by Karen Swan
‘And by then it was too late?’
He looked out into the blackening night and nodded.
‘Did you go to the wedding?’
‘Of course not. There was no way I could watch her walk down the aisle to another man. That’s when I moved to Milan.’
‘So you left the country because of her.’
‘Distance just felt better. It made it easier to move on. A completely fresh start.’
Laura stared at his back. ‘When did you next see her after the wedding?’
He turned back to her, pressing his skin against the cold glass without a wince. ‘I opened my door one morning two years ago and there she was, on my doorstep.’
‘In Milan?’
He nodded and she felt another stab of pity for him. He had left the country, tried again with another woman, but Cat haunted him like a ghost. Did she even know how he felt about her still? Did he know how he felt about her? The way he behaved, flirting with everyone – her, Orlando, Sam – Laura could almost believe the truth was still a secret to him.
‘What about Isabella?’
He looked at her sharply. ‘What about her? She’s fantastic, and Cat’s married. What am I supposed to do? Live like a monk? Let my life pass me by just because Cat ran off with another guy on a whim?’
‘It’s hardly a whim, Alex. They’ve been married for over four years.’
He shrugged and looked away. Laura felt sorry for Isabella, but to her surprise she felt even sorrier for him.
Laura exhaled slowly. ‘Well, I think we’re done,’ she said quietly, standing up.
‘What? But we’ve only just started.’ He came and stood by her, his default setting back on – flirt.
Laura shook her head, no longer flustered by his proximity. She couldn’t be safer with him. ‘What I needed was to understand the essence of your relationship, Alex-the-ex, and I’ve got it. I know exactly what I’m going to do for your charm.’
‘What?’
But Laura shook her head. ‘It’s Cat’s surprise. Not yours. I’m sure you’ll know soon enough.’
Alex stared at her for a second, almost deflating as he gauged the lack of response from her. Before the air between them had crackled and fizzed; now it was as flat as week-old champagne. His heart was shackled to Cat and they both knew it. He left the room without a wisecrack or loaded look, all the cocky grins gone; he was only half the man who’d walked in.
Laura walked to the glass doors and pressed one hand against the cold glass. She felt a poignant sadness for him – the Romeo undone by his own teenage dream; she knew only too well what it was to present a brave face to the world. She remembered what she’d said to him at lunch yesterday. You’re her first love, the boy who broke her heart. It makes you unforgettable.’ Who’d have thought it had been the other way around?
A slight movement to the left of the window made her start, but it was too dark to see clearly. She opened the doors quickly and stepped out on to the balcony. No one was there. The Blakes’ balcony was deserted too, but the curtain was swaying slightly as though it had just been moved. They had probably been enjoying the night view as she was, but she had a funny feeling that she and Alex had been watched.
But that was ridiculous. Neither Rob nor Cat could possibly care about what she got up to in a locked room with Alex.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Laura sat on the sofa in the back row of the cinema room, wondering how it was that Cat made even slobbing-out look chic. She was wearing a winter-white cashmere tracksuit with baby-blue and white striped cashmere socks. Laura looked down at her own ensemble: dark green Jack Wills trackie bums bought in the sale and a navy and green flannel lumberjack-type shirt that had already lost a button and so had to be either closed up to the neck or left flopping open and dangerously close to exposing her M&S bra.
Laura dragged her eyes back to the screen and watched dispassionately as George Clooney performed a masterclass in being handsome and funny at the same time. He usually did it for her, but tonight she was more interested in the men who were busy being handsome and funny in this blacked-out room. Since her revelatory interview with Alex, and the contretemps with Rob, she felt like she was on shifting sands. She didn’t understand Rob’s persisting anger with her, any more than she understood why Alex was going to marry a woman he didn’t love.
Alex, sitting in the middle of the three rows, had started a popcorn fight and kept landing perfect aims on Orlando, but more particularly Rob. David didn’t stop texting, driving Sam to despair as his bright screen interrupted her concentration until eventually she confiscated it from him altogether.
‘On the naughty step, David?’ Alex chuckled, lobbing a piece of popcorn at him so that it landed in his beer.
Laura watched in silence, happy to be protected by the darkness. Now that she had some context, Alex’s behaviour was easy to read: the joking, happy-go-lucky, inveterate flirt – they were all modes that kept attention on what he was doing and deflected attention from how he might be feeling.
Isabella snuggled into him, yesterday’s fight already forgiven and forgotten. Maybe she knew what she was dealing with. Women were intuitive in these matters. Perhaps she accepted the off-screen role that Cat played in their lives. Cat was married, after all, and posed no direct threat to their relationship. It was Alex’s fantasies and memories she had to contend with, not the woman herself.
Laura’s eyes drifted over to Rob, the man living Alex’s dream. Cat was stretched out on him, her head in his lap, and she kept intermittently feeding him. Occasionally, Laura would see Cat’s arm snake up to his neck, bending him down to her for a kiss, even though he seemed more interested in the film.
A wave of loneliness broke over her in the back row, closely followed by exhaustion, and she wasn’t sure she could manage several more hours of keeping a smile on her face. She had to go to bed. She’d already seen the film they were watching anyway. Quietly, she rose to go, placing a finger on her lips as Kitty looked across at her questioningly. Laura put her hands to the side of her cheek, indicating she was going to bed. Kitty nodded and winked as Laura tiptoed along the back row.
The spray of light as she opened the door into the hall was only momentary, and she ran lightly up the corridor towards the spa and lift. She stepped in, pressing the ‘up’ button and leaning against the back wall. Would it be wasteful to run another bath?
The doors were just closing when a hand suddenly shot between them and Rob followed in after her.
‘Rob!’ she said in alarm.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he panted as the doors closed behind him.
She sank against the back wall with no desire to do anything of the sort after his sharp words earlier. ‘I’ve done all the interviews, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve spoken to everyone I need to here and I’ll talk to Min and Olive when I get b—’
‘No. I don’t mean that.’ He coughed into his hand and she knew now that meant, Cue real emotion. ‘I have to apologize for the way I spoke to you earlier in the bedroom. It was unforgivable. A complete overreaction. I’m not even sure why I was so—’
‘It’s fine. You don’t have to explain!’
‘Yes I do! I was harsh on you,’ he insisted vehemently. He shifted his weight, staring at her in bafflement. ‘Why do you do that? Why do you think it’s okay for people to treat you badly?’
A long moment passed as Laura tried to find a way out of this conversation. ‘Is this some kind of corporate team-bonding thing where we’re all supposed to pull together and increase our self-esteem?’
She tried to pass it off as a joke but her sarcasm angered him. ‘Don’t try to fob me off this time. Why don’t you think you’re worth more than that?’ he demanded.
The doors opened and she went to move out, but Rob barred the way with his arm.
‘Rob!’ she laughed nervously.
But he just stared back at her.
‘T-This is ridiculous!’
she stammered.
Another awkward moment passed between them and she found she couldn’t hold his stare. ‘Where did you jet-ski, then?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘On the skidoo earlier, you told Alex you’d jet-skied. Where?’
She held out her hands questioningly in a WTF gesture that only infuriated him further.
‘In the British Virgin Islands,’ she said finally. ‘Why?’
‘What were you doing there?’
Laura tipped her head to the side, feeling her own temper beginning to surface. ‘We were closing on a deal with a client. Okay? Is that enough for you?’ she asked huffily. ‘Do you want to know what I was wearing too? What I’d had for breakfast that day? What is this? Why do you even care?’
‘I don’t care, I just don’t understand how the woman who skied with me on the glacier today can be the same one tiptoeing around like she wants to be invisible. I watch you with everyone here and you’re so supplicating and submissive, as though what you think or feel doesn’t matter.’
‘Because it doesn’t.’
‘How can you think that?’ he demanded angrily, taking a step towards her.
‘I don’t understand why you’re shouting at me,’ she said quietly, shrinking back. ‘You said you wanted to apologize, but now you’re angry with me. Again.’
‘Because I want to understand why you’re so determined to deny the fact that you’re talented and brave and daring. I mean, you’re just . . . you’re . . .’ His voice broke and his eyes roamed her face, hungry for the answers to his questions. ‘You’re incredible.’
His words appeared to stun him as much as her as they stood together in the tiny lift, their reflections mirrored back to them a hundred-fold. Neither of them dared breathe, blink, speak . . . The very air between them felt combustible, as though words would ignite into flames in here. He looked away first, his breath coming fast and Laura willed herself to move. She stepped to the side to get past him as he stood stock still, hands on his hips, his head dropped – in shock? Embarrassment? Shame? She didn’t know what – when she felt his hand grip her arm and swing her back into him. The coppered glass of the lift was cold against her back, but his lips were hot as he kissed her with a passion that made all the colours and noises and desires she’d drained from herself spring like a riot. That tangential difference between surviving and living hit her again like a punch, and for one moment – two – three – she went with it. She couldn’t not. Every impulse in her body was fighting for it as if it was the breath that sustained her.
But it couldn’t last. She couldn’t let it. She pulled away from him violently, feeling the vitality that he made rise in her ebb instantly. It was like moving away from a fire, the heat falling with every step. ‘No,’ she whispered, edging past him, her hands feeling for the open doors and the space she needed to escape him. This.
‘Laura,’ he implored, his chest heaving with the effort it took not to grab her again, but she shook her head, desperately.
‘No . . .’
‘Laura, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to . . . Just talk to me!’
But the woman she knew he’d glimpsed in their kiss had already gone. The woman he was so intent upon finding, she was equally determined to hide.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was only two in the afternoon, but already Laura had jam-packed frenzied activity into every minute of the day. Being too damned busy to think was her master plan and it had got off to a great start: a dawn flight and rush-hour traffic on the motorway had kept her concentrating all the way home. And when she’d found the house empty, she hadn’t tarried there either – wolfing down a ham sandwich as she threw her clothes into the washing machine, she had marched straight back out again, calling Fee from the car. Twenty minutes had been allocated to choosing paints in Homebase and now she was ready to throw herself into some hard labour and pick up her own life where she’d left off. Verbier had never happened.
Laura lifted the enormous paint pots out of Dolly’s boot and staggered haltingly back over the sand towards the hut. She set them down carefully on the new veranda, determined not to create a single dent or chip in the carpenter’s handiwork. He’d done her proud – the rotten shiplap boards had been replaced, new felt put on the roof, a new floor laid and triple-glazed safety glass cut to size for the windows that would hopefully help with insulation. She patted it triumphantly.
Laura had asked Fee to go via the studio to get some clean cups and fresh milk for them both, and when she came back, they’d be set to start; all that remained now was to decorate the inside and out, and furnish the interior.
Laura looked down the beach for her, agitated, not wanting to be still for a second, but there was no sign. She cupped her hands together and breathed hot air into them, scrunching up her toes in her wellies to keep the circulation flowing. The temperature had dropped significantly over the weekend – bizarrely it felt colder here than it had done in Verbier – and storms were heading in from the North Sea. She could see the waves in the distance being whipped up like meringues, and the shore boasted a dirtied white froth on the sand like a moustache.
Laura hopped inside the hut to take shelter, shutting the new half-glazed door behind her and muffling the roar of the sea. The carpenter had fitted a deadbolt on to the door to maximize security, but you still couldn’t leave anything worth more than a biro in here. God only knows what security measures Jack would install when she gave it to him – lasers? Armed patrol?
She crouched down, levered open a paint pot with a butter knife and began to stir fast, a few splatters dotting the new floorboards.
‘Dammit,’ she muttered, smudging them hurriedly with a J-cloth.
‘I’m back!’ a reedy voice called, and Laura jumped up and opened the door. Fee was climbing the steps, her eyes to the ground as she carried a stack of letters wedged beneath her chin and two steaming cups of tea in her hand.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Laura cried, taking the letters from her.
Fee groaned and stretched out her neck. ‘Ooh, that’s better. I was getting so stiff walking all that way like that. I felt like a swa—’ She faltered and her mouth dropped open as she took in Laura’s new blonde look.
‘I cannot believe you made the tea and walked half a mile with it, Fee!’ Laura said, panicking at her dumbstruck expression and trying desperately to divert her with anger, the best form of defence. ‘I meant for you to get the cups and milk and we’d make it here.’ She pointed towards the shiny red whistling kettle perched expectantly on the new white melamine worktop.
Fee just gaped at her. ‘You went blonde?’
‘Not my idea. Cat and Kitty’s,’ Laura mumbled, smoothing it nervously with her hands. ‘What do you think?’
‘What do I think? You know perfectly well what I think! I’ve been telling you to dye it for years! But what does my opinion matter? Three days with the posh girls and you’re putty in their hands! And talking of your—’ She picked up Laura’s hands and stared at the grey polish. ‘You never paint your nails.’
‘It’s Chanel.’
‘Oh, is it?’ Fee asked, unimpressed. ‘Well, they make your hands look like they’re dead.’ She dropped Laura’s hands disgustedly. ‘I can’t believe . . . I mean, you were gone for three days and you’ve come back looking like a completely different person!’
Laura held her breath. She had felt like a completely different person. Out there.
‘Has Jack seen you yet?’
Laura shook her head. ‘It’s only a wash-in hair colour, Fee. I can always change it back if he doesn’t like it.’ Laura rolled her lips together, trying not to cry. Her emotions were alarmingly close to the surface.
Fee softened, knowing her too well. ‘Well now, don’t be hasty. It looks a lot better, like I always told you it would. I’m just upset you trusted some strangers’ opinions over mine, that’s all.’
‘But they’re not strangers, Fee . . .’ Laura began, before
catching sight of Fee’s face.
They fell silent.
‘Anyway, this looks great!’ Fee said, pointedly steering them into safer waters.
Laura nodded. It was a million miles from being a deluxe chalet in Verbier with leather floors and . . . She squeezed her eyes shut. No. ‘Well, when it’s all painted up, it’ll be, uh . . . yes,’ she faltered.
‘You’ll have to put up some hooks for your wetsuits,’ Fee said quietly, crossing to one of the side walls and patting it. The pat marked the spot. ‘And you’ll need a shelf or more hooks for towels.’
‘Yes, and I’ve just bought a basket for shoes and flip-flops. Wellies too in the winter.’
‘Yup. Storage. I like it.’
‘And I thought I’d have a go at making a curtain to pull along under this counter so we don’t have to look at that ugly great gas canister.’ Laura kicked it lightly with her foot. It was a long way from the sushi grill in the chalet.
They stood looking at the tiny, unpainted space together, their half-full cups of tea steaming in the cold air.
‘Jack’s going to love it, Laur. And he’ll be so touched when he hears all the trouble you’ve gone to to make it like this for him,’ she said quietly, looking across at her as though still trying to absorb the transformation. ‘You’ve got a bit of a tan.’
‘Really?’ Laura touched her face, remembering how this time yesterday she’d been flying across the mountains, holding on to Rob for dear life on the back of that skidoo. She still remembered how his muscles had contracted beneath her touch as she held onto him. ‘Wind-burn probably,’ she said, her voice thick. She quickly turned away, crouching down and stirring the paint.
Fee watched her. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘I dunno. You just seem a bit . . . subdued.’
‘I’m fine.’
She heard Fee inhale deeply. ‘Well, you’re not the only one with stuff going on. Paul and I broke up.’