. Another is a drunk who flirts outrageously with Terry, and another is having an affair with her kids’ swimming instructor. Then there is Gemma, whom Di absolutely adores, and who, next to me, is one of her closest friends. The crowd is starting to liven up with renewed energy at the birthday girl’s arrival, and as Diana’s parents, Tom and Sue McFarren, arrive next, the family group from over near the buffet table joins in the meet and greet in the entryway.
I spot Terry and Joe heading toward the bar. Since my presence has gone undetected with all the excitement and commotion, I slip away from my table and walk toward them on the outskirts of the room, in the shadows. I have the element of surprise on my side as I approach the bar; the two men are immersed in conversation with their backs toward me. In a split second, I wedge myself between them, taking the Hearst brothers by surprise.
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