Then he’d had his heart attack, and he’d realised what an idiot he’d been. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and he’d seen things as they really were. He felt like he’d been on a terrifying roller coaster with all these silly young women shrieking and laughing their heads off, completely oblivious to the fact that they were all hurtling full pelt towards their doom. Suddenly their youthful folly wasn’t so adorable and seemed just that – folly. They were all too young and naive – too bloody stupid – to see that no matter how much you enjoyed the ride, it would always end the same way. He was the only one with the sense to be petrified.
Lying in his hospital bed, shaking with relief that he had woken up to another day, he’d found himself craving some calm and stability in his life. He’d wanted to get off the roller coaster and be down on the ground with the people who were strolling along hand-in-hand eating ice-cream, perhaps walking a dog or watching a grandchild wobbling around on a bike. He’d realised he didn’t want to die alone, and that was where he was heading. So he’d grabbed the person nearest to him and clung on for dear, dear life – and that person happened to be Stella.
It had been the impulse of a moment, asking her to marry him, prompted solely by fear and panic. But it had been fortuitous, and he didn’t regret it. He realised now that Stella was just the sort of person he should be with at this juncture in his life. She was so much more mature and self-possessed than he’d been at her age – than he’d been a year ago, for that matter.
He was looking forward to making a life here with her. When the weather was warmer, he’d take her out in the boat to the little private cove, where they could sunbathe naked. He felt a little stirring of desire at the thought, and he smiled. Mother Nature could fuck right off. There was plenty of life in him yet, and he was going to suck the marrow out of every last drop.
After her run, Stella stood on the beach, looking out over the glittering water of the bay as she did her stretches. It was so beautiful in the early morning sunshine, and she felt a sudden burst of joy and gratitude that somehow, after everything she had been through, she had washed up safe on this shore. Filled with a sense of peace and wellbeing that she hadn’t experienced in a long time, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever twist of fate had led her here.
She turned and climbed the steps up the cliff to the back of the house, entering quietly by the side door so as not to disturb Peter if he was still sleeping. In the kitchen she grabbed her mobile from the worktop and hit Dan’s number. She listened to it ring as she opened the fridge and took out the stuff to make her morning smoothie.
‘Hi,’ Dan croaked, sounding sleepy. She smiled, picturing him rubbing his eyes, and ruffling his wayward hair.
‘Sorry to call so early,’ she said. ‘Can you talk?’
‘Yeah. It’s fine.’ He was speaking quietly, and Stella wondered if he was still in bed, his wife sleeping beside him.
‘Just hang on, I’m going to go downstairs,’ he said.
As she waited, she peeled a banana and threw it into the blender along with some strawberries.
‘Okay,’ he said, his voice louder now.
‘So, when can I see you?’ she asked.
‘You’re in Ireland?’
‘Yes, in Dublin. We got here the day before yesterday.’ She spooned yoghurt into the blender. ‘We’re in Peter’s house in Killiney. You should see it. It’s amazing!’
‘I’d love to see it,’ he said, and there was just the hint of a challenge in his tone, ‘but I take it you’re not inviting me to meet the fiancé?’
‘No,’ she said, some of her pleasure in talking to him draining away, ‘but I can’t wait to see you.’
‘I know, me too.’ He sounded conciliatory. He knew what power he had to make her feel bad. He was too sweet-natured to wield it. ‘How about Friday?’
‘Sorry. We have this thing with Annie’s parents. It’s their anniversary.’
Annie, his beautiful wife. They’d never met, but Stella had seen photographs.
‘I could do next weekend,’ he said.
‘Okay. I could meet you in Galway? I’ll book a hotel and stay over – somewhere with five stars and posh afternoon tea.’ She was excited already, picturing the two of them in an elegant hotel lounge, drinking champagne and eating dainty sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
When they’d said their goodbyes, she couldn’t stop grinning as she poured apple juice into the blender, slapped on the lid and switched it on. Talking to Dan always calmed and reassured her. He had a way of making her insecurities melt away. He’d always been able to make her feel safe, like nothing bad could really touch her when he was there. He’d whispered it to her in the dark so many times – ‘It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay’. It had been hard to see at the time how it could ever be okay for her, and it was only because she trusted him so completely that she’d been able to believe him. But he’d been right. Everything had turned out fine, and look at her now! She had put all the ugliness of the past behind her, and she was a healthy, great-looking twenty-six-year-old woman, living in this beautiful house with a wonderful man who wanted to marry her.
She poured her smoothie into a tall glass and stood looking out the window as she drank. It was sweet, cool and refreshing. Outside, the sun was high in a cloudless blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Peter found Stella in the kitchen with her back to him, looking out the window.
‘You’re up early!’ she said, turning to him with a bright smile.
‘Not as early as you,’ he said, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table. ‘Been out for a run?’
‘Yes.’ She slid into his lap, winding her arms around his neck. ‘It’s too beautiful here to stay in bed.’
As he wrapped his arms around her lithe body, he was suddenly struck by how young and vibrant she was, so full of potential, and he felt a stab of guilt. She still had so much of life ahead of her, so much possibility for adventure and … love. Would he be curtailing all that by marrying her? Was he cutting off access to all those open roads and steering her into a dead end?
‘Am I being very selfish, marrying you?’ he asked.
‘Probably,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And I’m being very selfish marrying you. No one gets married for altruistic reasons, do they?’
He smiled. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘You’re not getting cold feet, are you?’ She punched him playfully on the arm.
‘Never.’ He couldn’t say exactly what he meant, because that would mean acknowledging the elephant in the room; the thing both of them knew and neither of them had ever spoken of since his surprise proposal and her even more surprising acceptance. He wasn’t sure there would be any going back if either of them were to say it out loud. It might not change anything. But he was pretty sure Stella didn’t want to test their shaky foundations any more than he did.
‘There’s so much I don’t know about you,’ he said wistfully.
‘Well, what would you like to know?’
‘Have you ever been in love?’ he asked on impulse, and then immediately regretted it. ‘I mean, before me, obviously,’ he added, losing his nerve.
‘Only once.’ A shadow flickered across her face. ‘I didn’t like it.’
It was probably as close as they’d come to admitting how they felt about each other. But they both had their reasons for wanting this marriage, and they were going into it with their eyes open.
‘Whereas you, as we all know, fall in love every five minutes.’
Peter laughed. ‘Yes, I’m a hopeless romantic. Always have been.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Stella said, rolling her eyes.
It was true. He had fallen in love easily and often. At least, he had been convinced it was love at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. He had been besotted with countless women. Those three little words had tripped off his tongue so many times. But now he suspected that his honest answer to the question ‘have
you ever been in love’ would be the same as Stella’s – only once.
‘I was a lousy husband in my first marriage,’ he said. ‘But I’m older and wiser now, and I’ll do better this time. I promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She gave him a quick peck on the lips.
‘So, what do you want to do today?’
‘I thought we could go for a walk on the beach later. It’s so nice out. But first I want to make a few calls, try and scare up some work.’
‘You don’t need to work. I’ve got oodles of money – more than enough for both of us.’
‘I don’t want to be a freeloader, Peter.’
‘It’s not freeloading if you’re married.’
‘We’re not married yet.’
‘That’s only a matter of time. Besides, we’ve got a wedding to plan. I’m told that’s a full-time job in itself.’
‘It doesn’t have to be,’ Stella said with a mischievous grin. ‘We could elope.’ Her eyes danced merrily.
‘Run away together like a pair of star-crossed lovers? I’m a bit old for that – and not in shape for running anywhere.’
‘Well, you are marrying a penniless girl from the wrong side of the tracks,’ Stella said playfully. ‘I’m sure your family will heartily disapprove.’
‘All the more reason to do this properly.’ Peter already knew his sons weren’t exactly overjoyed about the news of his engagement. ‘I’m not having some hole-and-corner affair. A big fuck-off wedding will show them we mean business.’
‘Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be hankering after the big fairy-tale wedding?’
‘And you’re not?’
‘I guess I’m just not that kind of girl.’
He frowned. ‘You don’t really want to run off; do you?’
Stella bit her lip, her expression serious. ‘Are you offering?’
‘Seriously?’ He was shocked to realise she meant it.
‘I could do without the fuss.’
He caught the slight panic behind her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, we can keep it private and low-key. Just family and close friends. We could even do it here in the house.’
‘Okay, that sounds good – as long as it doesn’t get out of hand.’ She climbed off his lap. ‘But I do need to work, Peter. I don’t want to be financially dependent on anyone.’
He saw that this was a battle he wasn’t going to win. ‘Fine. But there’s no point in looking for anything until we get back from France, is there?’
‘No, I guess you’re right. It can wait. Besides, I do have some savings. I can afford to take a break.’
‘Good. You’ve earned one.’
‘There’s some bircher muesli I made last night in the fridge,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I’m going to jump in the shower. And then we can start making some lists.’
9
On Saturday afternoon, Al arranged for them to meet Stella and Peter for lunch, so he could introduce Lesley as his girlfriend. He picked her up from her house.
‘You look lovely, darling,’ he said, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek when she opened the door.
Lesley reared back. ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ She frowned. ‘Nobody’s watching.’
‘I thought I should get into my role – have a bit of practice at being boyfriendly with you.’
Lesley eyed him warily. ‘Okay, maybe you’re right,’ she said. She turned and locked the door behind her. ‘But don’t call me darling,’ she said as she followed him to the Land Rover parked at the gate.
‘You don’t like terms of endearment?’ Al asked as he went around to the passenger side and held the door open for her.
‘Not darling,’ she grimaced as Al sat in beside her and fastened his seatbelt. ‘It makes you sound about a hundred. Only old farts say “darling”.’
‘Oh! Really?’ He frowned.
‘Did you call your last girlfriend darling?’
‘Well … never you mind.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Lesley muttered.
‘Okay, what should I call you then?’
Lesley thought. ‘What about “baby”?’ She’d been surprised by the effect that had had on her when Rob had blurted it out once during sex.
‘Really?’ Al frowned, glancing at her as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘You like that?’
‘I do. It makes me go a bit funny, if I’m honest.’
‘Huh!’ Al made a face. ‘Well, much as I’d like to make you “go a bit funny”, I can’t say baby. I’m not an American hoodlum.’
‘Okay, then. What about “sweetheart”?’ That was the only other term of endearment she could think of that didn’t make her squirm.
Al nodded. ‘Okay, sweetheart it is. You look lovely, sweetheart,’ he said, smiling at her.
Lesley made a face.
‘What’s wrong? You said you were okay with sweetheart.’
‘I am, but ... it sounds put on when you say it, like you’re in a play.’
‘I told you I needed practice.’
‘You weren’t kidding. Anyway, it’s probably best if you just stick to calling me Lesley most of the time.’
‘Do you have any nicknames? Does anyone call you Les? Lezzles?’
‘No – not if they value their lives. No nicknames. What about you?’
‘Well, Al is a nickname, I suppose, but it’s what everyone calls me, apart from people I don’t know all that well – like Conor. Scott sometimes calls me Aloysius, but only to wind me up.’
‘It was very unfair of your parents giving you a ludicrous name like that. It’s just asking for bullying. What were they thinking?’
Al raised his eyebrows. ‘My grandfather on Mum’s side was Aloysius. He was lovely. I like that I’m named after him.’
‘Oh.’ Lesley felt chastened. It was sweet, she thought, that Al was happy to have such a stupid name because it was in honour of his grandfather.
It was one of the first warm, sunny days of summer, and half of Dublin seemed to be headed, as they were, for the coast. Lesley had been glad of the chance to wear her favourite Zara dress, but now as she looked down at her milk-bottle legs, she was beginning to regret her decision. She wouldn’t stand out among her fellow Dubliners – the pavements were full of people in summer clothes, whose translucent skin was obviously getting its first airing of the year – but Stella had been living in California. Lesley would probably look like a ghost beside her.
She was glad she and Al were the first to arrive at the restaurant in Dun Laoghaire, so she could get her legs under the table before Stella and Peter turned up. They were shown to a table on a large terrace overlooking the harbour.
They’d just been given water and menus when Peter and Stella arrived. They stood as the couple weaved across the terrace towards them. They both had a healthy, golden glow about them that instantly made Lesley feel pale and washed out by comparison.
Even though she’d been expecting him, it still gave Lesley a jolt to come face to face with the legendary Sir Peter Bradshaw. Lean and rangy as a greyhound, he looked older in real life, but no less handsome for it. His thick silver hair was streaked with chestnut, and years of hard work and hell-raising had etched deep lines on either side of his mouth and around his soft blue eyes. When Al introduced them, he shook her hand and gave Lesley a smile that softened his whole face, and though she had never particularly fancied him, she found herself quite bowled over as he kissed her on both cheeks.
Stella was the strawberry blonde that Lesley had found in online images, and she was just as stunning in real life – long-limbed, and as tall as Peter, she was what magazine writers would call ‘striking’ rather than pretty, with high cheekbones and slanting green eyes that had a feline quality to them.
Peter ordered sparkling water and a bottle of champagne, and there was a lull as they all turned their attention to the menu. Lesley was disappointed when Stella and Peter both decided to have crab salad after a long consultation. She’d never been one of th
ose ‘I’ll just have a salad’ women, and she really wanted the lobster linguine. But she also didn’t want to be the only one at the table mindlessly scoffing carbs like some sort of throwback who didn’t know any better. So she was relieved when Al ordered fish and chips.
‘Well, congratulations, you two,’ Al said when the waiter had poured the champagne.
‘Gosh, is that the ring?’ Lesley nodded to the whopping diamond on Stella’s finger as they all clinked glasses. ‘Can I see?’
‘Of course.’ Stella held out her hand with a shy smile. ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Wow, it’s beautiful,’ Lesley said, taking her hand and making the appropriate gushing noises. It must have been worth a fortune. She didn’t know anything about diamonds, but you didn’t have to be an expert to see that it was bloody enormous. If Stella was a gold-digger, she’d hit pay dirt. ‘So when’s the big day? Have you set a date?’
‘Not yet,’ Stella said, ‘but we’re thinking of some time in September.’
‘After we get back from France,’ Peter added. ‘Are you coming to Nice, Lesley?’
‘Yes, she is,’ Al said, smiling lovingly at her in a way that felt unnervingly real. Blimey, he was good at this pretending lark. She’d have to up her game.
‘Well, it’ll be great to have you there,’ Peter said. ‘I haven’t been to the place since last year,’ he told Al. ‘I’d have gone in April if it hadn’t been for that awful little shit going off the rails in the middle of everything and delaying filming.’
‘Who?’ Lesley asked, perking up. She loved gossip.
‘Ronan,’ Peter replied, pursing his lips.
‘Ronan O’Hara?’ Lesley gasped. Ronan O’Hara was the eponymous magical child of the Inheritor film franchise, and Peter played his dead father, who still watched over him, imparting wisdom and guidance from beyond the grave.
‘Who else? They should have fired him and re-cast, if you ask me. But unfortunately the whole Inheritor universe revolves around the little oik, so we had to twiddle our thumbs until he came out of rehab.’
For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy Page 6