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HETTIE SCRUNCHED HER hair into a loose knot and pinned it with a hairgrip. She stood in front of the mirror to put on some lipstick and pulled a few long curls free of the knot with her finger.
She considered her reflection. Funny how much she was looking forward to this evening. It had been a while since she’d been to the Fox, and she imagined tonight would be a good laugh, with Gregor hosting the celebration of their new partnership. She zipped on her ankle boots, then smoothed her top over her ribs as she straightened up. She was overdue a bit of fun, and tonight she was going to have some. She heard the taxi arrive and took a last glance in the mirror before grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
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WHAT WAS IT GREGOR had called the Fox? ‘Quaintly pastoral.’ She smiled to herself as the taxi pulled up outside the pub. Meeting the locals on a Saturday night might change his view of that. She rummaged in her bag for money to pay the fare and climbed out of the cab. The Virginia creeper on the front of the pub still hung on to a few of its autumn-red leaves, but the wind carried a winter chill tonight and the hanging sign above the door creaked a hurry-inside welcome.
A lively din greeted her. She shrugged out of her coat, and replied to shouted hellos as she moved farther into the warmth of the room. She spotted Gregor, Fiona and Tiff at one of the round tables. Gregor was standing up, announcing to the room that all the drinks were on him. Hettie shook her head and hoped he knew what he was letting himself in for.
Gregor beckoned her over. ‘Darling! I’ve bought champagne!’
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‘SHIT.’ ALEXANDER SWORE under his breath as he and Ted approached the Fox. He’d seen Hettie’s hair through the window, no mistaking it. He made himself look away, and smiled at Ted as he pushed the pub door open. ‘Busy in here tonight. So much for a quiet drink.’
Despite his refusal to look, he somehow managed to notice there was a man sitting next to Hettie. He and Ted edged their way towards the bar and leant on its solid wood surface while they waited to be served. Alexander turned his body away from the group so he wouldn’t be tempted to study them. This was meant to be a diversion for his brother. He wouldn’t be diverting company if he let himself dwell on her.
Ted leant in, raised his voice above the music and the shouted drinks orders. ‘Bloody hell. Is that Gregor Francis sitting with Hettie?’
‘I wouldn’t know. The name doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Gregor Francis. You must have heard of him, he’s in the paper every week. Francis Hotels? Francis Shipping, Club Neuf?’
Alexander was glad when Tricia, the landlady, bustled up to them with an unfamiliar jauntiness to her step and interrupted Ted’s catalogue of Gregor’s assets.
‘What can I get you gents? Open bar tonight, courtesy of our very own celebrity!’
Her nod to the table behind them gave Alexander his excuse to turn. Hettie was looking good. Too bloody good, with her hair up like that, showing the back of her neck. She seemed happy, chatting to the miniature blonde beside her, so she must either be unaware or unbothered by his being there. His gaze swept over Fiona, who lifted her glass at him and offered a cold smile, before flicking briefly to the man who was sitting with them. So this must be Gregor: lanky, loud and rather too full of himself. And what the fuck was that outfit he was wearing?
Alexander turned back to the bar. ‘We’ll pay for our own, thanks.’
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FIONA SET HER GLASS on the table, a smile still fixed to her face. ‘I see his lordship is in tonight.’
The back of Hettie’s neck felt suddenly exposed as a prickle of sensation crept over her skin. He was looking at her; she knew he was, but she was damned if she’d turn and look back.
‘On his own?’
‘With Ted. No sign of the bimbo, so you can put your hackles down.’
Hettie wished she could, but just knowing he was in the room made her edgy. ‘The bimbo is welcome to him. Good luck to her, I say.’
Gregor lifted an eyebrow, his eyes sharp with the anticipation of gossip. He spoke in a stage whisper. ‘Please tell me it’s lover boy! Which one?’
The prickle on Hettie’s neck spread up and over her face as Fiona pointed out Alexander. Hettie downed her glass of champagne and reached for the bottle to refill her glass.
‘Oh Christ, someone cover the flowers. She’s heading for another pukefest now.’
Hettie stood the bottle down. Bugger it, Fiona was right. Why was she letting him get to her again? How many months had it been now? This was meant to be her fun night out, and the Fox was her stamping ground, not his. In fact, he had a bloody nerve, swanning in here and then totally blanking her.
She smiled tightly at Gregor. ‘He’ll be the one with the scowl on his face, so it’s easy to spot him. And no, no pukefest, Fiona. I’m going to get an orange juice, and I might even say hi while I’m there.’ Hettie planted her hands on the table and stood up.
She stopped to talk to a couple of people on her way to the bar, and then made a beeline for the spot where Ted and Alexander were standing. Alexander visibly started when she appeared beside him. Hettie might have laughed if she hadn’t been so busy rehearsing her put-down in her head. ‘Alexander. Slumming with the riff-raff tonight, then.’ Hettie mimed a look of shock. ‘Oh shit, sorry. I completely forgot I’m not allowed to talk to you!’
She turned her back squarely to him before he had a chance to reply and smiled at Ted. ‘Hey! Long time no see.’
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ALEXANDER LOOKED ANYWHERE but at Hettie. It wasn’t easy when she was standing so close that he could smell the shampoo in her hair, and he felt like a right prat now, acting the bloody wallflower while she exchanged pleasantries with his brother. That had been her intention, of course, and despite himself he felt a faint, grudging respect for her refusal to be ignored. The admiration was tinged with something else, some small satisfaction arising out of the fact that she had noticed him, that he still mattered enough to make her react.
He heard Hettie ask after Anju, and Ted’s evasive reply, but now they were laughing at something, and he hadn’t picked up what. He’d been trying to engage in conversation with the pissed youth on the other side of him, even though it was clear from the state of the lad’s eyes that he’d gone past the point of coherent discussion several pints ago. Alexander rested his hands on the bar as Hettie moved away.
‘Are you two still not speaking then?’
He didn’t bother to answer Ted. Hettie was back at her table, and it was impossible to shut the group out of his consciousness now. Gregor Francis drew attention. His elevated tone cut through the noise that had grown with the swell of locals who now packed the pub, every one of them, it seemed, making full and improper use of Gregor’s open bar.
Tricia was beginning to look panicked, and a beer glass smashed when a tussle broke out in the corner. Alexander couldn’t hear himself think in the free-for-all, let alone talk to Ted. He tipped up his glass and gulped the last mouthful. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
They navigated past a group of staggering youths as they made their way across the car park. Alexander pulled his car keys out of his pocket. ‘I can sense a riot.’
‘Yeah, I’m not sure the village is ready for Gregor Francis.’
‘I’m not sure anyone is. Camper than a row of tents. He’s gay, of course?’
‘Apparently not.’
Alexander looked back at the pub. Hettie was hidden from his view by the mist of condensation on the windows and the throng of bodies behind the glass.
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ALEXANDER TURNED OVER and kicked the duvet away from his legs. Gregor Francis must be forty, at least. He bunched his pillow savagely and rolled onto his side. What a shit weekend this had turned out to be. First Ruby, then Ted with his shattering news, and now Hettie... Doing what? Getting on with her life, looking happy. Which was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at his watch on the bedside table. Two forty-five. It was no good; he wouldn’t sleep now. He was too wound up. Anju refusing to speak to Ted, Ruby tearing a strip off of him, and Hettie—
Why the fuck was he still even thinking about Hettie?
He pulled on his jeans and padded downstairs, barefoot. He stretched out on the sofa, turned on the TV and turned the sound low. There were unsettling truths biting at the edge of his mind. He felt as if he was trying to square a circle. Anju was right to cut Ted off, of course she was. But he did believe that Ted loved her. Carelessness, thoughtlessness and alcohol were all excuses, but that didn’t make them any less of the truth. What his brother had done was, no doubt, unforgivable. But Alexander really wanted Anju to find it in herself to forgive him anyway, because this was his brother, and he could see that his brother was hurting.
Alexander rubbed his face. Was it forgivable, then, to pretend affection for someone when you couldn’t stop thinking about someone else? Which led to the biggest dilemma of them all. How the fuck did he go about getting Hettie Redfern out of his head? His eyes fell shut, he could see her now, with her back turned and her shoulders squared against him. Deliberately ignoring him.
She’d been making a point, and maybe he’d even deserved it.
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THE POLICE WERE CALLED to the Fox and Hounds soon after midnight. The paparazzi had got a tip-off, and Gregor graced the late Sunday papers: ‘FRANCIS FRACAS AT THE FOX’. The banner headline sat beneath a photograph of Gregor beaming at the camera with Fiona next to him. She looked every bit the celebrity herself with her dark hair framing her face and her haughtily lifted chin. Tiff and Hettie were in the picture too, loitering on the sidelines, Tiff grim-faced and Hettie laughing in disbelief at this new weirdness.