It was not until Saturday afternoon that a sleek, dark BMW drew up in Sexton Close and Paul emerged to struggle with the recalcitrant gate. Rosalind had been fidgeting about in the large sitting room with its icy blue décor, because she could see him arrive from there. When she saw the car stop in the street, she debated whether to go out and help with the gates, hesitated then went into the kitchen instead. Let him open the damned gates himself! And let him knock on the door and wait for her to answer it, too.
She heard the protesting screech of the gates being pushed right back, then the sound of tyres on the drive. A car door slammed, footsteps crossed the gravel and someone tried the front door. A muffled curse brought a tight smile to her face, as did the sound of the doorbell being rung, then rung again a few seconds later.
The letter box rattled. ‘Ros! Are you there? Ros!’
Only then did she move, walking slowly along the hall towards the front door.
‘Darling!’ He planted a swift kiss on each cheek. ‘Didn’t you hear me arrive?’
‘No.’
He looked at her, eyes narrowed, assessing the situation. ‘In the black books, am I?’
She breathed deeply.
‘Oh, give me a proper hug, woman, and stop sulking.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘There was nothing I could do about it. The chairman had a crisis on and I had to go to the States. We’d have lost the contract if I hadn’t stepped in.’
Something cold shifted uneasily inside her, then perched upon her shoulder, whispering a commentary in her ear. His first remark had been about the latest contract. ‘And how are you going on, Rosalind? Are you settling in all right?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘Hey, don’t be like that, hon!’
‘You promised to be there for me at Heathrow, Paul.’
‘But darling, I just explained all that and—’
‘There are times when family should come first, family and wife.’ She pulled away from him and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Not the chairman, or even the bloody company.’
‘Without the company, we wouldn’t have all this.’ He gestured around them.
She didn’t reply to that, didn’t say, But maybe we’d be closer to one another. She didn’t want to start a quarrel. ‘Well, now you are here, would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d kill for one. You always make the best coffee’
Suddenly she felt ashamed of her churlish greeting. ‘Go and bring your things in, then, and I’ll make you a cup. The kitchen’s straight through the hall.’
‘There’s nothing much to bring. I’ve only got this one bag.’
‘What? But you took two suitcases of stuff with you from Australia and you keep some things in the company’s London flat. I thought you’d be bringing most of it down here now.’
He pulled her into his arms and sighed. His voice came from just above her right ear, low and persuasive. ‘A new problem’s cropped up. Look, there’s no easy way to say this. I’m sorry, hon, but I can only stay till tomorrow.’ Another long, sifting sigh. ‘Then I’m afraid I have to go to Hong Kong.’
She jerked back against his arms. ‘Hong Kong! Hong – Kong? But you said you’d be based in England this year. That’s why I came here!’ She set her hands against his chest and shoved him away. ‘Paul, how could you?’
He ran one hand through his hair as he pulled away. ‘I’ve only just found out. Yesterday evening, actually. That’s why I’m late. Been to a briefing. Pearson in Hong Kong had a heart attack. Yesterday. Died before they could get him to hospital. I have to go and take over for a month or so till they find someone to head the Asian operation permanently. There are some negotiations at a very delicate stage. I’d have flown out this morning if it hadn’t been for you. So you see, I do put my family first sometimes.’
A chill spread through her body. ‘Then I needn’t have come here at all. I’d have been closer to you in Australia. Oh, damn you, Paul, for uprooting me like this!’
She walked into the kitchen and he followed, moving around, peering out of the back window, opening the pantry door, going to investigate the mudroom. He didn’t speak, didn’t touch her. She knew what he was doing. Allowing her time to come to terms with his news.
Of their own accord her hands attended to the coffee. She was relieved that some part of her was still functioning, because a flock of cockatoos seemed to have settled inside her skull and they were filling it with stupid, meaningless noise, shrieking in derision at her situation, her gullibility. Why in hell’s name had she expected things to be different here in England? Why hadn’t she held out against him? He could hardly have dragged her here by force, after all.
She plonked the cup down near him, splashing a trail of brown liquid across the white surface. ‘So I’ll be alone here for a whole month.’
‘I’m really sorry about that.’
She filled her own cup and stood cradling it in her hands. ‘Some second honeymoon this is.’
‘I said I was sorry. Be reasonable, Ros. No one could have guessed that Pearson would have a heart attack.’
‘I’m going home to Australia, then.’
‘You can do that, of course—’
She didn’t take in a single word until he finished, ‘But I will be back in England for the rest of the spring and summer, I promise you. So why don’t you reconsider? We can still be together. I have plenty of leave owing, so I’ll take a week off when I get back.’
‘A whole week?’
‘Look, it’s hard to get even that at this time of the year. And I’ve just had some time off, though I spent half of it on planes to and from Australia for your sake, so you needn’t get snitty with me.’
‘It’s hard for you to take leave at any time of year. Any year.’ He had loads of paid leave owing to him, months and months of it. And he’d fretted around like a lost soul in Australia during the one week he’d spent there. He’d been bored! He seemed to have lost the ability to enjoy himself quietly at home like other men, which was one of the reasons she’d been thinking of divorce. She wanted a companion, not a nominal husband.
He put his arms around her again, tugging at her stiff body until it moved to rest against his and nestling his cheek against her hair. ‘Don’t go back to Australia, Ros. Please. A month will soon pass. I really do want us to spend some time together.’ He kissed her cheek. His breath was warm in her ear and his breathing showed he was aroused.
‘I’ll see.’ She pulled away. She didn’t feel aroused. Not at all. A month could pass quickly when you had plenty to do, but time could drag when you were stuck in a rented house in a village where you knew no one. Unfortunately, where his work was concerned, Paul was a reinforced concrete wall. No use beating her head against it.
He abandoned the attempt to make love to her, but was subdued for only as long as it took him to drink the coffee, then went to get his briefcase. He saw her dirty look. ‘Just some papers I need to look over today, hon.’
‘You can’t even give me two full days, can you?’
His voice changed, became steely. ‘It’s the work I do which pays for all this.’
‘Then it pays for things I’ve never wanted. As far as I’m concerned, you’re doing all that for yourself.’ She went back into the kitchen and started preparing dinner, banging the pots around. Anything to keep her hands busy.
He didn’t follow her and presently she heard the sound of papers rustling in the small office. He’d found that room, all right, and taken possession of it without asking her if she minded.
But as they sat and chatted after dinner, she could feel herself softening, because when he set out to charm, no one was better company than Paul. And when they went to bed the touch of his hands, the feel of his body against hers worked their usual magic.
Whatever Liz said, Rosalind couldn’t imagine anything better than their loving.
‘You’re still a damned good lay,’ he muttered in her ear afterwards.
‘Very romantic!’ she teased. ‘You’re not bad yourself.’
But he was asleep already. She lay awake for ages, listening to his soft, even breaths. If they were going to use the word ‘still’, she’d apply it to her emotions.
She still felt angry with him. Very angry.
She still felt uncertain about their marriage, too.
After lunch the next day, Paul looked at his watch. ‘I’ll have to leave soon, hon.’
She could feel her lips tightening.
‘You aren’t going back to Australia, are you?’
‘I suppose not.’ But it was for Sophie’s sake, not his, only she wasn’t going to tell him about her aunt.
‘Good. When I get back, we’ll do some entertaining, eh? I owe so many people over here. We’ve plenty of room for them to stay over. Or the pub in the village has some rather nice en suite rooms, I gather. You could cook some Australian specialities. It’ll be fun, make a good impression.’
‘I don’t see how we can give a decent dinner party here. There’s only minimal cutlery and crockery.’
That got his full attention. ‘It’s supposed to be an executive residence. Everything supplied.’
‘It’s quite big and the furniture is reasonable, but they’ve skimped on the kitchen equipment. Six of everything in the crockery line is not enough to entertain with and kitchen gadgets are practically non-existent. There’s a hand beater, a plastic grater and a tin opener, and that’s about all. I had to buy that coffee plunger myself.’
‘Not satisfactory. I’ll have a word with Gail and tell her to complain. She’s good at that sort of thing.’ He grinned. ‘It’s my bet that in a day or two the agent will get in touch with you and ask your advice about what’s missing.’
‘What’s missing will be you,’ she said and couldn’t stop her voice coming out choked, but he was carrying his bag and briefcase out to the car and didn’t hear her.
‘Look, why don’t you go up to Lancashire to see that aunt of yours?’ he said as he slammed the boot shut. ‘Stay a few days.’
She opened her mouth to tell him that she’d already been to see Sophie, but he was still speaking.
‘By the time you’ve done that and sorted out the house ready for some serious entertaining, I’ll be back from Honkers.’ He gave her a quick, absent-minded hug. ‘Four weeks will pass in a flash. You’ll see.’
As she watched him drive away, she knew that wasn’t true. Four days could seem like an eternity, stuck here on her own, with no family to look after, nothing familiar to comfort you.
In Australia, Jenny Stevenson stood and listened to the scolding from her supervisor with as much grace as she could muster.
‘Your heart doesn’t seem to be in your work, Jenny,’ Mr Bennett said with that solemn expression of his. ‘You should remember that you’re on probation for six months before we can accept you on our permanent staff – if we accept you. It isn’t automatic, you know.’
She stared at him in horror. Her father would kill her if she got the sack, and anyway, she needed the money even more now she was renting a flat on her own.
‘Is – um, is something troubling you, my dear?’
She stared down at her feet, then realised this was an out. ‘I – I’ve been having trouble with my – my ex-fiancé. We’ve just split up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let my work suffer.’ Tears came into her eyes. Michael was still pestering her to get back together again and no way was she going to agree. In fact, he was being more than a pest and had frightened her silly last night banging on her door just before midnight. She’d never go back to him. Never.
The supervisor’s voice was more gentle. ‘I’m sorry. You should have said something.’
Jenny dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’ll try to – to do better,’ she promised. She really would. However bored she was with office work. However the working days dragged. She didn’t dare get the sack without her mother here to help her.
In the middle of the night she woke suddenly. Had she heard something? She lay rigid, listening with all her might.
Before she could get up to look out of the window, there was a crash, which made her squeak in shock and cower in the bed. By the light from the street lamp she saw that someone had thrown a brick through her window.
It must be a drunk! She got up to peer out of the window, but there was no one outside. And although a light had come on in the flat next door, it winked out again as she looked, and she was left staring at the shards of glass sticking out from her window frame.
She cleared up, but couldn’t get back to sleep, well not properly, only doze a little, even though being on the second floor meant she didn’t have to worry about someone getting in through the window. And she was late for work while she waited for someone to come and fix a new windowpane.
It was only as she was getting into her car that she had a sudden thought. If drunks were around, you usually heard them talking or laughing. She had heard nothing. But – who else could it have been?
‘Oh, no!’ Her heart plummeted as she admitted what she had been avoiding facing until then. There was only one person who bore her a grudge. Michael. He had rung last night and she had shouted at him on the phone, then slammed it down. She felt a cold shudder run down her spine as she suddenly knew for certain it had been him who had thrown the brick.
‘What good does it do?’ she whispered. ‘I’m not going back to him.’
She kept telling him that. Why wouldn’t he believe her and leave her alone?
As she posted a letter to her mother in Australia, Rosalind noticed a craft shop on the corner opposite and was lost.
She’d only intended to buy a bit of canvas on which to do a small sampler, just to pass the time, but she forgot that as she looked round the well-equipped shelves. And the more she looked, the more the determination grew in her to set herself up for her own type of embroidery, raised stumpwork, the thing she loved doing.
Since Paul had left her here, all alone, it was only right that he pay for the new equipment and materials she would need from the housekeeping account. It wasn’t going to come out of her own money this time. And she was not only going to do some new pictures, she was going to take over one of the bedrooms and leave her embroidery things lying around all the time. Just let him complain about her ‘mess’ again! Ever.
She would send for some of her finished pieces, too, and put them on the walls to cheer herself up. She’d get them professionally packed and air freighted out. Rebellion burned through her, hot and reckless, and it felt good, damn good, even if it was only a small domestic protest.
When she got home she spread out her purchases, stroking the hanks of embroidery thread and snipping the new scissors in the air. Her eyes became unfocused as she debated what subject to work on. She had several ideas in mind, but a new one blossomed suddenly. The family. Her family. All of them: Paul, herself, the three children. She’d never done a family portrait before. Of course, she’d have to work out a design and create figures which showed their personalities, but she had photos of her children and husband with her. She’d start sketching a layout after tea as she watched television. Sometimes it took a while to get the right composition.
The icy unhappiness inside her began to thaw, though only a little. She was still missing her family and friends dreadfully. She’d never been away from her daughters before and neither of them was a good correspondent. On that thought, she did a quick calculation of time differences and picked up the phone.
Louise answered it. ‘Hey, Mum! How are you?’
They discussed university, then Jenny. ‘Yeah, she’s got over her split with Michael. Well, he was a real dork, wasn’t he? I don’t know where she finds them! I wouldn’t even fancy him if you blindfolded me. What? No, Gran’s out shopping. I’ll tell her you called. Of course I’m coping with the studying.’ Which was a lie. But no one was going to find that out for a long time.
Phew! she thought as she put the phone down. Good thing Gran isn’t in. The two of them had had another row this morning. What did it matter if you left a few plates lying around the kitchen? Anyway, what else had Gran to do with her time but clear up?
Louise went to fiddle with the kettle, sighing. The reason she wasn’t coping with her studies was that she wasn’t finding them at all interesting. Business studies! Why had her father insisted on them all doing that sort of degree? Not arts, he’d insisted, because that was an expensive way of joining the dole queue and he was the one paying for all this, thank you very much. And not architecture, either. There were a lot of young architects struggling to make a living.
Well, she didn’t really want to do architecture. She’d only said that to stir him up. She hadn’t got high enough scores to get into medicine, even if she’d wanted to, but she had toyed with the idea of training as a nurse. First aid had been a non-academic option at school and she’d enjoyed it very much, been good at it, too. She liked looking after people who were injured, and the bloodier the better. Sandy had slashed her wrist by accident one day when they were fooling around in the kitchen and she’d known exactly what to do. The doctor had praised her efforts, too, which was more than her bloody father ever did.
But Dad had the money, so they had to dance to his tune. Life wasn’t fair. But at least those tablets Sandy had got her were working. She wasn’t at all hungry nowadays – though her Gran hadn’t congratulated her on losing the two kilos, just tried to nag her into eating more. Honestly! Her whole family was so far out of touch it wasn’t true. If you were fat no one fancied you. It was as simple as that. Thin was in.
The conversation with her younger daughter relieved some of Rosalind’s worries, but it wasn’t the same as being there and seeing everyone. She rang Liz afterwards, but there no answer. She tried several times over the next day or two, but to no avail. And the answering machine wasn’t on, either. She hoped everything was all right. Liz had been in a very brittle mood when she left.
The next time Rosalind rang Perth, she caught her mother in, which was what she really wanted, and they had a nice long chat, though the question of how Louise was doing brought a stiff tone to her mother’s voice. Rosalind debated pushing for more information, then decided against it. She had enough problems managing on her own, was hating the loneliness.
At one point she asked if Audrey had seen Liz.
‘I met a cousin of hers, who said she’d gone away on holiday.’
‘Oh? Where?’ Liz had said nothing to her about holidays and they shared their plans with other.
‘Singapore or Hong Kong, I think. Or was it both? I can’t remember.’
‘But the university term has started. How has Bill managed to get away?’
‘Liz went on her own, apparently. Her mother said she’d been feeling depressed and needed something to cheer her up.’
‘I see.’ That sounded ominous to Rosalind. Surely Liz wouldn’t be putting her threat into operation? It was bad enough Bill being unfaithful, but two wrongs didn’t make a right. ‘Strangely enough, Paul’s in Hong Kong, too, Mum.’ She then had to explain about Pearson dying and it being an emergency, and her mother said all the things she’d been thinking, but of course she couldn’t agree with them too strongly because that would be disloyal.
‘Wouldn’t it be funny if Paul and Liz bumped into one another?’ she said, to divert her mother’s attention.
‘It’d be a miracle if they did. That place is so crowded you can hardly move around at more than a shuffle, and you can’t even see the people across the street clearly for heads bobbing in front of you.’
Rosalind smiled. Her mother had hated her one visit to Hong Kong. Well, she hadn’t liked it much herself, either. The people were pleasant, the hotels good and the tour guide had been charming, but Rosalind had found the masses of people everywhere claustrophobic after the wide open spaces of Western Australia.
Liz wasn’t enjoying being on holiday alone. The hotel in Hong Kong was big and luxurious, but most of the guests seemed to be passing through as part of tours. She’d tried sitting in the foyer, hoping to strike up a conversation with someone, anyone, but people just walked past her to join their tour groups.
And as for finding a man, forget it, baby! Most of the guests at the hotel were quite elderly. If she was going to the trouble of having an affair, it had to be with someone decent. At this rate it’d probably be no one, but she needn’t tell Bill that. She’d invent some gorgeous hunk and describe the encounters in intimate detail. An American tourist, she’d say. Perhaps she should buy a couple of romance novels, see if they gave her any ideas.
But that evening, a miracle occurred. Someone came up to her table in the restaurant and said, ‘What the hell are you doing here in Honkers, Liz Foxen?’
She gaped up at him. ‘Paul! But you’re in England!’
‘I was yesterday.’ He glanced down. There was only one table setting. Curiouser and curiouser. ‘Isn’t Bill with you?’
‘No, I’m on my own.’
‘Want some company?’
‘I’d love some.’ It was one thing to swan off and leave your erring husband wondering what you were getting up to, but another entirely for a woman to amuse herself on her own at night in a foreign city.
He sat down and beckoned to a waiter.
She watched the man fuss over him. Paul certainly knew how to get good service. Bill always got fobbed off with tables in corners and slow service.
Paul looked up and winked at her as the waiter continued to fuss. ‘Want me to order for you?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what half the things are. I was going to have the bouillabaisse.’
‘Wouldn’t advise it. Not here. The seafood can be very dodgy because the harbour is so polluted.’
‘Whoops! I had prawns last night. Do you think I’ll live?’
‘Oh, yes.’
His smile was warm and his eyes said he found her attractive. Well, it made a change for someone to feel that way. In fact, it felt wonderful.
The food was excellent. A series of small dishes, each perfectly presented, accompanied by superb wines. Too much wine, perhaps. When the meal was over and Paul suggested a cocktail, she found her head spinning as she tried to follow him to the bar.
‘I think you’ve had enough to drink,’ he said with a chuckle, steadying her.
She clung to his arm. Lean and muscular. Bill had let himself go a bit lately, was getting a distinct paunch. ‘I never could hold my wine.’
‘Come on, then, milady, let Sir Galahad escort you up to your chamber.’
At her door he hesitated, then asked, ‘Want to meet for a meal tomorrow evening? I’ll be working during the day or I’d offer to show you round.’
‘I’ve booked a coach tour. Going out to see a big Buddhist temple. But I’m free in the evening.’
‘Shall we say about eight, then? I’ll pick you up here.’ He glanced up at her room number.
This was more like it, she thought as she closed the door. Paul Stevenson was a charming bastard when he wanted to be.
It was only then that Liz realised – they hadn’t mentioned Rosalind at all, not after the first round of greetings. Not once. How strange! But then, they hadn’t mentioned Bill, either. And of course she wouldn’t tell Paul what she had threatened to do. That was between her and her husband.
But it’d been great to have someone to talk to! She was really looking forward to the next evening.