by Georgia Hill
‘Well, you all know me,’ she began, stoutly. ‘I’m Biddy Roulestone, used to be Treeby, as I’ve not long married.’ One or two giggled. Biddy glared and they shut up. ‘I like a good biography or a bit of Dickens and I’m partial to erotica, as long as it’s well written, that is.’
Tash smothered a laugh. She knew Biddy by reputation. Pete, her manager before his promotion, had dealt with Biddy when she’d bought the huge house on the hill. She’d been a cash buyer. He claimed he’d never recovered from the experience.
One by one, they all introduced themselves. The only other man present caused a slight stir when he said he was Patrick Carroll and a writer. Tash saw the blush creep over Amy’s face and didn’t blame her. The man, with his black hair and vivid blue eyes, was gorgeous.
A woman in an arty linen smock and large earrings introduced herself last. ‘I’m Marti Cavendish and I live on the new development too.’ She smirked at the group as if they should all be impressed by the fact.
Tash had noticed her when she’d come in. She thought she looked familiar and now recognised her from the six-bedroom detached at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was the biggest, most expensive house on the estate. She often flashed past Tash’s house in her Audi convertible.
‘You probably know me as I volunteer in the charity shop,’ Marti preened. ‘I love to read too and I read most things but not those big books with the gold lettering.’ She gave a delicate shudder. ‘I don’t read trash.’ She gave Tash a quick look as if in challenge.
Tash was about to retaliate and then remembered, as an estate agent in a small town, it wasn’t politic to annoy anyone. You never knew whose house you were going to sell next.
Amy beamed. ‘Millie, do you want to add anything?’
Millie smiled. ‘Just that you all know me, Millie Fudge, or rather Millie Henville now. I was ecstatic to buy this old place and rescue it. Owning a bookshop is a real bucket list tick for me, because I’ve always loved to read and belonged to the library’s book club for years, when it was running. Or tried to. Work kept getting in the way.’ She shrugged, her brown hair falling over her face. ‘I just love reading, talking about books. Any kind of books. I never had the chance to go to university, so I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since, I suppose. To get people together and discussing what they’ve read is a dream and I’m determined, now I’ve got a full-time manager in the café, to be fully committed to a book group this time.’ She turned to Tash before she continued. ‘And I love escapist beach reads too.Oh, and I also promise to provide good food and wine!’ Everyone laughed. They knew Millie’s reputation for great catering.
‘Thanks Millie,’ Amy said. She looked around and blushed again. ‘Well, that’s everyone. Thank you for coming. Our next task is to decide which book we want to read for this month.’
‘I’ll go and get some more wine, shall I?’ Millie offered. ‘This could take some time.’
It did.
No one could agree. Emma suggested one of the Poldark books, Patrick offered a travelogue about walking in the Hindu Kush and Biddy wanted A Tale of Two Cities. Tash kept out of it. After all, she’d only agreed to come with Em for this first meeting, she had no intention of coming again and certainly wouldn’t bother reading any of the books. The arguments even continued throughout Millie’s excellent sandwiches and coffee. They re-grouped back in the reading area, with topped up wine glasses.
‘What about Wuthering Heights?’ Kit put in. Everyone stopped bickering and looked at him. He had a way of commanding attention. Perhaps it was the deep, authoritative voice. The sun had lowered almost into the sea and, as it shone through the huge windows, imbued the reading area with a warm orange glow. It deepened his suntan and picked out the red highlights in his hair.
‘Oh, I loved that when we had to read it at school,’ Tash said, impulsively.
‘I so adore the classics,’ Marti gushed. ‘Oh, Charlotte Brontë. The Mahler of the literary world, as I always like to think of her.’
The women who had come with her looked on admiringly and nodded.
‘It’s Emily Brontë, actually,’ Tash said.
Marti blinked. ‘Did I say Charlotte? I meant Emily, of course.’ She flushed unbecomingly.
‘It’s easy to mix them up,’ Emma said, ever the diplomat. ‘I never have a clue who wrote what.’
‘Haven’t read any Brontë for years,’ Biddy said. ‘And I was born in that part of the world. Be good to reread it. Cruel book though,’ she added and shuddered.
Amy looked from one face to the other. ‘Wuthering Heights, then? I mean, we could discuss a few more?’
‘I think most of us are in agreement, Amy,’ Kit said, looking around. The others gave a collective sigh, obviously relieved something had been decided. He looked at his watch. ‘And it’s getting quite late. I have to get back to put the chickens away.’
That was the cue for people to begin gathering their coats and bags.
‘Millie,’ Biddy roared, getting up and going over to her. ‘Got a new recipe for chocolate brownies. Think they might go down a storm in the caff.’
‘Same time in three weeks,’ Amy spluttered, aware she was losing control of the group and trying to regain it desperately. ‘I’ve got all your email addresses so I’ll be in touch. Thank you all for coming,’ she called, as they tripped down the spiral staircase and drifted out into the night. ‘And don’t forget the bookshop’s grand opening in a couple of weeks!’
Taking pity on her and seeing Millie had been ambushed by Biddy, Tash volunteered Emma and herself to help tidy up. They pushed the chairs back into position to the soundtrack of Amy’s effusive thanks. Kit glanced at Marti, as she ushered her coterie out. She was talking loudly about the importance of Emmaline Brontë’s poetry. He blew out a frustrated breath and began to collect glasses.
‘Put them in the kitchen in the café please, Kit,’ Millie said, having escaped Biddy’s clutches. Kit nodded and hefted a tray downstairs. ‘Nice man,’ she said, as the women watched him disappear.
‘Strangely attractive too, in a weird way,’ Emma added. ‘Scything muscles to die for.’
Tash looked at them in disdain. ‘Close your mouth Em, you’re salivating. And get a grip, you’ve got Ollie. I can’t see the attraction, personally. Big nose. Felt a bit sorry for you, Amy. He practically took over.’
‘I didn’t mind, actually.’ Amy blushed. ‘It was getting a bit out of hand, wasn’t it? I never thought we’d agree on a book. I was so relieved when he suggested Wuthering Heights. Thanks again for helping to clear up,’ she added and looked around, checking one last time. ‘See you next time.’
Tash followed Emma downstairs, careful to hold up the legs of her trousers. As they got outside she stopped for a minute and lifted her head to the night. ‘It’s so clear tonight. Look at the stars.’ She took a deep, cleansing breath and realised she felt much better, far more relaxed. Perhaps coming out had helped after all?
A tall, bulky figure strode out of the newly-installed bi-fold doors at the front of Millie Vanilla’s. Kit. He put up a hand in farewell and disappeared onto the promenade. With his long, loping strides, he’d reached halfway in seconds.
Emma followed Tash’s gaze as she watched his progress. ‘You going to come back for the next meeting, then?’
‘Maybe. Maybe I just will.’
They began the walk home, following in Kit’s footsteps along the prom.
A familiar deep-throated growl of an engine sounded. It was Adrian in his Porsche, coming towards them. He drove along the road bordering the promenade, slowed when he passed Kit and then accelerated again, before skidding to a halt in front of Emma and Tash.
The window buzzed down. ‘Thought I’d save you the walk up the hill,’ he called out cheerfully. ‘Hop in. You too, Emma, room for a little one in the back.’
‘Thanks Adrian,’ Emma said, as she clambered onto the miniscule back seat. ‘Great timing.’
Tash got into the passenger seat a
nd clipped on her seatbelt. She could feel him staring at her.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he said and gunned the engine down the side street to home.
Chapter 4
The next evening, as Tash parked her car on the drive after a long day at work, she felt her shoulders drop. She’d been on the phone for most of the day trying to persuade some clients not to pull out at the last moment. There was nothing the matter with the property they were buying, they were just nervous first-time buyers. The problem being the buying chain depended on them and would collapse if they changed their mind. Having flitted between them and their solicitor and the vendor of the house they were buying, she’d eventually coaxed them into agreeing to exchange the next week. A disaster had been narrowly averted and she’d driven home feeling satisfied. The challenges of her job were the things she loved most. Especially if theend result was a happy one.
As she slid her key in the lock and opened the front door, the aroma of chicken casserole, rich with herbs and wine, hit her. Glancing into the dining room, she saw the table was set with lit candles and their best Jasper Conran. A bottle of prosecco sat in the cooler. The exhilaration of a difficult day doing what she loved best and doing it well, fled. The seduction scene unnerved her. It was only too familiar. Adrian wanted something and she wondered what.
From the sounds upstairs, he was in the shower. Half of her wanted to sneak back outside and grab a pizza and beer with Emma. But if she came in late and smelling of alcohol, it would only make matters worse.
Biting her lip, she hung up her suit jacket and slipped off her heels. She padded into the dining room and poured herself a glass of prosecco. How had it come to this? She was skulking around in her own home, trying to second-guess just what might provoke Adrian into a mood.
It had all been so different this time two years ago. She’d met Adrian at a summer charity ball. She’d gone along with Pete Hingham, to represent Hughes and Widrow. Pete had recently been promoted to area manager, leaving the way clear for her to step up into the role of manager of the busy Berecombe office. Both she and Pete were in high spirits, looking forward to some good food and copious amounts of champagne. The evening had been warm and sultry and the doors to the terrace had been flung open to a starry midsummer night. Maybe she’d had too much fizz, or maybe she’d just been carried away by the romance of the night but she’d tripped onto the terrace, longing for some cooler air after dancing for hours.
Adrian had been leaning against the low stone balustrade, sipping from his champagne flute and staring into the darkened garden. As he heard her, he turned and smiled.
‘Of all the terraces in all the world, you had to walk onto this one.’ He held out a second glass and she took it.
It was a complete romantic cliché. She’d not even wondered why he had two glasses when he was alone, but had fallen for it. She had perched on the stone wall and chatted. He was very handsome and, even in a room full of sharply tuxedoed men, he stood out. Glossy dark hair, piercing blue eyes and the whitest, most perfect teeth she’d ever seen. It was only when he took her back into the ballroom for a slow dance that she realised he was shorter than her by several inches. Usually, things like that mattered to her a lot; she put a premium on how things looked. Being with a short man, especially as she was addicted to perilously high heels, just didn’t look right.
Adrian Williams was older than her, an established property developer, obviously monied and the most sophisticated man who had ever taken an interest. At first, she had been fiercely attracted. After that initial evening, he took her out on a series of imaginative dates. They enjoyed a helicopter ride along the coast and attended a Mozart concerto followed by the most sumptuous Thai meal Tash had ever eaten. After Adrian had discovered Tash’s love of penguins, he’d even arranged a picnic next to the penguin pool at Bristol Zoo. And he’d not laid a finger on her. It had made her even more desperate for him. They’d finally consummated the relationship while on a long weekend in Paris. The fact that he’d booked separate rooms decided it for her. The sex had been mind-blowing. It hadn’t been much of a leap when he’d asked her to move in with him in the executive detached he’d just bought on the outskirts of Berecombe.
When she’d queried why he’d bought it, he’d laughed and said he spent his working life on building sites and wanted something easy to come home to. Then he’d grabbed her by the waist and kissed her until her lips were numb.
Emma warned her she was rushing into something, but her mother seemed delighted she was happy, and Pete was ecstatic as she was on fire at work and exceeded all her monthly targets. Tash ignored them all and found, to her surprise, that she enjoyed coming home to the same man every night. The sex continued to be amazing even if, occasionally, Adrian coaxed her into doing it when she really didn’t feel like it.
And then, when the honeymoon glow had faded, another side of the genial, indulgent Adrian emerged. Earlier in the summer he began buying clothes that he wanted her to wear. Tash didn’t mind so much the racy underwear and peephole bras; she found them hugely funny. She was less of a fan of the wide-legged trousers he insisted on, the expensive but figure-concealing cashmere sweaters. He pouted and sulked when she tugged on the slim skirts and jackets she preferred for work. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be warm and comfortable?’ he wheedled, as he held out the tunic he’d just brought home.
Tash surveyed the navy blue top with dismay, looking at its high V-neck and discreet pattern. Her lip curled. ‘It’s lovely, Ade,’ she said without thinking. ‘But it’s something my mother would wear. Thank you but it’s just not my thing.’ She’d registered his suddenly shuttered look and wondered what she’d said. That night, after he cajoled her into a marathon bout of sex, they had their first row. She’d hurt his feelings, Adrian said. Rejected his generosity. Tash felt guilty. The top was obviously expensive. She agreed to wear it at the weekend.
He developed other weird habits too. Flying into a jealous rage if she talked about Pete too much, picking her up after a night out with her girlfriends saying it was so she could have a drink but always too early, when the evening had only just got going.
Tash had toyed with the idea of leaving but something always tugged her back to her original feelings for him. After a tantrum, Adrian lavished attention on her. He talked about taking a long holiday in south Africa, of buying an apartment in Paris. The house was convenient for work and she liked the kudos of his money. She put his moods down to work stress; when things were tough, he suffered stomach problems. Besides, how would it look if the relationship folded? Everyone told her she had the perfect life. How could she admit it was anything but? So, she shrugged his contrariness off. She knew loads of friends who had problems in their relationships. She was a strong, confident woman. She could handle a man like Adrian.
Chapter 5
He came up behind her as she sipped her wine. Reaching up, he kissed her neck and exclaimed, ‘Good, you’re back! Just in time.’ He smelled of shower gel.
Tash felt a rush of affection for him and was relieved. Maybe things weren’t so bad, after all? She turned and smiled. ‘You’ve gone to so much trouble.’
‘I know you love my casserole. Creamy mash to go with it, loads of butter. You sit down and I’ll serve. Pour me some fizz, will you? I held off until you were back.’
‘I’ll get fat,’ Tash complained, filling his glass and topping up her own.
‘Nonsense,’ he called through from the kitchen. He reappeared, wearing his butcher’s striped apron and carrying a casserole pot. ‘Besides—’ he winked ‘—I like some meat on my women.’ He placed the dish on the trivet and disappeared to get the potatoes.
Once they’d eaten, Tash sat back replete. ‘That was one of your best, Ade. Delicious. I’m going to have to unbutton my skirt though. I’ve eaten far too much.’ She reached around to the back of her work skirt and sighed as the waistband eased.
Adrian gave her an odd look. He stared at her stomach intently and then took a bre
ath. ‘You’re not … you don’t think we’re pregnant?’ He paused, and stared owlishly at her.
‘God, no. At least I bloody well hope not.’ Tash shuddered.
‘Don’t swear Natasha, you know I don’t like it.’ He picked up his flute of prosecco and sipped thoughtfully. ‘I wouldn’t mind, actually. Having a baby, I mean.’
‘Well, I would,’ Tash answered, robustly. ‘It’s not the right time for me. I want to make area manager before I’m thirty and try to set up on my own eventually. A baby wouldn’t fit into that.’
‘You could always give up work.’ Adrian clocked her horrified expression and back-tracked. ‘Or go part-time?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No babies. Not now.’ Not ever, she added silently. And not with you, came the echo.
‘Well, that told me,’ Adrian said but cheerfully enough. ‘A discussion for another time. Shall we take the coffee into the sitting room? I’ll clear up later, there isn’t much to do.’
Ensconced on the sofa leaning against Adrian, with some Puccini on in the background, Tash felt more mellow. She looked around at the cream and white décor and couldn’t help feeling slightly smug. She’d had a great day at work, a man who had cooked her a superb meal and this wonderfully luxurious house to come back to. At this very moment, her life seemed as perfect as the image she tried so hard to put out to the world. To those who had bullied her at school and made her feel as if her life would never amount to much.
‘Perhaps we should do Glyndebourne next year?’ Adrian said.
Tash shifted against him. ‘That’s come out of the blue.’
‘Not really. I used to go every year before I met you.’