When she emerged a couple of hours later, she was more than satisfied with the result. Her bronzed skin was glowing, her hair, in a flattering, layered style, was soft about her face, and she’d taken the opportunity of having her lashes darkened, making them appear longer and thicker. It was time and money well spent, and she looked ten years younger. But now, if she wanted any lunch, she’d better hurry back.
Lunch at the hotel took the form of a self-service buffet, and usually only about half the guests returned for it. Jill pushed her way through the swing doors, glancing to her left through the restaurant door. Douglas wasn’t at their corner table; perhaps he was waiting for her.
A man was standing at the reception desk, his back towards her, and something about his stance and the set of his shoulders struck a familiar chord. She stopped short, and was staring unbelievingly at him when he turned, meeting her gaze.
He smiled uncertainly. ‘Hello, Jill,’ he said.
Ten
‘Patrick!’ Jill said incredulously. And then, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Everything all right, darling?’ Douglas had come out of the bar behind her.
‘I – yes, I think so. It’s just . . .’
The newcomer came forward, holding out his hand, which Douglas, after a moment’s hesitation, took.
‘I take it you’re the proprietor?’ he was saying easily. ‘I’m Patrick Salter, an – old friend of your wife’s.’
‘Douglas –’ – Jill’s voice cut across his – ‘allow me to introduce my ex-husband.’
Douglas stiffened and withdrew his hand. ‘How do you do?’ he said curtly.
Patrick smiled the smile that had made Jill fall for him. ‘Look, I don’t want to be the spectre at the feast. I’m down here for a few days, but if you’d prefer me to stay elsewhere, I’d quite understand.’
‘Jill?’ Douglas demanded, his eyes still on Salter. ‘This is your call.’
She hesitated, knowing Douglas wanted her to dispatch him; but after the first shock, it was quite good to see Patrick again. Although the end of their marriage had been bitter, it was she who’d been at fault. Patrick had done no wrong, and if he wanted to offer an olive branch, she wouldn’t throw it back in his face.
‘Oh, I’m sure we can be civilized,’ she said evenly. ‘It would be too bad to deny him the best hotel in town.’
‘That’s kind of you, but are you sure it’s all right with you, Mr Irving?’
‘If my wife has no objection, you’re free to stay,’ Douglas confirmed briefly. ‘Enjoy your visit.’ He took Jill’s arm. ‘Ready for lunch, darling? I’ve been waiting for you.’ And with a nod at Salter, he led her firmly into the restaurant.
‘Husband number one or two?’ he enquired as they moved along the buffet table.
Jill glanced at him, noting his set face. It might have been wiser to send Patrick packing, but she was curious to know why he’d come. It wasn’t pure chance that he’d hit on this hotel; he’d shown no surprise at her appearance, obviously expecting her to be here.
‘Number two,’ she answered, ladling salad on to her plate.
‘Did you know he was coming?’
She turned to him quickly. ‘Douglas, of course not! We haven’t been in touch since the divorce.’
‘A bit odd, him showing up like this, don’t you think? How’d he know where to find you?’
‘I really have no idea. Why don’t you ask him?’
‘There’s no need to take that tone, Jill,’ Douglas snapped.
‘Well, I object to being interrogated. I’ve not seen Patrick for three years, and I resent your insinuating I somehow inveigled him down here.’
‘I insinuated nothing of the sort.’
Jill snatched up a roll and butter, added it to her plate, and carried it quickly to their table, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. The restaurant was less than half full, and no one had been near enough to overhear the exchange. She just hoped their body language hadn’t given rise to comment.
Douglas, following her, set his plate on the table with a noticeable thump and sat down. He was flushed, and a nerve jumped at the corner of his eye. She felt suddenly sorry for him.
‘We’re not quarrelling, are we?’ she asked.
He looked up, meeting her smiling gaze. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Patrick is history, Douglas. Don’t they say third time lucky?’
She had managed to coax a smile out of him. ‘Seriously, honey, I’m quite sure he hasn’t any designs on me.’
Douglas shrugged, picking up his knife and fork. ‘I still think it’s odd, him arriving midweek, out of the blue. He’s damn lucky we had that cancellation.’ He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. ‘Has he married again?’
‘I’ve no way of knowing, have I?’ Jill answered patiently. ‘Quite probably, I should think. He’s a nice man; as I told you, I was the guilty party.’
‘Why were you?’
Jill lifted her shoulders. ‘As I also told you, I’m easily bored.’
‘Are you bored of me?’
She looked up quickly, meeting his eyes and the sudden uncertainty in them.
‘No, of course not.’
‘I appreciate you’ve a lot of spare time on your hands. If you’d like more involvement in the running of the hotel, you only have to say.’
She shook her head. ‘I was speaking of emotional boredom. I love my life here. As you know, I’m bone idle and enjoy being a lady of leisure.’ She smiled. ‘And if you’re thinking the devil finds work for idle hands to do, don’t worry: he won’t pull one over on me!’
He gave a brief laugh, and some of the tension left his shoulders. ‘As long as I don’t have to chase Salter off the premises with a shotgun,’ he said.
Jill didn’t see Patrick during the afternoon, and although she noticed him across the room at dinner, they didn’t exchange any further words.
It was the next morning, as she walked into town to change her library book, that he fell into step beside her.
‘I hope you’re not averse to a bit of company,’ he said.
‘Why are you here, Patrick?’
‘I felt in need of some sea air.’
‘You knew I was here, didn’t you? How did you find me?’
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t set a private detective on you. I bumped into Claire Denver at a drinks party, and she mentioned receiving a Christmas card. Said you seemed to have gone into the hotel business.’
Douglas’s card, sent to business colleagues and regular guests, had boasted a photograph of the hotel, and, having run out of her own, Jill had used half a dozen of them herself. Obviously one had gone to Claire and Martin.
‘There’s no need to ask how you are,’ Patrick continued. ‘You look absolutely stunning.’
‘How about you? Have you married again?’
He shook his head. ‘I have a partner, as they say nowadays, but we haven’t tied the knot. Come to that, I seem to remember you swearing when we parted that you’d never do it again.’
‘I didn’t intend to,’ Jill admitted, ‘but Douglas’s position requires unimpeachable morals.’
Patrick was a good companion, she thought, pleasant and easy to talk to; he was also attracting interested glances from the women they passed, which she found gratifying.
‘Are you still living in the house?’ she asked him.
‘No, I didn’t fancy it, after you’d gone. Too many memories.’
She said quietly, ‘I treated you badly, didn’t I?’
‘Appallingly.’ His smile took the sting out of the word. ‘However, I’ve got over it, and Lucy and I are happy together.’
‘I’m glad.’
She stopped as they reached the entrance to the library, preparatory to their parting, but he nodded her ahead of him and followed her in, contentedly moving along the shelves and lifting out the occasional book as she made her own choice; and when they emerged into the sunshine, said casually,
‘Fanc
y a coffee?’
Assuming he’d then tell her the reason for his coming, she agreed, leading him not to her favourite café, where her friends would be gathering, but to one farther along the street. And sitting opposite him at the small table, she had her first really good look at him.
There were perhaps a few more lines round his eyes, but his chin was as firm and his eyes as blue as she remembered, and the lock of hair still fell over his forehead as it had always done. It surprised and slightly disconcerted her that she was still strongly attracted to him.
‘Latte?’ he queried, and she nodded with a smile.
‘So why isn’t “Lucy” with you?’ she asked, as the waitress moved away.
‘Ah.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘I told her I was coming away on business.’
‘She doesn’t know you’re seeing me.’ It wasn’t a question, though he answered it.
‘Obviously not.’
‘Why are you seeing me, Patrick?’
He began toying with the cutlery on the table, no longer meeting her eyes. ‘I feel pretty rotten about this, Jill. In fact, I wish to hell I hadn’t had to come. It’s – by way of being a last resort.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘Seriously. I really hate doing this. If there’d been any other way . . .’
She leaned back in her chair, puzzled by his embarrassment. Beads of sweat had sprung up on his hairline. Whatever he was about to say, there was no doubt that it wasn’t easy for him.
Their coffee arrived, but neither of them made any move to drink it.
‘The fact is,’ he blurted out, ‘I’m in a pretty parlous state. Financially speaking.’
‘I see.’ So that was it. She was more disappointed than she’d any right to be.
He looked up, pleading in his eyes. ‘You remember at the time you left that we were starting to expand the business?’
Patrick and his partner owned a small publishing house, printing limited runs of high quality coffee-table books.
She nodded, drawing the glass of latte towards her and stirring it with the long spoon.
‘Well, we’ve had to tighten our belts considerably of late, and the plain truth is that we’ve run into debt. Bad debt. The stuff we produce is for a limited market, and people aren’t spending as much on luxury goods. Added to which, the bank’s foreclosing on our loan, and quite frankly we don’t know where to turn.’
‘So you thought of the rich bitch,’ she said baldly. ‘Wasn’t that what you called me?’
‘Oh, Jill, please don’t. We both said some unforgivable things at the end. Look, if you were prepared even to consider it, I must stress it would be on a sound commercial basis, with the going rate of interest, and so on. We should be able to pay back the full amount within two to three years, all being well.’
‘And what would that full amount be?’
He took a deep breath. ‘About twenty thousand?’
‘You don’t do things by half, do you?’
‘I know it’s the hell of a nerve even asking you, but I really am desperate and I know you enjoy speculating. You always have.’
‘And exactly why should I even consider lending you a brass farthing?’
He smiled ruefully, and something inside her gave a little tug, making her catch her breath.
‘Because it would give you a hold over me?’ he suggested.
She drank some latte, aware of his tension. ‘I take it you’re not expecting an immediate answer?’
‘At least it’s not an outright no!’
‘Not an outright one, though frankly I can’t see what’s in it for me. I haven’t set myself up as a charity.’
He winced. ‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Is it?’ She stared thoughtfully down into her glass. ‘Does your girlfriend know of your money problems?’
‘That things are a bit tight, that’s all.’
‘Can’t she help?’
He shook his head. ‘She doesn’t have that kind of money.’
‘But, as the ad says, you know a girl who has.’
He didn’t reply.
‘How long are you down for?’
‘Till Friday. Just today and tomorrow, really.’
‘Well, I’ll think about it, and give you an answer before you leave.’
‘Thank you,’ he said humbly.
They parted outside the café. ‘I suppose you’ll want to discuss this with your husband,’ Patrick said.
Jill looked surprised. ‘Why should you suppose that? As you know, it’s my money – family money, that’s accumulated through what you call my speculation – and I spend it as I choose.’
‘Of course,’ he said quietly, ‘Silly of me. Jill, I really am terribly sorry to have sprung this on you. I know I’ve no earthly right to appeal to you, but, well . . .’
‘You didn’t know where to turn,’ she finished for him, and he smiled.
‘Exactly. Now I’ll leave you to do whatever you have to do, and take a look round this town of yours. It seems a charming little place.’
‘Oh, it is, and quite historical. Go to the Tourist Board – they’ll tell you what to look out for.’
‘I’ll do that. Thanks. And thanks again for even entertaining the idea of helping out.’
Jill had known from the first that she’d lend him the money, knew also that one reason for doing so was to keep in contact. Which was odd, she thought, as she continued her shopping; she’d not given Patrick a thought since their divorce, but having seen him, she was reluctant to lose touch again. Douglas and Lucy notwithstanding, there was still a spark between them, and she knew he was as aware of it as she was.
She spent the afternoon in a secluded part of the grounds with her new library book, suitably garbed in a sundress, in case any of the guests wandered by. At five o’clock, since the pool was deserted, she stripped to her swimsuit and passed an energetic twenty minutes swimming strongly backwards and forwards, relishing the cold water on her sun-warmed body.
Wrapped in a towel, she used the staff entrance to re-enter the hotel, to avoid meeting guests on her way upstairs. Instead, along the corridor from the kitchens, she came face to face with Douglas.
‘So there you are!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where have you been?’
Jill looked at him in surprise. He’d never before questioned her whereabouts.
‘In the pool. Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Before that.’
‘Reading in the garden.’
‘I didn’t see you.’
‘Why should you have done?’
‘I wondered where you were, that’s all.’
What he meant, Jill knew, was that he wondered if she was with Patrick, and since she had been that morning, she felt it wiser not to pursue the subject.
‘Did you want me for anything in particular?’ she asked innocently.
‘No, not really. The Beaumont wedding reception has been confirmed, but that’s not really your province.’
‘Good for business, though. Well done.’ She bent forward and kissed him quickly on the mouth, feeling his instant response.
‘You’d better go and get some clothes on, Mrs Irving, or I shan’t be responsible for the consequences.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, and, knowing she’d defused his anxiety, at least for the moment, she continued on her way.
Patrick was in the bar when she distributed menus that evening, but she treated him the same as the other guests, and he didn’t attempt to prolong the contact. She knew he was watching her as she moved around, aware that her brown arms and shoulders were displayed to maximum advantage in the primrose sheath dress she wore.
Douglas was still slightly guarded over dinner, watching her more closely than usual, and she was careful not to glance in Patrick’s direction. She kept up a stream of inconsequential chat, but it was an effort, and by the end of the meal she needed to escape from both her husband’s scrutiny and the possibility of bumping into Patrick, which would only aggravate it.
On impulse, therefore, she slipped out of the front entrance and crossed the road to the promenade. The families had returned long since to hotel or boarding house, and the beach was empty except for the odd figure or couple, some walking dogs. The tide was quite a long way out, and the darker sand was studded with shining pools reflecting the rosy tint of the sky.
Jill walked slowly along until she came to a set of steps, which she went down, stooping to remove her high-heeled shoes. The sand felt cool between her toes, and she started to move down towards the far line of the water, swinging her sandals by their straps. There was a slight breeze off the sea which lifted her hair and caressed her bare shoulders.
A wet collie dog came bounding up to her, spraying water from its coat, its breathless owner hot on its heels.
‘I’m so sorry! He didn’t splash your dress, did he?’
‘Don’t worry, it can go in the machine.’
‘I’m sorry – he just took off when I wasn’t expecting it.’
Then she was alone again. The sand beneath her was now dark and ribbed by the retreating waves, and the ridges made uncomfortable walking. She was in introspective mood, occasioned by the past and present being brought together in the form of Patrick. And what of Paul, her first husband? If she saw him again, would she want to go to bed with him, too?
Lifting her dress slightly, she stepped into one of the shallow pools, still warm after the day’s sunshine, and the sand, turned to mud by the water, squelched up between her toes. Some minute sea creature, stranded by the outgoing tide, swam in small circles round her feet. If she had a bucket, Jill thought, she would have caught it and carried it to the safety of the sea.
She stepped out of the pool and continued her walk until she reached the sea itself, pulsating slowly, retreating steadily. It was almost dark now. She turned and looked back the way she had come, surprised at the distance separating her from the lights of the hotel. In front of it, leaning on the promenade rail, she could just make out a solitary figure looking seawards. Could he see her, whoever he was? Was it Douglas, looking for her again, or Patrick? Or no one to do with her at all?
Thicker Than Water Page 13