by Alan G Boyes
“I do mean it, Cindy. I’ve always admired you and wanted to get to know you better. You always look fantastic, but I bet Alan has never told you just how good you look – especially in those jeans.”
Donaldson spoke the words smoothly, unable to resist making such a comment and as he did so he ran his hand softly over her bottom.
“You and I could have some fun.”
Cindy was taken aback and she was in no mood for this nonsense. Standing up quickly she said, “I don’t think so, only in your dreams, Jack. I’m minded to call Alan about what you have just said… “
Donaldson, hurt and angry, smartly interrupted her. “But you won’t though. Firstly, I would deny it and I’m pretty sure Mr Crossland would believe me, and secondly, if you did succeed in getting me sacked you would then be beholden to him. I don’t think you would want that.”
Cindy cursed silently. She knew he was right. Donaldson was certainly astute. She felt she should be enraged at him for coming on strong and touching her but there was nothing to be gained by creating a scene and having Alan involved.
“Just go, Jack. Now. Just get out.” Cindy went to the front door and opened it wide, waiting for Donaldson to catch up. He was unhappy and disappointed but was determined not to quarrel with her. At the very least he knew he had given her plenty to think about and he had also surprised himself. Cindy Crossland was the first woman for whom he had managed to successfully control his lust and temper, but then he had never before had the same depth of feeling as he had about Cindy.
“OK. When you change your mind, let me know.” The implied certainty within his statement sounded almost threatening, though the latter was unintended. He opened the car door, and as he nonchalantly threw Crossland’s papers onto the rear seat he turned to say ‘goodbye’, but Cindy had already closed the door. She fleetingly thought again about telephoning Alan but again dismissed the idea. Her adrenaline was still running high from thinking of Gordon and she wasn’t going to let another row with Alan spoil her euphoria. In any event, it would have mattered little had she phoned her husband. Unknown to her, he needed Donaldson and Donaldson knew he was safe in his job.
* * *
Alan Crossland sat in his London flat and went over Donaldson’s brief report, at the end of which he told Donaldson to continue making periodic checks on Cindy after Christmas. Nothing made sense to him except that something was very seriously wrong with his marriage. He felt both anger and a deep sadness. He still loved Cindy but was very resentful of the way she had treated him in recent months, and there seemed little prospect that would change. Christmas was looming and that made him even more depressed. Being alone was bad at any time, but at Christmas and New Year it was going to be simply awful.
He decided he had let Cindy control events for too long and that however painful for him he must start rebuilding his own life. He logged onto his computer and scoured the internet – after about thirty minutes he had found a hotel where he could stay over the festive period that claimed to cater for both couples and singles. Almost on impulse he booked himself into a room, and he surprised himself that such a simple action immediately lightened his mood. He would have to apologise to his parents of course, but they would understand. Buoyed by his new found enthusiasm he resolved to see a solicitor as soon as possible, not that he wanted a divorce, but to receive some advice on how he might be placed if matters continued to deteriorate between him and Cindy.
The next morning he walked into the offices of Gardner, Kline and Jacobson, a large city firm, that catered for every conceivable type of litigation, but which also specialised in Family Law and Divorce. As he walked through the entrance lobby, he was taken aback at the superb standard of décor and furnishings. The lobby oozed wealth and it was obvious little expense had been spared. He sat on a deep red leather sofa whilst the receptionist glanced down a pre-printed list of expected visitors and made a phone call to notify the secretary to Mrs Avril Hennington of Alan’s arrival. Within minutes he was being escorted to the partner’s well-appointed, but rather small, office by a leggy blonde of about twenty-five whose initial greeting to him sounded deeply false and rather too rehearsed.
Crossland outlined his situation to the solicitor stressing he did not want a divorce but just some initial advice. Hennington, a rather plain woman of about fifty with dark hair and dressed in a navy-blue suit, started by telling Crossland that how she acted was dependent upon him. He had to be really sure if in the future he wanted a divorce or not. She explained that she would always protect her client’s interests to the best of her ability, but that task was sometimes made a lot more difficult if a client was unsure what precisely he wished to achieve or gave conflicting instructions as time passed.
“You must understand, Mr Crossland, that either of these aspects can regrettably be the cause of a significant increase in the estimated costs, though of course I will always do my best to achieve a satisfactory outcome for you,” a statement by which she disarmingly and carefully introduced the fee structure into the ensuing conversation.
After an hour and a half, Crossland left. Hennington would keep a small file of the meeting, pending further formal instructions and her secretary could conveniently arrange to take payment for today’s meeting now, if Crossland would prefer. He came away a very displeased man. Evidently the starting point of settling the financial aspects with Cindy would be a 50/50 split of their joint assets. Hennington had said she would argue on his behalf that any financial settlement should be made on the basis of need rather than strict equity and thought that a 60/40 split in favour of Crossland might be possible, but she was by no means certain. The detail could be attended to later when, and if, any such paperwork was needed. She understood that he had earned more money, a lot more, than Cindy and she also understood that Crossland had been generous to Cindy over the years but the fact remained that the courts were likely to split the finances equally and would certainly take a hard look at the variation in private pension that both might receive upon retirement.
“Mortality tables are increasingly used by the courts these days, and given that women live longer than men, it is open to the court to decide that any settlement reflects those facts.” Hennington’s words slipped off her tongue but their effect was not lost on her client.
“In other words, she gets more,” Crossland said testily. He was not expecting such a downbeat assessment. It seemed to him that Cindy could do what she liked and would receive a substantial financial benefit even if she was the sole cause of the marriage break up. Hennington provided scant comfort when she explained that the courts like to take responsibility for the marriage break-up out of any of the proceedings. Crossland did blame Cindy and that was not going to change. Why should he have to bear an equal settlement? It also appeared that as there was, as yet, insufficient evidence (actually none, as his solicitor sharply pointed out) of any adulterous affair on Cindy’s part, she might even have the audacity to contest any divorce Crossland sought to obtain on grounds of her unreasonable behaviour, even though eventually the divorce could be obtained on grounds that the marriage had irretrievably broken down.
“Mr Crossland, my advice at this stage is that divorce proceedings initiated by you may be costly should your wife wish to contest them, and you have little to gain anyway. I am not sure you really want a divorce nor are you happy at the likely financial settlement provisions should a divorce petition be served. If you can persuade your wife to jointly enlist the services of an organisation such as Relate, at this stage they may be more help than I and a lot less expensive.”
The words of the experienced lawyer echoed in his head. He knew he would never go to any marriage guidance outfit, and neither would Cindy, so dismissed the sensible advice out of hand. Yet again, it seemed to Crossland that Cindy was holding all the cards. His best hope seemed to be to wait until, if and when, she wanted a divorce, then at least she might be more amenable on the finances. Why, he reasoned, should she benefit – when she
has had a good job and career, still has relatively high earnings from her writing and therefore can still contribute to her pension – just because he, Crossland, had worked his balls off and made a great deal more money? He returned to his office in a foul mood, his remaining level of affection for Cindy slipping away rapidly by the minute. He thought the situation was grossly unfair even if it was cynically endorsed by the courts under the umbrella disguise of equity.
19
Cindy left Red Gables at midday on Friday, leaving her plenty of time to drive to the hotel at Loch Lomond. She hadn’t heard from Alan since Wednesday and could not bring herself to phone him. Instead she left his Christmas present and card on the dining table with a separate note, hastily scribbled in black felt tip.
Have a good time
C x.
It wasn’t much but felt she had to say something. There had been no present from Alan but she presumed that he had intended to give it to her that Friday evening when he returned from London, which was indeed his intention – but when he arrived home to find her gone, he simply left it on her bed, feeling he had made some sort of pertinent gesture by placing it there. He did not linger long at Red Gables, quickly packing a case and then driving off to Wales, wondering what his Christmas at the Asterhays Country Park Hotel would be like.
On their first night away, it was probably Alan that fared the better of the separated couple. Cindy had dinner at the amazing restaurant that was right on the shoreline of the loch, though being dark it was difficult for Cindy to appreciate the fantastic location in which it was set, and afterward returned to her room and watched the television until she retired to bed.
Whilst Cindy was seeing an episode of Have I Got News For You at nine o’clock on the new LCD television, Alan was starting to relax and meet more of his fellow guests who like him wore a small identity badge. He was quite amazed at how many apparently divorced or single women there were, and most were much younger than he had anticipated. Of course there were some who were in their mid-fifties and beyond, but also some a great deal younger. All seemed to have a made a determined effort to look their best. After circulating amongst them for over an hour, it suddenly dawned on him that everyone was doing the same as he was – getting to talk to as many other guests as possible and to fix upon a shortlist of those in whose company one might want to spend if not the week, at least a few days. He had already compiled a short list of three and he found himself drifting back towards the first on the list, a slim blonde-haired woman whom he presumed to be about forty or just under, named Anna. As Alan approached, she detached herself from a small group with which she was in conversation and came to meet him, smiling.
“Why don’t we sit at that table over there, and get away from all this?” she said, pointing at a small, round table in the corner of the large room. Its Alan, isn’t it? I’m Anna, as if you needed reminding with this thing pinned on!” she laughed as she fiddled with her badge, before removing it and placing it in her small handbag.
Alan felt a little awkward. It had been years since he had engaged in anything like this, and he felt rather out of practice. He needn’t have worried as it was Anna who spoke as they sat at the table.
“This is my first time at a singles event since my divorce three years ago. Just could not pluck up the courage before, but life must go on; or so my friends tell me. What about you Alan, are you divorced?”
“It’s going through,” he rushed the words out of his lips without thinking. “My wife seems to be finding other interests these days.” It wasn’t a lie but it was misleading.
“I see. That’s hard. Well, good luck. I suggest no more talk of those things. We are here to enjoy ourselves and I vote we start now.” She raised her glass and said, “Happy Christmas”. The ice well and truly broken, Alan and Anna did indeed start to enjoy themselves. By 11:30pm, the bar was still busy but Alan was getting a little tired and he suspected that Anna, whose consumption of wine had considerably exceeded his own, might also be feeling weary. They had chatted and laughed almost non-stop for over two hours and clearly enjoyed each other’s company, and Alan felt as though a great burden was lifting from his shoulders.
“Shall we have a final coffee?” Alan thought this was a good way to signal that he was ready to leave.
“That would be lovely. How about we take it in one of the rooms? Yours or mine?”
Alan gulped. He had not expected this and was unsure how he should respond. He felt lost for words and it was several seconds before he replied, “I didn’t ask for that reason Anna. I mean, I’m not used to doing this kind of thing.”
“Are you saying I am then!” she exclaimed, but laughed as she said it. “I told you I have lived as a semi-recluse for the past three years and was pressurised by friends to take this break here. Oh, come on Alan. We’re not bloody teenagers, let’s enjoy ourselves. No strings and all that.”
Fifteen minutes later they had joined together the two single beds in Anna’s room and slipped between the crisp sheets, the steaming cups forgotten on the table.
20
The first shafts of dim grey light of the December dawn were slowly revealing huge shadowy shapes on the far side of the loch as Cindy helped herself to an orange juice and croissant at the self-service breakfast bar. She sat at a table immediately adjacent to the panoramic glass frontage of the restaurant that allowed unrestricted views across Loch Lomond. She had never visited Scotland and was hoping that her first views of it would be favourable and she was not disappointed. She watched, fascinated, as the layer of mist that hung over the loch quickly dissipated as the light brightened and the weak warmth of the early morning sun struck the water. The sky changed from being a leaden dark grey canopy to an umbrella of the palest cyan, providing a perfect contrast to the deep green of the acres of spruce trees that partly covered the massive rock faces of Ben Lomond and its neighbouring peaks opposite, their tops dazzling from a dusting of fresh snow. Cindy took several minutes simply looking at the view, stunned by its breathtaking range of colours and grandeur.
By the time she had started her second juice and helped herself to perhaps too much bacon and eggs, convinced that she needed additional sustenance for the drive ahead, the loch had become a mirror image of its surroundings. The water was the colour of the pale sky, its smooth glass surface reflecting in perfect detail the vivid yellows and browns of the past summer’s dead bracken amid the myriad of colours that painted the shoreline grasses and the green mountain slopes with their beautiful frosted hats. Occasionally she spotted the tell-tale sign of a fish, swimming fast and trailing the tiniest of wakes as its dorsal fin cut through the water – or sometimes she noticed a series of small ringlets, which expanded slowly as though a small stone had been thrown into the water, revealing the presence of a trout below.
She could not have wished for a better start to her day, and in buoyant mood she was soon driving north, quickly passing by the twenty-four miles of Loch Lomond. The route emailed to her by Gordon was exceptionally simple:
Stay on the A82, through Fort William, until Invergarry. Then take the A87 until the left turn, unclassified road, for Kinloch Hourn. Stop at the large dam.
It couldn’t have been easier and Cindy was able to take full advantage of viewing the vast landscapes that were presented to her at every turn, whilst also enjoying the luxury of driving without traffic on a superbly maintained smooth road – a marked contrast from the potholed suspension testers she had often encountered. Each scenic view seemed to be better than any of its predecessors and Cindy was quite overwhelmed by them long before she reached Glencoe.
Gordon had told her to look out for Buachaille Etive Mor, the mountain on her left that would mark her entrance to Glencoe and, almost opposite on her right, the edge of Rannoch Moor and the Seventeenth Century Kings House Hotel, but she didn’t need his guidance. As soon as she saw the road stretch ahead into the distance for several miles, as it traversed the length of a deep glen flanked by huge mountains, she
was filled with awe. She knew that before her lay Glencoe, the site of the worst and bloodiest treachery to take place in the Highlands. The few cars upon the road appeared small and vulnerable as they weaved their way amongst some of the highest and most foreboding peaks of Scotland, and it thrilled her to know that in a few moments she would be driving through the sombre pass. Even in sunlight, the glen was intimidating and Cindy shivered slightly as she drove onwards, nervously excited by Glencoe’s mix of myth, massacre, legend and sheer scale.
Once through the Glen she felt a slight relief but also a fresh wave of anticipation. It was a little before 11am and, having made good time, she was nearing Fort William. Gordon had asked Cindy to phone him when she arrived at the town so that he could estimate the time he needed to be at the dam to meet her. Sat in the lay-by on the shore of Loch Linnhe, watching grey seals laze on a cluster of rocks near to the shore, Cindy had little appreciation of the level of anxiety that had been rising in Gordon since he first woke. It had been several months since they last met, and apart from text messages and emails, they had not been in contact. Gordon had found it hard to sit still, even for a moment, worrying that perhaps at the last moment Cindy would change her mind about coming. He let out a huge sigh of relief when his hall telephone rang. They spoke briefly, not wanting to waste time, and arranged the time for Gordon to wait at the small parking area by Quoich Dam. As soon as he replaced the receiver, he rushed to tell his housekeeper the good news.
Cindy drove towards the dam, passing through the tiny hamlet of Corach, and noticing that the road was exactly as she had imagined it from Gordon’s previous descriptions and from his tales of watching the arrival of his guests. She correctly assumed that Gordon would be at his favourite vantage spot on the southern shore watching for sight of her blue Honda. As the narrow road twisted and turned she wondered just how long it would be before the dam came into view, her anticipation rising at every bend. She realised she had to be very close when to her left, nestling between the barren trees, she passed a red brick box-shaped building. There was a sign in white lettering upon a navy background erected on its access road stating ‘Quoich Power Station’. She turned a sharp right-hand bend and audibly gasped as the entire dam came into view, its huge structure completely spanning the wide glen in front of her. The road ahead climbed gently uphill for about two miles until it was level with the top of the dam wall, occasionally twisting around the few remaining granite foothills not blasted completely away and levelled by the construction engineers. As she drove onward, she guessed Gordon could see her now, and strained her eyes as she tried to glimpse him. In fact, Gordon had spotted her well before she had reached the power station and had already crossed the dam wall to await her arrival. Whilst Cindy was searching the south end of the dam, Gordon was leaning against the north gate adjacent to the road. Five minutes later, she turned the car onto the rough stone parking area, excitedly waving to Gordon as she did so. Without turning off the engine, she rushed out of the car to greet him whilst Gordon came over to her. He was dressed in a wax jacket over a thick white roll neck sweater, mole skin trousers and a rather incongruous black beaver hat. It wasn’t at all as she had expected him to be dressed and it made her giggle. They hugged each other briefly and then kissed each other firmly on the lips, but not for overly long as they were both bursting to speak.
