She jumped to her feet, the movement startling him as much as it did her. ‘Have to go,’ she said, and without another look in his direction, she ran as fast as she could, to put as much space as possible between her and the utterly gorgeous, fabulously-tempting young man. She resisted the temptation to look back to see if he were watching her or, God forbid, following.
A minute later, a frisson of anxiety made her stop and glance behind, but she’d come around a bend and all there was to be seen were fields and trees. No heron, sadly no kingfisher or young man.
She ran on. Young man. Maybe only a few years older than Remi. He was younger than she by twenty years, maybe more. Movie star good looks, a lean athletic body. And those eyes! Amelia, she knew, wouldn’t have hesitated to have taken advantage of the situation. She’d probably have dragged the poor man into the fields and had her wicked way with him.
Molly laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. The brief encounter was beginning to take on a dreamlike quality. They hadn’t even really touched, only a brushing of arms and yet it had been the most erotic experience she’d had in a long time.
Crossing back over the bridge, she slowed to a walk as she approached the hotel. She’d been gone over an hour and in that time, it had completely woken up. Already, with the day warming, there were people sitting on the patio. Gardeners were tidying flower beds, waiting staff were darting about with trays held high. Conscious of her dirty running shoes, she slipped them off and walked barefooted across to the stairway. The silence of early morning had been filled with sound. Voices drifted from the restaurant; she imagined she heard Amelia’s amongst them.
Back in her room, Molly quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, a smile playing over her lips. She remembered the stranger’s intense stare – and felt a shiver of desire. Would it have been so wrong to have given in to that moment’s madness? Who was it that had said that the only thing they’d regretted were things they’d not done? She couldn’t remember but they were wise words – or words of justification. She couldn’t decide. The shiver of desire was replaced by a pang of regret for what might have been.
It had only been Jack since their marriage. And before that, a few college fumbles, and quick sex with forgettable men. She pushed a hand through her hair in frustration. What was she trying to prove? That she was still attractive? No, she was glad she’d not stayed. But that innocent meeting, that feeling that she was still desirable, still fanciable, had made her feel good about herself. That she should need such validation from a stranger worried her, then she brushed that aside. Sometimes she was guilty of overthinking. It had been a moment; no harm had been done and it had made her feel good. And that was all that mattered.
7
Molly stood at the restaurant door and looked around. Tristan was sitting alone. He didn’t look too pleased. Feeling sorry for the man, she crossed the room to his table.
‘Good morning, do you mind if I join you?’
Tristan half stood before flopping back into his chair. ‘I’d like nothing better.’
‘What happened to your golfing buddies?’
‘Early birds,’ he said with a shrug. ‘They had breakfast at seven thirty and headed straight out.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a keen golfer but not that keen. I thought I’d have a leisurely breakfast with Amelia and head out later.’ He jerked his head to the ceiling. ‘She decided to have breakfast in bed.’
Molly picked up the menu and glanced at the choices, but her appetite appeared to have deserted her. ‘Coffee and toast, please,’ she said when the waiter came to take her order.
‘You should have more,’ Tristan said, cutting through a fat sausage. ‘You’re not on a diet, are you?’
‘No, but I don’t feel too hungry this morning.’ She looked across the table to where his belly stretched his polo T-shirt, unable to take her eyes off it as her mind slipped unconsciously to the young man by the canal. His leather jacket had hung open, his T-shirt taut across a muscled torso.
A flush of heat rose to colour her cheeks, she fanned herself with the menu, eyes darting to the doorway. She’d ask the waiter to open it when he came.
Luckily, Tristan didn’t appear to notice. He sat back with his three chins resting on his chest and made no effort to engage her in conversation. ‘You don’t regret leaving the hotel business?’ she asked, knowing it was something he liked to talk about.
It was the perfect topic and gave Tristan the opportunity to expound on what he had done since he’d resigned, and all Molly had to do was nod and smile. Meanwhile, her thoughts were elsewhere, a smile lurking in her eyes as Tristan was going over some financial dealings he had with someone or other.
They’d almost finished breakfast when Amelia came in and joined them.
‘I suppose you were out for a run this morning,’ she said by way of greeting, taking the chair between her husband and friend.
‘Yes, and very nice it was too.’ Had she been alone with her, Molly might have told her about the man she’d met. They would have laughed over it and wondered what if…
‘You coming to the spa? I have a massage booked for midday. We could go beforehand.’
Agreeing to meet her there, Molly went back to her room. Jack was sure to be awake; she took out her mobile to ring, feeling an urgent need to hear his voice. She had to settle for his voicemail when it rang unanswered. He was unlikely to still be asleep. He’d probably taken the Sunday papers to a nearby pub to read over brunch. She left him a voice message. ‘Having a lovely time but wish you were here,’ and hung up.
A few minutes later, her robe tightly belted over her swimsuit, she made her way down to the spa. The pool was large and inviting. Molly hung her robe up and slipped in, shivering for a second before immersing herself completely and starting to swim lengths. She had done several before Amelia turned up, and she swam to the side to meet her. ‘It’s a lovely pool,’ she said, wiping water from her eyes.
‘It looks nice, but I don’t feel like swimming. I’m going to the sauna. Coming?’ Amelia didn’t wait for an answer, sauntering across, hanging her robe on a hook and going inside.
Molly swam to the steps. She’d all day to spend and although she preferred the steam-room to the sauna it would be nice to spend some time with Amelia. Molly could get back into the pool when Amelia had gone for her massage.
They had the sauna to themselves. Molly sat on the cooler lower wooden bench, leaving the hotter top one to Amelia. It was the perfect opportunity to tell her friend about her unusual encounter by the canal. Whether she was confessing or boasting, she wasn’t sure. With the benefit of a few hours’ distance, the episode had taken on an almost otherworldly quality, a black-and-white scene from a vintage Hollywood movie. She cast herself as the mature elegant leading lady and him as the younger glamorous leading man in an old-style romance of thwarted love.
Amelia’s reaction put a damper on her imagination. ‘He sounds amazing… if slightly unbelievable… seriously, does anyone really have turquoise eyes? It sounds like you were carried away by the romance of it all, when what you should have done was drag him into a nearby field for a quick fuck.’ She raked Molly with hard eyes. ‘It would have done you good, you know. Honestly, one of these days you’ll realise that you’re way too uptight.’
The bubble of romance burst, and Molly regretted having said a word. She was relieved when Amelia changed the conversation.
‘How are the kids enjoying Paris and Boston?’
‘Great. They love it.’
‘You must miss them terribly.’
‘I was never a stay-at-home mother, so although we’re very close, I’m happy they’re following their dreams.’ Words she’d said to herself so often she almost believed them. Who was she trying to fool? Sadness pushed the corners of her mouth down. ‘That’s the official story, the one I trot out when anyone comments. Nobody has ever challenged it, but the truth is I miss them like hell. The house is like a mausoleum without them clattering around.’ She gave
a short laugh and turned to look up at Amelia. ‘I bet you’re sorry you asked now?’
‘No, I’m not. You looked a little sad, sometimes it’s good to talk. It sounds to me as if you’re suffering empty nest syndrome. It’s very common.’
A frisson of irritation flashed through Molly. She didn’t want to be defined by some pseudo-psychological bullshit. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, her voice a shade cool.
‘I bet you’re menopausal too.’ Oblivious to the effect her words were having, Amelia leaned down and used the ladle to throw water over the hot rocks, sending a burst of steam into the room, raising the temperature.
Molly wanted to stand up, storm out of the sauna and from the hotel, but she didn’t. She wasn’t a stupid woman and despite her suspicions about Amelia and Jack, there was something in what her annoying friend was saying. Maybe Molly had been overthinking everything; all her worries and concerns the result of hormones and a bloody empty nest. It might be that Amelia had hit the damn nail squarely on its tiny little head.
‘No, I’m not menopausal,’ Molly lied automatically. Denial, it wasn’t a bad place to linger. ‘That joy still awaits me.’
‘Then perhaps you’re in a rut. You should try something new, do something different.’ A trace of boredom crept into Amelia’s voice and a few minutes later, she stood and stretched. ‘I’d better go. I’ll see you later.’
Molly followed her out and headed into the steam room. There were other people there, a couple of younger women with their heads together discussing something important in murmured undertones and an overweight man who appeared to have fallen asleep, a gentle snore coming from his direction.
There was an outdoor jacuzzi but Molly’s earlier prediction that the day would turn warmer had been wrong. Dark clouds had swept in through the early afternoon and light rain had increased to a deluge that blurred the boundaries of the garden and shimmied over the patio. The hotel wasn’t taking any risks – a sign went up to say the jacuzzi had been closed for safety reasons. So, for the rest of the afternoon, Molly drifted between the pool, sauna and steam room.
Amelia didn’t return after her massage. Molly wondered if she had an assignation with the waiter; he’d never been mentioned again. She hadn’t wanted to ask, and Amelia hadn’t volunteered information. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted Molly spoiling her fun.
Rain, driven by the wind, played a noisy staccato rhythm on the floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded the pool and in the background, much further away, there was a low rumbling of thunder. Molly pulled her robe on over her swimsuit and stood looking out over the deluged garden. After such a promising start, the day had taken on grim shades of grey that suited her mood. She wished she’d not told Amelia about the man she’d met. It had been a harmless fantasy, now it was spoiled. Molly shivered and wrapped her arms across her chest.
Turning away from the window, she looked at the clock that hung over the entrance. It was four thirty. She’d go back to her room and ring Jack. Maybe later, she’d come back and do a few more lengths before calling it a day. It wasn’t as much fun on her own.
Back in her bedroom, she picked up her mobile and pressed the speed dial key for Jack, breathing a huff of pleasure when it was answered. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hello, hang on.’ Sounds in the background told her he was in a pub, the noise fading as a door opened and closed. Wherever he’d moved to, it was quiet enough to hear him clearly. She thought he sounded a little tense. Had she interrupted something?
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘still having a good time?’
‘Really good,’ she lied, wondering as she did, why she felt the need to pretend.
‘Did you get out for your run this morning?’
It was the last thing she wanted to talk about. ‘Yes, it’s very pretty around here. How’s your weekend going?’ What she really wanted to know was who he was out with. Charlie again… or someone else. At least she could be sure, it wasn’t Amelia.
‘Fine, quiet,’ he said. ‘I’m with the lads watching the match in Masterson’s. Will you go for a run again in the morning?’
The lads. That all-encompassing term. She resisted the temptation to ask who was there. ‘Yes,’ she said, answering his question, although she wasn’t sure she would go for another run. ‘I’m heading back down to the pool now. Have a good evening, if it’s not too late and I’m not too tired I’ll give you a ring after dinner, okay?’
‘Okay, I love you.’
She rubbed a hand over her forehead. Was there a hint of overemphasis in those three words, as if he were trying to convince himself? Or was she stupidly overthinking again. ‘Love you too.’ Hanging up, she swung her legs up onto the bed and lay back against the pillows. Feelings of regret, worry and guilt were scrambled in her head. She closed her eyes, trying to shut the thoughts away and despite everything found herself drifting to sleep.
When she woke, eyes snapping open in confusion, it was almost dark. She brushed away the brief disorientation and sat up, her hand searching for the phone. Seven thirty. She swore softly. There had been no mention of meeting for drinks prior to dinner but she guessed that was the plan.
She’d not made it back to the pool. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she saw with a grimace that her swimsuit had soaked through her robe to dampen the bedcover beneath. It would dry without leaving a mark, she hoped, smoothing the cover out.
Ten minutes later after a quick shower, she tied her hair in a French knot and slipped on a silver-grey dress. She looked at her reflection in the mirror as she did her make-up and pulled back the creases around her eyes, wondering, not for the first time, if she should have a bit of work done. Dropping her hands, she turned away. Empty nest syndrome. There had been so much stress over Freya and Remi’s exams, then the excitement of the results and their move overseas. She’d gone with each of them in turn to help them settle in. Paris and Massachusetts had both been so exciting… then it was all over for her, she’d left them to it and come home to the same old, same old.
Old.
Was that what it all came down to? Menopause. Empty nest. All symptoms of what she should be seeing as the natural order of things; hormones were supposed to change, children were supposed to go out into the world and make their own lives.
Maybe she needed to take a page from Amelia’s book and grasp this different life with both hands, break out of the rut she was in and try something new.
It was worth thinking about.
8
When Molly went down, Amelia and Tristan were still in the lounge, an almost-empty glass in each of their hands. Amelia’s discontented expression brightened when she saw Molly hurry across the room. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I think I must have overdone it between the run and the pool, when I went to my room I lay down for a moment and fell asleep.’
‘You should learn to relax more.’ Amelia waved towards the restaurant. ‘We’d better go in before they give our table away.’
Since the hotel was quiet, unusually so for a bank holiday Sunday, Molly didn’t think there was much chance of that, but she said nothing and followed them from the room.
The food was once again excellent but there was little atmosphere in the half-empty restaurant. Conversation between the three was in brief bursts followed by long periods of silence. Tristan complained about the weather ruining his golf; Amelia gave an in-depth account of her massage, and Molly added a word here and there as required and wished Jack was with her. If he had been, he’d have told some funny anecdotes that would have livened the mood. She missed him.
After coffee, Amelia suggested drinks in the lounge, but Molly had had enough. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, pushing back from the table. ‘I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast.’
Back in her room, she took out her mobile and checked for messages. There was one from Jack. Hope you’re still having a good time. Charlie and I are going to a movie. Chat tomorrow.
A movie! She’d
hoped to be able to speak to him and felt a lick of disappointment bring tears to her eyes. Perhaps if she’d told him the truth earlier, he might had advised her to come home, and she’d be there now, with him, laughing about the weekend, putting the young man and his ridiculous eyes behind her. But she hadn’t told him the truth, and now it was too late. She tapped out a suitably vague and ambiguous message. Wonderful, but it’ll be better when I’m home tomorrow.
She wasn’t sure she’d sleep following her long afternoon nap and was surprised to find herself drifting off as soon as her head snuggled into the pillow. But it didn’t last; every creak and whisper of noise woke her to send her tossing and turning in a hunt for oblivion. When the first streaks of light slipped under the curtains, she stopped trying. Her hand stretched out and fumbled to find the lamp switch, eyes shutting tightly when the room was flooded with light. She blinked and looked at her watch. Seven.
She’d half thought about skipping the run, but the one the day before had been so lovely, wasn’t she being a bit silly to deprive herself. It was highly unlikely that the stranger would be there today. Anyway, she’d go the other direction and enjoy the fresh country air before returning to London.
The morning was dry but the heavy rain of the day before had left its mark. The ground squelched underfoot, wet leaves on mud making it slippery in places. Once she crossed the humpbacked bridge, it was safe to start her run. She glanced the way she’d gone the day before, gave a slight smile and headed in the other direction.
There were a couple of narrowboats moored. Molly ran past, picking up speed, careful to avoid the worst of the puddles. There were locks along this stretch of the canal; she looked up as she rounded a bend and the first came into view. Painted white, they stood out against the predominately green surroundings, but it wasn’t their colour that made Molly stumble and slow to a halt.
The Perfect Life Page 5