by Isla Dewar
‘That’s a good point, but it’s easy to prove that Carol isn’t your Mrs Rutherford. I have the marriage certificate.’
He agreed. ‘I’d pay you.’
‘A bribe?’ said Nell. ‘That’s a very Rutherford thing to do. Keep your money. I don’t want it. And I don’t want any alimony, however small the sum might be.’
He looked shamed and took out a newspaper article. A glamorous, go ahead couple, it read. The picture showed Alistair and Carol together. She wore a loose silk gown, he was at his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, collar open. He had his arm round her waist. Nell remembered the scene well. It had been one of her early daydreams. My best friend has stolen my life, she thought.
‘Oh hell,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it. Why not? I suppose I don’t have so much to lose. But when it’s over I don’t want to see you or Carol again. Too many painful memories.’
Alistair said he could agree to that. ‘Though it’s a pity. I’ll never know what’s become of you.’
‘You’ll miss finding out about my fabulous life.’ She tapped the newspaper article, ‘But, I expect I’ll be able to follow yours.’
She finished her drink and asked for another. Only because it’s so expensive, she thought.
He fetched it, put it in front of her and thanked her. She took a sip and considered him. The old Alistair, the one she married, had gone. This Alistair was wearing an expensive bespoke suit, a pale shirt and dazzling pink tie. Who does that remind me of? Oh God, she thought, he’s turned into Harry. He’s the image of his father. That’s what Harry was wearing the day he tried to sell me a car.
‘Does Carol pick your clothes?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes, but mostly I buy them myself. Actually, I help to pick hers.’
‘Ah,’ she said, and then smiled, ‘When did you fall for Carol? Was it always her? Right from the night we met at the Locarno and you walked me home?’
He shrugged.
‘On the night of the opening of Rutherford’s, when Carol did the twist, I saw you looking at her. The lust in your eyes shook me to the roots.’
He blushed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You know what I think?’
He shook his head.
‘I think I should have listened to my mother and never gone to the Locarno. If I’d done that none of this would have happened. And I do believe I would have been happy.’
He smiled, reached over and took her hand, ‘Be happy, Nell. You deserve it. I have to go. You’ll be hearing about the divorce. Dates for the court case, everything. It’ll be quiet, no big fuss.’ He got up to leave.
Nell asked about the restaurant. ‘What happened to it?’
‘Annie bought it. She sold her house to raise the money. Annie’s Place, it’s called. White walls and framed posters. Very plain, very stylish. She lives in the rooms above the restaurant with her husband and kids. She’s doing well. She’s going to open up a second place, Annie’s In The City. Carol and me are invited to the opening.’
Nell nodded. ‘Enjoy it.’
After he’d gone, Nell finished her drink, gathered the photographs and headed home. She stopped by a bench under a street light, sat down and looked at the pictures. She dismissed the sleazy shots of her and Hamish in bed and stared at the one that showed her and Hamish walking together. It intrigued her.
Hamish was walking in the slow, almost relentless way he always did. It was a stump of a movement, one reluctant foot after the other. He was looking at her. She knew that expression. She’d worn it herself not that long ago. She could see, in this captured moment, what he was thinking. This life will do. This place will do. This woman will do. And then he’d kissed her.
Chapter Thirty-four
You Know
It was over quickly. Nell admitted adultery. The divorce was granted. Alistair paid the costs. Outside the courtroom in Edinburgh, they shook hands and parted. He told her he was marrying Carol the following week; the baby was due three weeks after that. ‘So it will be legal,’ he said. ‘That still matters. You’d think we’d have left all that behind in this enlightened age, but no.’
She congratulated him, refused his offer to pay her train fare and walked to the station. On the train back to Catto, she told herself it wasn’t that bad. She’d done a noble thing. She’d helped her husband – well, ex-husband – escape a scandal and freed him to marry the one he really loved. And being the guilty party in a divorce wasn’t that bad. Why, look at Elizabeth Taylor. She’d cheated on her husband with Richard Burton and the world was shocked, but everyone knew it was a grand passion. She was the same, but without the grand passion. Still, she was free.
She thought about going to London. Now was surely the time. She was single; a woman with a mysterious past. She convinced herself she had no reason to stay where she was. No strings, she decided. But she did stay. She continued her routine, staying with Byrony for most of the week and spending a couple of nights with Hamish. It was comfortable. And she couldn’t deny there was passion. In fact, the passion was getting deeper and deeper. She was enjoying it.
Byrony changed things. She announced she was selling her house. ‘Lived here too long. It’s time to move on.’
Nell asked where she was going.
‘London,’ she said. ‘I was brought up there. It was you gave me the notion to go back. Got me thinking about busy streets, cafés, cinemas. I have family in London. I’ve a hankering to be near them again.’
‘Are you ready for London?’ Nell asked with a smile. ‘If Greek gods go whizzing past you, every one of them stark naked, what would you do?’
‘I’d whistle and stamp. I certainly wouldn’t be thinking they’d catch their death storming about with nothing on. I’d enjoy the view.’ She watched Nell’s dismay. ‘Nothing stays the same, Nell. Everything changes. Everything always changes.’
‘But where will I live?’
‘You can rent a cottage. There’s always plenty available. Or you could move into the hotel. I’m sure there’s a room. My goodness, the work you put in there, Hamish should be glad to let you have one.’
It was true. Over the past months, Nell had taken on more responsibilities. She ordered stock for the bar. She’d brought in a range of malt whiskies, encouraging guests to try each one over the course of their stay. She’d persuaded Hamish to have the lounge redecorated. ‘Make it like an old country house,’ she said. ‘Comfy sofas, a small library and a huge roaring fire.’ She’d reorganised the menus. ‘Scottish beef and local seafood,’ she’d said.
When she told Hamish she was looking for a cottage to rent, he asked why she didn’t move in with him. ‘It’s not as if we don’t get along,’ he said. ‘My house is so handy for work; you’d be home in no time. I’m sure we won’t get in each other’s way. I do like you, you know. You know that, don’t you?’
Nell said she did know that and she was glad about it. He smiled.
He’d made it sound as if she’d be more flatmate than lover, but she accepted the offer. It saved her the bother of looking for a cottage. And he wouldn’t charge her rent so the new running-away fund would benefit.
Nell moved in on the day Byrony left for London. Kelby was still on the market but Byrony was convinced it would sell. ‘There’s always people looking to start a new life in a new place. It’s a popular dream to buy a place you could run as a B&B and live a quiet, undemanding life by the sea. Of course, they’re all wrong.’
At the small farewell dinner they’d held for Byrony at the hotel, she had leaned over to Nell and said, ‘Have you noticed how Hamish is walking these days? He doesn’t slouch any more. And his legs don’t look like they resent the small business of moving one in front of the other. He doesn’t look as if he’s in the doldrums. In fact, I do believe he’s happy. You’ve done that.’
Nell had said that Hamish hadn’t mentioned anything about being particularly happy to her.
‘He’s changed. And so have you. You’ve become more cynical. And you’ve stopped daydreaming. I think you sho
uld take it up again. I think you’ve lost your wonder.’
Nell had told her she didn’t think daydreaming and having a sense of wonder did her any good. ‘I no longer trust people. This will stop me getting hurt.’
‘Ah, but nothing will stop you getting hurt. It’s part of life. I wish I had daydreamed a bit, it would’ve helped when Kelvin left and I was suddenly alone.’ She sighed. ‘Better to daydream than to fall on your knees when walking to the forest. Better to daydream than to want to bang your head on the ground and weep.’
‘You know about that?’
‘I know,’ said Byrony. ‘I did that.’
Nell took her hand and squeezed it, ‘You poor thing.’
‘It was hard. One day Kelvin was there. Next day he was gone. He left a short note saying he was sorry, he loved someone else. That was that. Looking back I wish I had daydreamed. I wish I’d had your sense of wonder.’
Nell said, ‘Do you? I thought I was a bit naïve.’
‘Well, you were. But losing your sense of wonder may also stop you accepting how marvellous it is that you are loved. And you are. It’s plain to see Hamish loves you. And I think you love him. But you hold back. You don’t trust. Plus, you are not in touch with your feelings.’ She had sighed. ‘I don’t think you ever have been. Perhaps that’s why you daydreamed so much. You were hiding from what you felt.’
In time, as guests saw Nell arrive with Hamish and leave with him in the evening, they assumed they were married. People who came to the hotel and stayed for a few days called her Mrs Watson. Nell never bothered to correct them. It was easier to accept the mistake than explain the truth.
These days, Hamish strode through the hotel beaming at everyone he came across. He’d greet guests with open arms. ‘Hello and welcome,’ he’d say. ‘Have a wonderful stay and please, if you want anything, anything at all, just ask. We’re here to help.’
He delighted in having Nell around permanently. He’d follow her about the house, smiling to her. ‘Just want your company,’ he’d say. From time to time, she’d catch him staring at her as she did the most mundane of tasks, like peeling potatoes or wiping the sink. ‘What are you staring at?’
‘You. You look lovely standing there peeling potatoes.’
‘Nobody looks lovely peeling potatoes. They look bored.’
In bed, in the middle of the night, he’d wake her as he reached over to touch her.
‘What are you doing?’ she’d say, grumpy at being awake.
‘Just checking you’re still there.’
‘Of course I’m still here. Where else would I be? It’s three in the morning.’
‘I don’t know. You could have slipped away and left me. I like to know you haven’t gone away.’
She’d turn over, pull the blankets round her and pursue sleep.
In March, Hamish closed the hotel while refurbishments were made. At Nell’s suggestion he was installing en suite bathrooms in most of the rooms in advance of the summer season. ‘It’s what people want,’ she’d told him. ‘They hate sharing a loo with strangers.’
At first Hamish had been against the idea. ‘We’ll have to shut the place down. We can’t have people staying while a bunch of plumbers crash around banging and whistling. Besides, they’ll have to shut off the water. We’ll lose money.’
‘Think of the money you’ll make by being modern,’ said Nell. ‘You’ll be ahead of the game. That’ll be a first for you.’
Two days later Hamish said that since the hotel was going to be shut, he’d booked a holiday.
‘Valencia,’ he said. ‘Always fancied going there. It’s the home of paella, you know. I’ll taste the dish as it is intended to be eaten and see how they make it differently to how I’ve had it here. Fabulous architecture as well. Got a room in a lovely little hotel not far from the Plaça de la Verge.’
‘It sounds wonderful. I hope you have a great time,’ Nell said carefully.
‘You’re coming too,’ he said. ‘I booked for two. Got two seats on the airplane.’
‘You could have asked me before you booked. You could have said, “Do you fancy a few days in Valencia?”’
‘But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise. This is a surprise. OK then, do you fancy a few days in Valencia?’
‘Yes, but the way you said it at first, made it sound like you were going alone.’
Hamish asked why he’d do that now he had her in his life. ‘We’re a couple.’
‘Ah. People who are part of couples say “we” not “I”.’
Hamish smiled. ‘I’ll remember that. We can sample paella as it’s intended to be eaten.’
They flew to Barcelona and drove to Valencia in a hired car. Hamish sang opera most of the way. ‘Do you like Verdi?’
‘I used to, before I heard your rendition of Aida,’ said Nell. ‘Actually, I’m more of a Beatles woman. And the Rolling Stones. I loved Buddy Holly.’
‘God, yes, Buddy Holly,’ said Hamish. ‘You’re taking me back to my wasted youth with that name. I had all his records.’
‘What did you do with them?’
‘Left them behind when I moved north. Left everything – all my books, all my furniture. Wanted to walk away from the life I’d had with my wife and start afresh. Couldn’t bear the memories. Could’ve taken my Buddy Hollys though – they were from the time before I met her.’
She asked if he’d had the horn-rimmed glasses.
‘Oh, yes. The complete Buddy Holly outfit. I even did a fair impression of him.’ He gave her a swift burst of ‘Raining in My Heart’.
‘That’s really good,’ said Nell. ‘Takes me back to the Locarno in Edinburgh.’
‘I only went to Edinburgh once as a lad. Had an uncle and aunt lived there. But I went to the Locarno with my cousin. That was a rough place. Wild. I didn’t stay long. You never used to go there, did you?’
‘Yes, but only because my mother told me not to. She said it was heathen. Well, after she’d said that I had to go and find out what it was like.’
‘You have to be careful what you say to children. When I have kids I’m going to sit them down and explain everything to them. And if they do things I don’t want them to do and get into trouble, I want them to feel they can come to me. Understanding is all.’
Nell wanted to ask when he’d like to have kids but she let it go. She told him she agreed with him.
The hotel was perfect. Their room was snug, had a large bed and a small balcony that overlooked the Plaça de la Verge. ‘What more could you want?’ said Nell.
‘Nothing,’ said Hamish.
Over the next few days they became tourists. They wandered the streets, marvelling at the architecture, stared into shop windows and sat in cafés watching people pass by. They drove out to the Malvarrosa beach, sauntered round the Institute of Modern Art, visited the Botanical Gardens and went to see the Goyas at the Cathedral Diocesan Museum. They ate paella. ‘It’s the saffron,’ said Hamish. ‘Though I’ve been told they put colouring in.’
‘It’s wonderful. We could do it at the hotel. There is the local seafood.’
‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll look into Spanish wines to wash it down.’
Everywhere they went, Hamish kept his arm round Nell. ‘Protecting you from the world,’ he said. Every day, he told her she looked lovely. They both wished they’d booked for longer than five days.
‘Isn’t this marvellous?’ said Hamish. ‘Aren’t we wonderful? All this time together in a strange new place and we haven’t argued once. Most couples argue when they’re on holiday.’
‘Do they?’ asked Nell, though now she thought about it, she and Alistair had argued about having children on their honeymoon.
‘Oh, yes. We’re doing fine. Getting along like a house on fire.’
In retrospect, Hamish wished he hadn’t said that. The big fight came on their last night in Valencia. They were on the balcony planning where they should go to eat, and, as they did, watching a young couple with a little gi
rl. The child was between them, holding a hand of each parent. Every few steps they’d hoist her into the air and swing her forward. The girl screamed with glee.
Hamish was entranced. ‘I want one of them. Well, two or maybe even three.’
‘With who?’
‘Why, with you, of course,’ he said. ‘Who else?’
‘Don’t you think there should be a few polite preliminaries first, like saying you love me, or telling me you want to marry me? Actually getting married so our children wouldn’t be illegitimate?’
Hamish was upset. ‘But you know me. You know I, well, you know. And you must know I want to … well, you know.’
‘No, I don’t know anything. It’s always “you know this” and “you know that” with you. What are you talking about?’
Hamish said, ‘You know.’
‘Too many you knows,’ said Nell.
‘I just don’t know how to say it,’ Hamish told her. ‘I have all this going on inside. These emotions, these feelings and I try to express them, bring them into the open, and say them out loud, but when I open my mouth all that comes out is “you know”.’
‘Try harder,’ said Nell.
Hamish looked pained, he spread him palms and looked pleadingly.
After a few seconds of him saying nothing at all, Nell picked up her coat and stormed out.
She clattered down the stairs and into the street. It was busy. Boiling with frustration, she pushed through the crowds. Why were men so awkward? She remembered what May had once told her: that they thought in straight lines as opposed to women who thought in curves, which was why women were wiser. Hamish probably thought in straight lines and made the mistake of thinking she did too.
She turned into the Plaza de la Reina. It was full of bars and restaurants. She and Hamish had eaten at a few of them but had been too busy visiting museums, gardens and the beach to explore it properly. Tonight, she wandered further than she’d been before.
It was starting to rain. Nell knew she should go back to the hotel, but she wasn’t yet ready for that. Her anger hadn’t subsided enough. She saw a bar, its name lit up in blue neon. The Locarno. Oh my, she thought, it’s an omen. She’d never in her life gone into a bar alone, but hey, this was Valencia. Perhaps women did that here. She went in.