Bel was hovering outside the Queen Bess when her father staggered stiffly out of the sleek green Jaguar just after five on Thursday, sunglasses askew, brushing his mane of white hair off his face. It was a hot day and he was red-faced and sweating. Bel went to hug him, then settled for a quick peck on the cheek, knowing her father wasn’t one for physical contact.
‘Bloody fan system’s kaput,’ he complained, breathing heavily. ‘But the old girl still gives me a good ride.’ He patted the Jaguar’s bonnet fondly, as if it were a beloved lady-friend.
Bel had been extremely tense in the run-up to his arrival.
‘He’s not staying in your house, Bel,’ Patsy had encouraged, when she noted Bel’s anxiety. ‘Logan will take care of him. And he’s only here for a short while.’ She’d nudged her as they’d walked along the beach earlier. ‘How bad can it be?’
Bel honestly didn’t know. She couldn’t explain her fears. It seemed too pathetic to imply that she, a woman in her late fifties, was in any way nervous of, or in thrall to, her aged father.
Her new friends had told her they’d be happy to help entertain Dennis: Patsy said he was invited to supper any time, JJ offered to take him paddleboarding if he was up for it, Rhian to show him around the church – parts of which dated back to the fourteenth century – and Micky wondered if he liked snooker. She’d been grateful: it was essential to keep him busy. What was winding her up, though, wasn’t how her father might spend his days in Cornwall as much as how he would treat her – what he would expect from her.
Now he stood, arms akimbo, breathing in the fresh Cornish air. Shading his eyes against the sun, he eyed her up and down. ‘You’re looking good, girl. Lost weight at last? A tan always helps.’
Bel tried to smile at the backhanded compliment. ‘Let’s get you up to your room, Dad.’
As she spoke, the landlord emerged beaming from the low door of the old coaching inn and went over to Dennis, vigorously shaking his hand, his red destination beard – like his brother Hamish’s – glowing in the evening sun.
‘Welcome to Cornwall, sir. Come in, come in. You’ll no doubt be wanting a wee glass of something after all that driving.’
Her father perked up. ‘Man after my own heart,’ he said, trotting obediently behind Logan as they turned and disappeared into the pub.
She went to the boot and heaved out her father’s old brown canvas suitcase. Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad, after all, she thought, immensely grateful for Logan’s kindness in finding her father a room at the pub’s busiest time. Then she remembered Louis.
There had been no sign of him in the previous week – Bel cycled a different route to the farm shop, just in case – and she had tentatively begun to think she might cope, being in such close proximity. Chefs, after all, work excruciatingly long hours.
Then Patsy had told her she’d invited him over for supper last Monday, when the pub was closed, so that Jaz could chat to him about becoming a chef. She’d asked Bel to join them, but Bel had declined, then sat nursing her resentment all evening as she heard the shouts of laughter coming through the open window on the warm summer night: Louis at his entertaining best.
He’d knocked on her door after the meal. Dismayed to realize she’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t, Bel knew she both wanted to see Louis, and didn’t want to, in a tangled mesh of feelings.
‘Thought I’d check on you,’ he said. From his slightly glassy stare, she could tell he was a little tipsy.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, not inviting him in. He gave her a puzzled look and she felt childish, suddenly, and stood back to let him pass.
‘Patsy cooks like an angel,’ he said, throwing himself into the orange chair as if he owned the place. Then he began to recount every detail of the meal of roast chicken and anchovy butter, crisp chunks of sourdough bread and chilli-roasted vegetables from the garden. Bel realized she was bored. Food is all this man ever talks about, she thought, making no attempt to offer him tea.
Then Louis had sat up, his gaze intense. ‘Bel, I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but I really need your advice … about Apollinaire.’
She resisted the urge to give a sardonic eye roll and waited for him to go on.
‘Tally told you he might not be mine?’
She nodded.
Louis wiped his hands across his face – a gesture with which Bel was very familiar. ‘I’ve only Trinny’s word. She never said a single thing until that witch of a mother started kicking off. Then one day, when she’s watched me fall in love with the little guy – encouraged it, even – she springs it on me that she was screwing this Turkish low-life … and that the baby’s most likely his.’ He sighed. ‘But she could be lying, obviously … to get rid of me.’
Bel stopped trying to be nice and gave an impatient sigh. ‘Don’t you think you should have stuck around and sorted this out with Trinny, instead of running away, Louis?’
He gave her one of his beguiling looks, which she’d always found hard to resist. But the magic wasn’t quite working tonight.
‘You don’t understand. Valérie made life hell for me. She wanted me gone. What was the point of staying when Trinny was telling me I wasn’t the father?’ Louis’s head drooped. When he raised it again she saw anguish in his eyes. ‘I loved him, you know.’
Bel was speechless. She felt for him, how could she not? But she couldn’t help remembering how he had never wanted another baby … how he had tried with every ounce of sympathy and charm to make her have a termination.
She watched as he began to drag himself upright. ‘I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be involving you in this. Too many glasses of Patsy’s Beaujolais.’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘It’s just you’re so good at working things out. You always know what to do. I took you completely for granted, of course.’
Holding herself very still, she’d waited as he ambled towards the door. When he drew level, he’d turned and, head on one side, taken her face in his hands, his palms warm and slightly sweaty against her cheeks. He stared at her, his dark eyes soft with wine and sentiment. She thought for an uncomfortable moment that he might try to kiss her. She twitched her head, just fractionally, and he dropped his hands.
‘Night, sweetheart,’ he’d said, his expression unreadable.
He hasn’t called me sweetheart in such a long time, she’d thought, as she closed the door.
It had all made her sad. Everything about Louis made her sad, or angry, or resentful. Because she would have to tell her father about him. Dennis would suspect the worst, of course, crow about how right he had been about Bel being up to something, having a secret ‘fella’, rant on and on.
Now, lugging her father’s case up the narrow inn stairs, she felt she could hardly bear the impending drama.
Later that evening, Bel and her father sat outside the Queen Bess, eating the pub’s fish and chips and mushy peas. Dennis was obviously exhausted from the drive, and not a little stewed from the ‘wee glass’ – which had turned into more like three neat whiskies – that Logan had administered earlier. But he was in a mellow mood and clearly enjoying the summer evening, which was lovely, the sun a misty pink in the sky, the air cool and fresh.
She knew it was now or never. ‘You’ll never guess who pitched up here a couple of weeks ago.’
Her father’s eyes narrowed as he thought, but he shook his head.
After another beat, during which her stomach flipped uncomfortably, she muttered, ‘Louis.’
He stared at her blankly for a moment. ‘Louis? You mean, your Louis?’
She nodded, holding her breath, waiting for the onset of the tsunami of bile.
But Dennis just looked puzzled. ‘I thought he was in France with the totty. What the hell’s he doing here?’
‘I honestly don’t know, Dad.’
Her father narrowed his eyes. ‘He wouldn’t have come unless you asked him.’
‘I didn’t ask him.’ She tried to keep her tone even.
Continuing to regard her with a degree of scepticism, Dennis was silent for a moment. Then he declared fiercely, ‘That thieving wee scrote owes me a lot of money.’ He pointed a finger at Bel. ‘So that’s what you’ve been hiding, girl. I knew there was something!’ He gave a low whistle. ‘You’ve taken him back, haven’t you? He’s shacked up with you in the hovel right now.’
‘No,’ she said, with teeth-grinding patience. ‘He just found a job in a pub on the main road. They are putting him up.’
Shaking his head back and forth as if he was befuddled Dennis, completely ignoring her denial, said, ‘I don’t understand you, Bella. Why would you take that shite back after all he’s done to you? Are you that spineless?’ He threw his hands into the air. ‘Christ, I’ve warned you enough.’
‘Dad, listen to me, will you? I have not taken Louis back. We’re not together. I never asked him to come.’ She sighed. ‘I absolutely hate him being here, if you want the honest truth.’
Her father sat back suddenly on the bench, obviously forgetting he wasn’t in a chair, and nearly toppled onto the ground, only saving himself by clutching the edge of the table with one hand. Recovering, he stated, ‘Won’t be a problem when you’re back home, sweetheart. The bastard can’t bother you there, not on my turf he can’t.’ He sounded like a possessive husband seeing off his wife’s lover.
I’m not coming back. Bel wanted to stand up and throw her arms wide, shout from the rooftops. I’m never coming back. But this was not the moment, when her father was tired and harbouring an unfounded paranoia about Louis. She wasn’t even sure her silent declaration was completely true, despite her desperately wanting it to be so. Instead she said, ‘Pudding? The sticky toffee’s not bad.’
Dennis brushed off her question. Instead he muttered, ‘I need to see him. I need to see that Louis de-flaming-Courcy. He owes me money.’
‘Listen, Louis and I are both very aware of our debt to you, Dad, really we are,’ she replied soothingly. ‘I know it’s been slow, but you will get your money, I promise. I’m working on it from my side, putting away what I can to give you.’ The meagre savings were squashed into a jam jar in her bedside table. It was an almost pointlessly small amount. It just made her feel she was doing something, at least, towards getting the debt off her back. ‘And Louis is fully committed too. But he’s not in a good place, financially, at the moment.’ She didn’t add that he was currently borrowing money from her, as well.
‘I need to see him,’ her father reiterated, disregarding what she’d just said. It was clear that alcohol and tiredness were beginning to take their toll: Dennis’s words were now slurring, his gaze unfocused, eyes blinking tiredly. ‘I want to have it out with him right now.’ He attempted to stumble up from the bench.
Bel rose, too, and grabbed her father’s arm to steady him. ‘OK, Dad. OK. We’ll go up tomorrow, if you like. But you’re not in a fit state tonight. You can’t drive after all those whiskies.’
Dennis gazed vacantly up at her for a second. ‘Help me find my room, girl. I can’t remember where it is … I need to lie down.’
After she’d seen her father safely into his room, Bel walked slowly down the lane to her cottage with a heavy heart. She felt beleaguered, dreading the inevitable confrontation between Louis and her father in the morning but helpless to alter the course of Dennis’s will.