The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘What she means,’ Maggie interrupted, ‘is the little monkeys must have planned something right from the start. We were nearly back at the coach when Stella found she was missing her bag and and…’

  ‘And they both ran off to get it but never returned?’ Cara’s voice dry.

  ‘How did you know?’ Both eyes now pinned on her.

  ‘Oh, I must have read it in a book or something. Have you phoned the police?’ her eyes scanning the room with renewed interest.

  ‘No, we weren’t sure. We thought they’d catch us up. We waited and waited in the coach and then we tried you but your phone was off.’

  ‘Er, yes. Mrs Bachmeire had a migraine,’ he interrupted. ‘Her mother gave her some tablets which knocked her out.’

  ‘Lucky you were there to help,’ the hats exchanging what his mother would call a knowing look.

  ‘Indeed.’ He’d had enough of this comedy duo, this comedy duo without a kind word, or ounce of common sense between them. When he finally managed to get his daughter back he’d bundle her on the next flight to New York so quickly she’d barely have time to look at Buckingham Palace let alone the Changing of the Guard, two of the activities she’d been wittering on about for days now.

  ‘So where’s this note then?’ he asked, pulling out a chair for Cara before pouring a mug of coffee from the still warm pot and pushing it in her direction with a tired smile. She looked terrible; eyes huge in her pale face, hair all over the place. She looked terrible but beautiful, or should he just change that to terribly beautiful?

  ‘It’s here,’ said Mavis, or was it Maggie, as she pushed it across the table.

  He gave her a very brief smile, not really a smile at all because what did he have to smile about? No, the smile was in lieu of her name. He’d always been crap at remembering names, apart from hers of course. But if you were going to choose a name for an Italian to remember, then Cara was better than most.

  ‘Thank you,’ his reply automatic as he scanned the one lined piece of paper torn out from what looked like her diary. He didn’t even know she kept a diary, his brow wrinkling as he focussed all his attention on the words.

  Off to find Ben Stiller. Please don’t worry. Evie xx

  ‘Ben Stiller, who the hell is Ben Stiller?’ He barked, his attention now on anyone brave enough to answer.

  ‘Ben Stiller, you don’t know who Ben Stiller is?’ croaked the hat on the left; at a guess he’d say Maggie.

  ‘Would I be asking, er, Maggie if I knew?’ his eyebrows shooting up.

  ‘It’s Mavis actually, and there’s no need to be rude.’

  ‘Well excuse me! My daughter is missing in one of the largest cities in the world. A city she’s only been in for like five minutes and in the chaperone of what are meant to be two responsible teachers and you wonder why I’m upset?’

  He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, and looking up caught her gentle smile. ‘It’s not their fault, you know it’s not. Now apologise like a good man and I’ll tell you all about Ben Stiller.’

  ‘I apologise. There, will that do you?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She pulled her iPad from her bag and, swiping the screen pushed it towards him. ‘That’s Ben, good looking isn’t he?’

  ‘What, an actor?’ his eyes flickering around the room in confusion. ‘Why the hell would she put that on her note?’

  ‘Well I don’t know. I’m not really up on actors…’

  ‘What did you want to know? I downloaded a list of the latest movies just in case I got a chance to see a premiere?’ He watched the colour creep up Maggie’s face. ‘I like movies, there’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘No, well, it depends on what sort?’

  ‘Nothing with 50 in the title in case you’re worried, although I don’t think I can help you,’ she added, her eyes on the leaflet she’d just pulled out of her bag. ‘Ben doesn’t have anything on at the minute.’

  ‘Hold on,’ his eyes squinting down at the face on the screen before staring up at Cara. ‘Do you mind if I…?

  ‘No, help yourself.’

  But he carried on as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘It’s just he looks familiar,’ his finger jabbing at the movie poster on the screen. ‘That’s it “Night at the Museum”. We watched that only a couple of weeks ago and she said... She said,’ his hands stroking his chin with a far-away look. ‘She said, when she was in London she intended to trawl around as many museums as possible to see if the movie was based on fact.’ He jumped up from the table, scraping the legs of his chair on the floor. ‘Has anyone got a map? What’s the nearest museum to Madame Tussauds?’

  ‘Museum near…? You don’t think they’re hiding out in a museum? I was thinking more they’d gone in search of some fun?’

  ‘For that pair, a museum is fun if it’s the right type of museum, they’re a pair of music bores…’

  ‘There’s a music museum just around the corner from the wax works.’

  They all turned towards the doorway and the small grey-haired woman standing on a stepladder trying to dust around the ceiling with a long handled duster.

  ‘Really? That’s brilliant.’

  He walked up to her with a smile. ‘Come and join us a second, I’m sure the manager wouldn’t mind you taking the weight off for a minute would you?’ he added, following her gaze and looking at Cara’s brother-in-law with an expression that screamed; mess with me and you’re toast.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Marcus echoed and even going so far as to pour her a coffee from the fresh pot that had just arrived and push it in her direction with a kindly wink. ‘There you go, Petunia, now take your time and tell this nice man everything.’

  ‘Well, I was working yesterday. Chambermaid, you know, because one of the girls didn’t turn in and I heard them all coming out of their rooms, chatting like. I was minding me own business as always but one of them,’ her eyes flickering to Matti. ‘The one with the light hair was laughing about playing a trick. Something about running away as a means of helping to get her father a girlfriend.’

  If he wasn't so upset, he’d have laughed at her words because that’s exactly the kind of thing Evelyn would have done. She’d have worked out that now she needed some space, getting him off her back was a number one priority.

  ‘And this museum, where is it and what is it?’

  ‘It’s only down the road from them wax figures, I used to clean there. The Royal Academy of Music. You know; where they keep all them old instruments and the like. I used to dread having to clean the brass section; you wouldn’t believe just how much Brasso, not to mention elbow grease it takes.’

  ***

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Yes, you will be.’ Starting to bang on the black wooden door with his fist.

  ‘Hey, you can’t do that, this here is private property.’

  ‘I get that, I truly do but, you see, you have something that belongs to me; a couple of somethings, and I want them back. In fact,’ he pulled out his phone and, scrolling though the screen continued speaking. ‘In fact, why don’t you go upstairs to the museum and tell my daughter and her best friend that I’m just about to call the police.’

  ‘What?’

  They were standing outside the Royal Academy of Music having a two way conversation with some unknown entity through the intercom. An unknown entity that was flatly refusing to open the door for the face to face conversation they’d prefer. Matti looked across at Cara with a frown. They were out of ideas and the clock was ticking. The police wasn’t an empty threat. It was the next course in their quickly drawn up plan as Cara’s brother-in-law drove them across London with his foot on the accelerator. The way he drove, they were lucky the police hadn’t stopped them already.

  He felt her touch his hand and then slip her fingers between his as she leant up and whispered in his ear. ‘Here let me, it may come better from a woman. No offence, Matti, but you are a Yank, after all.’

  He would have retaliated but he didn’t, however he
wouldn’t let her get away with it. There’d come a time but, standing outside at 5 am with his feet in slush and his head covered in a new sprinkling of snow, was not it. Looking down he noticed how pale, how cold she was and regretted allowing her to come. Not that he’d have been able stop her, of course. Taking off his overcoat, he wrapped it around her shoulders, ignoring her pleas as he pushed her forward. ‘Cara, you have two minutes and then I’m calling in the cops.’

  How she managed it, he’d never know. One second he’d moved back to have a word with Marcus and the next, the bolts were being shifted with what sounded like an eager hand. The guard was a different issue entirely. He’d expected belligerent and what he got was a peculiar obsequious behaviour as if they were royalty; all very odd. If he hadn’t been worried sick, he’d have questioned him but he didn’t. All he did was follow in their footsteps as he picked up a flashlight and raced up the stairs two at a time. Finally catching up with them, he found himself in a large room stuffed to the brim with musical instruments. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at the number of pianos even as his eyes scoured every corner for tell-tale signs of the girls.

  With Cara checking under pianos and inside cupboards, he raced up the staircase to the mezzanine floor, his breath finally leaving his chest at the sight of a furry boot sticking out from under one of the glass cabinets.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is London, for God’s sake, not some holiday camp.’

  Both girls were standing together looking anywhere and everywhere except at the angry man in front of them. If they had, they’d have noticed the look of relief not to mention strangely glistened eyes; instead they stared at their feet.

  ‘You’re grounded big time, both of you. In fact I’ve a bloody good mind to put you both on the next plane,’ he added, dragging Evelyn into the tightest of hugs. ‘Please don’t do anything like that again, I don’t think I could stand it,’ his voice muffled against her hair.

  ‘Dad, I was fine really. We, er, just wanted to see the instruments, isn’t that right? She said, throwing a quick glance across at Stella.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, Mr Bianchi. I’m really interested in 18th Century violins,’ her eyes now glued to the cabinet in front of her.

  ‘Really? An expert are you?’ he questioned softly, his gaze now on the same cabinet.

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ she blustered. ‘But something I’d like to explore as a possible second instrument next year.’

  ‘Fascinating, and very worthy although you might want to look in the right cabinet,’ he said, tapping the little nameplate on the side, with the word viola carefully printed in neat black lettering. ‘An easy mistake to make as they do look a little like,’ he ended with a benign smile. ‘Now girls, don’t you think you’ve put this poor man to enough trouble? Say your apologies and we’ll get you back to the hotel.’

  Walking into reception, he followed them to the lift and then to right outside their door, Cara a silent bystander.

  ‘Right, I’ll meet you here at eight for breakfast and by then Mrs Bachmeire, the two… er, Mavis and Maggie and I will have decided what we’re going to do with you.’

  ‘But,’ Stella’s voice anxious. ‘It’s the masterclass at nine, and they’ve managed to get Bruce Ormalisq.’

  ‘I don’t care if they’ve managed to get Bruce Springsteen. You have two hours to do whatever it is girls of your age do. I don’t suggest you’re late!’

  ‘Bruce who?’

  He’d just finished shaving when he heard a gentle knock. Throwing on the complimentary bathrobe from the end of the bed he opened the door, still working on knotting the belt before looking up to see who it was. He knew who it was; only Evelyn knew his room number.

  It wasn't Evelyn.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘You should be a bit more careful, I could have been an axe murderer or, even worse, a sex starved music teacher looking for a naked man to have her wicked way with,’ her eyes lingering on his bare feet poking out the end.

  ‘I wish.’

  ‘Well, it could be arranged,’ she drawled, perching on the edge of the bed and allowing herself the pleasure of watching him shifting from leg to leg. She could feel his discomfort. It was there in the way he just avoided her gaze and the way he stayed near to the door as if he was ready to open it and usher her out at a moment’s notice. She didn’t feel discomfort and she had seen him down to his boxers, was it only a few hours ago? It felt like days if not years since she’d woken him, her hand pressed against his shoulder when all she’d wanted to do was ease in beside him and pull him against her.

  Her heart leapt in her chest at the memory as colour flooded her face. She’d never expected to experience desire after Aaron. With Aaron it had been different. Sweeter, more innocent somehow than any of her other boyfriends and there’d been quite a number.

  She wasn't a tart, far from it. She never slept with anyone on the first date or even the second. No, three was the magic number. She reasoned by three she’d have found out the few essentials she’d decided were a prerequisite to any physical relationship. She wasn’t a snob, but she did like to have a quick recce on Social Media just to make sure he was ordinary; ordinary was good. Halitosis and unpleasant smells came a close second and then there was the feet. She’d always had a thing about feet after her first boyfriend turned out to have shares in Odour-eaters. Aaron’s feet were beautiful. He had the hands of a musician with long tapered fingers and sensual feet to match. Matti’s feet were different, but then he was Italian or as near as damn it. His feet were those of a rugby player, strong athletic feet with high arches and neatly clipped nails.

  She was in trouble, big trouble. Here was a man ticking all her personal boxes. A man in the possession of an amazing pair of feet who was just bound to be in need of a woman to wash his socks and yes, if it was a job, she was applying. Apart from one fatal flaw that is. Here was a man that just happened to be the father of one of her pupils and she never mixed business with pleasure.

  ‘What was that?’ His eyebrows raised, his eyes taking a tour over her face, her neck, her chest as he took a step forward.

  ‘I said that could be arranged. Mavis, I know, has a thing for Italians and she’s on the lookout for a new boyfriend.’ Lifting her hand she examined the nails on her right hand, ignoring the way the mattress shifted as he sat down beside her. Her eyes were now on his knees, watching as he tweaked the towelling back in place like a shy virgin wearing a mini for the first time. She liked his legs. Deep tan with a healthy smattering of black hair so different to Aaron’s pale skin; different but no less attractive, at least to her.

  She allowed her breath to ease out of her lungs in a silent sigh. She’d buried her husband a long time ago, perhaps now it was time to lay him to rest; time to move on with her own life. They’d only been together a year, nothing in the scheme of things. She’d mourned him for twice that length.

  ‘Mavis? Now there’s a thought.’ His head tilted towards her ear, his breath hot against her neck, so hot. ‘But I have a much better thought.’

  ‘A much better thought?’ Her eyes now on his hand which he’d placed over hers, his thumb massaging her wrist, her palm, her fingers.

  Her lids closed, her body swaying nearer as a window opened in her mind to the inevitability of what was about to happen. She had somehow developed feelings for this funny man. This man with hair as black as the blackest cat and with eyes the colour of molten chocolate; eyes that were running across her face like water weaving its way along a leafy brook. This man with the body of some kind of professional rugby player but taller and with amazing feet!

  But what about loyalty? Did she feel disloyal to Aaron or at least to his memory? Aaron was in her past, a past she loved to remember, but remembering brought sadness in its wake, a heart wrenching sadness sometimes too difficult to bear. If remembering made her sad perhaps she should lock him deep inside her heart and see if she could maybe start to live again,


  ‘A much better thought,’ he repeated somewhere against her ear. She felt him turn her hand and, with palm up press a soft as silk kiss against her skin before staring at the wrinkled flesh. ‘Does it hurt Cara Mia?’

  ‘Not now,’ her eyes following his, her face expressionless as a memory intruded from the past into the present with the sudden rush. Aaron cradling her palm before slipping on her wedding ring and sealing his love with a kiss.

  Her eyes widened. She couldn’t do this now. Where only seconds before she was all for being ravished, now all she could see was the picture of her husband imprinted across her vision. All she could feel was his soft skin just as all she could smell was the musky scent of sandalwood, the aftershave he used to wear. He was here now like a silent bystander bearing witness; bearing witness to her infidelity.

  Jerking back, her eyes pinned to his. Her mouth open but there were no words. How could she tell him it was too soon; that two years was too soon? What about ten, fifteen, a lifetime? Would she ever be ready to lock those memories away and did she even want to?

  Backing away, her hand behind her as she fumbled for the doorknob words finally came, jumbled incoherent words to match her jumbled incoherent thoughts. ‘I can’t. It’s too… I still… Too soon. Sorry, truly sorry.’

  Her head starting to throb, she ignored Mavis and Maggie just leaving their rooms, brushing past them with a simple excuse that included paracetamol and sleep before entering her room and throwing herself across the bed. There were no tears. She’d cried an ocean of tears over the last couple of years, her hand touching her wedding band with restless fingers. She’d cried an ocean yet what good had it done her? Tears couldn’t help; nothing and no one could help her. No, that wasn’t quite true; her hand seeking out the cool metal chain around her neck that Aaron’s mum had strung her wedding band onto.