Thanks to horrendously heavy traffic on the M4, it was almost three hours later before Molly turned into the quiet village of Semington. Minutes later, hearing you have arrived at your destination on the right, she indicated and pulled over. She’d known from what Amelia had said that it would be lovely, but this was more than she’d expected.
Set back from the road, the buttery-coloured stone façade of the elegant house glowed in the early afternoon sun. Three tall sash windows sat to either side of the open front door and above were two further floors, seven windows on each stretching the width of the house with pleasing symmetry. An elaborate wrought-iron gate was set into an old stone wall that surrounded the garden; it opened onto a gravel pathway that led to the entrance, neat flowerbeds on either side holding a profusion of creamy blooms swaying in the slight breeze.
Lost in admiration, it was a few seconds before Molly saw the ornate arrow with car park in neat letters along its length. It directed her further along the road. She started the engine again, and drove slowly, turning between two stone pillars into the large car park.
She sent Jack a text, it’s lovely, you should have come, before getting out, taking her bags and heading to the hotel. The gravel pathway to the front door crunched underfoot and the creamy blooms on either side danced as she passed. It was all rather perfect.
Inside, a grand entrance lobby held the reception desk and a cantilevered stairway that curved upward, dividing right and left on the first floor and vanishing from sight. Double doors at the back of the entrance lobby lay open and gave a view to a huge glass and brick extension. It was a combination of old and modern that worked well.
‘Molly Chatwell,’ she said to the smiling receptionist. ‘I have a reservation.’ With the formalities completed and declining assistance with her bags, she took the key that was held out, looking at it with pleasure. A proper key, not a key card. ‘Have the Lovells arrived yet?’ she asked, before leaving the desk.
‘Yes, I checked them in myself an hour ago,’ the receptionist said and proceeded to give Molly directions to her room.
Rather than taking the lift as indicated, she took the stairs, admiring the paintings that adorned the walls, a mix of old and contemporary art that shouldn’t have worked but did. It took her a few wrong turns before she finally found her way and stopped outside number twelve. She slipped the key into the lock, turned it and pushed the door open into a large airy room.
It was a corner room, tall sash windows on two sides flooding the room with light. They were partially open, and a slight breeze caused long voile curtains to flutter gently. The décor – pastel shades, floral patterns and frills – was the right side of twee. Molly looked around the room and smiled. It was very nice indeed.
She dropped her bags and wandered over to the window. The room was in a modern extension to the back of the hotel and her breath caught when she saw the beautiful gardens. Immediately below, steps led down from a patio to a pathway that meandered through wide borders to end in front of a fountain. A plume of water, easily seven or eight feet in height, sparkled in the sunshine and danced in the breeze. On each side, a lawn so velvety green she wondered if it were fake, with topiarised boxes at each corner. It was all, she decided, an absolute delight.
At the end, barely visible through the thick shrubbery that surrounded the garden, she could see the glint of sun on water. The canal. She was looking forward to running along it in the morning.
Molly quickly unpacked her clothes, hanging the dresses in a cavernous wardrobe whose door creaked ominously when she opened it, and placing the rest into the top drawer of a bureau. In a neat folder on a small table, she found information about the hotel and spa and a list of salon treatments available. Amelia had told her she should book some in advance, but she hadn’t bothered. If she couldn’t get an appointment, she was happy enough to relax in the steam room or sauna after a few laps of the pool.
A glance at her watch told her it was three o’clock. She should have asked which room Amelia and Tristan were in, but if she knew her friend she wouldn’t be hanging about and was probably already lying on a massage table. And Tristan, no doubt would be on his way to the golf course.
A quiver of annoyance and resentment shot through her that Jack had refused to come, followed by a shiver of hurt feelings that he hadn’t wanted to spend time with her. Wasn’t that what it came down to? She pressed trembling lips together, her good mood of only seconds before extinguished. Unable to find any enthusiasm for the spa, she picked up her handbag and went down to the lobby. She was almost there when she heard her name called and turned to see Amelia coming down the stairs behind her.
‘Molly! Perfect timing, I was thinking about having a G and T, now you can join me.’
‘I thought you’d be in the spa,’ Molly said, smiling at her friend as she came alongside.
‘I’ve a facial booked for five, darling, so plenty of time for a drink and a catch-up first. Where’s Jack?’
‘Unfortunately, he’s got too much on so couldn’t make it,’ Molly said, having decided on the journey down that this was the best lie to tell. She saw expressions of disappointment and annoyance vie for a place on Amelia’s face and wondered why. Maybe disappointed that Jack wasn’t going to be there for her to flirt with and annoyed with having to entertain Molly. Whatever the reason, she was suddenly sorry she’d agreed to come.
As soon as they were seated in the lounge, a tall, exceedingly handsome young waiter bustled over to take their order. Amelia’s eyes widened and she put on her best flirtatious manner as she asked for a G and T for them both. ‘Plenty of ice, darling,’ she said to him, her voice pitched low and husky. ‘I’m feeling rather hot.’
‘You’re old enough to be his mother,’ Molly said bluntly when the waiter had gone.
‘You’re too fixated on age, Mol,’ Amelia said, unoffended, her eyes following the young man across the room before turning back to her. ‘If he’s interested where’s the harm?’
Molly was about to laugh but seeing her friend’s expression she raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘You’re serious? What about Tristan?’
‘Tristan will be playing golf until the light fades, he always does. Anyway’ – Amelia waved a hand dismissively – ‘enough about my sexual exploits, what’s going on with you and Jack? There isn’t someone else, is there?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Molly ignored Amelia’s sharp eyes and pointed towards the outdoor seating on the other side of the window. ‘Why don’t we have our drinks outside? It’s a lovely day, seems a shame not to make the most of it.’
‘As long as we can sit in the shade,’ Amelia said, lifting a hand to attract the waiter’s attention. When he looked her way, she smiled, pointed outside and gave him a wave when he nodded understanding.
The drinks arrived a few minutes later, the waiter putting the large balloon glasses down carefully in front of each of them. Amelia made a big performance over tasting her G and T. ‘It might be the best I’ve ever had,’ she said, smiling up at him.
‘Thank you. Would you like to charge it to your room?’
‘Absolutely.’ Amelia swirled the cocktail stick around her glass. ‘I’m in room seven.’ When he brought her a docket to sign, she did so with dramatic flair before circling the room number heavily. ‘There you are.’ She handed it to him with a flirtatious smile.
‘Could you make it any more obvious?’ Molly said with a shake of her head when the waiter had left. ‘You don’t really think he’s going to call, do you?’
Amelia shrugged and picked up her drink. ‘My darling, I’d almost bet money on it but that would be stealing. Of course, he’ll come, and hopefully well before Tristan gets back.’
Molly laughed thinking that this time, surely, she had to be joking. The laugh died quickly when she realised, once again, she’d miscalculated. ‘But what if Tristan comes back and you’re… you know?’
‘If he walks in on us, he’ll turn around and walk out again. The proverbial blind eye, the same one I turn on his peccadillos. We have what I suppose you’d call an open marriage, Mol.’ Amelia sipped her drink and smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked, it works for us. I love Tristan but he can be a bit of a bore in the bedroom department, so I get my excitement elsewhere.’
Molly looked at her with startled eyes, unsure whether she was shocked or slightly envious. Was fidelity an outdated notion? She picked up her G and T and frowned as a horrible thought crossed her mind. Amelia had come back to London about six months ago; around the same time she’d noticed a change in Jack. There isn’t someone else, is there? Amelia’s words echoed in her head. Had she been a fool? Was her friend dropping a not very subtle hint? Was Molly the classic last to know?
Amelia was swirling ice cubes around in her glass, looking relaxed. There was no point in asking her, she’d deny it. Anyway, it would mean nothing to her, just another in her long list of conquests. If she had a bedpost, it would be riddled with notches.
But Jack was a different type. Molly knew him so well, if he were indeed cheating on her, the guilt would take its toll. Maybe she’d have been better staying in London and having it out with him. She shut her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. Have it out with him? What would she say – are you having an affair? And if he said no – would she believe him? And if he said yes – what then?
‘Right,’ Amelia said, draining her glass. ‘I’m off for my facial.’ She stood and looked down at Molly. ‘See you for pre-dinner drinks? Around seven thirty?’
‘Sounds good,’ she said, conjuring up a smile, even as she wondered if she could think of a reason to leave, to head home to London and… what? She watched as Amelia sauntered across the lounge; she was a very striking-looking woman. The young waiter wasn’t the only man whose eyes followed her.
Molly sipped her G and T and checked her phone, pleased to see messages from both Remi and Freya. She read them with a smile. They were such good kids. An exciting future lay ahead for both, a world of promise waiting to be explored. A dart of what she recognised as glossy-green envy startled her. She remembered being there, it seemed only a blink ago. Where had those years of promise gone? When had she become a dull middle-aged woman with a worried, increasingly distant husband? Increasingly distant. She shook the self-pity away. They had two gorgeous children. Who’d flown the nest, and would probably never live at home again, might never even live in the UK again.
And she would be proud of any and every choice they made. She would be proud. It was part of being a parent, wasn’t it? You reared them, gave them all you could, and you let them go. A heavy sigh escaped her at the thought.
The evening ahead was unlikely to be a bundle of laughs. Listening to Tristan drone on – Jack had been right there, he did tend to fixate on the most boring of subjects. Her cheeks would ache from the plastered-on smile she’d wear that would probably look as false as it felt.
It might have been a good idea to go to the gym or do a few lengths in the pool, but she couldn’t rustle up enthusiasm for either. Instead, she returned to her room and lay on her bed reading until it was time to get ready.
At seven thirty, wearing a pale-blue, knee-length silk shift dress that was an old favourite and more importantly, loose and cool, she headed back to the lounge.
Although Amelia had said seven thirty, it was obvious she’d been there a while, ice-cubes from a finished G and T melting in the bottom of a glass, the second in her hand, half drunk.
‘Molly!’ Amelia’s voice was raucous, a good indication that the drink in her hand wasn’t the second.
‘Hi,’ Molly said, taking a seat opposite.
‘What’ll you have?’ Tristan asked, getting to his feet.
‘A mineral water, please.’
Amelia snorted. ‘Water! You’re going to be a bundle of laughs.’
Tempted to say that it looked as if her friend was drinking enough for the two of them, Molly took a breath and let it out. There was never any point in crossing swords with someone inebriated. Instead, she gave her a friendly smile. ‘I’ll catch up later, I’m a bit thirsty.’
When Tristan returned with her drink, he suggested they move into the restaurant. ‘I’m starving,’ he admitted, patting an abdomen that strained against his shirt buttons.
‘Fine with me.’ Molly picked up her handbag and stood, waiting for Amelia before heading from the lounge.
The restaurant was a breathtakingly beautiful room. The clever use of mirrors on the rather low ceiling gave the illusion of space and reflected light from the numerous candles and carefully-positioned lamps. The walls were dark with a profusion of paintings set into ornate silver picture frames. Overall, the look was a gothic fantasy. It was, Molly decided, fabulous.
It was also very flattering. In the soft light, every woman there looked ten years younger.
‘This is lovely,’ she said as they sat around a circular table set for three.
With food ordered and wine poured, they relaxed into social chit-chat. It wasn’t until they were on coffee that Tristan, more verbose after several glasses of wine, looked at Molly intently and asked, ‘Have you never been tempted to change jobs… in all these years?’
Molly had worked for the same company since graduating. Working her way up, certainly, but for the same company. The thought suddenly appalled her. How incredibly dull it sounded. What had happened to the exciting ambitious woman she’d been in university? It would have been easy to blame marriage and children, but unfair; Jack had supported her through every promotional opportunity. And, between au pairs, childminders and the wonderful much-missed Rebecca in the last ten years, she’d had plenty of help with the children. Intelligent and experienced, she could have gone anywhere. But she’d stayed put.
‘They’ve been very good to me,’ she said. ‘Plus, it’s secure, lucrative, well-regarded. There is a certain cachet about working for Dawson Marketing that I wouldn’t have had elsewhere.’
‘But the same company, all these years?’ He raised his hands, palms out. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude.’
‘No, it wasn’t. You’re right. It sounds appalling,’ Molly said, with an attempt at a smile that failed.
Amelia, obviously bored with the conversation, told them a long, rambling, barely coherent story about a mutual acquaintance that was amusing enough to lighten a mood that had turned a little oppressive.
When Tristan suggested retiring to the lounge for after-dinner drinks, Molly pleaded tiredness and made her escape. Amelia, she noticed, made no attempt to persuade her to stay.
Back in her bedroom, Molly flopped on her bed and groaned. What a night! She lay for a few minutes before she gave a chuckle and sat up to reach for her handbag. Opening it, she pulled out her mobile phone and pressed a speed dial button.
When it went to answer machine after a few rings, she grunted, hung up and dialled again. It wasn’t until the third attempt that the call was answered. ‘Hi,’ she said, adding a fake breeziness to her voice, wondering where Jack was, who he was with. She could hear voices and the faint sound of laughter too light and high-pitched to be anything but female. They’d probably gone to a pub after dinner, she reasoned, there was nothing to be concerned about.
‘Hi, darlin’, you havin’ a good time?’
‘Wonderful,’ she said. It wasn’t a complete lie; the food had been good. ‘You in O’Dea’s?’
‘Yeah, me an’ Charlie, we’re havin’ a few pints.’
It sounded like he’d had more than a few. ‘Tell Charlie I said hello,’ she said. ‘I wish you’d come here, Jack, the hotel is really lovely and there are beautiful gardens that run down to the canal. The towpath is along the other side, I’m going to go for a run along it in the morning.’
‘At cockcrow, I s’ppose.’
She smiled. ‘If the cocks are crowing at seven thirty, then you’ll be right. Okay, go back to your pint, I’m heading to bed. Chat tomorrow. Love you.’ She waited until he echoed her words before hanging up.