I get through mountains of work, batter the exercise bikes with Della most lunchtimes and exist on whatever food Marks & Spencer provides. I do manage to finish George’s book and thoroughly enjoy it. I even have a little weep as, after all her trials and tribulations, the heroine gets her man. I hope George gets his own happy ending too with a book deal. I text Marilyn every day and get chatty ones in return with the usual slew of random emojis – today it included an alien, a kiss, two surprised eyeballs and a vampire. She tells me about George, Ida, all of her kids and their children, but doesn’t mention Ned at all and I don’t ask.
I’ve been home for over two weeks now. Chris and I haven’t made love again. It wasn’t a great situation last time as I was just so tense and we’ve both avoided it. But I have to admit that things are gradually – very gradually – getting better between us. When Chris eventually comes home at night, he cuddles up in bed with me. And, while I can’t say that I’m entirely relaxed with him, the memories of Ned holding me are slowly fading. So that has to be a good thing, right? Given time, I suppose, he’ll be a distant memory. Of course, I think of him every time I hold the mother and baby sculpture – how could I not? It still brings me such comfort and I’m grateful to him for it. I never contacted him to say so – I daren’t – but I hope that he knows somehow.
Today, I’m going down to the New Forest to see the site of the Eco-hotel with Bill and meet the directors. I think the ideas I’ve put together are some of the best that I’ve come up with for any project and can only hope that they think so too. I have everything crossed.
I’ve hardly slept a wink as I’ve been going over my presentation in my head and, even though Bill’s not picking me up until six o’clock, I’ve been wide awake since four. This is a big deal for our company and a lot of our team’s salaries are riding on it.
As I go to slide out of bed, eager to start the day, Chris reaches out for me. ‘Not yet,’ he murmurs, pulling me back. ‘Snuggle up.’
‘Five minutes,’ I say as I rest my head on his shoulder. ‘I’m too wired to lie still.’
‘Eco-hotel?’
‘Yes. I’m buzzing.’
‘Why the ungodly hour?’
‘Bill wants to get ahead of the traffic.’
‘Wouldn’t the train have been quicker?’
‘Probably, but we need to drive out to the site too, so he wanted to have the flexibility. If it goes well, we might stay down there and have dinner with the clients.’
‘You’ll be late home?’
‘Yeah. We have a full day. I’ll text you when we’re leaving.’ Then I start fidgeting.
‘Go,’ he says, kissing my forehead. ‘I don’t want to stand between a woman and her work.’
I slip out of bed and pull on my dressing gown. Coffee before my shower, I think. ‘What are you up to today?’
‘Not much.’ Chris bunches the duvet round him. ‘A quiet-ish one in the office.’
‘Want coffee?’
‘No. I’m going to get my head back down for another hour. Wake me to say goodbye.’
‘OK.’ I get my clothes out of the wardrobe so that I don’t disturb him raking through the rack and take them through to the main bathroom. If I get ready in here then he won’t hear me.
I have an extra strong coffee, then another. There’s not much in the fridge and I think how much I could do with a Marilyn at home. I find a yoghurt that’s still, just about, in date and make do with that. I’m sure Bill will want to stop for a break on the way down and I can grab something then.
When I’ve showered and dressed, I run through my presentation again. Then Bill texts me to say he’s parked outside and I gather my stuff together. I put my head round our bedroom door and see that Chris is fast asleep again. He’ll need to get up for work shortly but, for now, I decide not to disturb him. I stand next to him at the bed and look at his handsome face, soft in repose. Why is the connection not there any more, I wonder? Is it still because of losing Lottie or is there more to it than that? I could be looking at a stranger rather than my husband of ten years. As I plant a gentle kiss on his forehead, I vow to try harder to make this all right.
Chapter Seventy-Four
‘Hey,’ I kiss Bill as I get into the car. I take in his crisp white shirt, his dark blue suit. There’s a jacket and matching tie hanging on the hook on the rear door. The quiff in his hair is still damp and his neat beard is freshly groomed. ‘Looking sharp.’
‘Feeling sharp,’ he says. ‘You?’
‘Hell, yes. Let’s do this.’
He slips the car into gear and off we go. It’s a beautiful sunny day and Bill has Freya Ridings on the iPod. I’m looking forward to spending the entire day with my brother. It’s something that we do too little of. What socialising we manage to fit in is generally worked around client dinners.
‘This is nice,’ I say. ‘I don’t see enough of you outside the office.’
‘I know. We should do more.’ He manoeuvres the car through the traffic that’s already building. ‘You sold me on my own houseboat. Maybe we should do a long weekend out there at some point in the summer, hang out on the beach, have barbeques, drink beer. You, me, Chris. Maybe my new beau – if it works out. I’m planning to take some holiday this year.’
‘You never take holiday.’ In all the years we’ve worked together, I don’t think Bill has ever had more than a day or two off work. He thinks the place will collapse without him. Mind you, I used to think that too. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’
‘Let’s put it in the diary,’ he says. ‘Then it’s written in stone.’
‘Yeah.’ But how can I do that? How can I go and stay there when Ned is next door? This would be a good moment to tell Bill about my time there, but I don’t.
‘Everything’s OK again between you and Chris?’
‘We’re trying our best,’ I tell him. ‘I hope that it’s enough.’
Then we turn the conversation to business, which is much safer ground, and talk through our proposal. Bill is as keen to get this contract as I am, if not more so.
Freya Ridings gives way to Jack Savoretti as we head out of London on the M3 towards the New Forest National Park and Brockenhurst, our ultimate destination. As we skirt past Southampton and head further south, I realise how close we are to the Isle of Wight. I could hop on the ferry and be there in an hour. I wonder what Ned is doing now. Is he on the beach enjoying some al fresco yoga? Needless to say, despite my good intentions, I haven’t done any since my return.
The morning sun coming through the glass warms my face and I kick back and listen to Bill as he talks about future plans for the company. However, as his voice flows over me, my mind still keeps drifting back to dangerous territory. I’d love to feel the sand between my toes, splash in the waves, laugh with Ned over some stupid little thing.
‘You’re quiet,’ Bill says when he realises that I’m not responding in the right places.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve a lot on my mind.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
I shake my head. ‘Not much.’
‘You’re still not quite yourself yet.’
‘No,’ I agree.
‘We’ve not loaded too much on your plate too soon? I can get someone to assist you. Kade’s workload is pretty light at the moment.’
‘I can manage. To be honest, it’s been a welcome distraction. Like you, I really want this project.’
‘Together we’re invincible.’ Bill grins. ‘They won’t know what’s hit them, sis.’
My heart swells with love for my brother. He’s always kind, always here for me. ‘I hope you’re right.’
Chapter Seventy-Five
We meet our clients at Twitchell Grange – one of their boutique hotels that’s already been established for several years in the New Forest. This is a great place too. While the outside looks traditional – mostly Victorian, I’d say – the interior is contemporary and chic.
There are three directors here to
day. Two men, one woman. They all look scary, like they might eat puppies and kittens for breakfast, and my nerves go on full alert. We shake hands as Bill makes the introductions, then go to settle ourselves in the private sitting room that’s been reserved for us. We have a welcome coffee, exchange pleasantries while I try to eat a warm, fresh croissant elegantly. Bill has the advantage of having met them before, but this is my first time and I can tell that they’re checking me out. And why wouldn’t they? There’s a lot of money at stake here.
While they’re refilling our cups and chatting to Bill, I have a good look at their chosen style of décor for this hotel. Where we’re sitting, there’s a purple velvet sofa and lime green side chairs, mixed with traditional checks in plum and grey. The floor is blonde oak and the traditional chandelier is complimented by modern glass wall lamps. Whoever put this together has done a great job. Two huge windows look over the traditional gardens and flood the room with light.
Once we’ve had our coffee, it’s my turn to talk. So I hand out brochures and send my project to the waiting screen on the wall.
‘I thought I’d run through a few of my ideas to give you a feel for our work. I’ve put some storyboards together.’ I click my first computer-generated slide which gives an overview. ‘I’m calling this particular look Woodland Boho.’ Which raises a smile and I feel a moment of relief. ‘The setting you’ve chosen is fantastic and I wanted to make sure that we utilise that to the very maximum. My designs bring the outside inside, so that transition between the forest and the indoor spaces of the hotel is as seamless as possible.’
I flick up my first design for the reception area. ‘I see it as rustic, but contemporary. Soothing rather than busy with a contained use of natural materials. The walls here are rough lime plaster painted white, the floors a dark traditional oak. The main trees in the New Forest are oak, ash, beech and elm, so I’ve taken my palette from that.’ I use my pointer. ‘The reception desk would be informal, a lengthways slice through a large oak trunk and following the contours of the wood.’
‘We’re taking down as few trees as possible to respect the ancient woodland.’ The one female director, Eleanor Garten, looks across at me. ‘And then we’ll replant the same number in the grounds.’
‘That’s good to know.’ In the centre of the reception area there’s a planned glass enclosure that’s open to the sky, within which there’ll be a specimen tree planted. ‘The trees that are felled can be used throughout the hotel, so nothing will go to waste,’ I explain.
Eleanor again. ‘We want this hotel to be completely carbon neutral.’
‘That’s been at the forefront of our minds and I don’t think we’ll have any difficulty achieving your aims. To complement your ethos I’ve designed the rooms to feel as natural as possible. This is my rough idea for the main lounge.’ I flick to the next slide. The architects have created an amazing space. Floor-to-ceiling windows all along one wall will look right into the forest. ‘Once more, I’ve tried to emphasise the outdoor feel. The floor in here is wood, but this time parquet-style, combining the different natural colours. One wall is clad in dark brick and features a heavy wood fireplace topped by a statement mirror. Contemporary globe lights will hang from the rafters and one wall will be entirely lined by open bookshelves. The colour palette for the furnishings is autumnal shades and I’d like to source some mustard and rust-coloured velvet sofas. The side tables will be wood with a sixties, Ercol-vibe.’
‘That’s stunning,’ Eleanor says. The others nod in approval though she seems to be the one taking the lead. It’s obviously Eleanor who I have to impress.
Behind their heads, Bill winks at me. He’s beaming from ear to ear. This is going well. He’s largely leaving this to me, other than chipping in every now and again to clarify something. We work well as a team and I’m glad that he’s trusted me with this contract which I know means so much to him.
‘We’ll move onto the bar area. I’ve gone with the theme of “rest”.’
‘I was actually thinking of calling it something similar to that,’ Eleanor pipes up. ‘That would work.’
‘Here I see cosy seating set into chunky wood banquets with soft furnishings in shades of the forest – juniper, fern, moss, pine. Lots of plants, trailing ivy, evoking a real woodland feel.’ In the bar, folding doors will open right out onto the terrace. ‘The tables will be marble and I’ve sourced this particular one from Italy.’ I show them a dark green marble veined with black that looks like the roots of trees. ‘I thought to give it a modern twist we could use neon signs with keywords like rest, relax, enjoy.’
They all nod again. ‘It’s good.’
So, buoyed by their enthusiasm, I press on to present what I’ve envisaged for their bedrooms, including the main suite which is like a fairy glade fantasy with rough-sawn wood on the walls and leaves, birds and butterflies painted on the ceiling. The colour scheme is moss green, lilac and cream. And I have to say that I’d love a room like this myself.
They applaud when I finish going through my ideas which brings a satisfied flush to my cheeks.
‘Great work,’ they all agree.
Eleanor says, ‘I’m sure you’d like to get out to the site to see progress as soon as you can but, before we do, I’d like to show you this.’ She gets out her phone and flicks through it. ‘I recently discovered this artist and I’ve commissioned a piece from him for my home. I think it would be great if we could incorporate some of his designs – ideally within the hotel and in the grounds too. Let’s see if I can get this thing to work.’
She waves her phone at the screen. ‘He’s a great guy. I saw him at a festival last year.’ A moment later, an image pops up.
My heart literally misses a beat. I can do nothing but gape at the smiling photo on the screen. It’s Ned. Of course, it is. He’d be perfect for this project. I don’t know why I haven’t considered that before.
‘Let me find some of his work.’ She flicks another image and, a range of Ned’s sculptures pop up. ‘He works entirely with a chainsaw, but what he produces is astonishing.’ She scrolls through them and Ned’s work fills the room – some of the sculptures are already familiar, others I’ve not seen before. ‘Good, aren’t they?’
I nod, wordlessly, feeling the colour drain from my face as I stare, transfixed.
She turns to me. ‘You don’t like it?’
‘I love it,’ I breathe. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘He’s my new find. I’m telling all my friends. Though I’ve a mind to keep him all to
myself,’ she adds with a conspiratorial laugh.
I should tell her that I know him – but, perhaps,
not how well. It would surely help my credibility, if I told her that I already have a sculpture as a gift from him, that he’s Bill’s houseboat neighbour – yet I can’t. I can’t bring myself to speak at all.
‘I’ll give you his contact details,’ she says while I stand there like a fool. ‘He’s called Ned Haddon. Get in touch with him. I’m sure he’d come up with something exciting. He’s very easy to work with.’
When I still fail to respond, Bill says, ‘Right. We will do.’
She flicks back to Ned’s photo. He’s smiling out at the camera, his face open and happy – a look I’ve seen so often. My heart is still beating erratically and I don’t know how my legs are managing to support me. I feel as if I need to sit down.
‘Makes you want to take up wood sculpture,’ Eleanor quips with a wink to me.
‘I think we’re done here,’ one of the men says. ‘Shall I get them to bring lunch in?’
‘Great,’ Bill says.
While they organise lunch and pop out to make some calls, Bill and I are left alone. I fall into the nearest chair. Instantly, Bill’s next to me, looking at me with brotherly concern. ‘OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Sudden rush of blood to the head. I should have had more breakfast.’
‘Lunch is on its way,’ he says as he studies Ned’s face on the scre
en.
Bill looks at me again and, I know that at some point later today, he’s going to want more than my glib answer.
Chapter Seventy-Six
After lunch, we’re in the car heading to the site, following Eleanor and the other directors of the hotel chain who are leading the way.
I still haven’t quite managed to regain my senses. Sitting in the car, I’m unsettled, palms clammy, stomach churning. All I could do was pick at a few things from the buffet they provided.
Bill navigates out of the grounds, onto the main road which is bordered on both sides by open heathland. He slows to a standstill as the wild New Forest ponies which flourish in this area wander across the road in front of us. While we wait patiently for them to cross, he turns to me.
‘Do you want to tell me why you looked like you’d seen a ghost when they showed the photo of that chainsaw sculptor guy? I thought he looked familiar.’
‘He’s your neighbour at the houseboat.’
‘Is he?’
That makes me laugh and eases some of the tension. ‘Oh, Bill.’
Bill chuckles too. ‘How am I supposed to know? I’ve hardly been there.’
‘You’d like him,’ I say.
‘Would he like me?’
‘No. He likes ladies.’
‘Too bad. He’s as hot as hell.’ Bill looks at me more closely. ‘Do I take it from your reaction that you think so too?’
I nod.
‘And do I also gather than he likes you?’
‘Rather too much.’
‘I see. Does Chris know this?’
‘No,’ I confess.
We both fall silent as the ponies wander away on the other side of the road and Bill pulls away again.
‘You got to know him while you were on Sunny Days?’
‘He was the one who showed me how to do some yoga,’ I confess. ‘We used to go to the beach in the morning.’
Sunny Days and Sea Breezes Page 26