Which reminded him of Tessa and why his freakishly rekindled passion for her had been so catastrophically wrong. Not only was she the sister of his employee, for whom he also had complicated feelings, she was a married woman and a mother of three. A total no-fly zone.
He’d have to contact one of his other lady friends. Or two. He mustn’t let it go so long again, leaving the normal healthy physical appetites unattended the way he had. It just led to complications and muddled thinking.
Feeling as he did now, entirely satisfied by several hours of vigorous sex with a marvellous-looking and very enthusiastic woman, he couldn’t quite understand how he’d allowed himself to get into such a state. He needed all his wits in order to concentrate on the business. Get back on the program, Rathbone. Buck up, don’t fuck up.
He checked the menu and called down to order a steak, rare, took a beer out of the mini bar and then picked up the remote and turned the TV back on, leaning back against the pillows, absently scratching his chest. Contentment.
Scrolling through the channels for something more edifying than Northamptonshire versus Sri Lanka, he stopped when he heard some familiar title music, which he recognised as a show he liked, but couldn’t immediately place.
It took a moment before he realised he was looking at the soot-smeared face of Tessa’s husband. Immediately he felt his own cheeks turn hot, in something like a blush, and his stomach turned over, his equanimity destroyed in a flash.
Was there no escape?
Friday, 6 June
Heathrow Airport
Tom was sitting at the departure gate playing Candy Crush on his phone. They’d just announced that boarding was going to be delayed, although they hadn’t said for how long, so there was no point going all the way back to the lounge in case it was only a few minutes.
He’d already signed a couple of autographs and was hoping that if he kept his head down and looked engrossed with something on his phone no one else would approach him.
It wasn’t that he minded being accosted by total strangers, in fact he rather enjoyed meeting people who watched the show. Apart from the odd idiot – usually young blokes who’d had too much to drink and were showing off to girls – they were generally very nice and it was interesting to hear what they liked about it, so he could pass the feedback on to the producer.
And in all honesty, it still gave him a bit of a kick the way it seemed to thrill people to meet him, even if it was just for a moment. It didn’t cost him anything and they went away all pink and beaming, with a celebrity selfie to show off to their friends.
It was just that particular morning he wanted a bit of time to himself to think, before he got immersed in the hectic business of filming the show. He was worried about Tessa.
He’d already been concerned about her becoming increasingly isolated, staying at home on her own too much, and now she’d had this strange freak-out. That had been so weird.
It wasn’t the missing out on sex aspect that had bothered him – although he had wished she’d changed her mind at a slightly earlier stage – it was the hysterical outburst after that. It just wasn’t the way their relationship had ever been. They weren’t door-slamming, china-throwing, drama-queening people. And they certainly weren’t separate-beds people.
Of course, he told himself, trying not to let it show that he’d noticed a woman was taking what she thought was a covert snap of him on her phone, the obvious reason for it was staring him in the face. It was Tessa’s age.
She must be starting on the woman’s change thing, which he remembered had made his own mother go rather peculiar when he was a teenager. The menopause. His poor Bunny. He hoped it wouldn’t be too hard for her, especially as the timing couldn’t be worse, with Finn and Archie about to start weekly boarding.
She’d been very brave when he’d discussed that with her, but he knew the reality of not having two of her babies in the house several days a week would be tough on her, however difficult Finn could be.
Combined with her general isolation and this new outbreak of womanly weirdness, it could all get very difficult. And he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her yet about his upcoming trip to LA to discuss doing a US version of the show.
Perhaps he should speak to Joy about the menopause thing. She’d be bound to know some herbal tisane, or tincture Tessa could use to help her through it. Although he did hope his wife wouldn’t start going about clutching a cluster of crystals.
Meanwhile, he’d just have to do what he could to bolster her confidence and reassure her that his feelings for her would never change, even if she did have the odd crying fit and didn’t always feel like a bit of rumpy pumpy when he did.
Most importantly he needed to get her involved with life again, seeing people, doing stuff outside the house. Which reminded him of the idea he’d had after the magazine shoot: to get Rachel and that Simon bloke doing some PR for Hunter Gatherer and to have Tessa looking after it all, which she’d really have to if this US thing took off. His agent, Barney, was pretty confident it would.
That was just the boost his sensitive little Bunny needed, so as the announcement began, inviting business-class passengers to come forward to board the plane, he quickly sent Rachel a text, asking her to set up the lunch they’d discussed with her boss, him and Tessa the following week.
That should sort it, thought Tom, flashing his best TV-star grin at the flight attendant who was processing his boarding card at the gate. She smiled back at him, blushing and looking a bit flustered.
Tom chuckled quietly to himself as he walked down the tunnel to the plane. It did give him a kick doing that, he couldn’t deny it – and why not? She’d have something to tell her friends and he enjoyed being able to bestow those little treats on people. It didn’t cost him anything. Barney called it ‘sowing ratings seeds’, Tom preferred to think of it as sharing the love.
Either way, he thought happily, settling into his seat and doing the smile thing again with the young woman who had just come to hang up his jacket, now he could relax into being Tim Chiminey again for a few days.
Leave dreary old Tom Chenery and all his middle-aged anxieties behind for a while. Bring it on.
Sydney Street
Rachel got Tom’s text during a full staff meeting, where Simon was outlining his vision for Rathbone & Associates ‘going forward’, which was just one of many irritating business-speak clichés he’d come out with so far in his spiel.
She wondered whether he’d been on some kind of motivational management course, he was so fired up about it all. He had a whiteboard and a PowerPoint on the go. If there’d been a sofa in the boardroom, Rachel thought he might have jumped up and down on it like Tom Cruise. It was giving her the pip.
Reading Tom’s message, she groaned inwardly at the prospect of being forced to mix family and work again so soon after the shoot.
She now deeply regretted ever suggesting to Simon the idea of them doing PR for Hunter Gatherer. She’d been a bit too clever for herself and hadn’t thought through the full implications of what she was saying before it was already out of her mouth.
She was running through them in her head, when Simon said something that made her start listening properly again. He was telling them about a bonus system he was introducing for staff members who brought new clients to the firm.
‘If we bank real cash money from a new client you’ve brought in, you’ll be rewarded in your very next pay packet, ten per cent of the first six months’ fees,’ said Simon. ‘What’s good for the firm is good for us all. Think of us as the John Lewis of PR – well, not exactly, I am still the sole owner …’
That’s better, thought Rachel, finding she was glad to have old bastard Simon back, rather than this weird new happy-clappy Simon. But the bonus thing was interesting.
She was already working on some prospective new clients and it would certainly make the Hunter Gatherer idea more appealing. The extra money would more than make up for the family/work irritation.
&
nbsp; She’d accidentally opened a credit card statement that morning, before she’d realised what it was – she’d thought it was an invitation, or she never would have opened the thing – and had felt nauseous looking at it, realising it was going to be hard for her to make even the minimum payment that month.
And that was just one of her cards. She’d been doing some more of those alarming sums on the Tube that morning and had spent the rest of the journey wondering what she could put on eBay that weekend. So this new bonus thing couldn’t have come along at a better time.
Re-reading Tom’s text and wondering how much ten per cent of the first six months of Hunter Gatherer fees would be and how quickly she could get that first payment to land in the Rathbone & Associates account, she snapped back to attention when she heard Simon say her name. Everyone in the room was looking at her. Oops.
‘Are you with us, Rachel?’ Simon asked, one eyebrow arched. ‘Or thinking about something more important?’
‘I was thinking about some new business I might be bringing in,’ she said, raising one of her own eyebrows to mirror his. ‘I’ve just had a text from the prospective new client. He wants to have lunch with us next week.’
‘That’s great,’ said Simon. ‘Just what I’m talking about, but perhaps you can put your phone away now until after we’ve finished this meeting? Basic business manners and all that …’
You utter fucker, thought Rachel, as a palpable frisson passed through the room. Oh, wouldn’t that give them something to whisper about at one of the after-work drinks sessions she never went to. How Simon had told the new girl off in front of them all. Just when she’d been showing everyone up with her digital media contacts and getting a new client’s product into You mag.
It was like working on Gossip Girl with that lot sometimes. They were genuinely nice and smiley and fun, all perfect manners according to the official courtesy codes of their class – Monday morning kicked off with a flurry of thank-you letter writing for most of them – but about as mature as a gaggle of teenage girls underneath.
Rachel made a show of turning off her phone and putting it face down on the table in front of her. Then she lifted her head, pasting on her most interested expression, as if she couldn’t wait to hear what fascinating thing Simon was going to say next. Or Cruisey, as she was going to think of him from now on. The smooth bastard.
Back behind his desk, Simon felt bad about how he’d treated Rachel at the meeting. Of course, she shouldn’t have been texting during his presentation, it was as rude as keeping your phone on the table at dinner, but he still shouldn’t have shown her up in front of the rest of the staff like that.
Especially as he knew they already felt threatened by her. She was smarter than them, worked harder, had better contacts and exponentially better ideas, as proved by her success securing the Lawn & Stone business. And who knew? With all that concentrated female intuition, maybe they’d also figured out that the boss man had special – and grossly inappropriate – feelings for their new colleague.
And he knew that was exactly why he’d been so harsh towards her again. Despite his most enjoyable afternoon with Jane and that bonkers lust flashback for Tessa at the weekend, there was no question that he still felt exactly the same about Rachel as he had before.
Which wasn’t just the physical thing. He did think she was gorgeous, but really it was her perky brain, so bright, so sassy, so always after the main chance – just like him, but without the hang-ups – which made him feel like a giddy schoolboy.
So, he thought, reviewing his recent behaviour, in one week he could vigorously shag one woman, be sexually obsessed with another and still feel emotionally strung out about a third.
Was he some kind of split personality psycho freak?
Saturday, 7 June
Ham, Richmond, Southwest London
Rachel woke early, the light of the morning sun on the river dappling over her face. For a moment she felt a sharp pang of sadness that it wasn’t Ariadne waking her up, climbing into Mummy’s bed, clutching her favourite teddy, as she did every morning, but then she turned her head to look at Link.
In the peace of sleep he looked even younger than his thirty-two years, one arm thrown behind his head, his smooth chest bare above the covers, slowly rising and falling, hardly a line on his face.
Rachel felt a flutter, remembering the night before. They’d cycled all the way down to Ham from Queen’s Park, stopping at a pub by the river to eat, arriving at the houseboat still in the long June evening light.
Then sitting on the deck with a bottle of wine, Link quietly playing his guitar, Rachel just being, not thinking about anything, watching the sun starting to set.
And when it was properly dark they’d gone below to the cabin and slowly, exquisitely made love. It was never a furious passion with him, but steady and quiet in the loose-limbed way he did everything, with no end and no beginning, just rolling pleasure until they both fell into a deep satisfied sleep.
Used to the demanding early starts of young children, Rachel was immediately wide awake. She lay there for a while staring up at the wooden roof, enjoying the movement of the houseboat shifting gently on the water, until she started to feel restless.
Nine years of parenting had made her forget how to have a lie-in. She looked at Link again, as he turned his head and licked his lips in his sleep. Should she wake him with a below-the-waist hello? She’d done that before, but he was so deeply asleep it didn’t seem right to disturb him.
Sitting up, she looked out of the window – or was it a porthole? It wasn’t round, so she decided in this hybrid boat and house, it was a window. A swan was paddling along with five cygnets in a row behind her. It was a lovely sight, but it made her miss the girls again. Rachel wanted her cygnets swimming along in her wake.
But, she reminded herself, looking out at the refreshingly different river-level view, with a police boat chugging past and rowers skulling on the northern side, at least she wasn’t waking up on Saturday morning on her own. She’d never got used to that. The first weekend Michael had the girls after the separation had nearly killed her. She’d ended up going down to spend the rest of it with her mum, for comfort.
It was about the only time she could remember being glad Joy was a joojie moojie weirdo. She’d held Rachel tight and let her bawl into her shoulder, never making any told-you-so remarks about the separation, although Rachel knew Joy thought she’d been hasty. Then she’d made Rachel lie down on some cushions on the floor with a blanket over her, and with the room lit by candles and scented with incense she’d taken her on some kind of guided meditation.
Rachel didn’t remember much about it – in fact she was fairly sure she’d just fallen asleep – but when she came around Joy told her she’d guided her through a past-life experience when Michael had been her controlling father and by letting go of that karma, she’d be able to come to terms with her journey with him in this lifetime and grow from it.
In short, a load of utter cock. She’d had Tashie in hysterics on the phone telling her about it the next day, but it had been a very restful deep sleep and Rachel had felt much calmer about everything when she’d woken up from it.
Then Joy had made them comforting bowls of dhal and rice, and they’d watched an old film curled up on the sofa together, Rachel eventually lying with her head on her mother’s knee, which she knew was some kind of regression into being a child herself, in lieu of being with her own offspring, but she didn’t care. Or need her mother to explain it to her as some other mystical nonsense. It was just wonderfully comforting to lie there with Joy stroking her hair.
After a trip to the flea market together the next morning and coffee and herbal tea in town, before getting the train back to London, it hadn’t seemed too long until she was united with her poppets again. Which was especially satisfying when Daisy had told her the weekend with Dad had been ‘as boring as going to the dentist’.
He’d taken them to the Science Museum. Daisy said it wa
s full of mean boys who wouldn’t let her get near anything with a button she could push and Ari had been aghast that the gift shop didn’t seem to sell anything pink. Rachel had made a mental note to take them to Selfridges the following Saturday. That was the kind of museum her girls liked. Especially with a visit to the gelato bar.
So after that first miserable childless time as a separated mother she’d learned to plan ahead and pack every weekend without them with grown-up activities: visiting her mum, Tessa, or friends with places out of town; having people to stay; and going on Easyjet minibreaks with single pals.
Those trips away were good for work too, because she got great ideas – and top Instagram shots – and had met up with bloggers she admired in Copenhagen, Oporto and Bruges. She’d also found some interesting possible clients for work, who wanted representation in London.
So that was all constructive – especially with this new-business bonus Simon had just announced. But the main thing was to make sure she never again woke up alone in her house on a Saturday morning.
Which was what had made meeting Link so amazing. On her weekends without the girls she was as free from responsibility as he was and they could spend thirty-six hours in a bubble, just the two of them.
He did have friends, of course, he’d get texts and calls while they were together, and sometimes he couldn’t meet her because he already had plans for the weekend. But she’d never met any of his pals, or introduced him to hers.
It wasn’t that kind of relationship – if that was even the right word for it. What was it then? A friendship? It wasn’t quite friends with benefits, or ‘fuck buddies’, as some of her franker girlfriends called men they met up with from time to time for no-strings, good-times sex. She and Link had a lovely unpressured meeting of minds, combined with delightful meetings of other bits.
Other bits which Rachel realised were now stirring, when she felt Link’s hand reach out and squeeze her thigh. She turned away from the window and smiled at him.
Secret Keeping for Beginners Page 15