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.
There was a man standing beside the lock, leaning on one of the lock paddles. His back was to her, but she could tell from his slim-hipped broad-shouldered physique that it was the man she’d met the day before. Perhaps he lived on one of the narrowboats she had passed? Or perhaps he was a figment of her overactive imagination? An illusion conjured up by her paranoid, confused brain.
She stood staring, shifting her weight from foot to foot. What had Amelia said? You should try something new, do something different. There would be no harm in going over and saying hello, would there? Then Molly was beside him, a tentative smile on her lips. ‘Hi.’
It was a second before he turned as if he were lost in his own thoughts, a second that gave Molly time to admire the classic line of his jaw, and acknowledge the lust that had set her groin tingling and her heart pounding.
When he turned, stunning turquoise eyes boring into hers, her first thought was that Amelia had been wrong, that colour eye did exist and the second that she had been equally wrong, she should never have stopped.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Aren’t canal locks fascinating?’ He moved around the paddle and stood at the edge of the lock chamber staring down.
She stood uncertainly, watching as he leaned forward, then she took a few steps to stand beside him. The walls of the deep chamber were green with moss and slime, the water at the bottom dark and eerie. It wasn’t pleasant. She turned to him instead.
‘Some lock chambers have ladders in case people accidently fall in. This one,’ he said, ‘doesn’t.’
Molly had no interest in the lock; she was mesmerised by the man, by his chiselled cheekbones and sculpted lips, his low husky voice as he spoke about the workings of the lock. She remembered an expression Freya had used about some movie star – sex on legs – it was a description that suited him perfectly. When his hand reached for her, sliding around her waist, she decided Amelia was right, she was going to grab the moment and to hell with the consequences.
She felt the heat of his hand through the thin material of her T-shirt and leaned towards him, chin raised, her lips parting in invitation… waiting for his response… and in that second of waiting, she knew she’d got it wrong… he reared back, mouth thinning in distaste, eyes narrowing in disgust. She’d got it all wrong… he’d not been reaching for her, he’d been putting a hand out to prevent her falling in… to prevent a woman old enough to be his mother from making a stupid step and falling into the damn chamber.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to stop the pathetic stupid woman from making an absolute fool of herself.
With a cry of anguish, she pulled away. His hand had tightened on her T-shirt, she could feel the material stretch as he tried to stop her and she wrenched it away, then ran as she didn’t think she’d ever run before, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew on the heat of mortification. She heard him call out, then the heavy sound of his feet crunching on the path as he chased after her, but he was no match for her speed and within a minute, she had left him behind.
Back in the hotel, she went straight to her room, grabbed her clothes from the wardrobe and bureau, changed quickly and jammed everything into her bags. Humiliation stung with almost unbearable pain and all she wanted to do was leave, to go home, hide away to lick her wounds.
At reception, she left a note for Amelia, explaining that something had come up that required her to leave early. Her brain was too fraught to come up with a reasonable explanation, she’d think of one before speaking to her next. She settled her bill and headed out to the car park.
Pines from an overhanging spruce tree decorated her windscreen. She brushed them off, wiping her hand carelessly on the leg of her trousers and sat into the car, throwing her bags into the footwell of the passenger seat. There had been no early morning text from Jack, he was probably still fast asleep. She took out her mobile to tell him that she was on her way, then changed her mind, she’d be home before he woke.
She turned the radio on, scrolling through stations to find music then increasing the volume so that the sound filled the car and her head, leaving no room for recriminations, for scalding guilt and searing gut-wrenching humiliation.
Despite bank holiday Monday traffic, she made good time. The music helped to drown the demons and, by the time she pulled up near her house, she was calmer and suitably embarrassed at her behaviour. It would have made a good story to share at parties if it had only happened to someone else. Now all she wanted was to forget about it.
The downside to their beautiful London home, the only one, was that there was no parking. Today the gods were smiling down on her, perhaps in sympathy, and she found a space a minute’s walk away. She picked up her bags and headed for home. Home, she thought, pushing open the door and feeling instantly relaxed.
A sudden piercing beep beep beep told her the alarm was set. She dropped her bags and hurried to key in the code to switch it off. Maybe her plan to surprise Jack hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He’d probably woken early, gone out for the newspaper and taken it somewhere to read over breakfast.
Heading upstairs, she pushed open the door to their bedroom, planning to drop her bags and ring him, her eyes widening when she saw the bed. Jack was being unusually tidy. Normally, if he did anything, it would be to pull the duvet up but today the pillows were plumped, the bedspread in place and tucked under them, the way she liked it.
Leaving the bags on the floor, she walked over and ran a hand over the bed, her forehead creasing in a frown. So neat; just the way she’d left it before she went away on Saturday. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he hadn’t slept in it at all.
But that was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?