Simon choked on his foolishness. Ali’s dad was the last person he wanted to be aware of his feelings for Ali. Feelings that were clearly becoming more and more difficult to keep hidden.
Tom glanced around them. ‘Are you meeting someone here? Do you have plans for the evening?’
Simon shook his head.
‘Then I wonder. I’d arrived minutes before you and was planning to while away an hour doing nothing in particular other than eating a meal in the sunshine. How would you feel about me buying you supper? After which, perhaps a stroll to the local pub and a pint or two to drown our respective sorrows. My beloved wife is entertaining, and it seems I’m not invited. Oddly enough, I find that all my male friends either live in London or have sadly passed away. Of course, if you would find it awkward, please don’t feel you have to agree.’
‘I wouldn’t find it awkward in the least. But there’s no need for you to pay for supper. We’ll go Dutch. I was planning to eat here. I was also planning on having a pint in The Golden Dragon. I’d be more than happy to have company. It seems all my friends, both male and female, are engaged.’ He grinned. ‘And the only single one being Ali, is I believe, at your wife’s dinner party.’
Tom grinned at what he probably thought was Simon’s pathetic attempt at a joke. Then a frown formed on his brow.
‘Did Ali tell you that’s where she would be?’
‘Not exactly. But I remember her talking about it a few weeks ago, and I was told she was leaving work early, so I naturally assumed.’
Tom placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder as they walked towards a vacant table overlooking the river. ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Ali’s not going to be there tonight. She told her mother most emphatically that she had no intention of meeting my replacement, Alejandro, and as he most definitely will be there, I can guarantee, one hundred per cent, Ali will not.’
‘Then where …?’ He didn’t finish the question. He may not know where she was but he was pretty certain he knew who she was with. Aidan sodding Rourke.
Chapter Sixteen
Tabitha Warner looked at her naked reflection in the mirror and grimaced. Staring back at her with red rimmed eyes framed by enough crow’s feet to fill a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie, was a woman she didn’t recognise.
The woman who was once slim with pert breasts and a trim waist, a natural blonde, who, so many people said, was beautiful, had vanished without a trace. In her place stood someone roughly the same height, although perhaps a centimetre or two had also disappeared, or found its way to her now tubby waist – with sagging breasts, and dyed blonde hair to cover the natural grey. Now people lied when they said she was beautiful.
Her husband had been the biggest liar of all. He had told her he still found her beautiful, and yet he had hardly looked her way for some considerable time. Sexy, yet he had stopped touching her months ago. The only person he wanted to spend his life with, yet most of their time they spent apart. Told her he loved her, yet had only said it when she prompted.
It never used to be this way. Not so very long ago she would catch him watching her and smiling lovingly. Would tingle as he brushed past her, or took her hand in his, or wrapped his arms around her, or kissed her and made love to her. Most hours away from work, they had spent together, sometimes just reading, or cooking, or walking, or watching television, but always close.
Now they were never in the same room unless they were arguing. And she couldn’t remember the last time he had said the words she longed to hear: ‘I love you.’ Three words far stronger than bricks, to build bridges. Far more powerful than medicine, to heal wounds. More lavish than the most expensive gift. Three words he wouldn’t say unless she asked him, so eventually she stopped asking.
How had things come to this? How had bitterness and hatred replaced happiness and love? Had he stopped loving her before he met the younger woman? Or had he met the woman first and let his love for his wife simply slip away?
What was the point in going over this? She should have asked him many months ago. Instead, she had withdrawn from him, not wanting to be the fool, giving and displaying love and affection where it clearly wasn’t wanted. She had found comfort in food. Comfort in wine, too. When she mixed them both together she could almost pretend to be happy.
Attack was the best form of defence. She had learnt that in her early years in law. And she was good at attacking. But others had been caught in the crossfire: her daughter, Ali and her mother, Gertie.
She had said she would try to stop. The truth was she didn’t know how. All she really wanted was to love and be loved. Was that too much to ask? Was it too late for love? What she had with Alejandro wasn’t love. She knew that. But some wounds need a plaster, however temporary.
And then the final straw. Tom had planned to take the dining furniture. Such a stupid thing. Such an overreaction to replace the furniture with a man. Had she scored points? A tiny victory in a much larger war? It didn’t seem so. When Tom was told that Alejandro would be moving in, he hadn’t seemed bothered at all. Probably relieved.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘You’ve always wanted a pet. I hope you don’t find that one day he will turn around and bite you.’
Ali was more upset than Tom, so much so that she had moved out. Now seven bedrooms and a study were empty, and so was Tabitha’s life.
At least she had made a decision. Tonight, after the dinner party, she would tell Alejandro it was over. He wouldn’t be moving in. A short-lived affair. But no one can start a fire without a spark, and a bed can feel just as empty when occupied by two as it can when occupied by one. What was the point in sharing it with someone you didn’t love?
Perhaps she should have told Tom he could stay. Made an excuse about it being more financially viable. Would he have fallen for that? But it wasn’t wise to pick at wounds. Tom had someone else. She had to face the fact. Someone young. Someone beautiful. Someone he loved.
Perhaps Ali would come home. The house would feel less like a coffin with Ali there.
Ali had changed the colour of her hair. Could Tabitha change the pattern of her life?
She had enough money to retire. She could travel, like she used to. Find new hobbies to occupy her time, instead of other people’s sordid divorces. Divorces like her own. Did she want to be in this house when the decree absolute plopped through the letterbox like a dead fish?
She could be in the Bahamas, eating fish. And drinking cocktails. Dancing to a pulsing rhythm, on a hot and steamy night. Relearning how to live. She might still look the same on the outside, but could the inside reflect the woman she once was?
What was the alternative? Divorce, old age and loneliness? She couldn’t bear the thought of that. Tom having a wonderful life, while she sat alone in this house, peering out. Absolutely not. She would do anything to avoid that prospect. Anything at all.
What was it her grandfather used to say? ‘Change or die.’ Yes. That was it.
Taking one last look in the mirror, she turned away. Tabitha Warner had made a decision and she was one hell of a determined woman when she set her mind to it, as well as one hell of a stubborn one.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Please don’t shout at me,’ Ali pleaded, sucking in breath and wiping her damp brow.
Jules tapped the jewel-encrusted face of her gold-strapped watch, with one long, sparkly purple fingernail. ‘I thought we said five. Luckily for you, Bruce is also running late. We’re not leaving till seven now.’
‘So you’ve still got time?’ Ali threw her bag and phone onto the purple sofa beside the reception desk. ‘Where’s Daisy?’
‘Daisy leaves at five-thirty. That was fifteen minutes ago.’
‘OK, OK. Don’t rub it in.’ Ali pointed to her head. ‘Strawberry Blonde, remember? Forgive and forget.’
Jules tutted. ‘Forgiven, babe.’ She tapped her fingers on the back of one of the row of purple chairs in front of the sinks. ‘Come and sit. Why are you so late anyway?’
/> Ali grinned and dashed to the chair, plonking herself in the seat and Jules slipped a purple gown over her clothes.
‘I’ve spent most of the day messing about on the river with none other than Aidan Rourke. And not just on the river. We had lunch at the diner. He was very impressed with Josie.’ Ali made herself comfortable. ‘But she didn’t seem that impressed with him.’
‘That’s because she’s half in love with Simon. No one can compare to him. She probably thinks you’re being disloyal.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Ali laughed. ‘She’s the same age as his mum.’
‘And your point is?’
Ali shrugged. ‘Yeah, OK. But I don’t think she’s in love with him, although she may possibly see him as a surrogate son, or something. I know she was good friends with his dad, long before Sam met and married Maggie. I remember Josie telling me that. We were talking about not realising what we had until it was gone from us, or something, and she started talking about Sam and the fact that they’d been life-long friends. Until he died, of course.’
‘Whatever. All I know is that she thinks the sun shines out of his arse. So, what did you and Gorgeous-balls do on the river?’
‘Kayaking. We ran the rapids, too. Although they’re hardly rapids at the moment. We could do with some prolonged and heavy rain.’
‘Oh yes. Just what we need with the school summer holidays starting.’
‘Since when have you cared about school holidays? Summer or otherwise.’
‘I don’t. But I do care about frazzled mothers wanting to get out of the house. What better place to come for a peaceful hour or so than Shimmering Scissors Hair and Beauty?’
Jules washed and conditioned Ali’s hair whilst Ali continued to tell her about the day.
‘I think Aidan really likes me. Or fancies me at least.’
‘Completely understandable, babe.’
‘You haven’t seen him. He’s gorgeous.’
‘I have seen him. Google, remember?’
‘There’re only a couple of photos and they don’t do him justice. In the flesh he’s even more g-o-r-geous. Anyway. He spent most of the day flirting with me and making inappropriate, but tantalising, sexual innuendos. I’m so excited about tonight, I’m fit to burst’
‘Thank you for sharing that image.’
‘What? That’s nothing compared to what you say to me!’
‘Jules! Jules!’ The salon door flew open and Sheila Clutterdrew burst in, her face red and contorted with barely suppressed excitement, her arms flapping like a Canada goose before take-off. ‘You’ll never guess what. You must tell your friend, Ali. Tell everyone. Everyone must know. We’ve got to stop this. Gather a meeting. Sign a petition. Do whatever we can. Spread the news.’ She turned back towards the door as if to leave.
‘Sheila, babe. What news? You haven’t told us. And Ali’s here, so you can tell her yourself.’
Ali lifted her head from the sink, waving at Sheila as Jules pointed down at her.
‘Ali! Ali! Isn’t it dreadful? What can we do to stop it?’
‘Er. Still haven’t told us, Sheila.’ Jules pulled a face at Ali as if to say: ‘give us strength.’
‘Right. Right. Where to start? It’s the water sports centre. A planning application’s gone in today. I have it from the horse’s mouth.’
Ali’s head shot up, spraying an arc of water through the air, droplets of water and conditioner splattering like bullets against the walls. ‘A planning application? In connection with the centre? What for?’
‘Apartment blocks. Flats. Lots and lots of them. And a few houses. Some of them are even on the floodplain. Everyone knows you shouldn’t build houses on a floodplain. Terrible. Must be stopped. Ruin the entire village. Goodness, I’m out of breath. Can I just sit for a minute?’
‘Yes, babe. I’ll get you some water.’
‘Don’t suppose there’s anything stronger? Such a shock.’
‘There’s wine. I usually keep a couple of bottles handy.’
‘Lovely. Just the thing. But only if one’s open.’
‘It soon will be. I could do with a drink myself. And I know Ali needs one without even looking at her face.’
Ali glared at Jules and back at Sheila, who wasn’t making any sense. ‘Sheila. I need to know exactly what you know. Who told you this? Have you seen the application? Who filed it?’
Sheila’s head wobbled like a jelly. ‘My niece works in the planning department at the Local Authority. She phoned her mum, who’s my sister, and told her. My niece saw it with her own eyes.’
‘And it’s definitely for the centre?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Who filed it?’
‘Some company or other.’
‘Connected to the Rourkes?’
Sheila nodded. ‘One of their companies. Can’t remember the exact name. Definitely one of theirs. They’re having a meeting. Oh. Now I come to think on it, I’m not sure she said it was an application. Well it was, but a draft or some such. They want a meeting. Need to discuss possibilities. Options or things. Now what did she say exactly? Let me think. Oh. I’m so flummoxed. Don’t know if I’m coming or going.’
Jules handed Sheila a glass of wine and one to Ali before pouring one for herself.
‘Take a breath, babe and see if you can recall precisely what was said.’
‘God bless you, dear. Just what a body needs.’ Sheila took several deep breaths followed by several gulps of wine until the glass was empty.
Ali couldn’t wait for her to finish. ‘Was it a planning application or was it along the lines of an enquiry? I know that our Local Authority allows people to file a pre-planning application if they wish, to get an indication of the likelihood of permission being granted. I remember Dad talking about it when we first heard the Rourkes had purchased the centre. He told me they could enquire as to likely consent, but at the time, they hadn’t. That’s still bad, of course and we’ll have to do everything we can to oppose it, but it’s not quite as bad as an actual application being filed.’
‘That’s what it was.’ Sheila held the glass in the air as if she’d won a trophy. ‘They’ve filed plans and details and paid the fee to have a pre-application planning meeting.’ Sheila emphasised the words and shook her head. ‘Cost a tidy sum, I can tell you. Nothing to the likes of them, but still. Who has money to throw away unless they think there’s a chance they’ll get what they want? But then some lawyers called and said there’d been a bit of a mix-up. Whatever that means. Wasn’t supposed to be submitted for a couple of weeks. Loose ends to tie up. Or loose land, did my sister say? Blowed if I can remember. Loose something. Or lost? Was it lost?’ She struggled to her feet, handing Jules her glass. ‘Lovely dear. Thank you. Don’t understand it all myself. But definitely for the centre. Came to tell you as soon as I heard. Knew you’d pass the news to Ali. No need, as you said because she’s here. That’s that then. Must run. More people to tell.’
‘Sheila?’ Ali asked. ‘Is that really all you can remember?’
‘Afraid so.’ She tapped her head. ‘These old brains not what they used to be. Where was I off to now? Oh yes. The Golden Dragon. Lots of people there.’ Sheila waved as she waddled away in the same frenetic manner she’d arrived.
Ali and Jules watched her depart and then met each other’s eyes.
‘The bastard!’ Ali hissed.
‘I’m phoning Bruce. There’s no way we’re going anywhere tonight.’
‘No. Don’t do that, Jules. It’s Friday night. The planning office is closed. We won’t be able to do anything until Monday. Let’s think about this. There’s a chance, I suppose that Sheila’s niece may have got it all wrong, or more likely Sheila, or her sister. I can’t believe Aidan would do this. Besides, he spent most of the day with me. And why would he ask me to dinner, knowing that there was an application in the works? Even if they’re enquiring about the possibility of planning, that’s almost as bad, and he must’ve known I’d find out.’
Ali stared at Jules, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Oh God. He would, wouldn’t he? That explains why he wanted to spend the day with me. To hurry things along. Not waste any time.’
Ali’s phone rang from the sofa where she had thrown it.
‘Stay there,’ Jules said. ‘I’ll get it. We don’t want more water all over the floor.’ She handed Ali a towel as she dashed to the sofa to grab the phone only to slip on a tiny puddle of water. Her feet skated beneath her as if on ice and she landed with a resounding thwack on the purple and gold streaked floor.
‘Jules!’ Ali shouted, hastily wrapping the towel around her head before racing to Jules’ side.
‘Ow. Ow. Ow.’ Jules shrieked.
‘Are you hurt?’
Jules moved her legs one at a time, all the while, Ali’s phone rang insistently in the background.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you want me to help you up?’
‘No, babe. I thought I might just sit here for the night.’ Jules scowled at her. ‘Of course, I want you to help me up.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t want to do more damage if you’ve broken something.’
‘Broken something?’ Jules squealed.
‘It’s possible.’
Jules shifted gingerly from side to side, stretched her back, followed by her arms, legs and neck. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken.’
With some effort, and a lot of assistance from Jules, Ali lifted her friend onto a chair.
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