The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  He bent his head, but what began as a conventional New Year kiss suddenly deepened, taking them both by surprise, and it was with a palpable effort that they drew apart.

  ‘Wow!’ he said softly. ‘And I don’t even know your name!’

  ‘Mel,’ she supplied, heart hammering.

  ‘Hi Mel! I’m Bruce.’

  And as though in confirmation, a woman’s voice called, ‘Bruce! Hurry up with those canapés!’

  For a second longer their gaze held, then he called back, ‘Coming!’

  Jack reappeared at her side, bearing a selection of the savouries now being laid out.

  ‘OK?’ he asked, glancing at her flushed face.

  ‘Fine, why?’

  ‘You look a bit … bemused!’

  She forced a smile. ‘It’s all this champagne! Let’s go back on the balcony, I need some fresh air.’

  God! she thought incoherently; she’d been looking for a change, one that would, she hoped, advance her career, but physical attraction was an unexpected bonus and one she intended to make full use of.

  It was three weeks before she saw him again. In that time, having adroitly learned his surname – Marriott – she’d looked him up online and discovered he’d established an interior decorating company three years ago, that he was born in 1978 and had married Sonia Mary Jessop in June 2009. There were two children of the marriage. Pity; that could be an obstacle.

  She’d still not decided on the best means of approach when, as she was hurrying along Pitt Street one Saturday, a voice behind her said, ‘Well, hello again! I thought it was you!’

  She knew it! she thought, with a surge of triumph. Fate was on her side! She turned slowly to meet the grey eyes, the lopsided smile that had never been far from her thoughts.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  He hesitated. ‘You do remember me? Bruce? We met at New Year.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said.

  ‘So: has 2013 started well for you?’

  She shrugged. ‘Room for improvement.’

  ‘Oh? Might a coffee ease things along?’

  Finally she returned his smile. ‘It just might,’ she said.

  Ten minutes later they were seated at an outdoor table under a striped umbrella, cups of coffee in front of them.

  ‘So,’ he began, ‘you’re Mel. And that’s absolutely all I know! Since you’ve got a British accent, I presume you weren’t born here. Am I right?’

  ‘Quite right. I’ve been here five years.’

  ‘And what brought you in the first instance – holiday? Part of a world tour?’

  She took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s a long story; a school friend of mine had come over two years earlier to work as a chef at the Beaufort Hotel. She’d been trying to persuade me to join her; then, just as things at home were beginning to go pear-shaped, she phoned to say a job was coming up for maternity cover in their restaurant. I had a degree in hotel management, so I applied for the job, did an online interview and was lucky enough to get it.’

  He reached for a biscuit. ‘What happened when the cover period ended?’

  ‘Since my work permit was still good, I simply switched to housekeeping, where there was a vacancy.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You make people’s beds?’

  ‘I did for a while, but now I’m head of department, which is much more interesting.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, for a start I order supplies, supervise the staff, schedule their rotas, liaise with the general manager, oversee budgets and maintenance reports – you name it!’

  ‘Wow, multi-tasking on a large scale! We could do with someone like you in our business!’ Bingo! Though her heart leapt she kept her face neutral as he added, ‘Presumably you enjoy it?’

  ‘I do, yes, but I’ve been there a while now and feel in need of a change. I’m tired of shift work, for one thing – it plays havoc with my social life!’ She looked at him with a hint of challenge. ‘But how about you? What’s your line of work?’ As if she didn’t know!

  ‘Oh, I started an interior decorating business a few years ago and I’m glad to say it’s flourishing. In fact, we’re in the process of widening our range, branching out a bit.’ He paused. ‘You said you came out because things had gone pear-shaped?’ He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. ‘Sorry, just being nosy.’

  ‘It’s fine. My parents had died within a year of each other’ – she registered his exclamation of concern – ‘and I’d no other family. They were in their late forties when I was born and had given up all hope of a family.’ She smiled wryly. ‘At the school gates, the other kids thought they were my grandparents! Anyway, they’d left me a fair bit of money and there didn’t seem any immediate chance of promotion at the hotel where I was working. So when Barb called about the job here, I decided to stretch my wings. And here I still am,’ she ended.

  ‘You’re not thinking of going back to the UK?’

  She lifted her shoulders with a little laugh. ‘I’m not actually thinking of anything!’

  ‘What about your friend? The one who persuaded you to come here?’

  Mel grimaced. ‘She got married last year and went to live in Perth.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must get back; my shift starts in twenty minutes.’

  He said quickly, ‘Perhaps we could finish this conversation later?’

  She stood up and retrieved her bag from beside her chair. ‘We’ve come full circle, haven’t we? It is finished.’

  ‘By no means! At least,’ he amended, ‘I hope not! Could we fix another meeting? If you could give me your number …?’

  She smiled. ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ she said, and walked quickly away.

  He’d contact her, she was sure of it; he knew where she worked. She’d wasted enough time with Jack and he was holding her back now. Bruce Marriott, on the other hand, had a thriving business, was wealthy, influential – and undeniably attractive. And he was interested, the more so since she’d not seemed eager to meet again. This could be just the break she needed. In the meantime, she had things to do.

  As always, Jack was lounging in front of the television when she reached home just before midnight. He raised a lazy hand in greeting, his eyes still on the screen, and suddenly everything coalesced in her head – her general dissatisfaction, accentuated by a difficult conversation that evening with the general manager, Jack’s placid assumption that they were together indefinitely and, above all, Bruce Marriott. Her future, she felt sure, lay with him, and it was time to clear the decks.

  She walked over to the television and switched it off.

  ‘Hey!’ Jack looked up indignantly. ‘I was watching that!’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said crisply. ‘It’s time for you to go home.’

  ‘What?’ He looked at her in bewilderment. ‘I am home!’

  ‘To your own flat. Not immediately, obviously. I’ll give you a week to turf out your pals who’re slumming it there.’

  He struggled to his feet, unable to take in what she was saying. ‘Mel, what is this? We were fine this morning!’

  ‘No, Jack, we weren’t fine. We haven’t been fine for some time.’

  ‘But – hell, we can talk it over, can’t we? No cause for an ultimatum like this!’

  ‘I’ve tried to discuss it, you know I have, but you always brush it aside and now the time for discussion is past.’

  She walked towards the bedroom. ‘I’ll get the spare duvet and you can sleep on the sofa,’ she said.

  ‘The sofa?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘God, Mel! What brought this on?’

  ‘I’m making a new start,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘and I’m afraid you don’t feature in it.’

  EIGHT

  The result of Fleur’s visit to the surgery was much as she’d expected: a biopsy had been taken and she would be informed of the result in a few days. Somehow she must try to put it out of her mind till then, and hours alone in the studio with too much time to think was the last t
hing she needed.

  A little retail therapy should help, she decided, brightening. There were several things she needed, so she’d drive to Taunton and if possible meet her sister-in-law for lunch. They’d not had a chance to speak at Cassie’s party.

  ‘Hi Kathryn, it’s Fleur!’ she said quickly when her call was answered. ‘I’m coming into Taunton on a shopping trip and wondered if you’re free for lunch?’

  ‘Hello, Fleur.’ Kathryn sounded a little guarded. ‘Yes, I think I could make it; I have an appointment this morning but it should be finished by twelve. What kind of food do you like – French, Italian, Chinese, Indian?’

  ‘Goodness!’ Fleur laughed. ‘Just somewhere relatively central where we can have a reasonable meal and a good chat. You choose.’

  ‘Then I’d suggest Mangetout; it’s in the shopping centre, so easy to find. Would twelve thirty suit you?’

  ‘Perfect. See you there!’

  Kathryn was frowning as she put her phone down. Why on earth had she said she’d an appointment? It had been a purely instinctive reaction, leaving open the option of excusing herself later by claiming the meeting had overrun. An excuse? To avoid meeting Fleur?

  She gave an exclamation of annoyance. She was becoming paranoid, suspecting Justin might have primed Fleur to find out how much she knew. Which, of course, was ridiculous, first because Justin and his sister had never been close, and second because, knowing he was in the wrong, he was very unlikely to broadcast the fact.

  And the frustrating truth was that in fact she knew very little. Her suspicions had first been aroused by an increasing number of evenings ‘working late’, followed by the surely incriminating cliché of a lipstick-stained handkerchief in the laundry. When challenged with it, he first insisted it must be hers, and when told she never wore that colour, completely lost his temper and refused to discuss it further. Over-reaction, she’d surmised, and there the matter had rested.

  Which led her to wonder what the children had deduced; there’d been pointed questions about Justin’s move to the guest room and Amy had telephoned with unusual regularity since her return to college.

  Kathryn straightened her shoulders. She positively refused to be regarded as a victim. If her husband was foolish enough at his age to run round after other women, she would continue to behave with dignity until he came to his senses, when she’d decide what course to take. In the meantime she would certainly not be confiding in Fleur over a bowl of bouillabaisse, and if by any chance he was hoping otherwise, he’d be disappointed.

  Fleur was about to leave the house when Rose phoned, and she cursed under her breath. This was not the time for one of her mother’s leisurely, long-drawn-out telephone conversations.

  ‘This isn’t really a good time, Ma. Would it be all right if I call you back later?’

  ‘And where are you off to in such a hurry on a Wednesday morning?’

  ‘Taunton, actually, to do some shopping. I’m meeting Kathryn for lunch.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Fleur enquired, in spite of herself.

  ‘I meant to ask if you noticed any signs of strain between her and Justin at the party.’

  ‘No, I can’t say I did, but I was too busy to notice anything much. Why, did you?’

  ‘Yes indeed; treating each other with kid gloves while Amy watched them anxiously, poor child.’

  ‘Oh Ma, I’m sure you imagined it! But if you’re hinting that you’d like me to sound her out, I’m afraid the answer’s no. I refuse to spy on my lunch companion.’

  ‘As you wish. Still, this wasn’t the reason for my call: I met Miss Culpepper from the Rosemount at the shops, and she mentioned seeing you at the surgery yesterday.’

  Fleur closed her eyes and counted to ten.

  ‘Fleur?’

  She crossed her fingers. ‘I was collecting a repeat prescription for Verity’s eczema. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going!’

  ‘There’s no need to take that tone with me, Fleur. Naturally I was concerned.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s just that your bush telegraph can be a bit wearing. It’s like living in a goldfish bowl.’

  ‘Aren’t you mixing your metaphors, dear?’

  ‘Probably,’ Fleur said heavily. ‘Look, I really must go, but there’s nothing to worry about.’ Please God.

  ‘Very well; we’ll speak later.’ And Rose ended the call.

  Taunton looked positively festive in the summer sunshine. It was the height of the tourist season, the streets were crowded and parking was at a premium. It took Fleur over ten minutes to find a space, by which time she was beginning to regret her decision. She hoped her efficient sister-in-law would have booked the lunch table.

  Though she’d never admit it, she’d always been slightly in awe of Kathryn, and in fact when Justin first brought her home, both she and their parents had been taken by surprise. Previously his girlfriends had been of a type – blonde and scatter-brained. Kathryn was neither. For a start, she had a first-class degree in classics and was research assistant to an eminent professor at Exeter University. Tall, pale and reserved, her dark hair framed her face in a smooth pageboy and her voice was low, her smile grave. They hadn’t quite known what to make of her, but Justin was obviously besotted and they married six months later.

  And, Fleur reflected as she put her money in the machine, all these years later she didn’t know her any better.

  The tourists had naturally invaded the shops as well as the streets, resulting in thronged aisles and queues at the tills. Fleur became increasingly flustered, unable to find anything she was looking for. The sandals she wanted were not available in her size, the dress she’d seen advertised was sold out and her favourite shade of lipstick had been discontinued. She was therefore in a thoroughly irritable frame of mind when she went in search of Mangetout.

  Kathryn was, of course, there before her, cool and composed in lime-green linen. She raised a hand as Fleur hesitated in the doorway, and greeted her with a smile.

  ‘Successful shop?’

  ‘Far from it,’ Fleur answered ruefully, seating herself. ‘The entire sum of my purchases this morning is a copy of next week’s Radio Times, which I could have bought in St Cat’s!’

  ‘Oh dear, so a wasted journey? Let’s hope a good lunch helps to redeem it.’ She passed the menu to Fleur, who studied it.

  ‘Any recommendations?’ she asked. ‘I couldn’t face anything hot.’

  ‘I’ve chosen tomato salad to start with, which is just tomatoes sprinkled with basil in a delicious dressing.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Followed, I think, by pork terrine and a green salad.’

  ‘Perfect!’ Fleur laid down the menu and nodded as Kathryn raised the carafe of iced water.

  ‘I guessed that with the drive home ahead of you, you wouldn’t want anything stronger.’

  And Fleur, who might have bent the rules to include a glass of white wine, nodded reluctant agreement.

  ‘We did so enjoy Cassie’s party,’ Kathryn said after a minute. ‘She looked lovely, and so happy.’

  ‘We were lucky with the weather. There was that storm a couple of days later, if you remember.’

  ‘The English summer!’ Kathryn commented, and they both smiled. They sounded, Fleur thought, like two strangers making polite conversation. She wondered fancifully how her sister-in-law would react were she to say boldly, Is everything all right between you and Justin? Instead she commented, ‘It was good to have all the family there. We don’t often manage that these days, do we?’

  The waitress appeared. They gave their order and continued their inconsequential chat, Kathryn quizzing Fleur on the book she was illustrating, Fleur enquiring about Kathryn’s job. For several years now she’d been a freelance researcher, which had resulted in some fascinating work.

  ‘I could be immersed in Ancient Rome for months at a time, then have to switch to the life cycle of some obscure insect!’

  ‘Does it in
volve travelling?’ Fleur enquired. ‘Or are most things available online these days?’

  ‘I do have to travel sometimes, usually to specialist libraries, but not often abroad, more’s the pity.’

  ‘But you’ve had some exotic holidays, haven’t you – Africa, Vietnam, Japan? Actually, we’ve decided to spread our wings ourselves this year. As soon as school breaks up we’re heading off— Oh, God!’ She broke off as an unwelcome possibility occurred to her and in the brief silence the waitress reappeared with their tomato salads.

  Kathryn looked at her curiously. ‘What is it?’

  Fleur shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ Mechanically she picked up her knife and fork, but made no attempt to start eating.

  ‘Fleur?’

  She drew a deep breath. If that lump proved malignant they’d have to cancel the holiday of a lifetime that they’d spent the last few months planning. Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she blinked them rapidly away.

  Kathryn leaned forward, laying her hand over Fleur’s. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you feel well?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m OK, really.’

  Kathryn was not convinced. ‘For God’s sake, Fleur, you’re worrying me! Tell me what’s wrong!’

  Fleur looked up at her concerned face. ‘I’ve got a lump in my breast,’ she said.

  Kathryn sat back. ‘Oh, no!’

  Fleur swallowed. ‘I’ve been to the doctor and we’re awaiting the result of the biopsy. I’m so sorry, Kathryn; I didn’t mean to bring this up. It was just that I suddenly realized if things don’t go well we might have to cancel the holiday.’

  ‘Let’s not cross that bridge,’ Kathryn said briskly. ‘As I’m sure you know, a large percentage of lumps turn out to be benign. You’ve done the right thing going to the doctor, so for now try to put it out of your mind.’

  Fleur smiled shakily. ‘That’s why I came shopping! Owen’s the only one who knows, so please don’t say anything to Justin.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, eat your tomatoes and we’ll talk about something else. Will Cassie be going to university in September?’