‘Well, it’s hardly a talent,’ Stella said.
‘No, but … he was never morose or belligerent with it. He really enjoyed it. And no matter how messy it got, he never regretted any of it.’ A shadow passed across his face. ‘Well, almost never. It wasn’t so much fun for Mum.’
‘Maybe she should have joined in more, shared his life.’
‘With two young kids? Someone had to be the grown-up. She was stuck with looking after me and Scott.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t regret being a good mother.’
‘No, but maybe she resents being pushed into that life – not having a real choice.’
‘She must have known what he was like. He was the man she married.’
‘He’s the man you’re marrying.’
‘Not really. He’s changed. I’m marrying a teetotaller, remember.’
‘A retired drunk,’ Rafe said. ‘It’s not quite the same thing. A man old enough to be your grandfather.’
‘And I’m perfectly aware of that. I know what I’m getting into.’ Stella took a sip of her drink, looking at him thoughtfully. Then she put her glass down and took a deep breath. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, facing him squarely.
‘Mind?’
‘About me marrying your father.’
‘I’m not thrilled about it, to be honest.’
‘Oh.’ Her face fell.
‘You did ask,’ he said without a hint of apology.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Look, it’s nothing personal.’
Stella gave a bitter little laugh. ‘If that’s not personal, I don’t know what is.’
‘It’s not about you. I don’t even know you. But look at it from our point of view. Dad’s old, rich and has a dodgy heart. You’re young and … gorgeous,’ he said, his eyes lingering on her face. ‘We’ve all seen this movie.’
Stella couldn’t help the thrill of pleasure that spread through her at the compliment.
‘You could have any man you want,’ Rafe finished.
‘What makes you think I don’t? Is it so hard to believe I could want to be with your father for himself?’
‘Don’t get me wrong; I know what a charmer Dad can be when he wants to be. But for someone like you—’
‘Someone like me?’ She bristled. ‘You just said yourself you don’t know me at all.’
‘Someone so young is all I meant. I don’t see the appeal of tying yourself to an old man.’
‘Apart from money, of course.’
‘It’s an old story.’
‘Well, if that’s what you all think, there’s probably nothing I can say to convince you otherwise.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Rafe grinned. ‘You could call off the wedding.’
She shook her head. ‘Not going to happen. Sorry.’
‘Ah well.’ He shrugged. ‘It was worth a shot.’
Stella smiled nervously. ‘I’d like if we could be friends, Rafe.’
‘If you marry Dad, we’ll be a lot more than that. You’ll be my stepmother.’ He tossed back a slug of whiskey. ‘I hope you’re not going to be wicked.’
‘It depends how much of a brat you are to me,’ she said with a smirk.
‘Seriously, though, all this might seem fine for a while – playing at Darby and Joan, having long walks on the beach and quiet nights in. But what about when the novelty wears off?’
‘That’s what you’re worried about? That I’ll get bored?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not much of a life for a woman your age.’
‘It suits me. I was never much of a party girl anyway. There’s nothing I want that I can’t have with Peter.’
‘And what’s that?’ he asked softly. ‘What do you want?’
‘Same as anyone really,’ she said. ‘A good life.’
Rafe gave her a knowing look.
‘A happy life,’ she amended. ‘I’m not talking about money.’
‘You could have that with someone your own age.’
‘Maybe. But Peter’s the one I found. I didn’t go looking for this, you know – it just happened. And yes,’ she rushed on, ‘I know that maybe he wouldn’t be marrying me at all if he hadn’t had that health scare. I get that. But he did, so ... here we are.’
Rafe was silent for a moment, staring into his drink. Then he looked up at her. ‘What if you were talking about money?’
‘What?’ She frowned. ‘I’m not!’
Rafe heaved a sigh and leaned forward, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘But say you were,’ he said, turning to Stella. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to silence her. ‘Just humour me for a moment. If it was a question of money—’
Surely he wasn’t calling her a gold-digger to her face? Stella couldn’t believe he’d be so upfront about it. She must be mistaken. ‘It’s nothing to do with money!’
‘Just hear me out. There’s no need to act all outraged. You must know it’s what everyone will think.’
She felt herself turning red. No wonder he’d wanted to get her alone. So much for being friends! ‘They can think what they like. It’s not true. Peter and I want to be together, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. It’s none of their business.’
‘What about his family? Don’t you care what we think?’
‘Well, you can sleep easy if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Rafe picked up his glass, looking down at it as he swirled the whiskey around thoughtfully. ‘So if I were to offer you money and you could walk away right now a rich woman … a rich single woman …’ He left the question hanging as he drained his drink with a rattle of ice cubes.
‘You can’t be serious! You’re actually saying you’d pay me off? Give me money to ditch Peter and disappear?’
‘I wouldn’t think badly of you for taking it,’ he said. ‘We’re all very grateful to you for everything you’ve done for Dad. Why shouldn’t you get something out of it?’
She frowned. ‘I didn’t do it in the hope of some cash reward.’
‘Nevertheless, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be compensated. I’m talking about a substantial sum of money. Granted, not as much as you’d stand to get if you were married. But enough that you wouldn’t need to work again. And you’d be free to do as you please. No ties, no obligations.’
Stella was stunned. He was actually completely serious – and just for a second she was tempted. But only for a second. Because it was the ties and obligations that she wanted. She wasn’t marrying Peter for his money, no matter what anyone thought. Of course, there was no denying it would be nice to be rich. But that was just the icing on the cake. There were things she wanted from this marriage that couldn’t be bought – family, roots, a sense of belonging; someone she could depend on to be there for her.
‘So what would you say to me if I were to make you an offer like that? Not that I am, mind. Just hypothetically …’
‘Hypothetically, I’d tell you to shove it,’ Stella said with a little smile, suddenly feeling very calm. There was really nothing Rafe could say to shake her because she wasn’t in the wrong here – he was, and he knew it.
‘Don’t you even want to know how much?’ he asked.
Stella couldn’t help being curious, but she couldn’t admit to Rafe that she had the slightest interest in his offer, not even academically.
‘I’m not bluffing,’ he said, ‘in case you think this is some kind of perverse test of your integrity.’
Stella shrugged. ‘Same answer,’ she said, and took a sip of her drink, burying her face in the glass to hide her smile. She was enjoying thwarting Rafe. She got the feeling it didn’t happen often.
‘Oh well, can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he said, smiling ruefully. ‘No hard feelings?’
19
A week later, Rafe’s outlandish offer didn’t seem so easy to dismiss. It was a balmy July evening as Stella sat after dinner with Peter, his brother Michael, his sister-in-law Joy, and his ex-wife Jane in
the garden of the Villa Aurore. Cicadas chirped gently in the trees, and the scent of thyme and wild lavender perfumed the night air. The conversation flowed as they passed a bottle of wine around the table and idly nibbled on cheese and fruit from a large platter at its centre.
Peter’s family were entertaining company, and Stella enjoyed listening to them as their stories fed into each other, weaving together seamlessly into the tapestry of their shared history. They were charming and witty, and their obvious affection and happiness at being together was endearing. But she couldn’t help feeling left out, and if Rafe were to repeat his proposition to her right now, she might actually be tempted to take the money and run.
It wasn’t their fault, and she knew they didn’t mean to exclude her. Michael and Joy had been warm and welcoming, and even Jane, whose arrival this morning she had dreaded, had been surprisingly friendly and pleasant – albeit with a hint of effort. Joy had been especially kind, and had gone out of her way to put Stella at ease and make her feel like one of the family. But sometimes it was almost as if they’d forgotten she was there as they talked around her, swapping memories she didn’t share, and drawing on a frame of reference she couldn’t access. She did wonder at times if Jane was doing it on purpose, harping on their shared history to highlight her outsider status. But she told herself she was being paranoid. Jane and Peter were friends now, nothing more. It was only natural that they’d talk about old times when they got together.
Peter wasn’t much help, seeming oblivious to her discomfort. Happy to have an audience, he went into performance mode at every opportunity, hogging the limelight and falling into what was clearly a well-worn double act with Jane as soon as she arrived, the two of them in perfect harmony, as if singing from a hymn sheet only they could see.
So she was looking forward to Al and Lesley arriving in the next couple of days. It would be nice not to be the only new girl in town.
‘You should try this,’ Peter said to her now, pointing to a wedge of pale crumbly cheese threaded with blue veins. ‘It’s fantastic.’
‘No, thanks.’ Stella shook her head.
‘Don’t deny yourself on my account,’ he said. ‘I promise I won’t be jealous. I’ve had more than my fair share of this stuff in my time.’
But Stella steadfastly refused. ‘Really, I’m fine,’ she said. She knew it must be hard for Peter to deprive himself when he was surrounded by such indulgence, and she thought the least she could do was keep him company. Meals at the villa were a minefield of rich patés and fatty rillettes, oozing cheeses and buttery patisserie, and baguettes spread thickly with pale, unsalted butter – all accompanied by seemingly bottomless jugs of pastis and bottles of rosé. She had gone into Nice as soon as they’d arrived and spent the afternoon stocking up on legumes and grains, and had taken over cooking for her and Peter. While the rest of them sat around after dinner picking at cheese as they constantly topped up their glasses, she and Peter grazed on grapes and nuts, and drank sparkling mineral water, limiting themselves to the occasional single glass of wine with the meal.
‘You two are putting us all to shame,’ Michael said as he cut himself a thick wodge of brie.
‘Oh God, don’t say that,’ Peter said. ‘I have no wish to be some sort of poster child for asceticism.’
‘I don’t think you need to worry about that, you old reprobate.’ Jane laughed. ‘You have way too much ground to make up before anyone would look to you as a paragon of healthy living.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘It’s paid off, though,’ Joy said. ‘You look really well, Peter.’
‘You do.’ Michael nodded. ‘Better than you ever looked before you had the heart attack, if you ask me.’
‘Well, that’s entirely down to Stella,’ Peter said, smiling at her. ‘I’m sure I’d have been back to my old ways long before now if it weren’t for her.’ He put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. ‘She has the patience of a saint and takes exceptional care of me. She can even make gerbil food taste good.’
‘Well, I take my hat off to you,’ Jane said to Stella, doffing an imaginary cap. ‘Remember that time we all tried to go macrobiotic?’ she said to the others.
‘God, yes!’ Peter hooted. ‘We lasted all of about ten days.’ He turned to Stella. ‘It was the seventies. Everyone was doing it at the time. It was the clean eating of our day.’
‘I made you that awful birthday cake,’ Jane said. ‘A wholegrain brick with a few strawberries on top as a concession to the occasion.’
Peter chuckled. ‘I think we used it in the foundations of our extension in the end, didn’t we?’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t worth eating.’
‘And then Monty came over for dinner, and when he saw what we were having, he stormed off in the most frightful huff and came back with a massive Chinese for everyone, and insisted we eat that instead.’
‘We didn’t take much persuading, as I remember,’ Michael said.
‘Nothing has ever tasted as good before or since as those pork ribs.’ Peter licked his lips.
‘And that was the end of our macrobiotic phase,’ Jane said. ‘We never looked back.’
‘Good old Monty,’ Michael said. ‘I haven’t seen him in years. I wonder what he’s up to now?’
‘I bumped into him not long ago outside Leicester Square tube,’ Jane said. ‘The last time I was in London. He and Jules have split up.’
‘Oh no, when did that happen?’
And they were off again, howling over some anecdote about Jules and Monty’s riotous wedding reception. Stella had no idea who Monty was, and she tried to appear content and relaxed as they batted stories back and forth about him. But she felt out of place again, and she was relieved when Joy touched her arm and asked if she’d help her with the coffee.
She nodded gratefully, glad of the chance to escape. The others hardly seemed to notice as they got up and excused themselves, and Stella followed Joy into the cool of the kitchen.
‘I hope you’re not feeling too out of it,’ Joy said to her kindly, as she spooned coffee into the machine. ‘Honestly, sometimes when that lot get together, they forget there’s anyone else around, and that some of us haven’t been Bradshaws for the last hundred years.’
‘I’m fine,’ Stella said with a grateful smile.
‘I came late to the party, so I know what it’s like,’ Joy said. ‘When they start talking about the good old days, they get carried away, and I think they sometimes forget that we weren’t all part of it. I mean, I have no idea who this Monty character is that they’re all talking about.’
‘Oh good.’ Stella laughed. ‘I thought it was just me.’
Joy shook her head ruefully. ‘And we weren’t all macrobiotic in the seventies, were we? I wasn’t for one. Goodness—’ she put a hand to her chest ‘—you wouldn’t have even been born then, would you?’
‘No.’ Stella shook her head, a little taken aback by this stark reminder of just how significant the age gap was between her and Peter.
‘But they don’t mean anything by it,’ Joy said. ‘They’re just so happy to get together, they sometimes forget their manners.’
Stella smiled, relaxing. Joy was so nice. It must have been hard for her to join this family, taking the place of a much loved wife, sister and mother, perhaps wondering if they all resented her for it. ‘It is a bit … intimidating,’ she admitted.
‘Well, don’t let it get to you.’ Joy smiled sympathetically, switching on the machine. She took cups and saucers from the cupboard. ‘You’ll be fine. It just takes a bit of time. Don’t worry, you’ll find your feet soon enough.’
‘Thanks, Joy.’
‘You’ve been really good for Peter. We can all see that, and we’re very grateful to you for it.’
Stella felt her eyes welling up. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
She helped Joy load up a tray with cups, coffee and milk, and they took it outside. Peter was mid-anecdote, and didn
’t even break his flow as she took her place beside him, just flashing a wide smile at her. But she felt better after her chat with Joy in the kitchen, less of an outsider already. She had something to contribute and she’d earned her place in this family. They all loved Peter, and she saw that they valued and appreciated what she’d done for him. She may not be able to share in their reminiscences, but they would make new memories together that they’d share next year and all the years in the future. As she watched them chatting and laughing, she found herself looking forward to becoming a Bradshaw.
20
Lesley loved hanging around the airport, and she was delighted that Al had no objection to setting off far earlier than necessary on Saturday morning for their eleven o’clock flight. She liked to have plenty of time to relax over a leisurely breakfast and have a wander around the shops.
‘But I thought you didn’t like shopping,’ Al said.
‘The airport is different. It’s got the novelty factor, and I like the limited options. It focuses the mind.’
They went for breakfast after going through security, and Lesley kicked off the holiday with a full Irish. They split up for a trawl through duty-free, and met up again in the airport lounge, where they waited for Scott, who was on the same flight, to join them.
‘Here he comes,’ Al said, glancing behind her. He stood to wave his cousin over.
Lesley looked around and felt a strange shock of recognition as she saw Scott Bradshaw walking towards them. It was disorientating and slightly surreal. He was so familiar, she almost felt like she already knew him, and yet at the same time she experienced a little rush of fan-girl excitement that it was actually him. Lean and tanned, he was casually dressed in jeans and a figure-hugging T-shirt that showed off his toned upper body. He carried a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder as he weaved between the tables.
‘Aloysius!’ he said loudly, grinning as he pulled Al into an enthusiastic hug, with lots of mutual back-slapping. ‘Great to see you,’ he said, with a final clap of Al’s shoulder.
For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy Page 14