Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels

by Downing, Sara

  James was an amazing diver, and boy, did he know it, but in this pool, and in this company, just to jump into the water to play with the kids, she didn’t think all the posturing and the Tom Daly dive moves were really necessary. Why couldn’t he just bomb in like the rest of them? She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she was watching, even though she couldn’t help herself. She smiled at her own cunning. Oh, the politics of married life!

  But James had found another audience in Grace, although he failed to grasp that she wasn’t actually admiring his prowess as a diver, but was humouring him. She thought James’ efforts to impress his wife – or indeed anyone else who happened to be watching – were highly amusing, and so she decided to play along with it.

  ‘Come on James, you can do it. Rio 2016, here you come!’ James puffed out his chest even further and executed the most perfect dive into the deep end. Evie and Grace looked at each other and collapsed into giggles.

  ‘What’s so funny? It was a great dive. A personal best, I should say!’ James moaned, climbing from the pool as slick as a seal, and seemingly forgetting that the whole point of getting into the water in the first place was to stay there and play with the children, not play to his audience. Ana, too, was laughing at her father.

  ‘Daddy, come back in!’ Ana yelled as Lily climbed onto her shoulders for yet another launch into the water. ‘You were supposed to be coming in with us.’

  ‘Yeah, stop all that showing off,’ added Immy, seeing right through her father’s antics. ‘Look at them, Dad, do you really think they’re impressed with that?’ He looked round at the two women and bowed.

  ‘OK, OK, I can see it’s all wasted on you lot,’ he moaned, running his hands through his hair to push it away from his eyes, and then adjusting his shorts to make sure they were still covering everything they should. ‘But wouldn’t you lot just like me to perform a somersault before I stop showing off?’ Finally the man was starting to take himself with a pinch of salt, Grace thought.

  June 2014

  ‘No, I can’t. I told you that yesterday. I’ve got to go.’ James hit the End Call button. Just in time, as Evie walked into the room.

  ‘Everything OK?’ She eyed him suspiciously. She hadn’t really overheard what had been said, but had picked up on the agitation in his voice. And seen it in his body language too. He might be semi-horizontal on the sofa, but never had a man supposedly relaxing for the afternoon looked less relaxed.

  ‘Yeah, just work stuff, you know.’

  No, she didn’t know. There had been a time when she would have had a good handle on what was going on with the business, who the new clients were, what she could do to help out, further their cause, all that kind of stuff. But just lately, James seemed to be keeping it closer to his chest, like a possessive parent who didn’t want anyone else to hold their new baby. What was going on? She found it quite hurtful that he didn’t want to include her anymore. She didn’t understand why he was suddenly putting up these barriers.

  James grabbed the remote control and started channel hopping madly. It wasn’t surprising he couldn’t concentrate on anything, Evie thought. You could see it in his eyes; the lights were on in that head of his, but no one was at home.

  ‘Everything is OK at work, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘You would tell me if anything was worrying you, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, love, all’s fine, don’t worry. I mean, it’s not like the old days anymore is it? We’re all having to cut our cloth to suit, but we’re doing OK. We’ll weather this storm, don’t you worry.’

  She stood in the doorway, looking directly at him, and forcing him to make eye contact.

  ‘Don’t talk to me in platitudes, James. I know when you’re covering something up. Tell me, please. I need to know we’re alright. Not just us, but I mean, well, the business. If I need to get a job, I can, you know that, I’ve always said I would. Especially now the girls are older. We’ll get by, don’t worry.’

  James couldn’t bear it any longer. He was a hard-nosed businessman, but these problems weren’t just business related. If only they were, then he would find it a lot easier to handle. Financial issues could be dealt with so much easier than emotional ones. Was it time to tell Evie the truth? But what was that going to do to her and their little world? The girls, their family life, everything. He hated living a lie, but he loved his family, despite how it might look to the casual observer. He really did, and that made what he had to say all the harder.

  ‘Darling, I need to tell you something.’ Ominous words. Evie sat down.

  It wasn’t what she had been expecting to hear.

  August 2015

  ‘Oh, God, we don’t want to do that, do we?’ James moaned to Tom. ‘Come on, let’s go and find something a little more manly to do.’ He gave Tom a shove, and pointed to a bar across the square. Huge awnings overhung tables where pints of glowing Stella stood slowly dripping condensation. His tonsils practically shouted out in agreement. It all looked far more appealing than traipsing around the shops behind their womenfolk.

  The four friends had headed into the nearest town, leaving older children in charge of younger ones, with strict instructions not to use the pool until they were back. It would mean an afternoon of table tennis and DVD’s but they were sure Evie’s girls could manage to keep the twins entertained for a couple of hours. Everyone could do with a break from the searing sun, anyway.

  Having been deprived of any retail action since they’d arrived, Evie and Grace immediately honed in on a little shopping centre they’d spotted. It wasn’t huge, but the fact was that there were shops. Real shops, selling something other than fois gras and local artisan crafts – just what they needed. They weren’t going to get to Paris on this holiday, and the picturesque local towns were very lacking on the shopping front, so this would have to do for now. There might at least be some unusual bags or shoes, or maybe even clothes, although this area didn’t strike either of them as the style capital of France.

  ‘Ahhh,’ sighed Grace, ‘shops at last. Hello, my beauties, oh, how I’ve missed you. Come to mumma.’

  Evie giggled as her one-time shopaholic friend delved into the first, a gorgeous little boutique filled with nothing useful but everything gorgeous.

  ‘It’s not exactly New Bond Street, but it’ll do,’ Evie laughed, tucking the strap of her handbag into the crook of her elbow to free up both hands for browsing.

  They waved to their husbands as they went their separate ways. ‘No need to guess who’ll be at it the longest this afternoon. Those two will still be propping up the bar long after we’re done,’ Grace laughed.

  ‘Come on my old pal, what’s it to be?’ James asked Tom, as he ordered in fluent French from the smartly-dressed young bartender. This wasn’t exactly your typically authentic French drinking hole, packed with regulars who would all turn to stare as you dared to enter ‘their’ bar. It had a young vibe to it, with loud music and a gaggle of teenagers holed up in a smoky fug at the back of the room, gabbling away in incomprehensibly fast French. Tom couldn’t quite get his head round the fact that the French all seemed still to smoke, and continued to do so in enclosed spaces like this. But he wasn’t used to it and found the choking smell of it too much now, so the pair of them grabbed their beers and escaped to the terrace at the front.

  ‘Ahhh, bliss,’ James sighed, taking his first sip of the amber nectar, and following it with a few hearty gulps. ‘This beats shopping, any day. Why they want to go trawling round shops is a mystery to me, when you can sit here and soak up a bit of sun, watch a few passers-by and…’ Tom watched as James’ concentration switched focus, his head swivelling a full one hundred and eighty degrees, eyes glued to a pair of young girls who were walking past. They were probably no more than five years older than Anastasia, clad in the shortest of short skirts, confident in the knowledge that all eyes were on their firm, tanned flesh. ‘I rest my case,’ he added, slapping one hand on the table, and Tom laughed. Tom was no fan of ladd
ish behaviour, but in the absence of female companions, he would permit his own standards to slip a little. What goes on tour, stays on tour, wasn’t that always the motto when in male company?

  Tom was surprised at just how well he and James had been getting along this week, and would even go as far as to say there was a certain camaraderie building again between the two men. They had been such good friends in their youth, and he was hopeful that they might get back to that at some point. Spending so much time together, plus the presence of an almost constant supply of alcohol, had definitely helped to loosen things up. Grace thought the world of James, and despite what had happened last year, still did. She was glad he and Evie were back on track now, as he knew she couldn’t imagine either one of them without the other, nor only having one half of the couple in her life. There was no doubt she would have sided with Evie, had she and James split up, but would have hugely missed having James in her life, too.

  James was obscenely generous, but not at all in a brash way, Tom thought, despite what some people might think about him. His insistence on picking up the tabs on this holiday – as well as paying for most of the holiday in the first place – was evidence of that, but at the same time his easy manner towards it meant that it didn’t feel awkward. James knew Grace and Tom were on a tighter budget than himself and Evie, but at no point were they made to feel like the financial underdogs. James wanted to treat his friends, make their holiday really special, and enable them to eat in the sort of restaurants they wouldn’t normally be able to afford. It wasn’t an act of charity, but of sincere friendship. It came from the heart first, the wallet second. Tom really appreciated that, but even so, he felt there was a time to pull his weight, and that time was now. He headed back to the bar with their empty glasses to order some refills.

  When he returned to the table, someone was seated in his place and James was gabbling away in excruciatingly fast French, to a man Tom recognised, although he couldn’t think from where. He was much younger than them, probably only in his mid-twenties, with what Tom would call a boy-band haircut, that kind of intentional scruffiness which more than likely had taken hours of careful styling and gelling to achieve. The younger man saw Tom heading towards them and stood up to offer him his seat back. Tom nodded at him in acknowledgment and stood there awkwardly, waiting for James to make the introductions, but he wasn’t forthcoming. He merely thanked the man (Tom could understand enough French to work that out), they shook hands, and he left.

  ‘Who was he?’ Tom asked, as James watched the retreating figure heading off across the square. ‘Had a feeling I knew him from somewhere, although couldn’t for the life of me think where.’

  ‘Nah, no idea who he was,’ James replied dismissively, unable to look Tom in the eye. ‘Just some tourist asking for directions. Although God knows why he asked me, I don’t exactly look like a local.’

  James’ story didn’t ring true with Tom but he decided not to push it. In any case, how could it possibly be someone James knew, out here, in the back of beyond, deep in the Périgord countryside? But they had looked too embroiled merely to be talking about directions, hadn’t they? And they had shaken hands. Tom couldn’t remember ever shaking hands with someone whom he’d asked for directions, even in a highly tactile country like this. He cursed the fact that he knew so little French.

  Tom’s mistrust, which clearly showed on his face, killed the jovial atmosphere somewhat, but much to his relief, he spotted Grace and Evie heading across the square towards them.

  ‘Look, here come the happy shoppers,’ James said. ‘Not too many bags in tow, thank God. Clearly the shops weren’t up to much. Could have told them that and saved them all that time.’ He had quickly lost the puzzled air he’d been sporting after the stranger had left.

  ‘Well, hello there, get your coats, boys, you’ve pulled,’ Evie giggled, coming up behind James and kissing him on the cheek.

  ‘Ooh, err, I think we just got lucky, Tom, don’t you? Do we trust these ladies enough to let them whisk us away for an afternoon of adult fun?’

  Tom chuckled, relaxed again now. ‘Yeah, like that’s going to happen with two five-year-olds in tow. Grab yourselves a drink, girls. Let’s make the most of another half an hour of peace and quiet before we have to head back.’

  They could hear splashes and shouts of delight as they pulled up in front of the chateau.

  ‘Damn it, I thought we told the girls not to let the little ones in the pool while we were out,’ James huffed, looking panicked. ‘I’m really sorry, Grace, I thought we could trust them.’

  Grace quickly shot round to the back of the chateau, needing to see that her children were still alive and kicking as quickly as possible. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw they weren’t actually by the pool at all, let alone in it, but instead were at the patio table in the shade of a giant umbrella, playing a game of Battleships with Anastasia.

  The rest of the adults caught up with her. James’ face turned to thunder as he took in the situation.

  ‘Imogen, what the hell is going on here?’ he barked at his eldest daughter, who was sprawled on the side of the pool in her bikini, as a teenage boy ducked and dived in the water, performing tricks like a circus seal, clearly out to impress Imogen.

  ‘Oh, hi Dad, this is Pascal,’ she replied ever so casually, even in the face of her father’s wrath, as the young man pulled himself unrepentantly from the pool. ‘He’s Henri’s gardener’s son. He was helping his dad and, well, it’s a warm day, he needed a swim, you know how it is. You’d be really proud of me, Dad, I’ve been speaking loads of French this afternoon.’ She was beaming from ear to ear, and kept tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  James was far more concerned with the other things this young man might have had the opportunity to teach his daughter, had they not arrived back at the chateau when they did. He scowled at the boy.

  ‘Monsieur Brookes, enchanté,’ the boy said, shaking James’ hand, whether James wanted to or not. ‘Your daughter, she is… errr… very kind to me. She see me ‘ot and she… err… let me swim.’

  Yeah, too right she’s seen you’re hot, James thought uncomfortably. This was his daughter, his baby girl, ogling this boy who was way too good looking and oozing way too much sex appeal to be allowed anywhere near anyone’s teenage daughters, let alone his own. There should be some sort of hazard warning attached to boys like that. He gazed at the firm, tanned six-pack before him and wondered how old he was – eighteen, nineteen, maybe? Whatever his age, he was far too old, and no doubt too experienced, for Imogen. He was a fast worker, too. He’d clocked the absence of parents, chatted up his daughter, and got himself invited in for a swim, all in the space of a couple of hours. James thought he had better check this boy’s story stacked up, and he really was the son of the gardener, not some complete stranger who had wheedled his way onto the premises.

  James prised his eyes from the boy – where did kids these days get off having a body like that at such a young age? At eighteen, James seemed to remember he’d never even been near a set of weights. He looked again at his daughter; she was stretched out languidly on the side of the pool, one knee raised, gazing at Pascal with what could only be described as sheer unadulterated lust. He’d been in denial of his daughter’s raging hormones for a while now, but here they were, parading themselves around blatantly in front of him. She had no idea just how provocative she looked – or at least he hoped she didn’t. He needed to have a word with her about appropriate body language – and clothing – in situations like this. The least she could have done was cover up with a sarong or something; she’d only just met this boy and already he had seen pretty much all she had to offer. Talk about handing it to him on a plate.

  ‘Evie, I need you,’ he called to his wife. He was struggling here; he needed backup and Evie had far more experience in this sort of thing than he did.

  Over on the terrace, Evie had been masterminding an exercise in damage limitation, checking all was well wit
h the twins and reassuring Grace that her daughters had been good babysitters after all – or at least Ana had. She was relieved to discover that her youngest had quite obviously devoted her entire morning to the twins, playing patiently with them, whilst her sister cavorted about with that boy. Ana was as unaffected by Pascal’s presence as Immy was affected; the need to make oneself attractive to the opposite sex hadn’t yet made it into her radar, much to Evie’s relief. Just imagine when the time came and they were both vying for male attention. Sparks would fly when there was an element of competition between the girls, but for the moment the way was laid clear for Imogen.

  Evie strolled across to the pool.

  ‘Oh, so who’s this then?’ she beamed, noting that Pascal up close was even better than Pascal from a distance. James couldn’t believe it. This boy was having the same mesmerising effect on his wife.

  ‘For goodness sake, Evie, you’re old enough to be his mother,’ he whispered quickly under his breath, hoping Pascal’s English wouldn’t be good enough to work out what he was saying, but not really caring if it was.

  She cast him a look as if to say, ‘Yeah, and what of it?’ There was no harm in admiring a perfect specimen of male vitality, was there? And she did love an opportunity to make her husband squirm with jealousy. But then her overriding maternal instinct kicked in and she snapped out of her trance.

  ‘Immy, inside now. I want to talk to you.’ Immy pulled herself sulkily from the poolside and picked up her towel, stretching like a basking cat as she wrapped it around her waist. Covering up, finally, James thought. A bit late now, though.

  ‘It was great to meet you, Pascal,’ Immy drawled. ‘Come round any time you like, yeah?’

  ‘Immy, you can’t just invite the boy like that,’ Evie glared.