by Terry Tyler
I went back to my room and I slept, and in the morning he still wasn’t there.
I was plunged back into despair.
I reasoned thus: if he felt even half the need for me that I did for him he would have come knocking on my hotel door, no matter how late he’d finished work. His absence spoke the words for him.
How could that morning be so different from only twenty-four hours before?
I’d left the doors to the balcony open, the morning breeze blew in, and I was alone.
Eventually I got up and sat at the table where we’d lounged together the morning before, and I stared out at the sparkling blue water, but it was like looking at a picture, or at something I couldn’t touch, through a glass. How could I be part of this beautiful, perfect setting, while I felt so bereft? Was I even there, at all?
I texted Jane, asking to be left in peace.
I took a shower, I walked on the beach, and I was alone. I walked and walked until I got to those wooded hills, and then I felt weak through lack of food, so I lay down for a while, ate the granola bar I'd put in my bag, and began the long walk back, alone. Alone, alone, alone. I looked at my phone every ten minutes to see if he’d obtained my number, but it remained silent. I was drained of all energy, empty. Everything had stopped.
At four in the afternoon I got back to the hotel—and there I found that at last, at last, the gods had smiled on me. They’d decided to press the ‘play’ switch after all; for at a table outside sat Philip Castillo, drinking a beer and waving at me.
“Jane said you’d gone wandering.” he called. “Did you have a good day?”
At once, the world was a different place. I felt my face open up in delight as I bounded over the sand to join him; I only just managed not to throw my hat up in the air.
He’d ended up having to work until three in the morning, he said and, exhausted, he’d slept until lunchtime.
All the time I’d been tying myself in knots, convinced that he’d gone, he’d simply been busy or asleep. Like my mother’s words about underdressing, it was a lesson I knew I must remember.
We drank beer and talked and kissed, and then we went to find Jane and Dante, and spent the most fun evening I’ve ever had in my life. Was this what other people did, all the time? Was this why they looked happy? We visited cafés along the promenade, we ate, we chatted and laughed, we drank wine and cremat, a glorious local drink of rum, coffee, cinnamon and sugar. I was out with my lover, and my friend and her man; I was attractive, I was normal, I was like other women, I was one of those people I’d watched and envied. I was having a life.
Phil wore a white shirt and the same off-white jeans as two nights earlier. With his light clothes and pale hair he stood out in the darkness, and I smiled at my own private joke; I’d been sent an angel.
When we made love that night, the feelings it aroused within me were so extreme I could hardly bear them. I wanted to cling to him, drench him with my tears, bind him to me, tell him that I loved him, loved him, loved him, but of course I didn’t; I wasn’t insane. Instead, I took my cues from him, contenting myself with affectionate banter. Again, he left me in the morning, saying that he had a ‘few things to take care of’, but this time I remembered to suggest we swapped phone numbers.
When he had not come back to me by six, I sent him a text. Waiting the hour for him to return it was difficult, but I remembered my lesson, drank wine, and didn’t become overwrought.
He sent me a message: Stuck in Llagostera, no lift. Have to stay over, will see you tomorrow afternoon. Can’t wait xx
I was disappointed, but his words made up for that. I read the text over and over again. That night I went out to eat with Jane, just the two of us. Two normal women, spending an evening together because our men were busy working.
“I can’t believe how you and Phil have hit it off.” she kept saying. “Who would have thought it, eh? Nothing like a holiday romance, is there!”
He didn’t tell me what business he’d had in the neighbouring town, but I didn’t care, because by Saturday afternoon he was with me again, and that night he told me that he’d missed me and had been looking forward to seeing me so much. He said that what he’d at first presumed might be an enjoyable fling was turning into much more.
I knew how people must feel when they win the lottery.
In just a few short days, Philip Castillo had become my ultimate, my heart’s desire, and for the first time ever I knew something other than loss, rejection and disappointment.
Early on Sunday morning, while he was sleeping, I walked out onto the balcony and contemplated the fact that I had only six days left with him.
Could I try to enjoy them simply for what they were? Would our relationship continue with e-mails and occasional holidays, like Jane and Dante’s?
He cancelled the few shifts he had that week.
“They’re pissed at me, but what the hell?” he told me, cheerfully. “I just want to spend the time with you.”
I told Jane to contact Will Brandon and say that I needed to rest, and would take no calls or e-mails about the business unless there was an emergency he absolutely couldn’t deal with. Phil and I spent every moment together. We went to some wonderful botanical gardens and photographed each other against the backdrop of picture postcard coastal views. We drank beer in the local taverna, smiling and chatting with other holiday makers. We swam, we sunbathed, we wandered through the streets, and I luxuriated in the joy of our love; in his arms I became real.
Carefully, I asked if he had any idea what he might want to do once the high tourist season was over; I knew that aside from the bar work he had no income.
He was just drifting, he said: waiting.
You know what I was thinking, don’t you? There was he, with the need for a career, prospects, an income, and there was me, with my own company.
On Wednesday morning I awoke and thought, half way through. In just three days, I would be packing to leave my world behind. From that moment on, I was counting down to misery.
I couldn’t help it; that night I drank too much, and I told him how I felt.
“It’s the same for me,” he said, softly, though I knew it wasn’t. We were sitting on the beach under the stars at the time; he took my hand and stroked it, gently. Then he kissed my fingertips and said the words I’d longed to hear. “Have you got room at Lanchester Estates for a twenty-six-year-old guy with a business degree but a really lousy CV that would make most employers think he couldn’t stick at anything?”
I threw my arms around him and wept with joy.
“You’ll have to sort me out a flat,” he said, holding me away and smiling at my delight. “Just somewhere small and functional—I don’t imagine I’ll be spending much time there, will I?”
“Why not move in with me?” I said. I felt as though I was bubbling over. “There’s just me and Erin and our housekeeper in that great big house; and it’s my family home. I’d love you to be there. It’d—well, it’d make you see why the company and the house are so important to me.” I laughed, trying to cover how anxious I was that he should be by my side. “You’d have the whole Lanchester experience, I mean.”
He hugged me to him. “That sounds great, but I really don’t think we ought to live and work together straight away, after only knowing each other a week. Hey, you’ll get fed up with the sight of me!”
Never. Never, ever. I knew, even then, that every moment I spent without him would be tinged with melancholy. However, I was wise enough to see that it was he who felt that it might be too much too soon; I had to let him get his own place. I mustn’t crowd him. That he was coming to me was enough.
Two weeks, he told me as we kissed goodbye at the airport on Saturday. He had practicalities to sort out, loose ends to tie up. I didn’t enquire; I suspected there might be an old relationship to break off as well as finance to arrange. I could wait. Two weeks, and we’d be together again.
Chapter Seven
Hannah
May—June 2011
The Isabella who returned from Spain was a different woman. I’d waved goodbye to a skinny, anxious, exhausted wreck. The ecstatic creature I picked up at the airport was ten pounds heavier, looked five years younger and might have been injected with sunshine. For a moment I was worried; had she joined a religious cult? If she hadn’t put on weight I’d have thought she was doing speed; I remembered my sister’s similarly serotonin-fuelled exuberance. Then Jane Dormer told me that Isabella had discovered the best drug of all: love.
Back at Lanchester Hall, she called Erin down, got Pat out of the kitchen, and poured us all a glass of wine before telling us all about this wonderful being, this Philip Castillo who had made her life complete—and would be living amongst us in only two weeks.
“Hmm, cute!” said Erin, scrolling through the photos on Isabella’s phone. She looked up and grinned. “Nice one, sis!” She hugged her sister. “I’m really pleased for you. It’s great to see you so happy.”
“Thank you!” Isabella laughed, and flopped into a chair. “He’s a dream come true; I can’t believe he loves me!”
Erin passed me the phone. I saw a pleasant-looking man who was obviously a fair bit younger than Isabella. That worried me, slightly. A man nine years younger than her, who had so few responsibilities in his life that he was able to up sticks and move to a different country with a woman he’d known less than a fortnight. Then I gave myself a mental wrist-slapping; perhaps he’d fallen in love as utterly and totally as Isabella had.
“I’ve got to get straight onto thingummy who deals with staff accommodation and find him somewhere to live,” she was saying, “preferably in the village—I want him within kissing distance.” She winked at us, and laughed. “And I’ve got to sort out an office for him; I’m sure Will won’t mind moving, will he? He’ll need to be next to me!”
“Hang on,” said Erin, still smiling but looking slightly bewildered, “I get that he’s going to be working for us, but what’s he actually going to be doing? What position are you giving him?”
Isabella patted her sister on the shoulder. “I want him with me; Erin, he’s got a degree in business studies, and masses of experience in industries related to ours. I’m going to make him my advisor, so we can work on major decisions for the company. We’re going to work together.”
Erin frowned, still smiling. “But—well, doesn’t Will fulfil that role? And Cecilia? I don’t mean to question what you’ve decided, but—no, actually, hang on, I do! Izzy, honestly, I get that you love the guy, and I especially get that you don’t want him to start off feeling as if you’re his boss, but does he have enough experience to make those sort of decisions?”
Pat had told me about a pile of books she’d found in Erin’s room. Clearly, little sister was educating herself; I’d noticed a slight change in her of late. She seemed to be growing up. I wondered even then if she might have been a better choice for the position Isabella was about to award her lover.
“I’m sorry if your nose feels put out of joint,” Isabella said, still smiling, but not quite so broadly. “It’s my decision, though, isn’t it?” Then she softened again. “Erin, sweetie, I know it’s hard for you to see me with the company and the house while you take a back seat. But that’s the way it goes, isn’t it? It’s the luck of the draw; I was born first, so I get to run the company. Daddy’s will, right? I get first dibs, so you’ll have to suck it up, I’m afraid.”
For once, Erin was speechless. She just shook her head, and refilled her glass with Spanish wine.
I heard that a plaque had been made for the newly redecorated office next to Isabella’s, saying ‘Philip Castillo. Management Advisor’, and a cottage in the village had been given a quick overhaul in time for his arrival. A party was held in the boardroom to welcome him to the company, with only a select few invited. I attended the small do at Lanchester Hall to welcome him to Woodville, too, and I found him to be an agreeable young man, courteous, charming and openly demonstrative of his affection for Isabella, but I couldn’t help feeling that he knew he’d fallen on his feet.
“Lucky fella.” Will Brandon appeared at my side, handing me a fresh glass of white wine. He winked at me. “A cushy job with a generous salary, a place in the bed of an attractive young woman whenever he wants it, and a nice little rent-free bolthole in the village when he doesn’t. Can’t be bad, eh?”
I looked up at him and laughed. “Let us not make judgements yet,” I said. “It doesn’t do to be cynical all the time.”
“Indeed it doesn’t,” Will said, “and I couldn’t be more pleased to see Isabella so happy; it’s good to see a bit of Harry’s joie de vivre on her face, isn’t it? I just hope that—”
“She doesn’t get hurt,” I finished for him. We stood for a moment and watched them; Isabella with her arm linked through Philip’s, smiling up at him, resting her head on his shoulder as she talked to Angie Seymour. I watched Philip pat her hand with affection as he chatted away to these strangers with ease, already looking thoroughly at home in his new surroundings. Then something else attracted his attention, and he stopped in mid conversation.
Erin had just made a late appearance, dressed in low slung jeans with a gold and leather, fringed belt slung through the loops, and a white gypsy top, cropped to show off her taut, brown midriff. She looked delicious.
I watched Isabella look up to see what had distracted Phil from the conversation, and shoot Erin a look of pure hatred.
“And so history repeats itself,” murmured Will.
I thought he was referring to the triangle of Erin, Kate and Aiden Seymour, but then he said, almost to himself, “God rest her mother’s soul,” and I realised he was talking about Cathy, Harry and Annette Hever.
I wasn’t surprised when Erin told me, a couple of weeks later, that she was being moved from Head Office out to Norwich, to oversee the main East Anglian estate agency to which the other branches in Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridgeshire reported.
“I said, what if I refuse to go? And do you know what she said? It seems I don’t get special treatment just because I’m her sister; if I don’t go, she will have to ‘seriously re-evaluate my commitment to the company’. I mean, what sort of crap is that? I’m a shareholder, for Christ’s sake! Only ten percent these days, admittedly, but still!”
“So are you going?” I asked, handing her a mug of coffee.
She shrugged, raising her hands to the ceiling. “Oh, I suppose I’ve got to, really, haven’t I? She got it all worked out before she even told me; there’s a fabulous flat in the Riverside area all ready for me to move into. It’s one of our show homes. Because she knew I’d kick up, right?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “A show flat on the river? Some people would be jumping for joy. Norwich is a lovely city, and you’re close to the coast, too. You might enjoy it.” I had to say it. “You’re not exactly hard done by, are you?”
She stretched, and grinned. “I know, I know. And it’ll be good to get away from the politics at HQ. And I know I’ve got nothing to complain about; I’m only annoyed because I feel pushed out. She’s doing it to spite me, and I won’t even be running the show. I’m working alongside this bumptious twerp called Hugh Bedingfield; I’ve got the ‘people skills’ to complement his financial wizardry, I’m told, or some other such bollocks. I wonder if those people skills include shoving his stupid twatty head down the loo, which I’m bound to do at some point within the first week.”
I laughed my head off at that. “You sound like a mixture of Harry and Jaz.”
“Yeah, well, we Lanchesters tell it like it is!” And then suddenly the poor girl’s face crumpled up and she threw her arms around my waist, just like she did when she was a little girl, shoved her face into my chest, and wailed. “Oh, I miss them so much, Hanny,” she said, and that nearly made me cry, too, because she hadn’t called me that since she was eight. She and Jaz would call me ‘Nanny Hanny’ sometimes; I’d forgotten.
“
I do, too,” I whispered, stroking her hair.
“I want my brother back. I want my daddy,” she gulped.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.”
“I can’t bear that I’ll never see them again. All I’ve got left is you and Izzy, and half the time I can’t stand her.”
“You’ve got your granddad Milton, and your auntie Mary,” I said.
“Yes, but how often do I see them? Granddad hardly seems to care who I am half the time, and Mary’s a bit snotty with me these days; she thinks I’m a bad influence on dear little Caitlin. You know, she thinks I’ll make her want hot men in fast cars. Which she does, anyway, she doesn’t need any persuading.” We both laughed through our tears. She took her arms away from my waist and wiped her eyes. “I just feel so alone sometimes.” Tears fell down her cheeks again, and she hugged her arms around herself. “And even bloody Robert’s gone and got himself married to that stupid Amy girl.”
“Oh yes, that was the other week, wasn’t it?” I said. “You could have had him if you’d really wanted him, you know.”
“I know, but I wasn’t ready to get engaged at eighteen, was I? Or at sixteen, or seventeen, which was when he first asked me. Who the hell would be, at that age? Why couldn’t he just accept what we had? Shit, I don’t know what I want, Hannah. I know I seem so strong and in control of my life, but I’m only twenty, for fuck’s sake; you, the company and my home are all the stability I’ve got. And now Izzy’s sending me away.”
“You’re almost twenty-one, and you’ll only be away during the week. You’ll be back at weekends, won’t you?”
“Yes. If she doesn’t make me feel like I’m not wanted.” She gave me that sideways glance. “You know why she’s really sending me away, don’t you?”
“I think so.” I wasn’t going to say it.
“It’s because she’s scared I’ll lure Phil away from her. As if! One, I’d never do that to my sister and two, I don’t fancy him.”