by Jill Mansell
‘You’re not her usual type. You’re completely different. She chose well, for once.’ Clemency shook her head. ‘Annoyingly.’
He sighed. ‘This isn’t going to be easy.’
Tell me about it. ‘I know. But we don’t have any choice.’
‘Can we do it?’ said Sam.
Clemency hoped he didn’t know the extent of the effect he was having on her; it was taking every last ounce of her self-control just to sound normal. ‘Of course we can do it. I can do it. So can you. We have to.’
‘You’re right.’ He nodded. ‘I know. I just wish there was a way to make it easier.’
It was easier for her, Clemency realised, because Sam was already seeing someone else and was therefore off-limits. It was more difficult for him because she was single and unattached.
Flashbacks from last night in the Mermaid distracted her for a moment. A split second later, she understood why her subconscious was tugging at her sleeve, bringing them to her attention. A zingggg went through her at the realisation, because this would definitely help. OK, think fast … it wouldn’t hurt anyone, it’d be easy enough to do, there were no downsides …
‘Look, I haven’t mentioned it before, but there is someone I’m involved with. Well, kind of. It’s a … developing situation.’ Clemency did a you-know-what-I-mean shrug.
‘Oh. Right. I didn’t realise.’ Sam looked taken aback, which was good. ‘Annabelle told me you weren’t seeing anyone.’
‘That’s because she doesn’t know. I mean, I will tell her,’ said Clemency. ‘Soon. It’s just that we’re keeping things low-key for a while, for … you know, various reasons. Until the time’s right.’
‘OK. OK,’ Sam murmured. ‘Well, that’s probably a good thing. Yes, it’ll make things easier. Although …’ His eyebrows creased as a thought occurred. ‘Why are you having to keep quiet about it? Is he married?’
‘No, no.’ Clemency shook her head, amused by the note of disapproval in his voice. ‘He’s not married. He’s my boss.’
‘Are you serious? You mean what’s-his-name, Gavin? The one who’s always playing golf?’
Now that would be a relationship you’d want to keep quiet about. Heroically, Clemency managed not to burst out laughing. Ew, the very thought of having a secret affair with a man who wore checked golfing trousers and was old enough to be your father. Steadily she replied, ‘Not Gavin, no. But thanks for thinking it could be him.’
Seriously, though, if you were going to have an imaginary relationship, you’d at least make sure it was with someone gorgeous.
‘And it isn’t Paula, our secretary, either,’ Clemency added. Then she stopped and waited for Sam to say it.
‘Right.’ He nodded slowly, taking in the news and this time accepting the answer without surprise. ‘I see, I get it now. It’s Ronan.’
At that moment, a seagull flew down on to the terrace, and noisily rapped his beak against the French window, making them both jump. He eyed them beadily through the glass, clearly waiting to be fed with scraps.
‘Yes, it’s Ronan,’ said Clemency when she’d shooed the bird away. ‘Don’t mention it to Belle just yet. I’ll tell her myself.’
Give me a chance to warn Ronan first.
Chapter 12
‘Marina. Let me look at you. Well, this is just … amazing. You look so well. So well.’ George, on the doorstep, spread his arms wide. ‘Oh my goodness, come here!’
And Marina, thinking What am I like?, discovered she was so British she was incapable of refusing the command and found herself submitting to a hug from the ex-husband she hadn’t seen for over five years.
Oh God, the curse of good manners. But a polite hug was one thing. She stepped smartly back before he could give her a kiss on the cheek.
‘Hello, George. You probably think I’m looking well because the last time you saw me I had no hair and a face shaped like the moon from steroids.’
George, nothing if not thick-skinned, said, ‘But now your hair’s grown back. It always was beautiful. And you’ve found yourself a great little cottage here. Let’s have a look at it …’
By way of contrast, George’s hair had receded, grown thinner and greyer since their last encounter. His nose was thinner too. Fascinated, Marina saw that it was also straighter; it altered his whole face. In addition, his stomach had expanded and he was wearing a designer shirt with a flowery print on the insides of the collar and cuffs, as well as aftershave more suited to a much younger man.
‘It’s small,’ he said, gazing around the living room, ‘but you’ve made it very nice.’
‘Thanks. It’s small because it was all I could afford after the divorce. What happened to your nose?’
He instantly touched it. ‘Oh, sinus problems. I was having trouble breathing.’
Bad Marina thought: That would be too much to hope for.
Aloud she said, ‘Really? I didn’t know those kind of operations could alter the shape like that.’
‘Well,’ he conceded, ‘it was Giselle’s idea. I wasn’t bothered, but she said why not kill two birds with one stone …?’
Marina said innocently, ‘How did she manage that? With a cricket bat? And your nose just happened to get in the way?’
George looked at her. He shook his head as if he were disappointed, then heaved a sigh. ‘You have every right to be angry. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I made the worst mistake of my life, and believe me, I’ve lived to regret it.’
‘Oh George, it’s not that terrible. It was just a surprise, that’s all. Give me an hour or two and I’m sure I’ll get used to it.’
‘What?’ For a moment he looked baffled, then he said, ‘I’m not talking about my nose.’
Marina looked surprised. ‘No? Oh, OK.’
‘I meant Giselle. What she did to us. What she made me do to you.’
The words passing the buck sprang to mind.
‘She was like a witch,’ George continued. ‘It was as if I’d been hypnotised by her. You have no idea what it was like for me.’
‘Careful,’ said Marina. ‘You’ll make me cry.’
‘Look, do you have any Scotch? I could really do with a drink.’ George sat down heavily on the two-seater sofa and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘I know I’ve been stupid, and now I’m paying for it. I never really loved her, you know. I was just swept up in the excitement of it all. She knew so many famous people. And do you want to know the truth?’ He looked up at Marina as she handed him a tumbler of Scotch. ‘The last five years have been hell. Really, the most miserable of my life. Giselle’s a nightmare to live with. She spends money like tap water. Anyway, I’ve learnt my lesson. I should never have done it.’
Since he was clearly waiting for her to say something, Marina murmured, ‘Oh dear.’
‘And we’re not together any more,’ George said heavily.
‘Ah.’
‘She’s turfed me out of the house.’ He took another slug of Scotch. ‘Got that bloody shark of a brother of hers on her side. They’re shafting me, of course. And the business is going down the pan.’
‘George, if you’ve come here to ask if I can lend you some money, you’ve had a wasted journey,’ said Marina. ‘I don’t earn that much. Everything I make during the summer season has to last the whole year—’
‘I’m not here asking for money. That’s not why I wanted to see you again. I miss you, Marina.’ He shook his head. ‘I miss you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I’m sorry.’
Outside, seagulls were wheeling and crying overhead. Inside, there was silence. Marina’s throat tightened and the backs of her eyes prickled, because George wasn’t the kind of man to whom apologising came naturally.
She’d never expected to hear him say sorry, and now he was saying it.
It actually meant far more to her than she’d thought it would. He was admitting he’d done a bad thing to her, acknowledging his mistake.
‘Are you OK?’ said George.
She swallowed. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I’m not homeless, by the way. I’ve rented an apartment overlooking the golf course. It’s a nice place.’
‘Well that’s good.’
‘How about you? Have you missed me?’
‘Missed you?’ Marina stared at her ex-husband in disbelief. ‘Why would you even ask me that question?’
‘OK, let’s leave it for now. I’m blurting everything out without thinking it through. It’s just that I’m so happy to see you again. Food,’ George announced, pausing to finish his drink. ‘I’m hungry, aren’t you? Time to go and get something to eat.’ He rose to his feet and brushed at the creases in his shirt. ‘Have you booked somewhere nice?’
‘It’s the restaurant at the Mariscombe Hotel, on the other side of St Carys.’
‘Good. Now, I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. We’re going to have a wonderful time. And don’t worry about the bill,’ George added magnanimously. ‘This is on me.’
By ten in the evening, Marina was feeling pleasantly relaxed. Dinner had been delicious, and by unspoken agreement they’d stuck to neutral topics of conversation. She’d told George all about her life down here in St Carys, and in return he’d told her stories about his own friends and work colleagues back in Cheshire. Some of them were people she’d once known, and it had been interesting catching up with their news. Jake Hannam was on his third marriage now, and the nanny his second wife had hired to look after their small children was evidently minus a boyfriend but mysteriously pregnant.
It was a warm night, and after dinner they’d moved out on to the terrace to finish their drinks. There were other people around them but at enough of a distance for their conversation to remain private. George said, ‘Did you ever hear anything from … you know?’ and from his tone of voice, Marina knew at once what he was talking about. She felt her stomach tense up at the unexpected reference. Outwardly calm, she shook her head.
‘No, I never did. Anyway, there are things you haven’t told me yet. You said something in your email about being unwell.’ Apart from being plumper and balder – and the nose, of course – he looked just as he’d looked before. And from the way he’d polished off a rack of lamb with dauphinoise potatoes, followed by a chocolate parfait, not to mention a bottle of Montepulciano, there didn’t appear to be much wrong with his appetite.
‘Unwell. Yes.’ His expression lugubrious, George put down his coffee cup. ‘I’m afraid I’m in a pretty bad way. I didn’t want to tell you before, but the stress of everything is just making it worse. The doctor says I need to relax and try not to bottle things up.’
‘What kind of a bad way?’ said Marina.
‘Well, put it like this. Now I understand what you went through.’
Jolted, Marina said, ‘You’ve got cancer?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh George, I’m so sorry!’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘That’s terrible. You poor thing. Where is it?’
‘Not just cancer. I have gout, too. People think gout’s funny and make jokes about it, but let me tell you, it’s bloody painful. And I have back problems as well. I pulled a muscle five weeks ago playing golf and it’s still giving me gyp.’
‘What kind of cancer is it?’ said Marina. Was it present in the bones, in the liver, in the lungs? God, poor George, what an awful ordeal he had ahead of him …
‘It’s a dysplastic nevus.’ George reached across the table for his balloon glass of cognac.
She blinked, familiar enough with the term to know at once what it was. ‘A … what? You mean a mole?’
‘It’s not a mole. It’s a dysplastic nevus.’
‘And have they removed it?’
‘They won’t remove it. They did a biopsy and apparently it’s benign at the moment but could turn malignant at any minute. So I just have to sit and wait. Can you imagine how that feels?’ George said fiercely. ‘It’s unbearable. I’m like an unexploded bomb, I could go off at any time. And those incompetent bastards at the hospital don’t even care about what it’s doing to me. I get headaches every day, you know. It’s probably the cancer spreading to my brain. And I’ve been having palpitations …’
Oh the joys of the diehard hypochondriac. To think she’d forgotten what he was like, poring and fretting over every symptom, either imagined or real. A dysplastic nevus was a benign mole. The biopsy had evidently confirmed that. And yes, there was always a small risk that one day it might develop malignant cells, but it was far, far more likely that it wouldn’t.
Zoning back in, Marina heard the words ‘… but if I’m ill and all on my own, who’s going to look after me?’
She looked across the table at her ex-husband. Seriously? I mean, seriously?
Aloud, she said, ‘Well if it came to that, I suppose you’d have to hire some kind of live-in helper.’
The expression on George’s face was so comical that she burst out laughing.
‘It’s all right for you,’ he said finally. ‘You can’t begin to understand what I’m going through.’
‘Of course I can’t.’ Still smiling, she saw a group of people step out on to the terrace, one of whom looked over and gave her a cheery wave.
‘Who’s that?’ said George.
‘The one in the dark suit is Josh Strachan. He owns and runs this hotel. I don’t know who the couple holding hands are. Maybe they’re guests …’
‘I meant the one who waved at you.’
‘Oh, that’s Ronan,’ said Marina. ‘He’s an estate agent here in St Carys. And he’s friends with Josh.’
‘Word to the wise.’ George tapped the side of his new nose. ‘Never trust an estate agent. Rip-off merchants, the lot of them. Was he the one who sold you the cottage?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he wasn’t.’
‘What’s he doing now?’ said George, because Ronan had excused himself from the group and was making his way over towards them.
‘No idea.’ Marina put down her drink. ‘But if you could try not to call him a rip-off merchant, that would be nice.’
‘Marina, hi! Listen, we were just talking about you.’ Ronan’s light brown eyes flickered in George’s direction. ‘Sorry to interrupt, I can see you’re off duty, but Josh has been showing that couple around the hotel because their wedding’s going to be held here. I sold them their house last year and we’ve kept in touch. Anyway, they were discussing the arrangements for the reception and I showed them a photo of the painting you did at Jem and Harry’s wedding.’
‘Oh, right.’ Marina was touched that he’d thought of her. ‘And did they like it?’
‘They loved it. Because it’s brilliant.’ Ronan grinned. Her lack of salesmanship never failed to entertain him; he was always telling her she should learn to push herself more. ‘So I told them all about you and gave them your details so they can get in touch, which I’m pretty sure they will. But seeing as you’re here, why don’t you let me take you over and introduce you to them now?’
‘Oh don’t worry. It’s fine, really.’ Marina shook her head. ‘It’s kind of you, but I don’t want to seem pushy. If they decide they want to use me, they’ll do it in their own time.’ This was the way she liked to work, by letting the customers be the ones to approach her.
‘You’ll never make saleswoman of the year.’ Ronan looked amused. ‘But OK, we’ll do it your way. I’ll leave you two in peace.’
‘Take a cut, will you?’ said George.
Ronan raised his eyebrows. ‘Sorry?’
‘You told the people about Marina’s art, so I imagine you’ll be expecting a share of the profits?’
‘George!’ Marina was mortified. ‘What are you saying? Of course he doesn’t take a share of the profits!’
Oh God, how embarrassing. Luckily Ronan was still smiling, apparently unoffended.
‘Don’t worry. Just this once I’ll make an exception and waive my commission.’ He paused. ‘Your name’s George? You’re not … the George, are you?’
George looked up at him, nonplussed. ‘Well, depends what you—’
‘Ex-husband George?’
‘Yes.’ Hastily Marina nodded. ‘He is.’
‘Really? Well. Interesting. Sorry,’ said Ronan, ‘when I saw you sitting over here with a man, I assumed you were out on a date.’
Marina’s mouth was dry. Before she could react, George said with a hint of belligerence, ‘Maybe we are.’
OK, enough was enough.
‘No we’re not,’ Marina said firmly.
‘I paid for dinner,’ said George.
‘This is in no way any kind of a date,’ Marina told him. She shook her head at Ronan and added for good measure, ‘It’s not.’
‘OK. Well I’ll leave you both to whatever it is you’re doing here.’ He gave her a ghost of a wink. ‘See you!’
They both watched as Ronan made his way back across the terrace. ‘Cocky bastard,’ said George. ‘Who does he think he is anyway?’
‘He isn’t a cocky bastard,’ Marina said patiently. ‘He’s a lovely lad. Everyone likes him.’
‘Not everyone. I don’t. And did you see the look he gave me?’
‘I wasn’t watching.’
‘When you said I was your ex-husband. Because I suppose you’ve told everyone all about me.’
‘I didn’t tell everyone. Maybe a couple of people,’ said Marina. ‘If they asked me about my past.’
‘And they tell other people.’ George knocked back his brandy. ‘Nothing like a bit of gossip among the locals to brighten their miserable lives.’
‘Mine was the miserable life, before I moved down here. Anyway,’ said Marina, ‘I didn’t know that what happened was supposed to be a secret. They knew I had cancer. They knew I was divorced. If they asked me when those two things took place, I wasn’t going to lie about it.’
‘You couldn’t resist going for the sympathy vote.’
‘It was what happened.’
‘And now I’m the one who’s sick,’ said George, ‘but you don’t see me going on about it. I could have done, though, couldn’t I?’
Was it time to leave? He was starting to annoy her now. Marina said wearily, ‘Yes, you certainly could.’