I shook my head. ‘Nope. I still find it a bit odd. But I avoided asking him directly.’
Amelia sucked the end of her pen, unusually thoughtful. Then she shrugged. ‘You may as well go with the flow, darling. Just enjoy it without searching for hidden meaning.’
I shuffled some property brochures. ‘Do you think it’s too soon … to go to bed with Scott?’ I felt awkward, but after all, she had been the one forcing me to buy new underwear.
‘Too soon since you’ve known him? Or too soon since you broke up with James?’
She’d seen right through my question. The issue wasn’t whether I was ready to be with Scott, it was whether I was ready not to be with James. I hadn’t heard from him since his letter in the FedEx box. The obvious conclusion was that he was moving on with his life. I rubbed my temples and didn’t answer.
‘All I can say is, casual flings saved my sanity after Michael left. Sex with someone new can be a lot of fun. You never know what you might learn.’
‘Okay, okay, I get the picture.’ We were getting into the territory of too much information. What kind of sex games had ignited in Amelia’s fire engine house? And, scary thought, what had Scott been thinking, as he’d eyed up the ancient beams and banisters at my place? I coughed in my most business-like manner and picked up the phone to schedule some client viewings.
~~~
On my way home from work, I decided to call at Nancy’s house. We were now well into October and I’d promised to act as her conscience in her dealings with Elijah. Still, I was nervous of the reception I’d get. It wasn’t until I’d rung the doorbell that the horrible thought occurred to me: what if he’d moved in with her and I disturbed them both? I didn’t want to meet him: I was afraid of what I might say.
‘If it’s a bad time, I’ll go,’ I blurted, as soon as she opened the door. Then I saw her red tartan pyjamas and orange Princeton sweatshirt and concluded she was probably on her own.
‘Hey.’ Nancy opened the door wider and gestured for me to enter. I’d been inside her house before, when we first viewed it. Now, it was much messier. I took in the piles of books and old newspapers, shoes kicked off randomly, and dirty dishes piled on the coffee table.
‘I brought wine,’ I said, ‘and chocolate. I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.’
Without make-up, her face was sallow. Her bird-like movements were dull as she sagged beside me on the sofa.
‘We might need both.’ She let her head loll backwards and closed her eyes. ‘Have you come to say I told you so?’
I shook my head. ‘No … I wanted to see how you’re doing.’ I was pretty clear by now that she was not on the brink of a new life with Elijah.
‘Oh, Grace,’ she began, ‘I don’t know whether I’m more pissed with him or with myself.’
‘So …?’ What on earth to say at this point? Congratulations hardly seemed appropriate.
‘So, it’s over. We’re done. Toast.’
‘He wouldn’t leave his wife, then?’
‘No. You were right.’
She started to cry and I passed her the tissues from the coffee table. The box was almost empty.
‘He was a total jerk,’ she said, between sobs. ‘Like he had nothing to do with me moving to England. Asshole.’
I patted her hand awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Really, I am. He doesn’t deserve you.’
‘But – I wanted – kids,’ she gulped out. ‘I’ve worked my ass off for years and now I’m running out of time. I’m –’ sob ‘thirty-eight.’
‘You still have time,’ I said, fervently hoping it was true. I hadn’t made up my own mind yet about children and now I was husband-less, I needed to believe I still had some runway ahead of me too.
Nancy dropped a tissue on the carpet and snuffled into another.
I changed the subject to distract her. ‘But now that you’re in England, you’ll stay, won’t you?’
‘You bet,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so happy here.’
Funny way of showing it. I went to the kitchen to hunt down a corkscrew and wash some glasses. When I came back, she’d discovered the Galaxy chocolate and was holding a piece between thumb and forefinger.
‘This is good stuff.’ Nancy licked it carefully. ‘It’s smoother than Hershey’s, I think.’
I made a mental note to introduce her to Maltesers, Crunchie bars and possibly Curly Wurlies.
‘Try it with the red wine,’ I suggested.
The combination was pretty awful, but we didn’t care. When we’d annihilated all of the chocolate and most of the wine, I made us some cheese on toast. Then we watched Coronation Street and Doctor Who. Neither of us had a clue what was happening in either programme, but it didn’t matter. We sat there in mutual melancholy, punctuated by the Daleks and some cheap red plonk.
CHAPTER 23
‘Antiques aren’t really my thing, but I wasn’t going to turn down free cheese and wine.’
Amelia clinked her glass against mine and shrugged innocently.
‘Fair enough,’ I told her. ‘I’m just pleased there’s a big crowd here to support Peter and Giles.’
Already, a high volume of chatter was floating up to the rafters of the antiques barn, and a few people were even examining the merchandise.
I saw Mary Lou through the throng and waved at her. She had helpfully invited her friends to the party.
‘And it’s nice to have something social in the village,’ Amelia continued. ‘Too bloody quiet around here.’
Peter joined us. ‘Ladies, hi.’ He was wearing a gorgeous striped lavender shirt, which I would have been happy to own myself.
‘How’s it going so far?’ I asked him. The responsibility for suggesting the party was weighing heavily on me and I nibbled anxiously on a cube of Wensleydale.
‘I think it’s going well,’ he said, looking around. ‘Several people have said they never knew there was a shop here, so that’s a start.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And, Grace, you did brilliantly at getting the Americans to come.’
‘Watch out, here’s another one,’ said a female voice behind us. ‘Grace hassled me mercilessly, until I promised to show up.’
I turned and found Nancy smiling bravely. Dressed in a chestnut trouser suit, she had seemingly come straight from work. She looked much brighter. We hugged and I checked that she knew Amelia and remembered Peter from the pub.
‘How’s your house?’ Amelia asked her. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Just great, thanks. I love it,’ Nancy replied.
‘Could you use some antiques?’ I joked. ‘Peter has a few spare.’
‘Actually, I’d love to get something. Just so long as it’s small enough to ship when I go back.’
‘How long are you here for?’ Peter asked her.
‘I’m not sure yet. At least a year, though.’
‘Well, I’ll be happy to show you around.’
They moved off together, already deep in discussion.
‘Does she know he’s gay?’ Amelia murmured to me.
‘No problem there,’ I replied. ‘She’s heartbroken over some spineless tosser who wouldn’t leave his wife.’
~~~
‘Sorry about that,’ Scott said, as he got back in the Jaguar. ‘It’ll get more interesting from now on.’
‘And I had been thinking your job was glamorous,’ I replied. I kept my voice cheerful, but I was thinking that picking Monday morning for our next date had been a big mistake.
Scott’s car was parked outside a disused factory on the outskirts of Ipswich. The building was a grey, soulless shape from the sixties, windows broken, litter flapping in the chilly breeze. Even the graffiti was uninspiring. I had declined the tour politely, waiting instead in the car with the doors locked.
‘Was it any good?’ I asked.
‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Even if we could sort it out – which would cost a bomb – I can’t see people wanting to live in this apocalyptic wasteland.’ He started the engine. ‘Let’s get ou
t of here.’
He headed north on the A12 and within minutes, the scenery improved, with the landscape an autumn mix of greens, yellows and some rusts. I stole a look at Scott as he drove. So far today, he had been business-like in his behaviour to me, but that made sense as he was effectively at work. He had picked me up from Ipswich station, greeting me with nothing more than a ‘Good morning’. I was losing my nervousness at being with him, but was wondering if and when we’d repeat our kiss of the other evening.
‘I could do with a coffee,’ he said now. ‘Okay if we stop off?’
‘I’d love one,’ I said. Unusually for me, I’d skipped breakfast in order to catch an early train. It hadn’t helped that I’d changed outfit twice, finally settling for black jeans, boots and Amelia’s tan leather jacket.
He turned onto a minor road and before long we were in a charming historic town. Scott parked his car in the market square.
‘Where’s this?’ I asked. ‘I like it.’
‘Woodbridge,’ he replied. ‘I actually own a small cottage here.’
‘Oh, for weekends?’ The town seemed pleasant, but I had pictured Scott preferring something more cosmopolitan for his Saturday nights.
‘No,’ he smiled and shook his head. ‘It has tenants. I bought it as an investment.’
Oh. So, whereas my interior design work tempted me to buy cushions, his job had led to a whole cottage. My impulse buys could hardly be considered wise investments. No wonder he drove a purring Jaguar and I owned a crumbling Beetle.
The little cafe had bleached pine tables. On its walls were Suffolk landscapes by local artists. We were alone except for two young mothers and their babies. Scott sat opposite me at our table in the window. He was looking expensively smooth in a dark suit, his shirt open at the neck. If he’d spent the weekend partying hard, it didn’t show.
‘Do you usually work alone?’ My bandwidth for eloquent conversation was restricted by my assault on two thick slices of granary toast and a pot of tea. I should have known better than to miss breakfast; lack of food always makes me sag.
‘Pretty much. At least, initially. Obviously later there are meetings, investors, all that stuff. It’s nice to have company for a change.’ He was stirring a large latte and watching me with some amusement.
‘Sorry,’ I said, adding more honey to my toast. ‘I know this looks piggy. No breakfast.’
‘You go ahead. I’m glad it’s doing the trick. Nothing worse than a woman who doesn’t eat.’
Inevitably, I imagined a recent girlfriend: tall, wafer thin, probably a model or a public relations princess. Glamorous, high maintenance. And here I was, noshing greedily on toast and honey. Well, too bad, I couldn’t be captivating on an empty stomach.
I gave Scott my best smile and was rewarded with his own slow grin. Really, his eyes shouldn’t be allowed out before the cocktail hour – they were too sensuous for this time of day.
‘So, what’s next?’ I tried to get my thoughts back to business, but was derailed when Scott reached over and poured more tea for me. The gesture was endearingly familiar.
‘There’s an old school just north of here, which I’m keen to scout out. Some canny old codger’s been hanging onto it, but I think his kids have convinced him to sell.’
‘Kids can be so persuasive,’ I said meaningfully, offering him another chance to mention his parents.
He glossed right over it. ‘After that, there’s a hotel in Aldeburgh that’s just come on the market. Thought it might be worth a look. It’s in a great location.’
Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about Saffron Hall. No big deal. I wiped my mouth carefully, keen to eradicate lingering crumbs and honey.
The waitress brought our bill and we both reached for it at the same time. His hand landed on mine and he curled his fingers around mine. I glanced up nervously as he began stroking his thumb over the inside of my wrist, then had to look away as longing heated my insides. Or it could have been the tea, but if that was the case, they should have charged a whole lot more for it and recruited Meg Ryan as their celebrity sponsor.
‘You’re not wearing your wedding ring,’ he said quietly.
Finding nothing to say, I shook my head. I didn’t think men noticed that kind of thing. Did this mean Scott had spotted it, in the pub or maybe at the races? If so, he’d known he was chatting up a married woman.
‘So … it’s over then?’ he asked.
I looked out of the window. On the other side of the street, an old couple, bent with age, were passing slowly. He was in a brown tweed cap, relying on a walking stick, she wore a bright headscarf and pulled a small wheeled shopping bag behind her. Her free arm was tucked through his and each careful step they took was in perfect timing.
‘I think so …’ I caught Scott’s gaze and exhaled. ‘Yes. Yes, it’s over.’
~~~
It was amazing the difference that tea and toast made to my spirits. From then on, the day just seemed to get better and better.
En route from the cafe back to Scott’s car, we passed an estate agency. Without a word between us, we both ground to a halt so we could steam up the windows. I imagine I was looking for the fun of it and to see which living room photo I liked best, whereas Scott was on the hunt for his next deal. I got a kick out of our shared interest, anyway.
It wasn’t far to the old school. As we drove, I wondered idly whether his residential projects would need an interior designer for the show homes. For a few seconds, I allowed myself a pleasant daydream that we could work together, or at least that he’d pass me lots of lucrative design work. With a decent budget and interesting architecture, I could create some stunning spaces. Teaming up with Scott would be a neat solution to both my personal and professional limbo.
Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to know I was getting ahead of myself and I made sure I was back on earth before he parked opposite the school.
This time, I joined willingly in the tour of the brick building with steeply pitched roof. It even had a little bell tower on top, although the ivy covering half the school was threatening to claim that too.
‘What would you turn it into?’ I’d asked as we waited outside for the agent to arrive.
‘Either flats or offices,’ he’d replied. ‘Probably flats. The residential market is strong round here.’
‘Is it listed?’ I asked, proud that I knew this could be a barrier to conversion.
‘No, thank God,’ he said, reading through the information he’d downloaded. ‘I think the biggest problem will be whether the old git wants to sell.’
He’d shut up quickly as a silver Volvo drew up and I surmised that insulting the owner wasn’t in the game plan.
As we looked around the school, I kept an eye on Scott, trying to guess what he was thinking. Clearly, he’d make a good poker player: he showed no emotion at all. That said, the windows had been boarded up, so the light was dim and I had to concentrate to avoid a face full of cobwebs. Scott took photos and measurements and I tried to picture the space divided into flats, but couldn’t see how the windows might work. It seemed whoever built the original school didn’t believe that daylight was necessary in the care and nurture of children.
‘Okay, I’m dying to know what you think,’ I said, only restraining myself until the agent drove away and we were alone again.
‘Might be worth some further research.’ Scott was looking up at the roof, then reached for his camera to get a few more pictures.
‘It’d make a lovely tearoom,’ I suggested, imagining the gentle vanilla scent of cakes fresh from the oven, the waitress in her starched white apron and perhaps an array of local crafts for sale too.
He laughed. ‘Sorry, Grace. Tearooms don’t make me much dough.’
~~~
My expectations of cobwebs and broken windows were pleasantly shattered when we pulled up outside the hotel which was for sale. The place was still very much open for business, and although not exactly thriving on a Monday in October, it
didn’t look close to bankruptcy, either.
Inside, we found it was furnished in traditional style. We ambled through the peach damask reception area, stuck our noses into the quiet residents’ lounge, and found ourselves outside the dining room. Each table boasted white linens and multiple glinting wine glasses.
‘I don’t mean to be tactless,’ Scott turned to me, ‘but have you any room for lunch after all that toast?’
I could hardly object to his teasing. ‘I could manage a salad,’ I said coyly, knowing full well I would probably order something more substantial.
‘Excellent.’ He nodded in approval. ‘Fish and chips – with salad – for two.’
~~~
‘I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice,’ I said, as the nervous eastern European waiter cleared our plates carefully. I had been restrained and had declined Scott’s suggestion of battered fish. Instead, chicken salad and two glasses of Chardonnay left me feeling relaxed but not stuffed.
‘Me neither,’ Scott agreed. ‘The photos don’t do it justice.’
I was glad the derelict school was still a possibility. I didn’t want him to look back on a day spent with me as a total waste. ‘Will you ask to look at the rooms?’ I said.
He looked up at the ceiling of the dining room, with its cornices and ornate mouldings. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘It’s not run down enough to give much room for profit.’ He shrugged. ‘I get more excited when I see cracks and flaws.’
‘Right …’ I inclined my head knowingly. ‘I guessed there had to be a reason you’re hanging around with me.’
He flashed me his sexy grin. ‘Yeah, you have great potential.’ He narrowed his eyes speculatively, dropping them to my neckline and then lower. ‘But I haven’t had the full tour yet.’
‘Yet..?’ I showed him I could flirt back.
Scott rested his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. I found myself nudging closer, to hear him.
‘Well, obviously, I need to check things out really carefully,’ he said slowly. His gaze was firmly on my face now, travelling from my eyes to my lips and back again.
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