‘She’s obviously missing Clemmie a lot. She must get so lonely, rattling around in that big house by herself.’
‘Posy has always been fond of Evie,’ commented Amy.
‘Yes,’ Marie agreed, ‘the two of them spent a lot of time together when they worked at Nick’s shop.’
‘It’s odd though, because Evie seemed so uneasy with Posy when we saw her at the literary festival. Posy wonders what she’s done to upset her.’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Marie shrugged. ‘Evie is a very private person – she always has been. Anyway, do you think Posy will sell Admiral House?’
‘I can hardly believe she’s considering it; it’s been in her family for at least a couple of hundred years, but unfortunately, I don’t think there’s much money to help restore it.’
‘Maybe she’ll leave it all to her sons in her will, then you’d part own it,’ suggested Marie. ‘And I think it might be a little bit more comfortable for you, Sam and the kids than your current home.’
‘Posy has offered lots of times to have us all to stay, but Sam always said no.’ Pride made Amy bristle. ‘Anyway, I do hope it won’t be for much longer. Sam’s got a big property project on the go.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard about that,’ nodded Marie.
‘Really?’ Amy looked at her in surprise. ‘How come?’
‘It’s no big mystery. I’m an estate agent and Sam has been into the office a few times looking for possible purchases. The kind of places he’s looking for must mean he’s got a few bob to spend. He must have a very rich backer.’
Marie’s general inquisitiveness was starting to irritate Amy. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea. I don’t really get involved with Sam’s business dealings.’ She drained her tea cup and looked at her watch. ‘I really think we must be on our way.’
‘Of course.’ Marie eyed Amy as she stood up. ‘By the way, I saw a friend of yours the other day.’
‘Did you? Who?’
‘Sebastian Girault. He was in the office enquiring about winter lets. Apparently he’s got a book to write and he wants to rent something in Southwold where he can hole up for the next few months and get some peace and quiet.’
‘I’d hardly say he was a friend of mine, Marie, in fact, quite the opposite.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Marie gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘He seemed very interested in you that day of his reading. And he is sooo attractive.’
‘Is he?’ Amy walked into the sitting room. ‘Right, kids, we’re off home.’
Driving the three miles back to the house, Amy felt unsettled by her conversation with Marie. Since she had met her with Posy and Evie a couple of Saturdays back, Marie had begun to chat to Amy in the playground, obviously eager to be friendly. She had undoubtedly come to Amy’s rescue this morning at school, offering to take Jake and Sara home to her house until Amy could collect them, but something about the intimacy with which she spoke to Amy – as though she had known her for years – made Amy feel uncomfortable. Marie was obviously a gossip, eager for any titbits thrown at her and even though she probably meant no harm, Amy, who regarded discretion as one of the great virtues, found it awkward.
‘It’s probably halfway round Southwold that I’m having an affair with Sebastian Girault,’ Amy muttered to herself as she pulled into the kerb in front of the house.
Sam was out as usual, so Amy bathed the children, read them a story and put them to bed. She found her purse and took out twenty pounds to put in the emergency stash she kept in a tin at the bottom of the wardrobe where Sam wouldn’t find it. Then she settled in front of the woodburner with Sebastian Girault’s book and waited for Sam to come home. She only hoped he wouldn’t be too drunk. As she began to read, despite her feelings about the author himself, Amy could not help being enchanted and moved by his novel. Surely, anyone who could write with such pathos and understanding of human emotions could not be all bad?
Amy gazed into the flames. What Marie had said earlier was surely ridiculous. Why on earth would someone as glamorous as Sebastian Girault be the least bit interested in a very ordinary part-time receptionist and mother of two?
As she heard footsteps on the path up to the front door, she slammed the book shut. And just as it always did when Sam came back from the pub, Amy’s heart rate rose. The front door opened and Sam appeared in the sitting room.
‘Hi, sweetheart.’ Sam bent to kiss her and she smelt the familiar stench of beer on his breath. ‘See your car’s back, thank God.’
‘You can say that again,’ breathed Amy. ‘The bad news is that it cost over three hundred pounds.’
‘Christ. What did you pay with?’
‘Luckily, my salary’s just arrived in the bank, so I paid by card. And it cleared some of the overdraft, but we’re going to have to live on soup and baked potatoes for the rest of the month.’
Amy waited nervously for his reaction, but Sam sank onto the sofa and sighed. ‘God darling, I’m sorry, but with a bit of luck, all this will be behind us very soon.’
‘That’s good,’ said Amy, relieved that Sam seemed positive and upbeat. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘I got a pie and chips on my way home.’
‘Right. I’m so sorry, Sam, but I’m afraid you really are going to have to cut that kind of thing out for the next few weeks, otherwise we won’t make it through financially.’
‘Are you saying that a man can’t treat himself to a bag of chips after a hard day’s work?’
‘I’m saying we have a huge overdraft and we have to make our priority the kids until everything is sorted out. Sara’s desperate for some new shoes, Jake needs an anorak and—’
‘Stop trying to make me feel guilty!’
‘I promise you I’m not. I’m just telling you the facts as they are. There’s no money for anything this month, there really isn’t.’
‘You know,’ Sam shook his head and his eyes darkened, ‘you really are becoming the kind of wife men dread coming home to.’ He stood up and walked towards her.
‘I’m sorry, I really am. I . . . I’m just going to go out. I need a breath of fresh air.’ She stood up, swiftly grabbed her coat and walked towards the front door and was out of it before he could stop her.
‘That’s right,’ he mocked her. ‘Walk out on an argument as usual, rather than having it out here and now. Miss Hard Done To, Miss Perfect Mother and Wife, Miss . . .’
Amy heard no more as she walked hurriedly away towards the town, tears stinging her eyes. She’d learnt that this was the best way of dealing with him when he was drunk. With any luck, if she left it long enough, he’d have passed out on the sofa before she got back. And the fresh sea air would help clear her mind. It was a pleasant night and Amy walked briskly along the sea front until she found a bench. She sat down and looked out into the blackness, hearing the waves breaking on the sand below her.
The vastness of the ocean always made her feel insignificant, which in turn helped to put her problems into perspective. She sat breathing deeply with the break of the waves, trying to calm down. Across that ocean, there were millions of humans whose lives were destroyed by war, poverty and famine. There were children dying every day as a result of terrible diseases, or homeless, orphaned, crippled . . .
Amy counted her blessings. Even if life – and Sam – were difficult, she had two healthy children, a roof over her head and food on the table.
‘Remember, you’re just one of billions of ants, crawling across the face of the earth, trying to survive,’ she said to the air.
‘Very poetic. And very accurate.’
A voice from behind her made her jump up from the bench and turn round, her arms instinctively going across her chest. She stared at the tall figure in a long coat, a felt hat pulled down over his face to protect him from the wind. Amy knew exactly who he was.
‘Sorry to startle you. I believe we have met before.’
‘Yes. What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the self-same questio
n. As for me, I was just taking an evening stroll before cooping myself up in my hotel bedroom for the next eight hours.’
‘I saw you’re not staying at our hotel any more.’
‘No. I prefer somewhere with more reliable hot water so I don’t have to reduce the receptionist to tears.’
‘Oh.’ Amy turned round and sat back down on the bench.
‘I presume you’re here because you want to be left alone?’
‘Yes,’ she answered shortly.
‘Well, before I go on my way, I must make sure that my harsh words to you a couple of weeks ago have no bearing on your present state of mind.’
‘Of course not. Really, can we just forget it?’
‘Yes. Just one more question; have you had a chance to read my book?’
‘Some of it.’
‘And?’
‘I love it,’ answered Amy truthfully.
‘I’m glad.’
‘You’re an author. Of course you’re glad someone likes your work.’
‘Yes, but I’m particularly glad you like it, that’s all. Well, I’ll be off then. Leave you to your ocean.’
‘Thanks.’ Amy turned round, feeling suddenly guilty for her rudeness. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been off-hand. I’m just feeling a bit down, that’s all.’
‘Don’t apologise. Believe me, I’ve been there, and still revisit occasionally. All I can say, from bitter experience, is that life usually gets better, as long as you try to be positive.’
‘I’ve been trying to be positive for years, but it really doesn’t seem to help.’
‘Then maybe you have to look a little deeper, find out the real cause of your unhappiness and do something about that.’
‘You sound like a self-help book.’
‘Yes, I do. Done the course, got the therapy T-shirt, me. Sorry.’
‘Excuse me for saying so, but personally I think all that kind of stuff is self-indulgent crap. Try having two kids, a full-time job and no money. You just have to get on with it.’
‘So you’re part of the “pull yourself together” brigade, are you?’
‘Absolutely,’ Amy nodded vehemently.
‘Which is why you’re sitting alone on a bench in the dark, falling apart.’
‘I’m not falling apart. I just needed . . . some air.’
‘Of course. Anyway, I’ve already taken up too much of your space. I’ll see you around.’
‘Yes, see you around.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Amy watched Sebastian Girault stride off down the road. Objectively, she could understand why women such as Marie thought he was so attractive. He was a very striking man.
Walking home, she did feel calmer. This was her lot, her life and she just had to make the best of it. Yet she couldn’t help but hear Sebastian’s words, about discovering the root of her misery and acting on it.
She paused in front of her house for a few minutes, dreading going back inside. With a heavy heart, Amy reluctantly acknowledged what that root might be.
Chapter 8
‘Can I call you Monday with a final decision?’ asked Nick. ‘I just have to make sure the finances are in place and give myself forty-eight hours to mull it over. But I’m ninety-nine per cent sure I’ll take it.’
‘Good. I’ll look forward to hearing from you Monday, Mr Montague.’
The two men shook hands and Nick stepped out of the front door. He turned round to face the shop, and imagined the currently dreary frontage repainted in a deep emerald green, with his own name above the windows in gold.
He felt confident that it was the right showroom in which to place his antiques; lots of window space to attract passers-by and as well as the spacious ground floor, a large basement with enough room for a workshop and storage.
He crossed the busy Fulham Road and felt satisfied the location was perfect. Right in the heart of a stretch of pavement littered with high-quality antique, interior and bespoke design showrooms. Admittedly, he would have to pay more for the lease than he had originally budgeted for and it was a high-risk operation; ten years abroad had left him with no track record here and he would have to start from scratch.
Yet it was none of the above which daunted him, had made him want to think twice before a gentleman’s handshake sealed the deal. The decision was much more fundamental: was he absolutely sure he wanted to live his life in the UK?
Nick’s mobile rang. ‘Hi, Tam . . . Yes, I think I’ve found it. Where are you? Okay, what about the Bluebird halfway up King’s Road? My treat. I’ll see you in ten minutes. Bye.’
Seeing the road was gridlocked with traffic, Nick decided to skip a taxi and walk the half mile or so to the restaurant. Even though he could feel the chill of autumn beginning to creep into the air, the sun was shining and the sky was an azure blue. As he walked, Nick pondered how amazing life was. After feeling as if he’d been treading water emotionally for the past ten years, and avoiding all thoughts of returning home because it was just too painful, two weeks back in England and here he was, experiencing what could only be described as happiness.
Surely, he must still be jet-lagged, confused, on some kind of an initial high? There must be some explanation for the way he felt, as though the darkness had suddenly lifted and he was being propelled back towards the human race at a rate of knots.
And if it wasn’t any of those things – and Nick had to admit it was doubtful it was – that meant there was only one explanation for his current euphoria: Tammy.
Since their first meeting at Jane and Paul’s supper party, they’d seen each other constantly. With both of them on the hunt for premises for their businesses, they’d met up for coffee, a sandwich or an early evening drink to share their experiences. They’d bemoaned endlessly the price of finding somewhere suitable, then forgotten about business and talked to each other about their lives, their philosophies and their hopes and fears for the future.
Nick could not remember ever feeling so comfortable with another person, especially a woman. Tammy was grown-up, together and bright. Best of all, Nick hadn’t had a hint of the usual neuroses that seemed to plague most single women he knew. She seemed happy in her own skin, calm and confident, and if she possessed any bunny-boiling tendencies, she was yet to reveal them.
So far, things had developed no further than friendship. In fact, as he paced along the street, Nick admitted that he had no idea whether Tammy liked him as a friend, or perhaps felt more. A woman like her could have anyone.
As he walked, Nick knew that Tammy had completely confused the picture. He felt it was now impossible to make a rational decision about his future. If he stayed here in London, would it be because of her?
He could hardly tell Tammy of his quandary. She’d think him more than a little mad that he might base his future on whether she might be in it. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off by being pushy, but perhaps it would be possible to somehow glean if she did have any feelings for him over lunch. And take it from there.
He walked into the restaurant fifteen minutes later and saw Tammy sitting on a sofa in the bar, her long legs clad in jeans, with a green cashmere jumper that matched the colour of her eyes. He’d never seen her look more beautiful.
‘Hi, Tam.’ He leant down and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.
‘Hi, Nick,’ she smiled up at him.
‘Shall we go through? I’m starving.’
‘Sure.’ Tammy stood up and they both followed a waiter to a table. ‘This place is a bit of a notch up from our usual lunchtime meeting points. You must have good news.’
‘Hopefully, yes. How about a glass of champagne?’ Nick asked as they sat down.
‘Lovely. It is Friday, after all.’
‘Absolutely,’ he nodded. ‘Any excuse.’
‘Nick?’
‘Yes?’
‘Why are you staring at me like that?’
‘Sorry . . . I was just thinking . . . about something.’
‘What?’
> Nick mentally slapped himself out of his romantic daydream which, as he’d looked at her, had involved a small velvet-covered box and her delicate white finger. He told himself firmly he really was losing it and picked up the menu. ‘Nothing important. Posh fish and chips for me. How about you?’
‘The same, I think.’
Nick ordered two glasses of champagne and the fish and chips. ‘I do like a woman who likes her food.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t have liked me a few years ago. I was obsessed with my body. I hardly ate at all,’ said Tammy. ‘Let’s face it, my entire career depended on my figure. Then I gave up modelling, decided to eat exactly what I wanted and what do you know? I’ve hardly put on an ounce since. Which just goes to prove it’s mostly to do with your metabolism and very little else. So, tell me about the premises on the Fulham Road.’
They sipped champagne and Nick told her.
‘So, I have the weekend to make up my mind,’ he finished.
‘Surely, there’s no decision to be taken? It sounds perfect, absolutely perfect.’
‘It is, but life isn’t quite as simple as that,’ sighed Nick. ‘It’s a big move, to close up in Australia and start again here.’
‘But I thought it was what you wanted?’ said Tammy.
‘I think it is, and I’m ninety-nine but not a hundred per cent sure.’
Tammy’s face fell. ‘Oh Nick, I hope you’re not going to go back. I’d really miss you.’
‘Would you?’
‘Of course!’
‘Tammy, I . . .’
Typically, the momentum was broken by the arrival of the waiter with two plates of fish and chips. Nick ordered another couple of glasses of champagne. He needed as much Dutch courage as he could get.
Tammy stared at him across the table. ‘Is there something you want to say? You’ve been tense since you walked in here.’
‘I have, haven’t I?’ Nick took a large gulp of his drink. ‘Look, I’m rubbish at this kind of stuff, but I’ll try and explain as best I can.’
‘Go for it,’ Tammy encouraged him.
‘The thing is, Tam, the last couple of weeks have been fantastic. I’ve really enjoyed your company and stuff, but, well . . .’
The Butterfly Room Page 11