‘Looking at all the facts before I decide on my vote. It’s solid business practice.’ She kept her eyes on the screen.
Victoria closed hers. Annabel’s arrival was so well-timed there had to be more to it than coincidence. Her presence could ultimately prevent the demise of EweSpeak. It was almost enough for Victoria to believe in a greater power.
Ironic it came in the form of Annabel’s lunatic follower.
After a moment of quiet reflection, Victoria eased herself back into work mode, and said, ‘While you do that, I’ll sort out your stalker.’
‘Well,’ said Victoria, as she exited the boardroom, ‘I didn’t expect three resignations.’
‘Are they worth mourning?’ Annabel asked.
‘The Tiresome Trio? No. The first two who declared their intention were the troublemakers, and the third had no power without them. There was little point him staying, and he knew it.’
Juliette caught up and chipped in. ‘It will be good for the company. Think of the money we’ll save.’
‘And no departments face the chop.’ Annabel smiled. ‘An excellent morning’s work.’
Victoria stopped and touched Annabel’s arm. ‘We couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.’
‘It was a total buzz. Is it wrong that I enjoyed myself?’
Juliette laughed. ‘I love the cut and thrust of the business world. It’s not all pinstripes and bowler hats.’
Victoria withdrew her hand, and continued walking down the corridor. ‘You impressed me, Annabel. You were reeling out facts and figures like you were reciting the names of your family. How did you remember them all?’
‘I’m a quick learner. It helped me through the early rounds of UK Starz. My mentor would change the song choice the day before the live show. It drove me nuts, but I trusted his judgement. It caused the downfall of one or two of the other contestants, though.’
‘How’s the singing going? You’ve been quiet lately.’ Classical was more Victoria’s idea of music, but she kept an ear on the local radio, particularly at breakfast. ‘When’s your next tour?’
‘I’m due to go to Japan in three months.’ Annabel stopped outside Victoria and Juliette’s door. ‘I don’t think I can do it. I’ve had enough. I need something new. Something challenging. The only challenge I face is making sure I’m in the right city on the right night. It’s hardly algebra.’
The women stepped through into the privacy of the office, Juliette excusing herself from the conversation. ‘I’m going to get on with the paperwork,’ she said. ‘While the meeting’s still fresh in my mind.’
Victoria and Annabel repaired to the sofas.
‘So you’re bored?’ said Victoria.
‘Yes. And disillusioned. I feel there’s more to life than prancing around a stage, singing relics of songs that should have been consigned to the bargain bin years ago.’
‘Oh dear.’ It was an understated reaction, Victoria realised, but she said it more by way of letting Annabel know she was listening.
‘Performing doesn’t give me a natural high anymore. Maybe it’s my age. I don’t know.’ Annabel pouted. ‘I appreciate everything this lifestyle has given me, but enough’s enough, don’t you think?’
Victoria understood perfectly. She’d felt the same recently. Perhaps they were both going through a mid-life crisis.
‘Anyway,’ said Annabel, ‘tell me what you’ve been up to.’
It was past ten by the time Victoria was back in her father’s bungalow. Seth was asleep in his bunk, and, in the living room, Frank was dozing on the settee. The TV was happily chatting away to itself. Victoria wished she could climb straight into bed, but since her father was already occupying her room, she wandered into the kitchen, dumped her briefcase on the table, and made a hot chocolate.
While she loved her dad to the moon and back, she couldn’t stay with him for six months. There simply wasn’t the room. And it crossed her mind that she was cramping his style, as well as his living space. His relationship with Olivia was still fresh and new, and once he resolved the issue of Iris’s memory, he would want Olivia to stay over.
There were four options available. Victoria could rent somewhere, buy a new property, or stay in a hotel – all of which were out of the question, as she refused to be a slave to money – or return to London.
She shuddered. Even though today’s meeting exceeded expectation, and the future of EweSpeak was bright, Victoria was no longer a moth drawn to the light of the company. Nearly losing Seth had rammed home how much she loved him, and now more than ever, she was determined to set things right.
Juliette and Annabel, once they’d squeezed blood from the ‘proverbial stone that is Victoria’, listened to her plans to step back from EweSpeak. When she told them about Seth’s possible disorder, and her need to put him first, they were supportive and encouraging.
Victoria clicked open her case and pulled out a thick wodge of paper – research Juliette had downloaded and printed out that afternoon, to back up what Victoria had already learned. She smiled. ‘You truly are an earthbound angel, Juliette.’
She sat at the table, pulled her mug closer, and read the title of the top sheet. Child Attachment Disorder: Symptoms and Behaviour.
By midnight, Victoria had read enough. Words like anxiety and psychopathology, and phrases such as insecure mother-child attachment, and behavioural inhibition, bit at her conscience. Not all of it applied, and some papers were extracted from medical reports even Victoria struggled to understand, but there was plenty to which she related. And there were enough pointers to indicate Olivia’s suggestion was not far off the mark.
The next thing, once Victoria’s guilt subsided, was to decide on a course of action. An official diagnosis was the accepted procedure, but she knew, through Juliette’s experience with paediatricians and hospitals, it was not necessarily the fastest. Still, she’d register with a local GP, and go from there. In the meantime, she’d continue to read and absorb as much information about the condition as possible.
Or maybe, she’d go to bed. ‘I should be a pumpkin by now,’ she muttered, gathering her papers, and placing her empty mug in the sink.
She looked in on her father. He was settled on the sofa, his face relaxed, and his mouth ejecting gusts of air, as he released the deeply inhaled breaths. Victoria silenced the TV, grabbed the duvet from the corner of the room, and laid it over him. ‘Night, Dad.’
The decision not to wake him was two-fold: she didn’t want to disturb such a peaceful sleeper, and the promise of a night in a decent bed, namely his, was too great to resist.
She crept into Seth’s room to retrieve her night things. He too was sound asleep.
‘Night, my boy,’ she said, pushing his tousled mop from his forehead. ‘Sweet dreams.’ She hoped his brush with disaster gave him no more nightmares. She hoped her dreams of Chris would be a little more conventional. ‘Oh, sod it,’ she said, after a moment’s rethink. ‘Bring them on.’
She left Seth, entered her father’s room, and changed into her nightclothes.
The last sensation she remembered was her body sinking into the mattress.
Chapter Thirteen
The Harbour Inn, situated so close to Chesil beach it was almost afloat, overlooked the steel-grey sea. The wind was whipping the water into a frenzy, and strands of the white horses’ manes broke free and lashed onto the pub’s windows.
Having retreated inside, Victoria edged away from the glass, and attempted to smooth down her curls. The hour she’d spent that morning making her hair presentable had been blown away in less than a minute.
She sighed. It didn’t matter what she looked like. This was nothing more than lunch. She’d said as much in her note to Hope Cove Castle, suggesting a date on which she and Chris could meet. Bloody dreams. In the two weeks since she’d first b
umped into him, her dreams had become less and less inhibited. Several mornings running she’d woken convinced she was beneath, above or beside Chris, in the throes of making love, and after the last unbridled fantasy, she wasn’t sure she could look him in the eye.
It’s just lunch, she reminded herself.
She shook the visions from her mind, and glanced at Seth. His nose was pressed against the pane. The spectacular weather was holding his interest. His hair was great.
A waitress, wearing regulation black, and sporting a Santa’s elf hat, placed one hot chocolate and one lemonade on the table. Victoria smiled her thanks, and reclined. The bench, though dressed with cushions, was uncomfortable, but its style was in keeping with the rest of the interior; dark mahogany beams across the ceiling, white wooden sash windows, and porthole lights. Christmas decorations hanging overhead like jungle vines brought colour, but it was the heat and glow from the central log burner that gave the room its warmth. The place had character. More than Victoria remembered. Not that she’d paid much notice to it in her youth, her eyes and mind being all about Chris.
She checked her watch. Quarter to one. She and Seth had been there fifteen minutes. Granted, she’d not specified a time for lunch, but half-twelve was the standard.
A sigh of disappointment seeped out. He wasn’t coming. ‘Will I ever learn?’
She gave Seth’s elbow a gentle nudge. ‘Hey. Your drink’s here.’
He turned from the window, and reached for his lemonade. ‘Are they called white horses because they’re white?’
Victoria smiled. ‘Yes. And because they look as if they’re galloping towards us. Like horses.’ She cast an eye to the outside world, and jumped back as two blurred figures, clad in black, ran past the window. More staff, she thought, directing her gaze to the flickering fireplace.
The flames, like tree sprites revelling in ritual, jigged with wild abandon – something Juliette suggested Victoria did once in a while. ‘Dance as if no one’s watching,’ she’d said. ‘Let go. Lose yourself to the moment.’ But Victoria couldn’t. The first time she’d done that, she’d given away more than just her pride. And in exchange she’d gained a broken heart.
For now, it was safer to lose herself to the flames, where the risk of getting burned was obvious.
She stared at the centre. It was white hot, like molten glass ready for shaping, and surrounding it was a blazing cloak of gold, hemmed with pink, and tipped with red. Threads of purple weaved their way across the bottom, like an African sunset. It was dazzling. It was hypnotic.
As she was drawn in deeper, childhood memories surged forward – images of her and Juliette on Guy Fawkes Night, holding sparklers in their mittened hands, waiting for the bonfire to be lit; their dad huddling them together, and covering their ears from the rockets and bangers exploding in the sky – the magical, shimmering waterfalls and palm trees, appearing from nowhere and blossoming above them. Catherine wheels, tacked onto the back fence, whirling and whizzing, spitting sparks, and singeing the larchlap panels. Fireworks illuminating their garden—
The cracking and popping of the log burner snapped Victoria from the spell. She blinked, looked at Seth, and then lowered her head. If she dropped dead right here, right now, she wouldn’t feature in his memories.
‘Been waiting long?’
She raised her head, relieved to hear Chris’s voice, glad to be diverted from the path her thoughts were taking.
‘You looked miles away.’ He claimed a chair, took off his wet, black jacket, and threw it over the back. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t remember what time we said.’
Victoria straightened her neck. ‘We didn’t.’ She risked a look at his face. No rush or flush was forthcoming from her stomach, so she relaxed a little. ‘I want to thank you for what you did the other week. I know I put it in the letter, but I need to say it. What you did was very brave. You saved my son. Thank you.’
Chris puffed out his cheeks. ‘Glad I was there.’
‘So am I.’
For a fleeting moment their eyes met. His were darker than she remembered, and in no way repentant as she’d assumed. More soulful. His whole life was there, open to her, if she could interpret. It had been many years since she last delved that deep into a man.
She looked away, pretending to be distracted by the boys wandering across to the pool table. ‘Rick’s very good with Seth.’
‘He likes him. He told me about their meeting at Hope Cove.’
Victoria rubbed at a non-existent mark on the table, nervous of what Chris knew. ‘Well, they seem to get along,’ she said, desperate to move the subject on. ‘Shall we order?’
Chris shifted to the front of his chair, and perched on the edge. ‘Before we do, I want to apologise for putting my foot in it the other week about your mum. I didn’t know she … I didn’t know you’d lost her.’ He bowed his head and drew his finger down the length of Seth’s glass, prompting the condensation to flow into a delta of tiny rivers. ‘I remember she was tough on you, but I also remember you loved each other.’ He issued a sympathetic smile as he looked at Victoria. ‘It doesn’t matter what age you are when you lose a parent, it’s hard.’ He paused, giving another thoughtful wipe of the glass. ‘It’s when you lose both, you realise you’re an adult. You’re the end of the line. Every decision you make is yours, and yours alone. You have to deal with everything.’ He fell silent.
Victoria gave a brief nod, suddenly in a quandary as to how to respond. Chris had lost far more than she could ever imagine, and here he was offering her words of comfort. It wasn’t right. He was the one in need of heartfelt sympathies. Cautious of infecting raw wounds, she said, ‘I’m sorry about your dad. I read your notice on social media.’
‘Thank you. I guess he’s finally happy now he’s reunited with Mum.’
‘And I’m sorry about—’
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.’ Chris picked up the menu and held it in front of his face.
It seemed to Victoria he was using it as a buffer.
‘Now. Lunch,’ he said. ‘What do you recommend?’
If Chris hadn’t been so definite in his action, Victoria would have pushed her point home, and passed him her condolences. Instead she too focused on the menu. ‘Dad says the carvery’s good, but that could be him craving meat. I think he’s turned vegetarian, or … what’s the word for fish eaters? Pescetarian? Still, I’m game.’ She smiled.
‘Carvery it is, then. You’ve not eaten here?’
‘Not since … ’ She paused, and reviewed her answer, deciding to stick to a simple and less controversial, ‘No.’
‘But your cottage is so close.’
‘I live in London.’ Victoria thought she saw Chris’s expression drop. It was a tiny movement of the brow – it lowered by a millimetre. He must have noticed her staring, because he brushed his fringe down. Still, she was sure that was disappointment on his face.
‘I moved years ago, for work, but I’m thinking of coming back,’ she said, testing the water. ‘Seth and I need time together. A new life. I’d like to strip everything down and go back to basics. Find out who we really are. We’re staying with my dad at the moment. It’s a bit of a squeeze. An air bed in the living room wasn’t quite the level of basic I was looking for.’ She waited for Chris to respond, but his eyes were glazed, as if no one was at home. He clearly wasn’t interested in her plans.
Cross with herself for being stupid, she stood, squeezed out from behind the table, and headed for the bar. ‘Three adult and one child’s carvery please. And a jug of water. Table nine. Thanks.’
She spent a moment leaning against the dark wood, wondering if this meeting was such a good idea. She was yet to establish what she hoped to gain from it. Closure? Friendship? Love? She picked up a beer mat and folded it in two. She wasn’t looking for love. Not from Chris Frampton. That wa
s far too complicated, and best left tucked between the sheets of a diary, than a bed. Even her fantasy bed. She closed her eyes. ‘Don’t go there, Victoria,’ she muttered.
‘Everything okay?’ Chris slipped in beside her. ‘Trouble with the order? I can choose something else.’
‘No. No trouble.’ Not with the food. Not with the order. Where the warmth of his body seeped through her clothes – there was trouble. ‘I’m waiting for the water.’ The cold water that would cool her and shock some sense into her.
Chris gestured towards the table. ‘You sit down. I’ll bring it over.’
Glad to be released from the tension, Victoria withdrew and settled back at the bench. The boys were within her view. Rick was showing Seth how to hold a cue. Three times he showed him, and three times Seth got it wrong. Rick grinned, and tried again. For a lad of thirteen, he had immense patience.
A tray of glasses and a jug filled to the brim with water, ice and lemon slices was placed under her nose.
‘There you go,’ said Chris, pouring out a drink and handing it to Victoria. ‘You know how to live.’ He winked.
‘I’m not really a fan of alcohol,’ she replied.
‘You never were.’
And there it was. The first reference to their past.
‘Annabel Lamb was though.’ Chris laughed. ‘Do you remember? Always the one with the bottle of vodka at the college discos. She had that old guy at the off-licence wrapped around her little finger.’ He paused to sip from his glass. ‘She really hit the big time. I had no idea she could sing. Great voice. Are you two still in touch?’
‘I saw her a couple of weeks ago when I went to London for that meeting I mentioned. She came to the office.’
‘Ah, yes. Your meeting. How’d it go?’
‘Like a dream, once Anna showed up. She’s quite a business woman.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me.’ Chris refilled his half-pint, tutting as three ice cubes and a lemon slice sloshed in. He scooped them out and dropped them into Seth’s empty lemonade glass. ‘So, what is it you do?’
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