by Della Galton
‘No. That’s because you’re a brilliant chef,’ Adam contradicted.
Privately, Clara thought he’d make a great front-of-house man too. There was something mesmerising about him. But maybe front of house would be more difficult with his illness.
‘It’s lovely to meet you too,’ she said, finally managing to extract her hand from his.
‘So, where are you taking her?’ Nick asked Adam. ‘Or, should I say, where’s she taking you?’
‘I thought we could maybe drive into Swanage and see what we fancied. We haven’t booked anything.’ Adam glanced at his watch. ‘Although we’d better get going or lunchtime will be over.’
They picked a restaurant down by the seafront. It wasn’t warm enough to sit outside, but they got a table by the window because there weren’t many people about. The place smelled sweetly of rosemary and cinnamon and Adam told her they were renowned for their pastries as well as their lunches.
‘I sometimes wonder if Nick and I should have bought a restaurant instead of a hotel,’ he said, as they sipped their drinks. ‘But the odds are so stacked against you. Something like sixty per cent of new restaurants go out of business inside the first year.’ His face tightened. ‘I don’t think the hotel trade fares much better really. Unless maybe you have a really good USP and a shedload of backup money.’
Like Kate did, Clara thought, wondering if that was a reference to the Bluebell and feeling for him. But he wasn’t looking at her now. He was looking out of the window, to where seagulls hung in the air above the sea, some of them almost motionless on the thermals. There was barely any wind today.
She didn’t often come down to the seafront, which was mad when her house was less than twenty minutes away and all her family were close by. Maybe that’s what happened when you were a local. You didn’t go to the local places.
This place turned out to be good though. She made a mental note to recommend it to Rosanna. It was a great eatery to bring kids. As well as the menus in holders on each table, there were drawing books and crayons provided for younger visitors.
Over lunch, they chatted with the same ease they had on every previous occasion, but Clara sensed a greater sadness in him than ever before. She suspected this was because of his present circumstances. She wasn’t sure whether to raise the subject of the Manor House sale or whether to avoid it altogether. She decided in the end to leave the ball in his court and it seemed he didn’t want to talk about it. So they didn’t. Neither did she mention the project Kate had given her. They had talked at length about the saboteur last time they had met. She didn’t really have anything new to add.
It was lovely to spend time with him, though. As she drove them the short distance back up to the Manor House, she found herself hoping this would be the first of many such lunches.
She dropped him off outside and he didn’t invite her in again. ‘I’m sorry. I really want to spend some more time with you, but there’s so much to do at the moment.’
The brief touch of his lips on hers wasn’t enough for either of them. She could see that in his eyes, but it would have been inappropriate for them to have a passionate clinch in the car park of his hotel.
‘Are you free tomorrow night?’ she asked.
‘I think I might be.’
It was clearly as much of an effort for him to drag himself away as it was for her. But Clara was determined not to add to his burden. She started the ignition. ‘Speak later.’
She was almost back at the bungalow when she realised his phone was in the footwell of her car. It must have fallen out of his pocket. She only knew it was there at all because a buzzing sound caught her attention. It was on silent, but he hadn’t turned off the ‘vibrate’.
She turned the car around. There may be quite a few things he could leave in her car and not miss, but his phone probably wasn’t one of them.
Less than ten minutes later, she pulled up again into the Manor House gravelled car park.
A new black BMW was now parked up in the space where she had dropped him off and someone was sitting in the passenger seat with the door open. Clara didn’t take much notice. She had a sense of déjà vu as she walked past the rear number plate towards the hotel and the automatic doors swished open and the citrus air freshener hit her. Adam was standing at the reception desk with his back to her. Beside him, also with her back to Clara, was a woman with bronze hair.
Clara felt her heart jolt. She was definitely getting paranoid. There must be lots of women in the Purbecks with bronze hair.
At the sound of the automatic doors, they both turned and this time she felt the numbness of shock. Not just a random woman with bronze hair – it was Veronica Cooper Clark. And just before the woman’s face shifted back into neutrality, Clara caught the recognition in her eyes.
‘Clara? I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’ Adam sounded surprised. He glanced at his visitor. ‘May I introduce—’
‘Don’t bother,’ Clara snapped. ‘I know who she is.’
She held out his phone, knowing her face must be suffused with colour. It was burning hot. She felt as though her brain was slowly catching up with what was going on.
Veronica Cooper Clark was holding a briefcase and her gorgeous Mulberry bag was on the reception desk in front of her. Adam clearly knew who she was, and behind reception Nick Greenwood had just appeared, wearing that same look of bonhomie with which he had so warmly greeted her only a couple of hours earlier.
Clara didn’t think she could bear to see any more. Talk about getting into bed with the flaming enemy. She couldn’t think of a single innocent explanation as to why Veronica would be having a cosy meeting with the Greenwoods. Thrusting the phone into Adam’s hand, she turned abruptly and almost ran back into the car park.
This time she did look at the occupant of the BMW. It was Simon Tomlinson. That was no coincidence. He must be waiting for his girlfriend. Oh God, she’d been right, they really were in this together.
As Clara charged towards her car, her FunFit buzzed on her wrist:
Time for a sharp stroll.
That was another really irritating habit it had, telling her to do something she was already flaming doing. She shouldn’t have chosen such a cheap imitation. Oh how ironic because that’s what Adam Greenwood had been too in the final reckoning.
With a little sob of pain, she ripped it off her wrist and hurled it into the neatly trimmed hedge that ran around the Manor House’s car park. It caught on a branch and swung round, its screen glinting in the sunlight. Taunting her, even from afar.
She glanced over her shoulder. No one had followed her out. Why would they, she thought, when the game was so well and truly up? Suddenly she felt as though a hundred missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle had just turned up shouting, ‘Look at me. I’m here. I fit here.’ Adam and Nick and Veronica and Simon. Two of them had a motive to ruin the Bluebell Cliff and the other two had been actively involved in doing it. There was no longer any doubt they were all connected.
How could she have been so stupid?
31
Clara was tempted – so incredibly tempted – to drive straight round to the Bluebell and to say to Kate, ‘I know who our saboteurs are and I know why. Mr B was right all along about the Manor House. I let myself be blindsided from what was really going on by a smooth-talking bloke. I was duped. I’m so sorry.’
By some humongous effort of will, she resisted the temptation and went back to the bungalow instead. Years of self-restraint – the same self-restraint that Grandad had told her made her a diplomat – had taught her it was better never to react in anger. And boy, was she angry. She was almost as angry with herself as she was with Adam. To think she had trusted him so utterly. How had that happened? How had her judgement been so completely off the mark? How could she have thought, even for a moment, that she had found someone she could have a meaningful relationship with?
Not that she had such a brilliant track record when it came to men. Her mind flicked back to
Will. It had taken her almost a year and a hugely inappropriate present to realise he wasn’t right for her. She hadn’t had any reason to suspect Adam was anything other than nice.
No, that wasn’t true! She must still be in denial she thought, as she let herself back into Kate’s bungalow. She’d actually had a dozen reasons to suspect him, a dozen pricklings of suspicion that had tingled through her on various occasions, and she had discounted every single one of them.
Adam had the motive. She had known that from the beginning.
Adam was a techie. He had once worked at YouTube, for goodness’ sake!
Adam had been one of the few people who knew where the Young Farmers were having their annual get-together. And he must have been feeling pretty bitter that they’d switched allegiance.
He had also been at the chocolate festival. He had looked surprised to see her there, she remembered, although how he had spiked Micky Tucker’s drink was a mystery. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe that had been down to Simon Tomlinson, as Kate had surmised. Maybe Adam’s role had purely been to distract her while it was done. And he’d managed to do that admirably.
Then, at lunchtime today, he had underlined how he felt. ‘I don’t think the hotel trade fares much better really. Unless maybe you have a really good USP and a shedload of backup money.’
She remembered his exact words and she remembered the way his face had tightened when he’d said them. He and Nick must have been devastated when they discovered that the Bluebell Cliff was opening up practically next door. A hotel, which not only had a unique selling point, but which also had a financial backer with a huge budget, prepared to put her money where her mouth was. Kate’s Aunt Carrie had been a world-famous concert pianist and rumour had it that she’d ploughed every penny of her vast fortune into creating a state-of-the-art hotel.
That must have seemed like the final nail in the coffin. No wonder they wanted it to fail. A hotel that had been created to make dreams come true would smash theirs to pieces. Clara could see the irony of that.
But hot on the heels of her anger came a searing hurt. She had really liked Adam. Now, who was in denial? It was much more than liked. She had fallen for him hard. She had let herself. And it had been against her better judgment. Adam didn’t have the monopoly on border walls – she’d been a dab hand at building one around herself too and she had let him take it down, with his oh-so sincere gentleness and his pseudo empathy, brick by bloody brick.
Her mind was still whirling over the jigsaw puzzle pieces that were slotting into place when her phone rang. It was Kate.
‘Clara, have you got a minute?’ Her boss’s voice was bright with excitement. ‘Is this a good time? Only we’ve just discovered something very interesting.’
‘Could I phone you back?’ Clara heard herself saying in a voice that didn’t sound much like hers. ‘I’m just in the middle of something.’ The lie came so easily. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. She was in the middle of a kind of grief. She couldn’t bear to have it stirred up any more by other people telling her that Adam was the culprit and why hadn’t she spotted it? Not until she’d had more of a chance to let that sink in herself.
‘Of course. No worries. Speak later.’ Kate hung up and Clara phoned Rosanna.
‘I don’t suppose you’re in, are you? I could really use a friendly ear.’
Rosanna must have heard something in her voice. ‘Hey, honey, of course. I’m just about to pick up the kids from school, but after that my ears are all yours. Will you stop for your tea?’
‘Yes please,’ Clara said, feeling like a child.
By the time she and Foxy got to Rosanna’s and she’d had tea and had heard about the children’s plans for the coming half-term, she was feeling a bit better. But it was still a relief when a primed Ed took Sophie and Tom off to do their homework and she and Rosanna had the kitchen to themselves.
‘So…’ Rosanna began as they sat opposite each other. ‘Is it a man?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Not in your case and not at the moment when there’s so much other stuff going on in your life, but…’ she hesitated. ‘Tell me to back off if you like – but I’m guessing a man.’
‘Well, you’re spot on. Although it is kind of work-related too.’ Clara told her everything and, at the end of it, when she could feel tears dripping down her face, she said, ‘I don’t know why I’m so upset. It was just a kiss really—’ She broke off as Rosanna pushed a box of tissues across the table and caught her hand. Foxy, who always picked up on moods, came over too.
‘It wasn’t just a kiss. You trusted him and you thought you had something special together and it sounds to me like he gave you every impression it was mutual. And I know I can be pretty damn cynical about knights in shining armour and all that malarkey, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like a happy ever after.’ She shook her head. ‘What a total bastard.’
Clara pulled out a handful of tissues and blew her nose.
Rosanna folded her arms. She had a look of puzzlement on her face. ‘However, I do have to say, honey, that it doesn’t totally add up. I mean, why would he lead you along the romance path if it wasn’t mutual? Why would he take you out at all? Actually, I wasn’t going to tell you this because it’s a bit gossipy, but I saw Anastasia the other day and the conversation got round to Adam and she told me he was seeing someone he really liked. That has to be you, doesn’t it?’
‘It could be anyone.’ Clara tried to ignore the wild fluttering of hope that had just surged up through her. ‘There’s no reason to think he was talking about me.’
‘There’s every reason. He must like you if he mentioned you to his cousin. She said his first wife died tragically young and that he’s never got serious about anyone since. But that it was good to see him looking happy for once.’
Happy Orlando. The treacherous thought crept into Clara’s mind.
Rosanna put her head on one side. ‘Playing devil’s advocate for a moment, could there possibly be an alternative explanation for him being with this Veronica person?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Some other reason she was there. Something perfectly innocent. Could she have been a guest?’
Clara thought back to the look on Adam’s face when she had walked in. He had looked surprised to see her. But he hadn’t looked guilty.
‘He didn’t say much. But he did look shocked when I snapped at him. I suppose I didn’t really give him a chance to say a lot because I walked straight back out again.’
‘And you’ve heard nothing from him since?’
‘No.’ Clara checked her phone and discovered this wasn’t true. Her phone, which she’d switched off when she’d driven over, burst into a flurry of activity as soon as she put it back on. There were two missed calls from Adam. There were several messages on the Bluebell WhatsApp Group from Mr B about nets closing in on saboteurs. There was also a text from Kate that said:
Don’t forget to call.
‘Bugger,’ she said now, showing her phone to Rosanna. ‘I’d better phone Kate back.’
Kate answered almost immediately. ‘Hi Clara. Sorry to interrupt your evening. How’s it going?’
After a brief exchange of polite chit-chat, Kate said, ‘I think we’ve managed to track down who is targeting us and why and I really wanted to let you know.’
‘Thanks,’ Clara said, wondering if she should say, ‘Snap!’ but deciding against it. Part of her still hoped desperately that Rosanna was right, that there was, against all the odds, an alternative explanation. She didn’t want Adam to be implicated. Or Nick, who had seemed so nice.
She glanced at Rosanna, who had got up to clear the table but was still listening, her face curious.
‘I had an email from Isobel Jones nee Scargill,’ Kate went on. ‘Confirming that the man who set off the fire alarm was an invited guest. She didn’t know him personally. He was someone’s plus-one on the groom’s side. Anyway, she did a bit of digging for me, bless her, and the u
pshot was that Rupert Cooper Clark – that’s his name – had excused himself due to feeling ill, just before the ceremony.’ She paused for breath and Clara felt her heart sink.
Kate continued, ‘The name Rupert Cooper Clark probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but he’s connected to our reporter, Simon Tomlinson. Simon is going out with his sister, Veronica. Mr B made that connection a while ago. Rupert was Veronica’s plus-one at the wedding. Are you with me so far?’
Clara confirmed she was.
‘You’re probably wondering what all this has got to do with our saboteur, but I’m getting to it, I promise.’ She sounded bright and excited. ‘Mr B was right about Simon Tomlinson’s involvement, although not quite for the reasons we thought.’
Clara remembered the Yacht Club theory and she felt her heart ratchet down another couple of notches. Here it came. Adam’s part in it all. Any moment now, Kate was going to tell her that Adam Greenwood and Veronica Cooper Clark had hatched a plan to close down Bluebell. She already knew why.
‘Are you still there?’ Kate asked.
‘I’m still here.’
‘It’s all about money,’ Kate said and for the first time her voice grew serious. ‘When my Aunt Carrie bought Bluebell Cliff, there was a bidding war with someone else who wanted the site. A property developer. She talked about it a couple of times, but I didn’t really pay that much attention. It was all in the past, after all. But that’s what this is all about. The property developer – as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now – is Veronica Cooper Clark.’
‘The woman with bronze hair.’ Clara gasped. She hadn’t seen that one coming. It certainly hadn’t come up when she’d googled her.
‘Yes. She was there with her brother. Lord knows how they got an invite, but Isobel said they know her dad through the Yacht Club. So we think they must have inveigled their way in. The fact that her boyfriend works at The Purbeck Gazette must have been a great help in terms of discrediting us. But Veronica is our chief saboteur.’
