Running From Love
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One: Practice Round
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Part Two: Temperley Cliffs – Front Nine
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Three: Temperley Cliffs – Back Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Four: Match Play
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
About the Author
Other Books from Affinity
Back of the Book
Sam Wade returns home from a business trip to discover her wife of just two years has left her for another woman. Beth, a high school teacher, wants a divorce so she can settle down with her new (closeted) love, head teacher Lydia Carmichael.
To take her mind off the break-up Sam accepts an assignment to learn to play golf at the newly opened Temperley Cliffs Golf Resort in Cornwall. Beth and Lydia also plan their first summer holiday together.
Coming out, at whatever stage in one’s life, is never easy. Several characters in the story have to make decisions that will affect not just their respective partners but also how the wider world sees them. There is more than one way to run from love; from never having to make a commitment and say those magical three words, “I love you.”
Find out what happens when this diverse group of people find themselves together—sport, betrayal, jealousy, and love form an unforgettable fusion of emotions.
Running From Love
© 2017 by Jen Silver
Affinity E-Book Press NZ LTD.
Canterbury, New Zealand
1st Edition
ISBN: 978-0-947528-45-4
All rights reserved.
No part of this eBook may be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author and publisher. Please note that piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights and is illegal.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Angela Koenig
Proof Editor: Alexis Smith
Cover Design: Irish Dragon Designs
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the team at Affinity eBooks for their continuing faith in me as a writer worth publishing. This is the sixth book to date and I’m extremely grateful to work with such a professional and caring group.
Thanks also to the beta readers who wanted to see more romance and less golf in the story. Golfers can be a bit obsessive when it comes to talking about it. I’m also thankful for the timely help and advice from Mary H and also my wife, Anne.
Golf is one of my hobbies but I didn’t start playing until I was in my forties. Perhaps if I’d started earlier, I would have embarked on a different path in life and been a star on the LPGA tour. But that is a fantasy, of course. This book brings together my love for the game and heartfelt romance. Several golf-themed titles were putted around…Love on the Links, Fairway to Love…but this working title stuck as it fitted the relationship issues faced by the characters.
Dedication
For Anne, with love
Also by Jen Silver
Single Stories:
Christmas at Winterbourne
The Circle Dance
Starling Hill Trilogy:
Starting Over
Arc Over Time
Carved in Stone
Short Stories:
There Was a Time
The Christmas Sweepstake (Affinity’s 2014 Christmas Collection)
Beltane in Space (It’s In Her Kiss – Affinity Charity Anthology)
Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One: Practice Round
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Part Two: Temperley Cliffs – Front Nine
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Three: Temperley Cliffs – Back Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Four: Match Play
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
About the Author
Other Books from Affinity
Prologue
When Sam glanced at her, Beth was studying the pattern on the carpet. Sam stifled another sigh and looked at her phone. A single solitary minute had passed since she’d last checked the time. Single was what she would soon be.
Here they were, sitting in a lawyer’s waiting room. Two years after they married and already facing divorce. Fourteen years of life together abandoned. Marriage equality, followed shortly by divorce equality.
The office door opened and another couple emerged. Forced smiles on their faces as they said goodbye to the person who would be instrumental in consigning them to separate lives.
Beth stood and moved towards the office doorway. She shook hands with the solicitor handling their case and both women looked expectantly at Sam.
This was it. No going back.
Sam stood and picked up her jacket. “Sorry, I can’t do this.”
“We have to. We need to move on.”
“You’ve moved on. I haven’t.” Sam couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
Putting as much distance as she could between herself and the law firm’s building, Sam didn’t slow down until she was nearly back at the train station. She walked into the coffee shop on the corner and took a few moments to breathe in the heady caffeine-laden aroma.
Her phone rang while she was waiting for her double-shot latte. She moved to the back of the seating area near the toilet. Beth’s face lit up the screen.
“Sam. I thought you were okay with this.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m just not ready.”
“It’s been six months.”
“Six months since you told me about it. Seems the cheating started long before that.”
“I love Lydia.”
“I thought you loved me.” Sam felt the tears she’d been holding back all day starting to gather in the corners of her eyes. “It’s only two years since you said ‘I do’ in front of witnesses.” The tears were flowing freely now.
Silence.
“Are you happy in the closet with her? What do you even need a divorce for? She’s not going to marry you. You’re her dirty little secret! Have you met any of her friends? Or her children?”
More silence.
Sam bit back another angry outburst. It had all been said before. Standing in a coffee shop surrounded by afternoon shoppers and office workers on a break—this wasn’t the place for airing more recriminations.
“Sorry, Beth. I just need a bit more time. I’m going away for a few weeks, so I’ll talk to you when I get back. We can rearrange the appointment.”
A heavy sigh. “Okay. I guess. We’re on holid
ay, too. Talk to you then.” Beth ended the call and Sam stared at the screen for a few moments before putting the phone back in her pocket. What had happened to the Beth she married, the woman she had spent fourteen years of her life with? Fourteen years of happy memories, destroyed in moments by Beth’s revelation of her affair back in February.
Sam searched through her pockets for a tissue and swiped away the tears. She was sure she looked a mess but no one here knew her so she wasn’t going to worry about it.
The barista called out her name and Sam collected her coffee from the counter. She sat down at a window table that had just been vacated. Pushing the empty cups to one side, she placed her drink and her phone on the table and gazed out at the passing pedestrians.
She needed to go home and pack. Two weeks on a country estate in Cornwall owned by Lord and Lady Temperley. She didn’t know what clothes to take. Nothing in her wardrobe would pass muster on a golf course and she certainly didn’t own anything that constituted Downton Abbey style evening wear. When Sandra had first talked to her about this research project at Troy’s party, she had been intrigued. A chance to meet a celebrity writer and learn something new at the same time. Now she wasn’t sure it was going to be much fun.
Part One: Practice Round
Chapter One
Six months earlier…
A bathroom with a view. Sam found herself looking at the smouldering top of Mount Etna where fiery patches of red showed through the molten lava that covered the side of the mountain. When was the last major volcanic eruption? She thought there had been one that merited front-page news only a few months ago. Now, the volcano appeared to be just lightly bubbling, its angry fires seething lightly below the surface.
Sam flushed the toilet and washed her hands, still gazing out the window. February in Sicily was an assignment she had looked forward to. The weather was warmer than an English summer but the locals were all dressed for winter, huddled in fleeces. And the hotel swimming pool was empty, drained and prepped for a new coat of paint.
Should she be worried? Not about being covered in volcanic ash, but about where her partner was at this moment in time. She had arranged with Beth that they would Skype when she arrived at the hotel in Taormina. But Beth was offline when she logged in. Sam left the line open, thinking maybe Beth had been held up at work. That was two hours ago.
After sending a text and an email, Sam tried phoning but the call went to voicemail.
She gave her short hair, now mostly grey, a flick through with her fingers. Time to meet up with her colleagues. They were going to check out the taverna down the road. The guys were intrigued by the name, Il Gallo D’oro, laughing uproariously when Google Translate came up with The Golden Cock. She told them it probably was more literally, Rooster, but they weren’t having that. They were sold on The Golden Cock.
Her phone quacked while they were walking up the road to the restaurant. A text from Beth, at last.
Soz. Dept mtg went on longer than expected. Catch up 2moz.
Sam sighed and quickly tapped in her response. Ok. Let me know time.
“Trouble at home?” Helen asked, concerned.
“We’d arranged to Skype when I got here, but she ended up in a meeting.”
“Can’t believe you’re still doing the mushy stuff. I mean you’ve been married for almost two years. And together for how many before that?”
“Twelve.”
“You should get a long long-service medal. Lucky if my relationships last six months.”
The taverna turned out to be a delightfully cosy, family-run restaurant. Once they were all settled with their drinks and food orders, talk turned to how they were going to divide up their time in the town the next day. Sam wanted to explore the ruins of the Greek theatre which she was certain would provide the main backdrop for the film. Having the opportunity to scout locations like this was a definite perk of her job. The guys wanted to look at the Saracen fort while Helen’s main interest was to find out more about the ancient libraries that had been unearthed nearby.
They all agreed that a trip to the beach was going to be on the agenda as well when they had finished their allotted tasks.
†
Beth’s daydreaming was interrupted by a knock on the English Office door. She glanced at her watch, surprised that the half hour had passed and not a single book marked. The quiet period, when the other English teachers were all out teaching, wasted.
“Come in,” she called, expecting to see an anxious sixth-former worried about their recent essay assignment on Ted Hughes. Instead she was surprised when Lydia came in carrying a folder. She stood quickly, almost knocking over her chair.
“Sorry to disturb your marking, Miss Travers.” Lydia’s tone indicated that she didn’t think she had interrupted anything. She looked flawlessly immaculate as usual, her tailored jacket and skirt emphasising her curves. Beth had to put up with the crude comments from her male colleagues who seemed to think coining the acronym HILF for “Head I would Like to Fuck” was highly original. That and “giving the head, head” were their favourites. Female colleagues made do with bitching about the stylish clothes Lydia wore, as if being a head teacher precluded her from being allowed to have a refined fashion sense.
“I don’t seem to be making much leeway.” Beth indicated the foot-high stack of books on her desk. “What can I do for you?”
Lydia closed the gap between them in two strides. She dropped the folder onto the desk and pulled Beth into her arms.
Beth gasped. This was unprecedented. Any one of the other teachers could walk in, or a student who hadn’t yet grasped the concept of knocking first.
“I just wanted to kiss you,” Lydia said before doing just that.
Unable to resist, Beth’s lips parted to allow Lydia’s tongue entry. She didn’t know how long they would have stayed in their embrace if the bell hadn’t rung. They pulled apart like two guilty teenagers.
Lydia straightened her suit jacket and picked up the folder, which Beth now suspected was just for show. “I’ll see you later, at home.” The way she licked her lips before turning and gliding out the door made Beth’s knees tremble. She sat back down in her chair, crossing her legs in an attempt to stem the flow of juices now in danger of running down her thighs.
Lunch break and two more lessons before the end of the school day. Another hour of marking before she could go home.
After all the months of sneaking around, the past four nights had been blissful. Going to bed with Lydia and waking up in the morning with the delicious scent of their lovemaking assailing her nostrils, and the warmth of her lover’s body pressing into her, Beth wanted these moments to go on forever.
Back in the real world they had to maintain the illusion of just being two colleagues. Beth understood Lydia’s need to protect her head teacher status as a respected leader of the school and her standing in the community, but she did miss the openness of the relationship she had enjoyed with Sam.
Beth gave up any pretense of trying to mark her students’ work. Distracted first by Lydia’s visit, and now by the reminder that this evening she had to face Sam. Beth had to tell her what was going on—what had been going on for some time. She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. How could she tell her wife that she had fallen in love with someone else?
†
“Hey, honey, I’m home.” Sam put her case down in the hall. Silence greeted her.
“Hermy!” She walked into the living room expecting to see their Siamese cat stretched out on the sofa, a favoured spot when neither of her humans was at home.
Sam checked out the kitchen. No sign of activity here. “Hermione, where are you hiding?” The cat didn’t usually answer to her full name but it was worth a try. The kitchen was unusually tidy. There was no sign of Hermy’s water dish or food bowl. She opened the back door and called out. If Hermy was anywhere in the vicinity she would come running.
Shutting the door, she wandered back into the living room and checked the
phone. No messages. Maybe Beth had another staff meeting. The school seemed to have a lot of those with the constant threat of unannounced inspections from Ofsted, the much feared Office for Standards in Education.
Time to unpack and have a shower. Hermy would turn up once she realised there was someone in residence, although she was probably comfortably ensconced at Scott and Barbara’s, one of her second homes in the neighbourhood.
†
The cupboard was bare, as was the fridge. Sam took out the lone bottle of Corona and popped the cap. Not even a lemon or lime lurking anywhere. She took a sip and wondered what she was missing. When she spoke to Beth the night before, giving her the flight arrival time, her wife had sounded a bit distant, but nothing that couldn’t be put down to Beth being tired after a full day’s teaching. Thursday was her least favourite day, finished off with a double Year 9 class. For some reason, the third year in high school seemed to be when the onslaught of hormones had all the kids bouncing off the walls.
When Sam left on Sunday, Beth had seemed cheerful enough, waving her off from the front step as the taxi took her to the train station. Sam’s job involved a fair bit of travel, but that hadn’t seemed to concern Beth at all. During term time she was busy with marking, writing reports, and constantly updating lesson plans to meet new Department of Education criteria which seemed to change every week.
This wasn’t quite the homecoming Sam had anticipated. Maybe Beth was bringing home a takeaway. Sam sank into the recliner in the living room and kicked off her shoes. She turned on the TV and sipped at her Corona. No news that she hadn’t already picked up from the paper. She turned the television off and closed her eyes. The flight from Sicily wouldn’t have been too long, but she had to change planes in Pisa. Then there had been the forty-minute train journey from Manchester airport. The homeward trip always seemed to take longer.